"Ah," he said, soft and easy as a whisper upon moth wings. "Family is oft, tricky business," he recalled their talk along the garden path. How those of her family had hurt her. In those ways so many families did.

Neglects. Control. Cold and distant relations there with choking grips that pulled her younger self up to believe in godhood.

He rest his elbows on the armrests. Fingers laced as he rested chin to thumbs, and pointers to his lips.

"What have you to fear?" he asked. Measured in how warm and cold each syllable was as it came off his tongue. Raised a brow. A hint at his genuine curiosity.

Would she forsake her vows, were the right words scrawled upon that magicked parchment?

It was a question that made himself wonder. Would he? Were the right words written upon such a letter.
 
A question asked had struck several things within her.

What took the forefront was, what was she afraid of?

Why did the sudden appearance of a letter addressed to her bring out these worries?

Then the next facet: was it truly fear she had from her family?

"I think," She started, softly as thoughts came together, "that I led myself to believe they had forgotten about me." Caelia had spoken as much about it to him before, in that garden. It had been a thought of sadness before, but now at this age, she was glad for it. If they had not tried to sink their claws into her and drag her back into those halls of daunting and withering, she would not have made anew here.

Caelia looked to her letter, it's weight hard to ignore. "I also thought... is this their cruel way to plant a seed of ruin and doubt in me?"

She laughed, but it lacked anything magical of mirth or amusement. "I suppose I should... open it and read it."

And so she poised her fingers and thumbs in the right places. Made to crack the wax seal, but froze.

"And yet..."

And yet what would happen should she open it? What would it change? It would take her far too long to forget this letter had existed if she threw it to the fire. She stared at it, unopened and pristine. Stared unblinkingly until her eyes began to water as they begged to be given reprieve.

"I cannot. I cannot do it." Her voice low and struggling. Struggling to stay positive, to be strong, and to let it go if she could not bring herself to open it. How old had she been when she forced that sun to shine through grey clouds to spite the same parents she now hesitated to reads words from?
 
Quiet wrapped around Matvi like a wellworn cloak. His eyes easy as they regarded Caelia. His face a pleasant calm as he folded one leg over the other, fingers twined, and pointers steepled before his lips.

The way she looked down. So close to falling to the feeling this letter had placed in her. It was a sight, to be sure. How her bitter laugh had him want for the more delicate mirth he had heard just moments ago.

But it was alright.

Even distraught as she was. He found himself too curious. How such a proud creature could be so timid at the mere prospect of what that paper held.

Turning from what she knew she should do.

"I can open it for you, if you would like," he offered her a hand. Ready to accept the burden of such trust. If only for this moment. "Narrate, if it might help," he remained unflinching.
 
Something tugged at her chest, a momentary constriction over her lungs and heart in equal measure. It was a loss of something, before she realised it had never left. It merely skipped, and in that slither of unease, Caelia saw what Matvi offered. "You... would do that for me?" It was not his burden to bear, but it also was not his burden to carry. He did not feel her struggle, did not think the same anxieties she had.

Her lips pursed, in thought and again overthinking what could happen.

Yes, she had told him of the sort of family and upbringing she had, but that was a wound she tried to let heal over...

This letter, this gods damned and lunar cursed letter.

Her eyes lifted, found his ready to meet her own. His hand offered and unwavering was a strength she never knew she needed until then. "Alright..." Voice soft, still guarded. She moved the letter, inches from his reach when she felt that sensation again.

Oh, she thought. My heart... it skipped a beat...

"Anxious." She blurted, and although her cheeks warmed out of habit, Caelia cleared her throat and tried again. "I am very anxious... especially of the contents." For what reason had her family to address her a letter? That they knew where it would find her?

But the letter, when read, started with the usual formalities. This Caelia would expect. She barely listened to the pleasantries forced in ink, for she knew the hand that scratched with into the parchment with his favourite stylus. It was not until the real contents were read aloud that Caelia sucked in a breath, and listened despite herself.

Caelia, it is time we remind you of the name you continue to carry. The name Kerrigan is a proud and old name in Altalusia, and this family will hear things of your endeavours. Your mother and I deem it best if you do not continue to use the name, as you have made yourself a wound in these halls, and to have you be reminded of hurts your mother immensely. You are not at fault entirely, no, for I bestowed upon you this great name, but I beseech you to hear my request.

You are free to choose a new name for yourself, and that in itself would be a gift we were long due to receive.

Lord of Rhodeia
Eoghan Kerrigan
 
His hand would not waver, nor would it reach out any further than it needed. "I would not offer it otherwise," he said, tone firm and delicate.

"Alright..." she began, and let the sealed message hang just before his grasp. Worries spilling out. "I'm very anxious, especially of the contents."

The last inch slipped away as his fingers came to the parchment. Gently rasped it from her fingers. Cracked its seal. Felt the feint heat of shroud woven into the wax bleed through his fingertips. Warm and tingle that prickled the skin as it seeped into the valleys of his prints.

Careful with his confidence, Matvi reached into the envelope, and pulled free a perfumed sheet of paper. Aetochin Birch pulp, if he felt the grit correctly between his forefinger and thumb.

Opened it. Looked over it. A frown settled upon his lips. His brow scrunched.

"Are you sure you wish to know what is scrawled across this parchment, Caelia?" He looked to her, let the letter face down upon his lap. "We could just as easily, toss it into the fire," he smirked. Too ready to do either task. Read the words so full of proud disdain, or set the noble wishes to blaze. "You owe them nothing, you know," words as much for him, as they were for her
 
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Her eyes never left his face the moment he took possession of the letter that felt more poisonous than the toxins she liked to taste. Watched how his brows came to furrow, his eyes reading each word with a neutrality that made it difficult for her to glean what he thought.

Caelia's own brows furrowed in her close watch on him, never realising how agonising it was to wait for someone to speak.

She sat up a little straighter when she saw Matvi move, hopefulness a terrible affliction in her eyes. Had there been words written about apology? Perhaps enough ink to heal something in her that she convinced herself she did not need words of love from a family that inspired her fascination for poison. A childhood that dared her to dance with death in every trial of venom.

"What did it say?" She spoke over him, and her face fell back into that sheepish smile... a smile that fell slowly as she listened.

Oh, she thought, a choice given to me to make.

Caelia stared at him again, watched his eyes to see if they would betray anything else. To his lips, perhaps he was keeping a smile veiled?

"What did it say?" Her heart was pounding, no longer feeling the toils of anxiety. Something long dormant inside her began to wake, began to stir and turn it's head towards the rise of a rage left cold. "You must tell me, Matvi." Where she had repeated her question slowly and more sternly, the latter words carried something softer once she spoke his name.

"Please." She leaned over the arm of her chair, as if getting her face now formed in a gentle plea would sway his mind.
 
Come the plea. Not once, but twice. And there upon the must and please, he inclined his head in surrender.

"As you wish, Caelia," he intoned. Let the letter up from his lap, eyes sharp to the scrawl of ink across the Aetochin parchment. Perfumed and pressed as it was. Cleared his throat.

"Caelia, it is time we remind you of the name you continue to carry... The name Kerrigan, is a proud and old name in Altalusia,..."

And he would continue to read the letter. Not skip a single word. Not trip. Not falter. For loath as he was to read it, she deserved nothing short of his best.

"... You aer free to choose a new name for yourself, and that in itself would be a gift we were long due to receive. Signed, Lord of Rhodeia, Eoghan Kerrigan," he ended. cleared his throat, and refolded it. Held it there in his hands a long and quiet moment. "I still say we burn it," he said with a shrug and smile.
 

She should have read it herself.

To listen to Matvi read the letter, to read the words penned by her father, Caelia knew his voice was too sweet to deliver the intended wound her father meant to inflict on her. His voice was a warmth that worked in tandem with the presence of the fire within the hearth. She sucked in a breath, braced herself, but the gentle tone and cadence Matvi naturally spoke with wrapped the sharp edged words.

Had she wanted the weapon to land? Perhaps feed off the pain, to fan the embers of the shame her family made her feel in her formative years?

"He is stupid." She whispered, voice short and thick with held back emotion. Caelia even shuddered before she shifted in her seat to mask the unsettling that begun to shake her. "A name? He wants me to take a new name?"

Her head turned towards him, and when her eyes flicked to meet his, watched him shrug and smile... the anger hesitated. It stood at the threshold of recklessness with the door of grace left wide open behind it.

She struggled there, in that moment that she stared at Matvi. Caelia put up a good fight, but the wounds she never let heal began to stir their old aches.

The first tear fell, hot and fast that she had no time to stop it in its tracks and wipe it away. The second, she did.

Syr Kerrigan hide her face a moment to stare into the crackling fire. "Please..." This word was spoken with a wavering breath. "Burn it, for me?" Even though she did not hold the very letter, her hands felt the scorch of it's words.
 
Matvi listened. For what else was one to do at times like this.

The fire popping and hissing. Almost its own invitation. And oh, how he wanted to toss that little piece of parchment right in to those hungry flames. Watch their tongues of gold lick and swirl all at once about the paper finery such distasteful words were scrawled upon.

But it was not his to burn.

"He is stupid."

"Men tend to be," he agreed too easily. Smile soft across his lips. Eyes of honeyed brown squeezed out what maligned softness lingered there behind them. Open. Yes. Welcoming. Always. But his own feelings mattered little in this moment.

"A name? He wants me to take a new name?"
"You owe him nothing," Matvi assured. Saw how the rains left their trails across the tender line of her cheek.

"Please...Burn it, for me?"

The words sank into him. All for but a breath before he moved. Up and out of his chair, across the way. A hand, gentle as it was sure, wiped away the first tear's trail that she had missed. "As you wish," his hand lingered a spell as he took in the sight of her. Tear stricken and in her sorrows. Let his hand fall and offered her a bow. "Syr Kerrigan,"

Stepped to the flame and tossed in the pitiful piece of parchment.

"Feels warmer already," he played along as the fires crackled happy about the piece.
 
If emotion had not boiled within her at this degree, she was sure she would have blushed and became flustered as he walked towards her and brushed trails of her tears from her cheek. She held his gaze, meeting his soft pair with something that burned hotter than that of which crackled within the hearth. He stood back and called her by her birth given name.

Kerrigan.

To hear it, to have it be used to identify her, Caelia leaned forward from her seat as she watched Matvi move towards the fire and toss the useless weapon of words from her father into the hungry flames.

Her eyes watched it, made sure it turned to ash and settled somewhere in the kindling.

"Well, my day has certainly turned out great so far." She snorted as she rose from her seat. Caelia approached the fire, her hand wrapping around the stoker and began to prod and encourage the flames. She had half a mind to douse the flames and clean out the hearth, to really set the ashes to wind and scatter the old wound her father tried to pick at. Spite was a cathartic experience, but not now.

She placed the stoker back in it's stand, straightening to look at her conversation companion once more. "How about a drink as a gesture of my gratitude. You certainly did not go about your day to have mine... what's your poison?" She asked instead. Caelia did not want to bring the day down any further, and one way to rectify her self afflicted wounds over her father's pettiness was to drink away her sorrows.

Caelia's lips turned upward, trying to contain her sly smile to something small. "Surely you would not refuse someone in need of their mood being lifted?"
 
A snort of laughter. He couldn't help but smile at it. "My," he cooed along. "What an unsightly sound," he played. "Not befitting of the proud and illustrious name you carry," he needled, as only a medicant might. "Syr Kerrigan,"
Watched her a moment as the flames painted the round of her cheek. Could still see the fresh trails glimmer there, where his thumb had wiped them away. Put his thumb to his teeth. Bit down on the salty trace still there.

Click the stoker against its stand, and he let his hand fall to his side once more.

How about a drink as a gesture of my gratitude...

"A drink?" he asked. A dash of surprise dashed there in his voice. He nod. "Well, I'm rather fond of gimlets," he said with an easy curl of his lips. Just a hint of teeth there behind the peel of fine lips.

Would she know how to make the fare, after such an offer.

"Surely you would not refuse someone in need of their mood being lifted?"

He stepped easy to toward the bar. "Now, when have you ever known me to refuse much of anything, Caelia?" he played. "Serve it up, and lets see just how much poison this mood of yours needs before its well and properly lifted," he leaned his elbows onto the counter, opposite the side he usually worked, and gave her a wink from his marred eye.
 
She followed him as if she were a moth to his flame, and not that of the fire living vivaciously in the hearth.

Caelia wore a grin as she dragged herself slowly around the bar, a light and devious chuckle leaving her as she stood before him. How odd it was to be on this side, to see the Knoll at this view point. Her eyes drank it all in, observing the crowded room as they all took shelter from the torrential rain outside. She could hear it battering against the walls and roof, but Caelia no longer felt trapped with nowhere to go.

Her eyes fell back on him as he spoke and caught her attention again. He winked, and ensnared her entirely for a few moments before she realised she should start preparing something for him.

Clearing her throat, her brows furrowing with mock seriousness. "Gimlets... are easy." In theory. Caelia was at a disadvantage in this role, when her sense of taste was practically burned from the poisons she ingested. "I have seen them made... but I feel as if that may be too easy to start with. Should I surprise you?" That idea made her face scrunch with as a definite no.

Caelia exhaled a breath, expression turning to light concentration as she got a sense of her surroundings. There were tools to measure and tools to delicately place garnishes, glasses of fine making and glasses scratched from use, no doubt to pour many an ale. Locating the gin was easy enough. Her face scrunched again. "Now... is it lemon or lime?" Her brow arched as she lifted her gaze to look at him, asking softly for his guidance.

Her hand rested on the bottle labeled lemon, of course her go to, but Caelia wanted to make this drink for him. How did he like it?
 
His eyes watched as she watched and moved. The long moments that stretched between them before turning to small grasps for bottles, and twists of cork.

Delicate hands careful with their work.

"Gimlets... are easy,"

Matvi laughed. "They are that," he inclined, let his hair back with a push of his fingers. At a disadvantage himself.

"...Should I surprise you?"
He cocked a brow at that. Another bounce from his breath shaken out. "I do enjoy a surprise, every now and again," he confessed. Watched careful as she eased about. Stretched and reached and met his ees again. Across the bar.

Fingers knocked their tips across the bar. So used to being the ones set steady by the rhythm of work.

The scrunch of her expression again brought pause to his idle motion.

Now... is it lemon, or lime?
"Lemon," he let out easy. Smirked. Eyes full of her as he hid his smile behind gathered hands.
 
His answer brought her eyes to flick to his, could practically feel that smirk and amusement as he watched her. Her fingers curled tighter around the bottle labeled lemon and brought it closer, grouping it to one side of the other bottles she found behind the bar to make the drink.

Surprising him would not be easy, with her lack of ability to taste certain things, she had to rely on memory. How many times had she watched the bartenders, had watched him work?

Caelia could not help but chuckle as she began to recreate what she recalled, placing it on the surface between them. She plucked a straw from it's holder, dipping part of it into the drink and placing a finger over the top to trap the liquid as she pulled it out and held the straw aloft. "I cannot trust my tongue to be sure I made this right, but I have seen you taste your work on occasion. Would you?"

He could very well just taste the drink himself, but Caelia leaned over the bar some, her gaze watching him with curious intent. The invitation for him to taste was a flirtation, or that was the surprise she had promised him.

Perhaps she was drunk on the petrichor that clung to her clothes and hair, that he too smelled of the rain he got caught in alongside her. It did not matter they were not the only ones in the popular watering hole for the Knights, not when Syr Iramene watched her every move with those eyes.
 
Matvi did not hide his eyes from her. Studying how she moved about that space he took such pride in working behind. A gleam of sharpness there in his mismatched eyes. The dark blue of one, with the scarred silver of the other. Measured. Judged. And when she laughed, small and sweet as the sound was, only his lips smiled, whilst his focus remained feline for all its keen awareness.

"I cannot trust my tongue... Would you?"
​
Then his eyes did crinkle some with delight. Hands still a bridged laced before his mouth. He let his fingers slip from one another and nod.

"Very well," he said it like a man who knew he was doing another a favor. Cocksure and too confident. But that was part of the fun, wasn't it? He let one hand out in offer. Wrist bent, fingers flexed and curled like they wanted to knead away. "Put it right there, Syr Kerrigan," all breathy whisper. "Just above the knuckle of my middle finger, if you would," a flash of his teeth and a want in his eyes.
 
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