Aelius's smile widened and he scoffed softly. "Since day one. How could I not, Lord Tall-Dark-and-Mysterious?" He was delighted to see that little smile and flush on Walter's face. "Glad you don't want me to leave quite yet. I was afraid my prying may have ruined our night. You..." His hand wandered from lightly playing with fine silks to fingers brushing the lord's skin and trailing along his jawline. Eyes simmered to the glow of fading cinders, features softening. "..you've been through a lot. I'm sorry."

There was a gentleness to his touch - in this moment, his flirting was set aside. Despite the fear he felt so deeply looking into this same face just a little while ago, he felt too strongly about the hardships the poor man had faced. Empathy overwrote fear.

Then, calloused and warm palm pressing against his neck, Aelius didn't let the topic linger. He ran his fingers briefly through Walter's hair at the base of his neck. "Mmh.. Do I want to stay this close?" His other hand caught Walter's before he could pull it away. Fingers gripped the man's chin and turned his face back towards Aelius.

His smile was warm again, lashes low over his eyes, thumb rubbing gently along Walter's palm. "This close. Closer, perhaps." Aelius had more to say to the man, more questions, but... who was he to turn down the perfect opportunity?

"And perhaps when you've finished your song, I could help mend the solemn mood and warm your bed for the night?"
 
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"The Captain-of-Just-Under-A-Thousand - that you've been interested in getting stabbed by since day one - would beg to differ, I'm sure," Walter murmured, a breath of a chuckle landing once his lips closed.

The tension in him was ringing through his nerves, and it felt paradoxical that he was this receptive to so little as a warm touch, especially once fingers glided along his jaw. Walter's face tilted slightly, his gaze losing its cut veiled under the lowering eyelids. He had always been weak for this. He had been touch-starved for a long time, enough to seek it even when it meant confusing implications. Even when it meant he had to stop himself, crush down with a steel gauntlet grip of his own will - and shield himself from what letting go would bring.
He was not safe.
This was political.

It did not matter that the fingers on his neck, almost anywhere but the scarred throat, made him shiver with a mix of emotions, and those shivers sparked downward more than up.
"This close. Closer, perhaps."​
Those eyes were the color of spiced liquor in hearthlight, Walter thought as his attention was returned.
He wanted this. The feeling of roughened fingertips barely pressing against skin, the heat that radiated from them.
He hated wanting. He needed a drink.

"You have a lovely charm, makes it hard to refuse when you pair it with the right touch so well,... hard to refuse you most anything," the baron offered, softly, as if sharing his forming opinion on a particularly delectable wine. Analysis helped claw back from the want.
"That and your winsome confidence," His captured hand moved, fingers extending to Aelius' cheek, the handsome cut of the cheekbones unmentioned, "must have yielded many victories." His smile was affectionate, light, but in a way that seemed almost distant. His eyes, along with the faint twin creases between his brows, darkened with sadness. His eyes moved off the paladin's face.

But I've buried so many boys.

He thought of the night in the forest, the desperate brutish rutting, half-drunk half-hopeful that something good would come out of buried affections and a desire to forget, the cherries sour and sweet on the tongue. He thought of the art room, the portraits frozen in time with eyes that shone like those of the living moreso than the painter's, the cold hands that could only be warmed by a single means. He thought of the oak medallion, the strange martyr and his dimpled smile, eyes reflecting in the dark, and the sketches for woodcarving in his journal. He thought of the storm.

You're leaving in the morning. You will be gone... and if luck should turn, gone truly. I've had my share of pain. No more.
What could he say?

"I don't..."
A short, sharp inhale through the parted lips, as if trying to sober more. A brief glance up into the ember-like eyes. Pleading. Knowing. Grieving. But when he spoke, the words landed softly, because he remembered holding someone scared in his arms. Once the inhale filled his lungs a little, Walter tried again, a smile tugging briefly at the corner of his mouth.
"I don't think I could give you what you're looking for, Aelius. I could not deprive you of that lightness and fondness in your smile when you speak of your paramours. The way I am, however - I do not share, nor wish to be shared. I'm- sorry," a half-step back, his heel hit the leg of his own chair, square and heavy, impact reverberating in the bone, balance barely retained.

You should not have touched. I should not have leaned in. Should not want to be touched.
"Shit," the cuss came out slightly choked. "I'm sorry, lamb, I can't play this game. Embraced fate before, buried two and lost another two, and that's three too many, don't you think? Might jinx your expedition and all."
There. Some degree of control before his mind would enter freefall.
 
It began just as expected. Aelius was almost never turned down - so the lean in to his touch, the eyelids lowering, the soft compliments, and the hand on his cheek... it was all expected, and it was all eaten up. He savored seeing the lord like this. The fingers along his cheek elicited a soft sigh as he, too, leaned into that touch. The poor man could really use some stress relief, Aelius was certain; and he was more than happy to provide. He wanted to see Walter melt under his touch more. He wanted to see him flushed, writhing, and moaning Aelius' name.

Aelius started to lean in close, sights set on those lips.

But the look in Walter's eyes as they drifted away from Aelius made him stop short.

Brows furrowed slightly in confusion, concern. He watched, waited. Their eyes met again, and he saw such a deep grief in them, a plea... Aelius frowned, his grip on the man's chin loosening as he listened.

His words were confusing. Didn't share, or want to be shared..? It was just them right now, he wasn't sharing anyone at the moment... It didn't quite process that monogamy was a thing. Not in this moment, at least. Not with the heat between them, bodies so close, lips within reach...

Walter stumbled back, managed to barely catch himself, but Aelius instinctively grabbed onto him to keep him from falling, hands around his waist. The paladin's lips parted to speak, but Walter continued on immediately, almost as if in a panic. And that's when Aelius finally started to understand. A few rapid blinks before his expression softened, shoulders sinking, and his lips turned up in a small, sad smile.

One arm still around the man's waist, he brought his hand up to brush some dark hair from Walter's face. "I understand. I'm sorry." Voice soft, as if afraid he would hurt him if he spoke any louder. And yet, the look in his eyes was not just that of pity; a subdued pain, buried but freshly dug up.

He didn't let go quite yet. Instead, he pulled Walter close into his chest and rested his chin atop his head, hand running through his hair as he embraced the man. "You're not a jinx. I'm sorry. I've lost, too; I understand."

After a few moments, he finally relinquished his grip on Walter and pulled back with that same soft smile. "I won't push. You're a lovely man, and I'm more than happy to keep chatting. If you'll still have me, that is."
 
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There was a noise, swallowed down almost into nonexistence. Not of protest. Walter sank into the embrace without resistance, as if the fight left him at denying the pure want - Aelius', his own alike. He raised hands to the back of the taller man's arms, touched above the elbows, rested fingertips against the ribcage. He could feel the heart beating through the fingertips, he could swear.

This had to be political... somehow.
He had no shield against soft power. None.
For all the terrifying unbreakable juggernaut that he was against violence wrought.

Eyes closed, and he let the warmth sink under his skin, to the hallowed bones, and did his best to breathe. To not let himself slip. To not break down or let tears overflow or choke him beyond speech. Walter stayed close, for as long as it lasted, disbelief catching up belatedly.
He'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the seconds to pass and the air change imperceptibly to something indifferent, belying absence to come. But it didn't. At least, not in this moment. Confusion splashed together with understanding, more logic than instinct, that he was grateful. The instinct, some distant part of it, was waiting for the air to change still - a testament to the past more than the present.

When Aelius let go, Walter moved back, slowly, and sat down, nodding. Words would not come for a moment until he pushed out a slightly hoarse, "Thank you. I'm- yes, you're welcome for as long as you like, and to whatever spirits or their counterparts you find in here." Presenting strong was out the window now, certainly. "Would you tell me?" Of the loss, went unspoken. "If you're feeling like you can. And then I'll..." ...sing. Because he could not break a promise.
 
In those few moments that stretched on, yet still were not nearly long enough, Aelius could feel how much the man needed something like this. Just like how Aelius had needed that breakdown, to be held and to cry. Walter still didn't cry, and he didn't blame him. It was a lot. All of this. It was the lord's duty to hold it together, to be strong. Aelius understood. Still, he hoped even this little bit helped.

As the pair parted and Walter sunk down into his chair, Aelius returned to his, sinking into it with a similar weight - not a physical one, but one that bore down on the heart. He rested his arms on his knees and laced his fingers together. The dull glow of his eyes rested on the ground between the men, dying embers barely visible through thick lashes. Those plush lips still rested in a soft, somber smile.

"A few were in the Karmic Legion, so... danger is expected in their duty, of course. Doesn't make it any easier when the parades of soldiers come back victorious, and you don't see the face you want to find amongst them."

A deep breath. Hands clasped together, as if in prayer. A beat passed.

"Mirza was my first, actually. I swore I was in love. But I was maybe fifteen, so who's to say. I did love him though, whether I was in love or not." Eyes lifted, smile brightened a glimmer as he gazed distantly at a corner of the ceiling. "Dimples. Bright eyes. Soft lips. Far too sweet for this world. He was an apprentice of a nearby tailor. We would sneak off in the middle of the night to sit on the cliffs together. Swore we were stargazing, but... well," a soft, struggling laugh. "We weren't. He did know a lot about the stars, though."

The glimmer faded. "He was so excited to prove himself when he got enlisted. I didn't think he needed to prove anything, but... anyone else back home would disagree. He was too soft for the world. Too kind."

Another deep breath. "He never came back."

He laughed with a cracking voice as his head dipped. "I think I burnt down the temple's garden that day. Would have burnt more, but the temple's made of stone. They kept me from going into the city proper, would have gotten us in a lot of trouble if they let me at... whoever I blamed at the time. I hurt a few of the clerics pretty badly..."

His head stayed lowered, hands wringing.

After a few moments of silence, a sharp intake of breath, and Aelius lifted his face again. Brows furrowed pensively, eyes wet. "Reema and Gohar were already warriors, and were both so proud to be enlisted. Reema also used polearms, we bonded over that at first actually. But she was so much more than a warrior. She fed the local strays, and helped tend the gardens. Gohar was a fantastic dancer, and we spent many nights just dancing and dancing..."

"And then, last year, actually..." This finally pushed him over the edge; a shuddering breath escaped, a tear rolled down his cheek, soon followed by another. "...Xanthe took her life." His voice cracked under the weight, shoulders sank, and he crumpled into his hands. "Alya - found her in the temple. No note. No - no answers. Nothing."

As he hid his face, his breaths were shuddering and shoulders shaking; he tried so hard to swallow his tears down. He'd already cried in front of this man once... "I'm - sorry, I don't... don't get to talk about them back home... this is the - the first time in..."

He swallowed his words, tried to swallow the lump in his throat. Took one more deep breath and wiped the tears from his face, or tried to.

Face lifted, pained smile offered to Walter. "So I... understand. I do."
 
Walter listened. Quietly drained his goblet, sip by sip, but his eyes never left Aelius' face as he felt the other man unravel, slowly but surely. They sat barely two steps apart, but he could feel that aura turn dimmer as tears begun to flow.
He swallowed his. Set the empty goblet aside.

Leaned over, caught the wringing palms once tears begun to fall and voice quiver with the fresher wounds being recounted.
"You can talk here. Everyone is gone, even your medallions. No one to eavesdrop," he whispered. His blade- and string-worn hand felt softer still than padded gloved one - something thinner than normal fingers applied pressure there.

"I am so sorry. It never stops hurting, does it," he offered, voice hushed, as if to not disturb the other's grief or an attempt at recollection. "That you can't talk about them, after... Is cruel." That wording was almost pointed. Almost. He did not blame some Thing, some twisted luck or misbegotten fate. Cruelty was a human quality.

"I believe you. Let it flow, lamb. It's too late for matters of the mind, let the heart matter some. What human in us remains, it binds us to this earth. For good or ill. Do you want a drink of water, instead?" He'd fetch a cup. Clear water was for work... And sorting out the head, sometimes.

The cold dish under the upturned bowl was sweating in beads. The hearth felt scorching hot.
"Would you like to talk about them some? While you can?" He offered. "I can promise on my heart to keep a secret."
 
He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clinging to Walter's. Not too tightly - always afraid to hurt someone.

"No," he said a bit too quickly, those defenses so ingrained into him building back up. Eyes opened and stared vacantly down at their hands. Umber, drained of their light. "It's not... I'm just too..." Another small squeeze, and a shift as if to try and pull away, but he didn't. He couldn't. Not yet. "..too emotional, when I get like this."

Words again that were not his.

And of course, that wasn't the entire truth. Of course there was more to why he couldn't talk about these things. But... he'd already cried in front of Walter once before, twice now, so... this was a reasonable excuse. No, not excuse... Oh, his head hurt...

"It's not cruel, it's just expected."

Another tear rolled down his cheek. He didn't bother trying to wipe it away this time. Brows furrowed as his thoughts returned to one particular note.

"Those medallions..." he murmured, voice quiet, nigh a whisper as he stared off. "I can't believe they were..." Yes he can. "...and they saw me break down already..."

For a moment, something buried deep under began to boil up. His eyes flickered alight once more, flames licked off his hair, grip on Walter's hands tightened. "They like it when I'm angry. But anything else..."

Anger flared. Flickered. Doused, like a candle suddenly out in the rain. His anger had tried to rise, but just couldn't; the grief was too much. The paladin - the alleged demigod - sunk his face back down as his radiance dimmed and tears fell hot on their hands. Silence.

"...she was always sickly. Xanthe was. That's why I insisted she moved to the temple, so we could heal her regularly. She hated it there. She..." There was a long pause. His head remained bowed, coils of hair falling over his shoulders without their usual shine and jingle. So much was going through his mind. He... chose to steer away from the negative, for a few reasons. "...she made beautiful art. Painted. We still have some of her works at the temple. Her and Alya were close, too. She's been a lot quieter since..."

Another beat of silence passed. He couldn't bring himself to look up yet. Heart felt like it was lead.

"I promise... I won't let my emotions get in the way tomorrow. I came here to help, and I will help." An unspoken I'm still useful. "I won't let myself get like this again."
 
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Shift caught, thumbs brushed over the dips and shapes of fingers held. He would let it happen.
"You aren't too anything, you're grieving." It was easier to say those words to someone else than to himself, he had to admit.
And then, he simply listened, turning those hands in his grip reassuringly, right up until the moment heat flared through the palms and the returned grip tightened.
Walter's face did not shift.
"I don't think they did, lamb. The spaces where we dwelled are out of reach of most scrying eyes, and my proximity tends to reflect poorly on the targeting, either," the baron murmured in reassurance, and believed so, too, which lent weight to words.

Thumbs caressed the sun-bronzed fingers.
"Anything else means you are human, not a thing of artificery made flesh, m?" Sympathy in unassuming tone, slow caress but no pressure to remain.

He made beautiful art, too. Didn't stop anything.

"You can let yourself get like this again. I've made no demand of you to have no heart, have I?" the man echoed, gently, reasonably. It was easier to refocus from his fears, from the burden that came with denying distractions to them both - to something so acutely human in the other. He might have felt softly about the boy, it did not need to come with expectations. One more like him, burdens pushing closer to disaster, unspoken. "I'm sorry, Aelius. For your loss. For the cage. I'm truly sorry."

And then, he let the silence linger, sink into the shadows and the crackling of logs in the hearth. For the other to decide the manner in which to recollect himself fully. Only after hands parted and he was granted momentary leave, he stood to fetch the man a cup of plain clean water, lukewarm in a clay cup.
 
The release of breath as Walter explained that his first meltdown likely had not, in fact, been scryed on also released a shuddering weight of tension. That thought, that the High Clerics had seen him in such a moment of weakness... it frightened him, it angered him, it... was a lot. But if that was true, that they hadn't seen that.... it was a huge weight off his shoulders.

"Good..." was all he could muster, just a soft whisper, as if still afraid of being heard by the wrong people.

As Walter spoke, Aelius slowly lifted his eyes to him. They were dark and wet, trying so hard not to give away how desperate he was to hear these words.

Human. Not a thing. No demand to have no heart.

For the cage. I'm truly sorry.

It was... validating to some deep, buried part of his heart. That same heart that his caretakers, as Walter had put it, demanded he shut away. They loved his sunshiney personality when he was at the temple, being a face of Ko... but that was all they wanted to see of that. Otherwise, they just wanted their uncaring fire and brimstone machine to burn who and what they wanted. There was no room for grief there. No room for anything else.

No room to be human.

His lips pulled tight, and those dark, wet eyes studied Walter's face. He hadn't known the man long, but he still felt so... horribly connected to him. They couldn't be more different, yet were the same. Walter probably understood Aelius better than Aelius understood himself. He knew there were parts of himself he refused to look at, or wasn't allowed to. Walter seemed to have a keen eye to pluck at every piece of himself he didn't want to acknowledge.

After several long, silent moments, Aelius finally dipped his head back down and, after one last squeeze, released the man's hands. He ran his hands over his face and wiped away the tears staining his cheeks.

"Thank you," he murmured when offered the cup. He took a few grateful sips - his head was starting to ache, so water was probably a good idea... - before his eyes drifted off to peer sidelong at the hearth. "For everything. It's nice to finally talk about them. And to..." he hesitated. Swallowed down more water. Eyes lifted back up to his.

"...Our circumstances are... quite different, but, still, there's a lot that I think only you and I might understand. You've been... very understanding. Too kind." His gaze held. "...Even if you're a little scary." There was a small tilt to his lips. "That just comes with the territory though, doesn't it?"

"I suppose what I'm trying to say is... if you need anything, please let me know. If you need an ear, or a shoulder, or a hand..." He offered a small, soft smile that still held the weight of his grief. It would be a lot heavier if he wasn't allowed to grieve at all.

"...do you want to speak of yours? The ones you've lost? Or would you rather just sing?" He sat up a little more and let the cup rest on the table, his smile growing just a bit more mischievous as he tugged at his shirt. "I warn you, if you want your paper back to read from, you'll have to fetch it yourself." An attempt to lighten the mood. Walter probably had it memorized, anyways.
 
"Don't mention it, that's the best help you can't give. Besides, you'd do more and better helping yourself."
Because a well-meaning sweetheart could not help him self-experiment or figure out how much time he had left, and once Arpa was done, would go back to his cage, for a visit then for a while. If they didn't kill him first. They might try to kill him first.

Maybe you'll come to hate me soon enough.
Freedom was a double-edged sword, and when someone else held yours, you were free of the burden of being uncomfortable in responsibility. Prisoners uncondemned were fed and such. Didn't make it good, or a life, but for some, made the cage more a home than out in the wild. Once someone got to that wild, they often had to lay blame for being deprived of relative comforts, for having to build those comforts for themselves. And just as often, if blame could not be laid, they found another handler soon enough, the one who pretended better.

He was not going to be a handler.
It stood to logic, then, that the second outcome awaited.

"Do you want to speak of yours?"​
Do you truly want to hear of mine?

Walter shook his head, busy with taking to water, himself, filling and draining a second cup to make his vocal cords feel less like they belonged in a crow's neck.

Once he was done, he cleared his throat, hand on neck massaging, and remained standing for the verses.

No flutes or lutes to accompany, but his technique was schooled, if rusty, and would not, thankfully, wobble too much. Thankfully, thr melody was simple, rhythmic as it could be, so it could be easily reproduced.

Whither have we gone, from a meadow of ferns,
From the brush, a whisper, and clasping hands?
Dancing in the snow, cleaving steel to bone,
For some foreign kings, in foreign lands.

Seasons turn to bloom as the heavens turn,
From the summer brook glints the morning sun;
If you lay with me amidst the ferns,
There's no greater prize that I'd have won.

Oh, my heart, I sought you to hold me tight
But like candle smoke fleeting through my grasp
Ghost of you no longer brings any light
Left to mourn the spring that was not to last.
 
Aelius wasn't satisfied with that response, but he didn't suppose he knew what else to expect. Certainly not for the man to break down crying and fall into his arms as easily as Aelius did to him. It still stung his pride, but... he didn't regret it, at least.

He frowned a bit and nodded, but otherwise lounged back in the seat and didn't push further. For once he sat fairly normally, legs spread, leaning an elbow on the chair arm and resting his chin upon his hand. Faint embers began to burn at the edges of his dark eyes, the light slowly returning.

And he listened.

He always admired artists. Having the ability to turn even sorrow and grief into something beautiful... it was something he envied. Aelius had no talent for paint, or for poetry, or for song. The best he had was cooking, and even that he had to sneak in; anything else would be considered frivolous and beneath him. War was an art, they argued. The blade is an art. Yet he couldn't even pour his heart into those; he was very strictly taught to keep his heart separate from battle.

The only thing he could really pour his heart into was the people around him. If not emotionally, then... any other way possible. Physically, of course. Through gifts. Through security. Whatever means was available to him. How was he to show this man how much his kindness had meant to him? Walter wasn't interested in sharing Aelius, so physical love was out of the question. He tried offering the same kind of support that was shown to him, and that was declined. He already gave a gift - and that medallion turned out to have some kind of scrying enchantment on it...

If only he could make something beautiful to give back.

As Walter's song faded out, Aelius watched on, heart aching. He smiled that soft, sad smile. After a few moments of silence that let the lyrics truly sink in, Aelius vocalized some of those thoughts of his with a soft murmur. "It's truly amazing that you can turn grief into something so lovely. Sad, but lovely." A deep breath. He reached for one of the dried fruits, plucking one at random and scrutinizing it quietly. "Do you write songs often? Or just for occasions like this?" Walter mentioned 'mostly sad ballads.' Did he write for only his lost ones?
 
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