He did not need a healer to bind his flesh back together. There were other things.
The man across broke the distance.
No. But he was so tired. And he owed this young man at least that much, after all the disturbed air just now.
Walter felt the arms wrap him in warmth. Something cracked inside, no please. He felt like he could just collapse.

Still, he stood, and took that weight onto himself, gloved arm quietly wrapping around the broad back, stroking down the shoulderblade before it stopped. The other rested at the top of amber-bright hair.
Those eyes were a beautiful shade when they dimmed, weren't they.

He swallowed hard as, with the man's warmth, everything else clung to him, too - everything the man fought in these garments and was covered in, blood, rot, dirt, mold. Braced. Did not move, by some miracle, even though his head swam.
A slow pull of breath followed, careful, not to tempt the lump back up his throat.
Lukewarm fingers stroked the hair, and Walter wrapped his embrace a little tighter, thumb moving over the fabric and above the outline of the vertebra.

"Let it go," he breathed hoarsely. "It was cruel. It was horrible, what had to be done. Let it go.... you've been strong for long enough."
He felt the cold sweat against his own scalp, a monumental effort to remain steadfast, at any cost, right now. Battle after another after another, moreso after he became an Obscurata. Human things, inhuman things, lordly things and lost young men, all needed someone who could handle them with confidence if not correctly.

He was not a proper human anymore. More like the creatures that stalked under the veil.
There were things, in this world, that he yet had to do, and then...
Another slow, careful inhale, a heavy swallow of briny-tasting saliva. His clavicle was growing out a missing piece half-way, and he could feel every nerve re-ignighting. His arms, and back, and shoulders, felt full of lead after the battle. His legs felt full of cotton, the price of movement at a speed, sharp turns, quick stops against the force of motion.
"It's alright to be scared, you fought through the fear when it mattered."

He wanted to collapse in a heap. He wanted to curl into a ball and claw at his own back and shoulders trying to rip the fresh dark out. He wanted to scrub at his skin until it was free of dirt - and then continue while in the tub until he actually felt clean enough again. He wanted to bite into something and bloody scream. Too much. Too heavy.
The only recourse was getting very drunk. Very, very drunk. Until it didn't hurt anymore.

And yet, he stood there in the room with fresh odors brought in and water resting in the enchanted amphoras. He stood indomitable, monolithic in his resolve. And he held a crying young man who, most certainly, was going to be a terrible weapon in the wrong hands. And he stroked his back, and whispered all the right words - because those were the same words he said to himself. He was alone for long, he dealt with nightmares worse and diverse, he'd fall apart if he could not soothe himself at least.
Who was he kidding.
He had been falling apart ever since...

"Now... do you have your spare clothes brought in? Get to the basin first, wash the grime off, then get into the bath. It'll feel so much better, after. You just need a breather. Just breathe... it's the first day. You're going to be fine. I need- to step out quick..." A click in his throat, and Walter tried to distance for a moment, with more haste than he'd like.
 
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Aelius' eyes were squeezed shut as his face was buried in the other's neck, trying to keep any more tears from falling. It didn't work. The crumpled man - his perfectly carved divine figure broken and crumbling - could only hold listen and hold tight. But not too tight, lest he break him, too. He tried not to focus on the rancid mix of smells between the pair after their day long battle between a plague, death, and the shroud fiend. Nor the feeling of it all crusted on their bodies and clothes. The scent of charred flesh and smoke barely even registered to him anymore, at least...

At least he could feel someone else, alive, beneath his collapsed form. Could feel the gentle rumble in the man's chest as he spoke. Felt his hands on his back, in his hair. That was enough to cling - to latch - onto, to keep himself grounded, to keep those distant flames and screams far, far away.

He cried silently; he had to. A demigod didn't show weakness, the Son of Ko didn't cry. He always had to keep it bottled, silent, out of earshot of any of the High Clerics or other clergymen. He didn't even let himself break down like this with his lovers. How could he? He was supposed to be more than this...

He wished it didn't have to be like this. He wished he wasn't born like this. He wished, sometimes, he wasn't...

...thoughts like that wouldn't do anyone any good.

He wasn't the only one struggling after today... Aelius knew Walter needed something, too. He just wasn't certain what. And he needed to pull himself together before he could do anything for the man...

That was when the lord spoke of action, not just comfort. Slowly, Aelius took in a deep, shaky breath and pulled away as he felt Walter start to move back. He went to wipe away his tears, but stopped short realizing he would just be smearing grime across it. For a few moments, he couldn't quite look at Walter.

"Yes, yes... You're right. I'm... sorry, I... W-Walter?" His apology was cut short as he watched the man rush past towards the door. The paladin followed at his heels, tears and warm umber blinked away as fire lit his gaze once again. It seemed the lord didn't make it far - barely opened the door before... well...

Aelius frowned and his brows knit together at the sight. Instinctively, he reached out to rub the man's back, trying to soothe what appeared to be dry heaving. "Ahh... you need rest too... This has been..." he trailed off, glancing once again down at his stained hands. Followed them down to the rest of his ruined clothes. The blood, the mold, the death... "...oh - o-oh, I'm - making things worse, I'm... Apologies - I'll let you be." His hands hovered near the man for a few moments more - he wanted to help him back in, to help soothe him, to do anything - but he knew the best thing he could probably to for him was to just leave. He could only ever make things worse, it felt like. Anything he touched...

He quickly pieced himself back together. Eyes aflame, faint glow about him, posture tall and proud despite the tear streaks down his face. "I'll come by to check on you later. Please, take care. Apologies again." The paladin slid past him after hovering uselessly, and started back towards the room that had been prepared for him. He paused in his step, however, and added a quick, "And, thank you," before slipping away.

Once in the privacy of his own room, he heaved a sigh and leaned against the closed door. Looking around the room, seems like his spare clothes were brought and set neatly aside. Good. Well, he'd already wasted enough time crying and pushing his burden onto Walter... so may as well get right to it.

Clothes were removed and promptly burned to ash in the hearth (there was no saving them anyways). Talismans taken out of his hair and delicately set aside in a pile to be cleaned later. He then got to scrubbing away at himself. He was grateful, for once in his life, for his little flame tantrum - thanks to his self immolation, none of that rancid rot managed to get into any of his piercings. He felt like he would have died on the spot if he found that oozing out of him somewhere.

A shudder. Ugh.
 
Up until Walter had almost fallen to his knees to salivate and spit over the porch - the stomach has been hollowed since the last three times, there was nothing else to throw up - the lord hung on by will alone. Past that point...
He had already forced himself to perform at no capacity. Mercy was not a thing often shown.
Not to him.

There was a bitterness in him, acrid, and Walter had felt a flicker of relief when Aelius had withdrawn.

Moments later, the air was booming with Aelius' voice, but the mind refused to discern words. Walter knew what Aelius was saying, anyway. Some minds functioned on not receiving. To offer them kindness meant to inflict a troubling uncertainty, or worse, an expectation. To offer them kindness meant an end of some occult search. And a start of another, likely.
Let him leave.
There would be no violent rebuttal.
It was not about posturing. He was a stronger man. Obviously.
And Walter Thornley was not a man to beat other people's boys into function.

The baron managed to clamber back onto his feet, grabbing onto the doorframe for dear life. His whole body was... so heavy.
I should not have worn that shirt. It was one of his favorite, a comforting color and precise needlework, and it needed to be saved. Surely Anthea would know a way, she'd seen worse in her glory days.

"Nh... w..."

The heavy steps signaled a hasty retreat. Well... that means the paladin had well enough support to get embarrassed and collect himself. In a few moments, staggering into the room, Walter was alone again.
He knew exactly how this panned out.

Aelius was a foreign soldier. A politically precarious messianic figure, an alleged demigod with elemental prowess that strained imagination, and blessed by healing. Probably lived a very comfortable life, outside the duties attached.
Aelius was also a boy, a blubbering mess who acted like he'd never seen real trouble that could crush him whole, and seemed to feel at ease to grab others as he liked, to grapple with responsibility he didn't want and comforts he was used to.
Walter didn't like being touched. Even in his better state, not the presence of touch itself - the irreverence of it. They barely knew each other past one night of drinking and one day of fighting.

He'd had men he was in courtships with admitted to less of him than what the southerner sought to touch in a single day.
...or, rather be held by. Wrap himself around. Just long enough to get that need sated, and then...
They probably cut hands for touching nobles without reason or permit, in some places, he reckoned.
Even other nobles probably wrote poems, found touching gifts, cultivated good airs in their company.
Revering something, someone, because you thought they were beautiful.
He hoped that one day, maybe...
Power was what most have seen in him of worth, and tried to get it by shortest route.
Grabbing the right things was the shortest route quite often.

Surely, some day he would be proven wrong. He craved to be proven wrong.

I hope the boy feels better. We've got a long campaign ahead, I can't be there each time.

He spread a cloth on the floor, and shed all the dirty garments before another session at the washbasin, and shrugging into an undyed linen shirt.


Walter woke up naked, in bed, at the main chambers. It smelled like applewood and incense.
His right side was warmer, so the left side of the bed probably faced a wall. The blanket was heavy.
There was a person... no, two people in the room. One smelled like new leather, ingredients for a luminous solution, drakehorse and sweat. The other had a different sweat, he couldn't tell how exactly but knew differing sex, and a cloud of scents, from alcohol to restorative ointments, associated with one specific job.

His eyelashes trembled, parted, noting the colors of the evening dusk. The next evening, it turned out.

Apparently, a day ago, the healer and the attendant had found him collapsed, with no wounds or even fall bruises visible.
Since the good healer confirmed the disease was not curbed but gone, in its entirety, they brought the lord into the proper quarters to convalesce.

"Oh, lordship's awake!"
Walter's eyes turned to the woman. He didn't know her. She was a healer by weave, as well. So, probably Mender that they'd sent for.
"Come on, you lout, help me."
"Good morning, my lord."
"Reckon," Walter breathed, as the two in the room held him around the shoulders, put more props behind the back so he may sit, "I missed some time?"

He looked at Mender. Fifties but in good shape, lines on her face elegant, very dry-looking hands, thin lips, dark eyes, dark hair with grey thick through it in a tight bun and under a linen cap. The second part of the headgear, a mask that would cover all but the eyes, hung around her neck. Long, double-layered undyed fabric robes for work, sleeves secured with arm wraps ending with gloves. So, a chirurgeon. Explained the scent of anesthetic, must have had bandoliers and tools hung under the topmost later of the garb...

Her shadow fell over his chest, and Walter felt uneasy when she asked, casually and almost cheerfully,
"Sayin' it ain't the first time?"
Oh gods. He was in trouble.

"Reggie... no admission without my order. If they go through you another time, I will have words."
"y..." The Huntsman sputtered. "Yes, my lord."
 
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By the time Aelius felt reasonably clean enough (and like he had given Walter enough time to decompress, hopefully, after the paladin himself spent a few hours just collapsed on the bed butt-ass-naked), he threw the clean clothes on and started back over to check on the lord. He didn't even get a chance to, however; the door was open, and there was a small commotion from within. Aelius had ducked his head under the doorframe to make sure everything was alright, but... apparently, when the healer had finally stopped by, she found the man unconscious.

After checking in to see if there was any way he could help and being shooed off to go rest, Aelius reluctantly allowed them to attend to the man while he retreated back to the room provided to him. It was small and... well. Wasn't much. But at this point, he was too worried and tired to complain.

Much.


After thoroughly passing out for the night, Aelius woke the following morning sore and drained - emotionally and mentally, at least. He woke with the dawn as he always did, no matter how little sleep he got. The only time he ever missed waking with the sun was if he went to sleep after sunrise.

It didn't matter how he felt, thought; he dragged himself out of bed, tossed on his fresh, clean clothes, and stepped outside. Red eyes scanned the horizon where warmth and color tried to break through the dull, drooping grey cloud cover. He glanced around - this wasn't... the ideal place for his prayers. Back home, the roof of the temple was beautiful - a small garden, a place of leisure, and a spot set aside for his prayers. Warm red prayer mat, the scent of lavender and wisteria with the ocean on the breeze, a perfect view of the city and the bluffs below. The sun always shone down on it, and he always had feasts, drink, and flesh at his fingertips.

The grey view here, interspersed with the remains of the few buildings he'd burnt down the day before, was... quite the contrast.

With a deep breath, the Son of Ko reminded himself that he was out here to bring light to these lands. He couldn't let himself get depressed just because he was homesick and lonely and had one shit day. There were people out here that needed his help.

Aelius found a quiet spot that had a clear view of what little bit of sunrise could be seen through the clouds, sat on his knees, closed his eyes, and began his morning prayers. Today's prayers mostly consisted of updates of everything that had happened in the last day. Most everything. Ko didn't need to know about how poorly Aelius reacted to... certain things. Too emotional. Too weak.

After what was essentially a one-sided check in call with Aelius' 'father,' the paladin offered a proper prayer for those recovering from the remnants of the plague, for Arpa and the surrounding afflicted lands, and... for Walter. He needed some good after... everything.

With prayers done, Aelius got right to work.

He spent the day with patients dealing with necrosis, now, rather than a plague. Still, they lost another two before Aelius arrived; the other healer hadn't made it quite in time, or perhaps they were simply past the point of saving. But Aelius focused on the living, splitting the work with the Mender as they soothed pain and slowly but surely stabilized and healed the poor, struggling, pained people.

At one point, Aelius knelt by the bedside of the woman he remembered screaming in horror at the sight of her neighbor's getting burnt to the ground by his hand. There was still fear in her hazy eyes. He didn't press, only offered his warmest smiles and gentlest healing. She'd turned her head away from him by the time he finished with her.


It was a long day, but... it was all spent healing, and staying with those recovering, comforting the tears of loss and pain. When the sun had finally dipped towards the horizon and the paladin slipped outside, free of his obligations for the day, there was one thing on his mind.

Aelius was cleared to leave, of course; there were no signs of illness on him, nor necrosis. He stopped to clean up and change clothes once more (he once again smelled of death and rotted flesh after spending the day with the ill, albeit nowhere near as bad as the day prior) - this time a deep amber tunic with pale cream embroidery was his standout piece, bright as ever. He then scooped a few things into a bag, tossed it over his shoulder, and beelined it for where he'd been told Walter was being taken the night before.

Minutes later -

knock, knock, knock.

The paladin was leaning an arm against the doorframe, other hand resting on his hip and a bright smile on his face. As always.
 
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One of the Huntsmen waved to Aelius exiting, offering a callout.
"See you, lord paladin!"
Most people who did not see exactly what had happened - have not heard the stories, yet. Most of them looked to Aelius with that every-present curiosity. Some smiled. Some took a moment to gawk - he was a very exotic, very striking figure, after all, and cut a colorful accent against the everyday dreary wherever he moved, sun or no sun for backing.

As for Aelius himself, he could leave the long, painful day of labor behind.

The smells. The groans of pain. The suffering on other people's faces before he would lay hands and ease it.
The grief that was sometimes worse.
The man trying to take Aelius' hands off of him and raging over his sister's untimely death and burning, about not being able to collect her ashes. The woman who thanked him, dully, but did not look him in the eye. The boy who was not yet sixteen, and lost both parents, come into the quarantine to be told the news, weeping without sound as he watched Aelius move.

There were others, too.
The woman who begged him to help her old dog first, and held his hand, and thanked him through sobs of relief - the dog was the only war's survivor, the only family she had left. She offered the foreign paladin what little she had in thanks - a small woven amulet.
The small family of four reuniting at the entrypoint to quarantine, hugging tightly as the nightmare eased.
Two brothers, weak from surviving mid-stages both to where they'd thought they would be losing limbs; all limbs attached and free of burrowing patches, croaking blessings in broken voices before being put to sleep by the scarce medicines issued.

Perhaps, there was some truth to the insistent preaching of the man from Bremen, this Percival who loved his tall tales 'round the barley drink. Perhaps, these outsiders that outnumbered the local populace, were heroes of some sort.

Dull eyes were beginning to glimmer with a growing notion that, perhaps, things were truly turning after seven years of hunger and loss.

And tender hands of a healer were no small contribution to that glimmer.

The paladin was readily directed by one of the Bremen men who was not with the Hunt, near the same hill as the former carpenter's house. It was drier here, marginally compared to the rest of the landscape, and a long time ago this used to be a home of someone important, once - and since then, briefly, a barrack, a warehouse, and then abandoned and restored. It had a better roof than most, two rooms and store shack adjacent but not connected to it. The windowframes looked improbably new, through the rippled glass panes - further downhill, steep, looming over outer wall and watch tower.

At the door stood the lord's attendant. He slipped inside when he spotted the paladin making his way. Got out several moments after Aelius'd made it to the door, to mumble a 'my lord' in greeting, and wave him in with a wary look.


"Two days without any of that nonsense, can you do that or should I allow the Captain to have words once she hears?" The woman's voice resonated from deeper in, friendly but tinged with irritance. "Good. I now have to tend to the rest of my surprisingly fewer patients. Yes, and good evening to you, lord Thornley."

Mender sighed, as she passed Aelius, and offered him a look that clearly said 'ah yes I suppose it makes sense now'. No words besides a somewhat curt greeting were exchanged, however - the healer was in a hurry and also somewhat at the end of her patience with the baron, it would seem.

It was... nice inside.
The walls were certainly no masonwork, and not a wealth for decorations, but the early arrivers seemed to have moved some decent furniture in for their peculiar lord's comfort.

Not all things looked equally decent - there was a chair and two stools of vastly varying craftsmanship, for example; the bed in the far corner looked crude, probably built from two narrow ones, and probably held on for dear life for the amount of bedding it had scarcely ever seen. The quilts looked very fine. Same as some pillows, and the sheets.

The dining table that could not possibly sit more than five was delegated more than in half for storage of writing supplies and manuscripts, it would seem, piled neatly but inscrutably for anyone but the room's inhabitant wishing to find anything in particular. The one decent chair was at it, a dark red woolen plaid draped over one arm.

The dresser chest at the foot of the bed looked like it could hold an armory all by itself, and there were two of them - one doubling as a tall narrow lectern.

Finally, the fireplace with a chimney was guarded but also clearly doubled for cooking at least in the present - the shelf besides sported an array of old clay and new ceramic dishes, bowls and cups, and a few disparate things of cutlery - for eating above, for butchering a shelf below. The butchering ones were better laid out.

A small pile of hearthwood did not look like it was from the local trees, and burned steady and low.

"Aelius!"

Walter sat atop all bedding by the edge, one leg pulled up with a quilt over his thigh, the other barefoot and feeling the space above the floor boards for his boots. Clearly, the moment Mender had left the premises, he was intending to get back to his devices. Whatever those were. Probably reading - the tall brass candelabra on the table, the only other lighting in the room that also sported decent half-melted candles, did not lie.

On spotting the paladin, his face lightened up from momentary tension. Perhaps, he'd thought that Mender was returning.
"Just dropping by, or any chance for you to linger? To what do I owe?"
He scanned another man head to toe and back, eyes softening with appreciation and realization that the other was whole and did not seem to have trouble walking or anything.
"That color," he uttered, "I remember there was a stone, bull's eye- it suits you very well. And, ah- I know I've skipped out on my own invitation, I have been told that, ah, rest had found me against my better wishes. What have you been up to?"
The bare foot found the boot.

Underdressed severely, one could argue, but no longer naked. Ego bruised but not defeated.
The folds of a white shirt fell around his arms, wide collar parted with the lace undone, and he did have the time to slip into the riding breeches. Walter felt like he could use a couple more layers, especially given the guest's care for color.

"It is preposterous, I was recommended a two-day's rest indoors and I'd almost suspect some mutinous plot is brewing among the Shieldbearers if I didn't know better," he sighed, half in jest, slipping the other boot on and having to sit straight for a long moment before he'd even fathom standing up. The lord blinked several times, willing the dark spots away from field of vision. Probably a good time as any to ask. "How is..."

Well, how could he really ask?
"Would you still wish to join me for a drink?"
 
There was a jingle to each step, though not the same as always. The paladin's golden hair ornaments were missing, though something clinked like coins in his pack slung over his shoulder - and, of course, the delightful sound of spirits being jostled around. His face was still adorned with those golden piercings, though something new was around his neck - a woven amulet, one insisted into his hands by a crying woman holding her dog. He didn't intend to wear it always, especially in combat where he was certain he would light it aflame, but he found the offering sweet.

Aelius brought sunshine into the room with the power of his warmth and smile. Sure, the fire and candle flickered a little brighter, and the glow emanating from the paladin did cast a soft glow throughout the room. But it was his smile that really brightened everything.

"Walter, you look in much better health!" He beamed. As if he owned the place, Aelius plopped down onto the bed next to the lord and dropped his bag to the floor with a clink. He leaned to the side to better eye the man from his close angle. It was not with judgement, but with the same scrutiny looking for any sign of lingering wounds. "I came to check on you. I was quite worried when I heard you collapsed. I know you were in... a poor state when I left, but if I'd have known, I - " he paused, shook his head, smiled. "Ah... Well, but you're better. Rested."

He sat upright again, smiling warmly at the compliment. "Why, thank you. I've been told golds and reds suit me best." There was a moment where his eyes slipped down from Walter's face, along his jaw, down his exposed neck and that deliciously undone shirt. There was a moment where his lips parted to comment, but bit his lip to hold back his words. Flirting later, maybe. Still, the look he gave Walter was apparent.

"Please, you needed the rest." He tore his eyes away and brought them back to meet Walter's. His own gaze softened, smile dampening some as he tilted his head. "I spent the day tending to the afflicted. Two more had passed overnight, but... the rest I was able to help. That was a relief."

A deep breath. Smile brightened again as the nobleman complained, a small crinkle in the paladin's eyes as he watched him put on the other boot. "Truly heinous of them..." he said with a soft laugh. "I agree, though. You need to take care of yourself."

At the man's question, Aelius perked up. "Actually," he reached into the bag at his feet and pulled out a pair of bottles - one of the same brandy from the other night, and another that looked far too expensive to bring on the road and to a broken little town like this, a rich red wine from Arshaka's vineyards exclusive for nobility. "...if you were feeling well enough, I was hoping we could do just that!" A bottle was shaken in each hand, as if trying to tempt the man (as if Walter wasn't the one who asked). "I also brought some dried dates - none of the pastries from home would have survived the trip, or I would have loved to share some."
 
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He knew that part of it was an act. Of course it was, a considerate, soft lie. The boy that broke down in his arms was trying to reinstate himself as a prominent figure. But a tender spot needed to only be revealed once for that ruse to not be as effective. Walter appreciated it, all the same, despite the distortion.

The baron smiled, a wrinkle like a speck of dust at the bridge of his nose when Aelius landed on his bed.
It was always difficult to come back, and only the option that forced the transformation remained. It cost him. Like always.
"Ah, it's... thank you. Naught to worry about now, I would say." There were no wounds, not even a slightest hint of bruise, after the whole affair, the shoulder that was mangled fully restored in a faded latticework of scarring that would, in time, disappear. The hand of his that was not covered in bandages looked slightly dryer, though, his facial features a touch sharper. He'd lost a couple pounds from the rapid transmutation. "I don't think you'd look half bad in other colors. Like summer greens," he offered, calmly.

He could almost feel the heat of crimson stare traversing the bare skin. Walter dropped his gaze, cleared his throat, sitting up straight to lace the collar up properly. It spared Aelius the attention as he spoke of the patients - a small permission to maintain the act. A small mercy on both of them.
Still, he felt like he needed to get a bit more dressed. He also had an act to maintain, after all. For everyone's good.
The grey glove was pulled and fit atop the bandages.

"Well, how can I refuse such a well-laid offering?" Walter mused, the corners of his mouth outlined ever so slightly. "For propriety's sake, we probably should not do so atop my bed, m?" A sidelong glance, a brief glint of jest, perhaps, or mischief. "People talk, lord paladin Aelius, Divine Son of Ko." The tone was hard to read - it was warm, delivering judgement with no apprehension, but solid in a way that widened the gap between them, ever slightly.

The lord stood, moved half a step towards the door, same half a step past the paladin. The gloved fingers felt soft, rabbit skin, perhaps, as fingers traced Aelius' shoulder. A full step, and he passed, like a storm cloud, reaching out for the square wooden frame and a thick, grey wool vest hung out on it that he did not get a chance to snag before the visit. Stood beside it, straight-backed, half-turned to the guests, fingers pushing buttons through the decorated slits like little bronze suns cutting through the muck. The engravings were of sweetbriar flowers, though, etched in precise, thin lines.

That would do. Walter's hand went up to rake fingers through his own hair, pale fingers, silver-threaded black locks. Eyed the seating options, not finding many. What he did find was a pair of small goblets, lightly ornamental, but with silver lining the rims. Enchanted, perhaps. He offered them to Aelius's bottle for pouring, nestled in his palm. "Since you've brought the liquors, I will send for food. Would you fancy a contribution of dried fruit to join your... dates?" A curious look towards what Aelius brought along, and back to the man himself. "Cheese? Bread?"
 
Aelius side eyed the man at the reassurance; he was still worried, of course, even if there were no physical wounds. His eyes glanced over the bandaged hand, traced the pronounced angles of his face. There was a toll, it seemed. The poor man.

As the shirt was laced back up, Aelius couldn't help but tilt his lips up a bit in a smirk. He leaned back on the bed as he peered towards Walter, letting the bottles rest on the bed beside him. The way he lounged was with the confidence of a man accustomed to getting what - and who - he wanted. He chuckled and shrugged. "Oh, people certainly do talk. Usually, something along the lines of, 'blessed be those bedded by the Son of Ko.'" He flipped some hair over his shoulder, no telltale jingling of charms accompanying it.

But as the lord stood, with some difficulty it seemed, Aelius was quick to sit up and hop to his feet as he noticed the staggered footsteps. He offered an arm to help steady Walter, if needed. And while he was appreciative of the gentle touch on his shoulder from the gloved hand, he still didn't quite clock Walter's aversion to touch, and so couldn't quite appreciate it as much as he should.

Once the other man made his way past Aelius, slid on the vest and buttoned it (Aelius watching and admiring, of course, especially as that hand ran through his hair), the paladin collected his gifts and strode over to the dining table turned impromptu desk. Instinctively he went for the lord's chair, paused as he put a hand on it, gears turned in his head, and he decided against it. As much as Aelius didn't care about the lord's status - what was a lord to a demigod, after all? - he did realize it was maybe a bit rude.

The chair was pulled out for Walter, instead, and he set the bottles and bag on the table with a clink. He plopped down onto one of the stools. As per usual, would not sit normally on it - one foot propped up on a bar of the stool, the other pushing the stool at an angle so he balanced on two of its legs. "Certainly! That sounds lovely." It sounded like the answer was 'yes.' To everything. He reached into his bag and retrieved a fine pouch of bright red and gold that contained the dates, setting it on the table where it was free of papers. The contents of his bag could be seen now as it sat partly open - the talismans from his hair, clean of the grime from the other day but nowhere near as shiny as they normally are.

"There's a lot that I'd like to talk about," he started as he got comfortable (how this man got comfortable any way he sat is a mystery). "But first and foremost..." He paused to think of how best to ask, rocking the stool a bit idly. Brows furrowed, smile faded, voice going from cheerful and teasing to quiet, almost hesitant. "I suppose... it looks like all that took a lot out of you. I won't... ask if you're alright. Is there anything you need? Can I... help ease your burden? Anything?"
 
"Ko's Temple is not here, save for you," Walter's words fell softly like bones onto a moss bed. He hooked fingers into the vest's collar, making sure it sat just so.
"Your power is recognized, and taken into account," not bowed to, "...but your authority is that of a nobleblorn knight, Aelius. I am content with familiar terms between us, because I enjoy some playful banter, and the men have taken to calling you 'lord' because they don't know what to make of you -" his gloved hand wrapped around the chair on the other side, eyes pinning Aelius down like cold iron through a bright butterfly, "but you will be wise to remember the state of affairs."
He never raised his tone, or added pressure. Every word still landed as clearly as tracks of fingers carving into a snow-swept bank.

He was not just a lord on a leisurely outing, or personal pursuit. All of these people, this town, these lands, were his responsibility, their survival, their function, their everyday routines and everything that they could provide under the banner of the Crown. It was not a pedestal, it was an obligation to hold this entire land in his outstretched arms with a noose around his neck should he fall over.

"Let's not talk about that right now." He offered, softening the stance, and turned his head. "Reginald! Bring us some food, man! I'm going to be heeding the healer and drinking for the night!"

He waited a few seconds, and sighed, shoulders sinking slightly. He never seemed quite relaxed, even as he sat down in his chair, muttering,
"The walls are thin and some have ears. I don't have a problem with you, not at all. But discretion is advised in matters of personal curiosity."

A faint smile, not apologetic but certainly wistful.

"Ah, all that. Well, nothing that can be wished away, so I would not worry about it. It's resolved easily with things I categorically forget about when loaded with work - enough food and decent sleep chief among. I'm spry as ever, hand on heart. Probably could outdrink you," a sharp smirk, parting his lips and showing the edge of canines.

"You could keep me company. Talk about yourself, help distract from the glorious vistas outside. As yourself, not the..." he waved his hand in the air, as if to determine the long string of words that formally described Aelius.

Head tilted, then, like a curious jackdaw, and Walter leaned his elbow onto the chair's arm, shifting forward to glance at the contents of the bag. "Speaking of. Not wearing all of the medallions today?" A glance up. A smile that started with the eyes before it reached the lips. "What are they for?"
 
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Lips parted, closed. A 'But,' rested on pursed lips. Slowly his bright expression sunk into something of a pout. "A nobleborn knight?" he repeated under his breath, incredulous. He'd... nearly forgotten these lands were - Godless, heathens, lost in the dark and in need of Ko's light; there were many ways the clergy had put it. He'd enjoyed interacting with people casually here, he didn't get much of that back home, but that still wasn't enough to drill into his head how different these lands' views on The Heavenly Father were.

When his gaze met the piercing eyes of Walter, he paused for a beat more.

...while he disagreed with that assessment of his authority - after all, he was the Son of Ko, the one God, even if they did not worship him - he had to acknowledge the point the man was making. They may not recognize Aelius' authority, but Walter had authority here. The nobility had authority. He was right; Aelius needed to be better about that.

After a handful of pouting moments, Aelius relented with a sigh and his pout melted away. "Of course."

As they sat, Aelius leaned in a bit to listen to his muttering. He hummed, nodded. Eyes fell over how Walter's shoulders sunk, yet were still tense. That faint, wistful smile. And the way he brushed off an offer of help. It really did make his heart ache.

Though, the drinking challenge certainly perked the paladin up, tilting his lips back up into a smirk.

He laughed softly and waved a hand dismissively. "If that's all you ask, I'd be more than happy to. I find you fascinating and charmingly mysterious, and would love to get to know you more. But be aware, all of," he gestured vaguely. "..is packed tightly in with 'myself.' So I can't promise much in that regard." How was he to separate the man from the Son of Ko, after all?

Aelius then tilted his head and smiled again. "Ah! Those - " he reached back into his bag to pluck a golden medallion out, the symbol of a sunrise engraved on it. With it, he brought out a small, clean cloth. "Charms! Minor blessings." After holding it up to show, he leaned back and started to polish the medallion, smiling. "They got tarnished during the fight. I cleaned them up, but hadn't gotten a chance to polish them or put them back in yet. Won't be as potent if they don't shine like the sun, and all." He winked. The medallion was held up - shining, glinting in the low light now that it was polished - and held out in offer to Walter. "For luck."

"Now, you - " his smile widened, eyes crinkling. They started to drift towards the table and its piles of papers. "Is this purely all work? What other hobbies do you have other than music? And - " his eyes caught on one paper in particular and immediately glinted with burning curiosity; he leaned closer, peering at the paper. "...is that a poem?"
 

And with that, it was a poignant relief to finally be left alone as Reggie would have to trek all the way around the hill towards the storage houses and the closing stalls. No more ears behind walls, at least for now. To vocally give the man leave would be to announce intent - and to place expectation. None of that. Not for- If anything violent would happen, besides, Walter would prefer the possibility where humans were away from him and the center, as far as possible. He didn't think it would. It helped to be prepared, though.

The southerner, meanwhile, proved to be refreshingly understanding. The keen studying eyes followed the change in posture, the sigh, and the admission, subtly. Walter could not deny, his curiosity sparked a little brighter - a small part of him, despite everything he'd seen of Aelius' vurtues and demeanor, had expected a flare of rage, a demand, an insult taken, any other number of things that denoted a person put wrongly in power.
And there was none of that.
And it was delightful.

That is to say, it could have still been very much an act.
It was a choice whether to trust the concern, and perhaps, as a lord, he was making the wrong one.

'I find you fascinating and charmingly mysterious, and would love to get to know you more.'​

A chuckle rang out, Walter throwing his head back slightly. "Do go on, flattery will get you everywhere."
The sarcasm was good-natured, though. Taken as such, he hoped. His tongue did not pin down, must have done well with the tone.

'...is packed tightly in with 'myself.' So I can't promise much in that regard.'​

The baron's smile turned a one-sided smirk, a chuckle puffed through the nostrils. Wasn't any divine that murmured reassurances to the boy seeking desperately to be held and cry the heartbreak out. 'Don't leave me alone,' a plea came to mind, as if through a veil. Aelius' voice sounded different then.
"So it is - packed - but I have seen some of him a couple days ago, seemed quite - affable," Walter offered, and allowed the words to slip. And gentle, and quite lost. All the things that got covered up quickly.

He squinted warmly in a response to that wink, and let the attention turn to the medallion and the hands that were handling it. Eyes moved along the lines of dawning sun etched in gold to the bronze skin at the other's wrist, veins outlined under the thin skin in muted greens of summer.

Walter leaned back in his seat, too. Moved a pile of books with a push of his arm, then picked several smaller books one by one to add to the pillar of knowledge, and then carefully relocated several disparate parchments, sketches and diagrams to the side.
Landed the goblets from the gloved hand, uncrossing the stems and placing one, then another.
Situated the bottles besides the dates. Leaned, very unlordly-like, in the gap between the chair's arm and the tabletop, and pulled a bottle of port from a compartment in the thick leg with a conspiratorial wag of the eyebrows, to land it besides the offerings.

And grew still, eyes in calm query - for me?
He took it, carefully with a brushing touch, held it on straightened fingers, and studied the lines. And the weave - few barely noticeable wisps passed into the pupils. If nothing else, it was probably as benign as the locals' clay effigies, but... Faith held the weave together on them.

'Won't be as potent if they don't shine like the sun, and all.'​

"Then you only have to wear them, no?" The corners of the mouth twitched. "I have a polish you can borrow, if you wish."
The gifted glint of dawning sunlight disappeared behind the fingers and folds of the glove wrapping around it. He could feel the hard shape against his palm. It was not warm by itself, unless given the warmth of hands that held it, warmed it, cleansed it, gave it sentiment. That, if it was a gift - was the gift. The ancient rite of trading things that held the warmth of hands.
"Thank you. I'll make sure not to squander this luck of yours."

Walter glanced over at his very chaotic piles. It had occurred to him that he should sort them, but there were no shelves and he did not wish to put the books away lest he needed to look for a mention.
"Well, I'm..."

The gold medallion was rested at the small tray that also housed an ornate inkwell and a quill pen - there, it was both visible and also had no chance of being lost.
He'd once held one carved from oak, tenderly, and wore it across from the beating heart.
The lord's eyes glinted, distant for a brief moment with a passing tender sadness, and the resignation that soon followed.

"I used to be an artificer. I still dabble in theory, but-ah... I can't practice, anymore." His voice flattened, for a fraction of a moment. A short inhale, and the baron picked the thought up before a pause could settle,
"My sister keeps that up for the both of us. I do still find solace with alchemy, and, of course, have been compiling a bestiary from things I encounter, accounts and all. But if we want to venture a bit farther... when I'd traveled, in my youth, I collected folk tales and songs. Got five of them filled to the brim, pages were falling out, but, well, burned them when... life happened. Most of it is still up here," his fingertip touched to the temple.

"I'm happy to move around. Large fishing. Hunting. A bit of music, yes. A bit of poetry," his hand rested on top of the paper with the stanza. "It's not very good, mostly sad ballads. As you do. And more than a few practical skills, some besides polite society." Like tying knots on cords and ropes. For boating purposes, of course. Of course. "What about you? Does the Divine Son go rowing or riding across waves or hills in his spare time? Traverses the lands strange and foreign for leisure, to drink of their wisdoms and eat of their fruit? Sings or dances, perhaps, with his divine spouse, or holy siblings?"

His tone was light, almost playfully permissive to avoid any of those questions with the next one posed. "And finally, what you like to drink of first?"
 
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'- but I have seen some of him a couple days ago, seemed quite - affable,'

Aelius' eyes slid away, mind flickering back to those moments of weakness. He tried to hold back a cringe and was mostly successful, though there was still a small wrinkle to his nose. It wasn't that he particularly hated that part of himself... he just wasn't supposed to show it. And he foolishly did. But... he hoped he could trust this man with that part of himself.

He was quick to brush off that look and return his smile. Especially with the way Walter brought another bottle out with a wiggle of the brows that made Aelius huff out a small laugh, and with how the man examined the gifted talisman so carefully. The acceptance of his gift only made the paladin's smile shine brighter - he couldn't help it, he loved gift giving, even small things like a little talisman of luck. Well, to Aelius it was small - to the devoted, receiving a blessing from the Son of Ko like that was like a touch from their God himself. It was something people had killed to steal before.

Another soft laugh, a flip of the coils of sunlit hair over the shoulder and a saucy little flutter of the lashes. "I suppose that's true! Still... I won't turn down polish. Difficult to get the tarnish out after all that business."

His smile warmed as he watched the other place the medallion, taking a moment to note its location and the elegant inkwell and quill, though his eyes drifted much easier back to the man. Trailing up the gloved hand that handled everything with such intention and care, up along the arm to the collar that had been so cruelly buttoned up, tasting that jawline with his gaze, until he finally caught sight of the distant, resigned look in the lord's eyes.

Aelius leaned on the table, slowly lowering the legs of the poor stool back down to the ground as he watched and listened. The warm smile (and little smug smirk) melted away into something almost pensive.

And as Walter continued on, the paladin's brows raised and he leaned in, chin in hand with fascination. Oh, there was so much he wanted to ask about now. Although, there was that telltale twitch of his brows as Walter mentioned burning those books while in a bad state - he tried not to show it, but... Fire was so often used to destroy. There were times it was necessary, but then... times like that.

It was hard to distance something that was so intrinsically tied to his very being. Not just fire and warmth, but destruction.

He was quick to push that down and smile at the description of the poem. Eyes trailed down to the hand covering the paper, as if to hide its contents. "Oh, come now. I like sad ballads." He reached a hand over and tried to slip his fingers under, to try and cup the man's hand in his (both to pull it away from the paper and to find an excuse to flirt). "Give me a reading, won't you?" He tilted his head down so that he had to look up through his thick lashes at the lord, a coy smile teasing his lips.

"But - there's so much to everything you told me! You have a sister? A bestiary?" He leaned in closer, a spark in his eye of genuine excitement. "How have you managed to keep five books' worth memorized? Do you intend to write them again? If you do, I would love to read - although, perhaps a copy, I wouldn't want to accidentally burn it again - but we don't get many tales or songs from outside of Arshaka. I've heard passing few during my travels here, but... well, I'd love to hear more!"

He really did want to learn more of the outside world. And of course, of all of this man's wide array of interests. He couldn't imagine having such a wide array of skills.

When the topic was turned towards Aelius, he leaned back again and laughed lightly. He reached over to tap the port in one part answer, then rested his chin on his hand and grinned at Walter. "Divine spouse? Please," he scoffed. "The closest to siblings I have are the brothers of the clergy. No, I don't have quite as many skills or interests as you. Battle, mostly. Training in the martial arts, prayers and duties at the temple..." None of which were for leisure.

"...I don't," can't, "travel far outside the capital unless necessary, so mostly wander the bluffs nearby when I can. Hmm... otherwise... I spend most of my free time with lovers. Oh, I've been sneaking into the kitchens over the years to learn to cook. The staff were wary at first, cooking is below me, apparently, but I think it's fun. And I've gotten quite good at it!"

He smiled brightly, finally, as he finally listed a hobby. Perhaps the only hobby he had. Well, other than fucking.
 
The eyes that would have been travelling along the line of collar, up the neck and along the jawline - would find a few paler marks. Scars, who knows how old. A blemish across the throat, large enough to not be immediately obvious by contrast. A much smaller, coma-shaped puncture wound closer to the nape - that the collar hid when Walter moved his shoulder and turned his head.

"If you trust me on this occasion, I could give your bag of medallions to Reginald. Along with the polish. He will have to find a seat with decent lighting somewhere." Which was to say, not in the lord's chambers for certain, and not outside. "We'll see about that tarnish."

Since Aelius didn't pick the liquor, Walter did, uncorking the port with the deftness of a long-term functioning drunkard and pouring both of them a taste. And then, well, his hand was grabbed once more. Walter smiled politely. Let Aelius tease him, curve that mouth almost mockingly. Let him say his piece.

Two things happened.

Like an uncoiling snake, Walter's hand rotated in the grip and grabbed Aelius by the wrist, so fast that it was hard to track by eye. His fingers did not dig, did not crush, but they firmly situated exactly below the wrist, his thumb just below the bone at the base of Aelius' thumb, to keep that hand relaxed.
"Patience."

The bottle met the tabletop, quietly, as the baron chose to pick up a third-filled goblet with port, instead, and put it in Aelius' fingers as he released the entrapment. Not before his thumb brushed against that wrist. Such a nice complexion.

"It's not to be read, but I will sing it later, if you remember," he informed, velvet eyes narrowing slightly before he'd relaxed. "Now... where were we."

Aelius' interest proved just refreshingly charming.
"You don't? Well, it is a small boon then, that we get to exchange, I haven't gotten my hands on any folklore from the Arshaka itself. If you are partial, of course... and I would copy it, once everything is compiled. A perfect way to make you utterly resent the orderly way of my handwriting," he chuckled, and raised his own drink. "To your academic prowess, may it prove as fruitful as it is ardent."

No spouse, then. He listened quietly, assessing the situation across with a touch of concern. Aelius was younger than him, that was true... why wouldn't he be married? Was his status so exclusionary? Perhaps it was.
"Your glaive form is interesting, though. You'll laugh, but I'd like to go against you sometime, see if I can close distance. No shame in deploying some flexibility to our styles, the views," he gestured abstractly towards the window, "are conducive, after all." His eyes never left the paladin.

That 'don't' landed, the lord's face expressed something between sympathy and understanding, and then he reached for the bottle to pour some more to Aelius' cup.

"I'm surprised you haven't tried larger arts, like sculpture, or ceramics - I mean, in absentia of desire to produce large form, with those very agile fingers of yours, you'd be one resplendent jeweler, molding metal with your hands alone if you so choose." Walter raised his eyes to the ceiling, tapped his chin, then splayed the fingers. "I will leave you for a moment to leave the bag out for the man."
The medallion was taken along, just as well, with an index finger asking silence and a conspiratorial stare.

Apparently, Walter heard Reggie coming back while the latter was still ten paces from the door. A short, quiet exchange, a tone of surprise in response to the order, another short phrase, and a chuckled agreement.

Reggie could be seen walking through the window, but Walter lingered. He stood outside for a few beats more, holding his gift close to his mouth, his lips moving in a quieter whisper. In accented Arshakan. With a grin growing wider until it bared fangs. Because he told them, very politely, just what he was intending to make of their prized bull, and killed the scrying weave into dying filaments.

Upon return, Walter put the medallion - now perfectly mundane and devoid of scrying magic - back to its rightful place by the inkwell, right before clearing even more space to unload a bag of wrapped goods - a few pieces of differently colored and textured cheeses, some dried meats, apples, plums and apricots, and a cold, sweating covered bowl with contents yet unknown but certainly still frozen.
"Look, we've got a wealth here to decide what pairs with each of three, what do you think? Help me arrange the tray, it's at the bottom, and I'll get you a proper chair to break in, one moment... and I haven't said earlier, if you want to, there's nobody who'd stop you from applying yourself in the kitchens and such. If you want to. We need all kinds of hands."

Saddlebags came down from what might have been taken for a shelf by the door, and it indeed revealed a more comfortable chair of a much, much better make than local, from cherry wood judging by its color. The engravings... well nobody would look too closely at elk-headed men goring village folk and fighting hunter-warriors. Grandfather had his morbid fascinations. If Aelius broke this chair apart by tilting in it, Walter had no qualms.

"There. Should be better than a stool." He put the chair across from his own, perhaps a little closer than polite, but within easy reach of anything on the table but the writings. The writings were behind him. Walter would be the bulwark of protection for his own poor poetry. "So, you do have at least people you'd keep close? Or... more leisurely company?" He tilted the drink to his lips, let it roll in his mouth, sweet and hard, before it sunk through his chest with warmth. Booted ankle came to rest above the knee.
 
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Ruby eyes trailed after the man as he slipped out of the room to greet the attendant - eyes flickering over his form for a moment before he disappeared out the door. His thoughts briefly touched back on the way Walter's hand so quickly snatched his wrist, a polite but firm denial. It wasn't often at all that the Son of Ko was denied such things...

...but truth be told, the fact that he was willing to be firm and stand against him, even in such subtle manners, only made the lord more attractive. It could be the act of playing hard to get (in Aelius' eyes, at least) was fun. It could just be that there were very few who would actually dare to be firm with him. It could be the fact that Walter didn't seem to be afraid of him. Even Aelius' most loyal lovers still, every now and then, had that look in their eyes...

Aelius chose not to think on it much. He decided he simply thought getting pegged by this man would be fun, and that was that.

The paladin's focus was loosely on the bottles of spirits as he waited, sunken onto the table as he rolled a bottle around idly. When Walter returned, Aelius perked up like a dog waiting for its master to return home from war (read: a quick errand). He didn't like to be alone.

"How lovely!" He chimed, immediately hopping up to do as told. And as the tray was retrieved and food spread out, Aelius beamed over towards Walter. "Really? I suppose there isn't anyone here to tell me no, is there?" Satisfied with the spread, he gratefully flopped down onto the new chair provided. This time, it was a rather improper lounge - leaning against one chair arm, legs thrown over the other. He looked like he would be more at home on a velvet chaise; despite the casualness with which he sat, he still held an air of confidence and nobility about him, something closer to a spoiled prince never taught the proper way to sit on a throne, or a tyrant king that nobody dare speak against his mannerisms.

"Of course!" Smile bright as ever. "A little bit of both. Nothing terribly serious. I think they're probably not allowed, or are too afraid, to be much more than - what's the phrase in the Common tongue... friends with benefits?" All said far too casually. "But I have a few that I'm quite good friends with! The clergy allows them to live in the temple. They don't quite have any official status in the temple, but they're treated just as well, and live in the lap of luxury." Essentially, a step down from concubines, and a step up from sugar babies.

Unfortunately for Walter, this seemed to open the floodgates; Aelius was very excited to talk about his 'friends' back home.

"Alya always beats me in chess, brilliant woman. Talented weaver. Eyes that could kill a man. Nimet is the softest woman you'll ever meet, sweet as honey and the cutest freckles. She loves to show off the newest fashions. Hasn't been around much, lately, though. Ilektra helps taste test things I make, she's quite harsh with her criticism, but it's made my cooking that much better. Oh, she's also a weaver! Has made some very useful spells for our private times together." Literally counting them off on his fingers. "Of course, there's plenty that don't live in the temple with us." Other hand. "Omiros is one of the Karmic Legion's smiths. Served, himself; sports some very handsome scars from his time on the borders. Still serving, technically, just smithing. Massive biceps. Can lift me easily." A wink. "Zinon owns the bakery closest to the temple. He stops by with offerings of freshly baked goods every dawn. Has a stunning smile. Loves being thrown around. And there's -"

He paused. Blinked, laughed, dropped a hand to his lap while the other scooped up the goblet once more. "Ah, apologies! I could go on forever. I'll cut myself off there." A sip, eyes gliding back to meet Walter's. Tongue dragged over his lip to catch a stray drop. "What about you, tall, dark, and mysterious? Surely a man of your status has at least one wife. Who's waiting for you back home?"
 
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"Don't get too wild - I can curb the excessive zeal, but, well, I don't see any harm in you doing any work you feel like doing. You can cite my say-so if the commonfolk object, they'll let you."

And, of course, Percy would keep an eye on the Huntsmen inside Arpa and they'd keep an eye on the commonfolk so Walter knew what exactly the foreign paladin would find his fancy, or which places he chose to frequent.

"Lovely, indeed," he eyed the tray, and picked a date off of the spread, breaking arrangement.

Studied it in his fingers before putting it in his mouth, the proper and correct way instead of biting a bit of it off and seeing what it looked like on the inside.

And, of course, he listened. Sat relaxed, but relatively still, both arms at rests, slightly sunken into his seat, shoulders pressed against the back of the chair. His eyes tracked the moving mouth and glimmering eyes from under the heavy eyelids.
So, the man was kept at the temple, and had a curious way of describing people. By prominent features, by function. This would tell him more of their actual closeness than any status Aelius would give them.
Because he'd seen that before.
Sometimes, life felt like he'd already lived it too early, and lost it too early, still.

"Your pasttime sounds rather varied, no wonder you claim to spend so much of it with them," the baron mused quietly, and chuckled. "You could, I wouldn't mind, though. You'd be surprised how many would hardly remember the outline of their choice-" a slightest stutter as he caught himself before a butcher term would land, "companions, the color of their hair, perhaps."

The error haunted him a brief moment, and the lord tipped the glass to his lips. The sweetness numbed out somehow, felt duller. Walter's face remained pleasantly relaxed, but inscrutable, his dark eyes studying the bottom of the goblet cradled in his palm.

A deep inhale was pulled through parted lips as he considered the answer through the beginnings of the wine haze. Not tipsy yet, just... slightly dimmed.
"I was brought up with the idea of legacy. Marriage is a tool for creating shared wealth and maintaining orderly ties between families by sanctity of blood the offspring would share. A pathetic remnant of much older sacred rights. That said, most men would still spread their seed everywhere and get entangled in sorting bastardry claims. And that said, my reputation does not make me particularly desirable as a spouse, and I have no desire for women." My sister handles that for the both of us, which helps nobody, but at least she is happy. "And everything else... went variably. I've had a past life with a lot of color to it, you know, before I've returned to my duty. But here, in the end, there is no one."

His eyes wandered to the hearth fire, but his hand stretched out to grab the bottle and pour his own drink almost to the brim. Eyebrows slightly raised, a hum rumbled and a smirk touched his mouth.
"Suppose, that is all a long way to say that I'd find your way of life exhausting, my lord paladin, meaning no offence. What would your mother say if you spawned any children of your liaisons? Would they belong to the family, or the temple?"

Like a strike at a weak spot, because he felt it there under the shell. The best way to disallow prying into his own... colorful past.
 
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