PM to join A Familiar Face [Noven]

[Keene Ward]

.The thirty-ninth day of fall, 515 AV

The forest was smaller than Keene remembered.

It wasn't that the looming, sturdy pines that surrounded him had actually shrunk or that the needle strewn ground with its various forms of thigh high underbrush that crinkled at his passing had crept closer together; rather, it was the sense of enclosure. On the island, Keene had had little to restrict his vision, though the Ravine had certainly served to narrow it. Between the sizable trunks of the towering pillars about him, it was difficult - far more so than he remembered - to traverse the uneven ground and plan for what was to come. He had been forced to keep his attentions within in the immediate area, something that - before his extended stay on Sahova - he had always done without consideration that he might be able to see farther ahead if he only looked. It was a stark difference from what he had become accustomed to, and though he did remember the forest as it was, it did not change that nature of how it felt in that moment: restrictive.

He had ventured into the woods several days before and several times after that, searching through the wilderness to find a place suitable for his more arcane investigations, those that he found to warrant a more secretive location than the apparently ineffective locks his house could provide. In the forest, Keene was sheltered from prying eyes not just by the trees and ferns but by superstition and a fair helping of legitimate danger. Though he was not well versed on the myths that surrounded the lofty pines and gave those who knew them a foreboding shudder every time they heard mention of "Zastoska", Keene had watched his mother kill a fair number of abnormally vicious animals and the odd creature that he couldn't place - not even after his experiences on Sahova. It had never been clearly explained to him that the forest was not a place one should go alone, but it had been implied by the manner in which Keene had occasionally seen others refer to it with sideways glances or with the rare, drunken declaration of future exploration.

Though certainly hazardous, Keene paid the warnings little mind. He never had before, and the time he had spent away had only seen him grow stronger - though, he was well aware, not necessarily wiser. For the most part, he had staked out an area in what was, more or less, a clearing - half his own handiwork and half that of nature herself. The trees were not too dense, and with the underbrush removed thanks to a subtle use of reimancy, Keene had crafted himself a stone plateau upon which he could lay comfortably in the middle with his arms extended in all directions of the mostly circular, slightly raised platform. While he had considered the fact that a stone dais was certainly not common place out in the wilderness of the Zastoska Forest, within the few days after he had created it, the wilds had stayed true to their name: needles coated the semi-weathered stone, mosses had crept near the edges, and the platform had become one with the woods in just a matter of days. To some, it would have been unnerving. To Keene, it was convenient.

While his investigations into the more mundane, practical applications of glyphing had migrated from the deck of the ship he had arrived on to the rocky - sometimes sandy - beach, Keene had begun on another path, another discipline. Advised by the wizard Thomas Cosa and given practical tutelage from the apprentice-to-be Kamilla, Keene had gathered information enough that he felt it worth the time to attempt applying what he had learned from the two who shared the common craft of animation. Parts of the magic eluded him, such as the finer details of what could and could not be considered a vessel, the limitations of a animation's ability to learn, and especially more in depth time frames for the creation of more complex automatons. Like all magic before it, Keene approached animation much as he did any other: understand the theory as much as possible, then make small applications and isolate the areas in which the practice does not match with the theory.

Once he had drawn out the circles as he had seen Kamilla do before, Keene made several additions. For the linking line between the two, Keene repeated pond and korad in alternating instances, the symbols taking him time to mark correctly, better stabilizing the transfer that he planned on making. Around the circle in which he planned to sit, Keene surrounded the shape with the triangular marking of abase and linked them together with daeq, grouping them into two's with slightly more space between each pair to denote the difference. Within the other circle, Keene carefully drafted the lines to mark ranuri, centering the crosses around the middle, totaling seven of the glyphs in all. Finally, in the very center, Keene marked a single dot for nen, before carefully placing the doll that he had purchased earlier on top of the simple symbol.

The doll itself was a rudimentary sort of thing with lopsided, button eyes, crude stitching, and stuffed with what Keene imagined to be wool. It did have the general outline of a human body, what with it possessing a head, torso, and limbs that could have been a very basic outline of his race, something that Keene had found good enough for what he intended to do. The purpose of his experiment was not to craft the next Dranira, but to examine first hand what it was to manipulate the flow of magic as Kamilla had, rather than to just serve as a source for the animated creature's reference of learning.

With the doll forlornly staring up into the shaded sky above it, Keene moved to the other side of the simple setup he had created, his precise movements placed carefully to keep him from smudging or otherwise damaging the relatively flimsy pathways. When he was properly situated, Keene held up a his hand, res drifting a thin mist about his thumb before it was transmuted into a small, fierce blade that was quickly drawn against his skin, cutting deep enough to draw blood, but not enough to warrant a serious wound. He'd learned from his first attempts at creating soulmist that it was best not to mutilate oneself in the pursuit of magical progress, though if mutilations were incurred along the way, regardless of one's precautions, that was a different matter entirely. Pressing the slow bead of crimson to the circle's edge, Keene felt a small shiver run down his spine as his djed reacted to the ritual's initiation.

His eyes had closed, and the world around him faded away to the stillness of his mind. Unlike the darkness that was typically found beneath the cover of his eyelids, there was nothing but a steady, empty grey. It expanded out before him in all directions, featureless and stark. For a tick, Keene was uncertain what it was he saw, but in the next moment, he found it to be a mental construct of "potential". Within the empty plain, Keene searched for the vessel, his will fueling the circle's power, creeping along its edges to reach towards the doll. The grey gave way to a single point of darkness: true emptiness. It was the husk of the inanimate, that which could never live, that which had no potential. Kamilla had spoken of the soul's core, a creation that she had created through the introspective process that Keene had not been intimately privy too. Within the grey expanse, however, Keene found that it was, in essence, a simple task: he needed to give potential to that which had none.

The concept of true "nothingness" had always been something Keene had vaguely considered from time to time in the most passing of ways: what was nothing if everything was something. As he willed his own potential forward, the grey began to flow into the simple space of emptiness, a sensation that was more felt than seen in the featureless world where the only true variation was the single dot of darkness. The more he filled, however, the more he began to realize that "nothing" was not an empty vessel waiting to receive the ever expected pour of life. He had to replace the nothing with something, it could not be altered by the very nature of what it was: nothing. Had Keene's mind not been so completely absorbed in both thought and the effort of the animation process itself, he might have frowned. As things were, however, there was in the physical realm only a young man calmly sitting in a charcoal circle opposite a simple doll.

To replace the nothing, Keene drew upon the darkness, shifting it, exchanging potential for nothing, a payment, as it were. He felt the shift in his own djed, like creating a shield or a casting a reimantic spell: part of him slipped away to be replaced with the "nothing". It did not truly affect him, for that was the nature of nothing, but he could feel the slight whisper of emptiness as the soulcore was created. The possibilities, the potential, of his own djed had been transferred, and he felt it within the very heart of his own essence. It was odd, like bleeding without feeling the actual wound but still watching and knowing that the rush of crimson trailing away came from the eyes that observed it. Slowly, Keene drew back from the circle, his hand drifting from where it had been placed upon the charcoal as he sat staring blankly at the doll before him.

With the process begun, Keene was aware that the doll could not be removed until it was completed, thus, as he gingerly stepped from the source circle, Keene knelt down beside that which the doll rested in, his djed - already easily drawn upon by the nature of the animation process - drifted forward, coating the doll, then the circle, in a shield that drew from its caster's djed to allow only that through. A dark shadow was cast over where there had once been the second circle, an indication that everything but Keene would have no way to pass through it. With the soon to be golem amply protected, Keene rose to stand, only to find himself face to face with the wide eyed, open mouthed gape of a young boy.

[Noven]

"You said Theo did what?"

The children before him cowered, unused to how quick the Sunberthian's temper could flare and how threats seemed to loom behind each syllable in spite of his seemingly innocuous word choice. He had been working for The Farson Home nearly an entire year now, learning to tone down the ruthlessness he was so used to employing as best he could, yet still they flinched whenever they incurred his wrath. Which, to be fair to them, was not nearly as often as the runts back at Sunset managed, but stupidity of this magnitude deserved corporal punishment beyond the furthest reaches of their collective, guilt-ridden imagination.

"H-He...said he was going to f-find a...a wizard," one of the orphans repeated.

It was all Nov could do not to snarl. "And what, in the name of all the sodding gods and goddesses, would he do such an idiot thing for?"

The children looked to one another before a young girl of no more than six or so years answered, "To learn magic! That's what Theo told us. He wants to learn magic so he can help fix the r--"

"You mean," Nov interrupted, eyes narrowed to a pair of daggers, "he wants to get himself killed. Or maybe he really is stupid enough to think a man going out of his way to hide whatever black sorcery he's doing will just let some kid poking around walk straight home to spread the news. Did you runts think about that before you stole him bread?"

Judging from the horrified expressions on all of their faces, they hadn't. Unlike their Sunberthian counterparts, few of these Zeltivan orphans harbored any disinclination toward magic. On the contrary, they were taught to be open minded and inquisitive, not ornery and suspicious. Many of them even aspired to attend the University, perhaps become a great scholar or mage. Grow famous. Make history. That sort of horse shyke.

Normally, Noven didn't bother wasting his breath convincing them otherwise. He was even a little curious himself, wondering if he might find the time or some form of guidance to continue practicing what Keene had called shielding. But this...Krysus. If running off after an unknown mage didn't merit knocking some sense into the boy, then he had no idea what would. And a good knockin' Theo was going to get. The Old Bear could frown all she wanted; someone had to do it sooner or later. Chasing after a fool headed kid was not something Nov fancied doing on a regular basis.

"No one's getting anyone killed," a voice intoned with enough severity to give even white-eyed Jillene a run for her money. "Where has Theo run off to this time, children? Be truthful now."

Taking turns, the orphans told what bits and pieces they knew, waiting for one to finish before another began. Nov never failed to marvel privately at how well behaved they were. How different this entire city was compared to his old life. Aside from East Street's dingy existence, everything from the food to the manners to the buildings were a spectacle to a slum-bred Berthian like himself. The Farson Home alone was more lavishly furnished and solidly built than anything he had huddled beneath back home. There were actual wings, a term he learned not too long ago, and this was just the local orphanage. It was nothing beside the grandeur of the Memorial Library or some of the noble manors. Having lived here for almost three seasons, he was beginning to understand a certain Sahovian's straight backed, clear eyed demeanor. Though even still the Warden Initiate was something of singular uniqueness.

"Don't you agree, Caretaker Nathan?"

Nov blinked, dragging his thoughts back to the present. "Er, yes...Ma'am," he answered lamely. It was still hard remembering to respond to that name, given that he'd only decided to use it last tick under the pressure of meeting Zeltiva's Lord of Council. And he had chosen that particular name only because the moment he'd come face to face with Seneschal Johnson, he had heard Nate's crass voice in his head, mocking the rotund man with a liberal humor only a born and bred Berthian could comfortably sport.

If the Old Bear was able to guess as much, she kept it to herself. The man had been given the job so it meant he was at the very least qualified. And with Winter fast approaching, they were going to need all the help they could get.

Thea gave a hard little smile. "Good. Then you will leave at once. Pack some supplies if need be, but this is to be a retrieval and nothing more." Expressive eyebrows drawing downward in that telltale, no nonsense glare of hers, the matron added, "And I mean it. Find him, get him back, end of mission. No funny business and no distractions. Understood, Nathan?"

Sighing, Nov felt for all the world like he was eight years old again, forced into the receiving end of yet another motherly lecture. Krysus knew he had had enough stern, sharp tongued, and tough-as-nails matriarchs in his life to make up for the true mother he'd never known ten times over.

"Got it," he responded blithely. It earned him another penetrating glare. "Ma'am."

It wasn't a task he looked forward to, finding that wool brained kid without making a ruckus, but Nov knew it was best not to argue. His livelihood depended on this orphanage and the good graces of its matron, after all. So to searching he would go.

---three bells later---

Noven swore through clenched teeth as he stepped out into the wilderness for the first time since arriving in Zeltiva. He had asked what felt like every soul from the Ancient Quarter to the Old, interrogating one person after another if they'd seen a ten year old boy about half his size, carrying a sack and walking about on his own with the wildest mop of red hair anyone this side of Mizahar had seen. Every response had been a blank face and shake of the head. He'd almost given up when one of the old women resting nearby got up from her chair and tugged on his sleeve. She was so feeble he almost hadn't noticed.

With a toothless grin, the old grandmother had claimed a boy of that very description had come by earlier that morning asking for directions to the Zastoska forest. No one was paying him any mind, as most were suspicious of the forest and avoided it at all costs, so she had felt sorry for him and pointed him down the right path.

"He was talking about helping the orphanage. What a brave little boy with a big heart, trying to help the home. A nice young man, just like yourself," she warbled, patting one bony hand against his forearm.

Overwhelmed with a rare sense of gratitude and no small amount of awkwardness, Nov had clasped the woman's hand in his own and thanked her. Even through his gloves, he could feel the crimson webs humming with power, urging him to Vex the hapless soul who had just helped him. He ignored it and rushed off before the wrinkled old thing could say more.

By the time he'd found his first clue, Syna was already at her peak and so much cautious trekking had earned Noven a permanent crease in his brow. He was accustomed to man sized potholes and cobble stones encrusted with refuse, not trees that loomed over him from every direction and sounds that did not belong to beggars, cutthroats, or enterprising whores. He had to keep the city within view at all times, wary of getting lost on his own. Godsdamn that Old Bear for sending him out on his own. Why him of all people? Why choose the person who knew the lay of the land least?

Because I'm dispensable, the fugitive reminded himself. And because I know how to kill.

Closing his fingers around the honey drop in his calloused palm, Nov brushed the fleeting self pity aside and pressed on. Only a runt as impractical as Theo would think to bring sweets as part of his rations. I swear on Nona's grave, when I get my hands on this kid...

The man froze dead in his tracks.

"There's j-just me, n-no one else. I s-swear, m-m-mister!"

Theo. Eyes darting left and right, Nov tried to assess where the child's voice was coming from. Somewhere ahead and slightly to the left, he guessed, but before he could so much as take another step, a second voice joined in.

Nov felt all the blood suddenly drain from his body. No...it can't be...

There was more talking, but he hardly heard any of it. Every ounce of his attention was now focused on moving forward as silently as possible. The sack of rations slung across his back was starting to feel like an ungodly burden as his mind whirled with denial. It wasn't possible. He was imagining things. It'd been too long and now his repression was fighting back, making him hear exactly what he wanted to. That was the only rational assumption that made sense.

He was close enough to catch glimpses of Theo's flame red hair now. The pine needles strewn all across the forest floor helped dampen his foot steps, and it was with acute relief that Nov realized few other types of trees grew in this forest. There was still a sense of unease that sent shivers down his spine, being in a place that generated so many dark rumors, but he had far more urgent problems clawing at his mind.

"C-Can you...d-do you think...you could teach me magic?" It was Theo talking again, no doubt, though Noven's sights were now glued to a low branched pine some few paces in front of him. I can climb it, he thought to himself. Maybe.

"I want t-to learn to help people! To h-help Thea and Lily and all of my friends."

Theo's stutter was fast fading in the face of his growing passion, but Nov hardly noticed as he reached his chosen pine and started to climb. Placing both hands around two branches hanging over his head, he planted one boot against the trunk and slowly, carefully, started to pull himself upward.

"Thea is always talking about how grand the Home used to be," the orphan plowed on, near impossible to stop now that he'd unlatched the flood gates, "and I just thought, maybe with magic..."

Nov was about a third of the way up the pine tree, breath growing slightly labored and skin covered in a light layer of sweat, when he stopped to take a break. That was when he looked down and got his first, proper look at the mysterious mage Theo was now proposing his harebrained plan to. His heart lurched. His breathing stopped altogether. And his eyes went so wide they could have fallen right out of their sockets.

It can't be. I'm dreaming. It's another a nightmare, another chance for life to dangle something in front of me and then laugh while it gets crushed.

But there was no mistaking what he now saw. The lean frame, the pale skin. That same perfect posture and immaculate, tawny hair. And his voice...Noven could not have forgotten his voice for anything, not even under pain of death.

The name came out as more breath than word, as unbidden as the sudden racing of his heart.

"Keene."

Crack! Nov felt the terrible snapping beneath his feet long before he heard it. But even so, it was too late. His wits had been dulled by a maelstrom of shock, disbelief, and wild, reckless hope. His instincts all but abandoned. And now he was falling, falling. Limbs akimbo, feet and hands finding nothing but empty air as panic seized his already confused, aching heart.

He hit the ground hard, the impact sending all of the air wooshing out of his lungs. And then all he knew was darkness.

[Keene Ward]

.""There's j-just me, n-no one else. I s-swear, m-m-mister!""

The blade of ice was lowered from the child's pale, sweating neck. Keene's pale blue res drifting in slight wisps as it pulled the shimmering weapon back some to allow the boy room enough to swallow. Killing children was low on his list of preferences, especially after the events of the fall before in which his rash actions had come back to literally haunt him. If there were no others, there was no reason for him to need a hostage. Children were easily dismissed as faulty sources of information anyway, making the breach concerning on in that the child had managed to follow him and would no doubt do so again. He'd grown complacent in his secrecy during his time on Sahova, and it seemed his return to Zeltiva had not automatically reinstilled that furtive sensibility. The child, as far as Keene could tell, had no reason to lie, though the idea that the boy had come out into the wilderness alone seemed an equivalent unlikelihood. At the age that Keene estimated the child to be, he had been settled firmly in his chair, practicing his Nader Canoch. Unfortunately for the child, Keene was not impressed. "Why are you here?"

"W-why?" The boy's eyes widened, gaze flicking from the ice that still hovered inches from his neck and back to Keene's impassive, cold stare. "T-To learn magic!" If Keene's face could have become any more stone-like in that instant, it would have. ""C-Can you...d-do you think...you could teach me magic?""

All considerations of the child as dangerous vanished as the boy revealed the true depths of his stupidity. Keene let the ice fall, the tip of its blade sticking into the ground just shy of the boy's boot, something the child flinched at but did not back away from. "Capability and proclivity are two entirely different things. I can, but I won't." His tone, while only a light hint, was dismissive. He had no interest in an apprentice, especially one foolish enough to approach danger with all the tact of a boar rampaging through a fence.

"B-but..." Keene readied his res once more, his energies shifting towards the tips of his fingers, tingling in response to his will. One swift strike with a mass of sand would send the thing into unconsciousness and allow him time to deconstruct his make-shift animation site. Though it was regrettable to waste a perfectly good experiment, it had come of his own lack of foresight and was an acceptable loss. The boy, however, had other plans. He unleashed a veritable deluge of verbal vomit, speaking with a rapid energy that was only to be found in the most fervent of speakers. While not required, Keene allowed him his reasoning, though as the speech continued it proved only more and more a reason for him to knock what little sense floated around beneath the fiery shock of hair out of the blabbering, flapping lips that seemed to eager to spill out nonsense. ""I want t-to learn to help people! To h-help Thea and Lily and all of my friends... Thea is always talking about how grand the Home used to be and I just thought, maybe with magic..."

"No." There had been nothing in the plea that had appealed to his sensibilities. The child was nothing more than a liability, one that would cause him nothing but strife if left unattended. The ridiculous idealism was so far beyond what a magic user's should be, that Keene doubted the child could even understand the basic theories of the "magic" he wanted to use. Res drifted from his skin, snaking towards the child who's words seemed to lose their way in the growing fear of his eyes. Yet, before Keene could follow through, there was a single word that rang with a familiarity that ran through him like an arrow, rending a neat, clean hole right through his center. "Nov-"

The cracking crash of snapping wood drew both Keene and Theo's attentions. They moved in unison, boy and man, to stare up at the descending figure that, after half a tick, both found they recognized. While Theo began to shout, as helpless children were wont to do, Keene's body reacted reflexively. The res that had already left his body was joined by a fresh surge of pale blue mist, the bulk of it rushing up and around the falling form of the familiar man in a twisting, whirling motion. His face remained calm, mind too focused on the task at hand to think any true thoughts. Instead, he willed his res to draw in the air around it, a funnel of air whipping the underbrush and kicking up dust and dirt in every direction as it met Noven's chest with a solid whump, breaking his fall in exchange for whatever breath he had taken before. Fingers twitching to guide the winds, Keene's res burst into another gust, knocking Noven from falling face first so that his back was rotated towards the ground. Having only ticks left, Keene lurched forward, res descending and dirt and sand rose, creating an angled ramp of earth that allowed the man to tumble down to the solid ground with minimal impact.

"Whoa! How-" Without giving it much thought, Keene's hand flicked in the boy's general direction, sand and dirt sailing through to air to slam into the child's stomach, knocking him to his knees with a surprised, teary wheeze.

"Noven." He took a step forward, staring down at the dazed face he'd parted with only a few seasons before. On Sahova, it had been a farewell he had thought permanent, yet there the man lay before him, as alluring as ever, only instead of warmth and craving, he felt a slight tinge of ice at his edges. He had received the man's letter, only there had been no way to send him one of his own. It was odd how much that had bothered him. He'd even gone and written a reply, knowing full well it could not be received. Still, Noven was there, and for all the world, Keene had no idea what to do. Theo gave a few gurgled coughs, to which Keene turned a gaze that was more than enough for the boy to keep his mouth shut. Kneeling down, Keene offered the man a hand, djed sloughing from his skin to dart around Noven, an invisible iridescence that slowly crystallized over his fingers and palm to create a thin, icy barrier. He wasn't quite yet prepared for the inevitable burn of human contact. "Are you alright?"

[Noven]

"Sodding hell," Nov coughed as he lay prone on the floor, feeling for all the world like a rag doll that had been thrown about by an angry child. Only the being thrown about part had saved his life. This much he knew, even as his mind still grappled with which way was sky and which was ground and his ribs flared in pain each time he tried to move.

Noven.

He blinked a few times in the direction finally discerned as "up." Something blurry and achingly familiar was hovering over him, its icy, no doubt pensive features slowly crystallizing as Nov's eyes adjusted.

One by one, his limbs began to twitch to life. The Sunberthian had no idea how long he had lain there on the forest floor, only that by the time enough of his wits had returned, a pale hand had been extended toward him. "I'll live," he groaned in reply as he mustered the strength to accept Keene's aid. Even with the other man's help, it still felt like raising a fifty pound anchor from the ground, his entire body protesting every step of the way.

Nov grit his teeth as he was pulled up. His savior felt frigid to the touch, far colder than memory served, but his strength remained the same. For a fleeting moment, everything seemed as it should have been. Their hands were clasped around one another's, one dark one fair, each pulling with opposing force while remaining solidly entwined. There was no doubt or hesitance, only the simplicity and realness of the situation. Noven needed help. Keene gave it. The why's of it were unspoken, yet as plain as day, and the how's mere technicalities that could be traced back to a ring made of ice and one very unique bathing experience.

"Keene..." There was too much to say. Or perhaps too little. Thoughts and emotions warred with one another in the darker man's head, his hand still clasped around that of his former lover's. He could practically feel his heart beating through his tunic, demanding something, anything, be said.

"Am...am I in trouble?" came Theo's reed thin voice, forcing Noven to break from his paralyses. "Did Thea tell you to find me?" The child's eyes were wide with fear of his matron's disappointment. He had come here solely intending to help, to do something good. And now all he had to show for were sore ribs and wounded pride. So deeply was the orphan mired in dread and failure that the obvious question of how a foreign caretaker at Farson's and a mysterious mage in the woods knew each other lost its importance entirely.

"I-I just wanted to help...I didn't mean...didn't think that--"

"You're bleeding right you didn't think," Nov snapped in his usual, blunt manner. "Could've gotten yourself killed. You're lucky K--this fellow here turned you down with words and not a blast to the face."

Theo was weeping in earnest now, fat tears rolling down his pale cheeks. "Please, Nov...d-don't tell her...what I did..."

The caretaker made a disgusted sound. "Get home, Theo. And straight home you hear me? No funny shyke with you or I'll beat you black and blue myself. I'll deal with the Old Bear when I return."

The little orphan's face contorted in confusion.

"You...you aren't coming with me?" Then his eyes traveled to the chilly mage and realization returned. "You two know each other...don't you?"

"Wipe that look of hope off your face, Theo. The man said he's not going to teach you. And learn to mind your own business, unless you'd rather I tell the Old Bear exactly what you were up to this morning."

Luckily for him, Theo was neither the type nor at the age that understood the concept of blackmail. He simply wiped the tears from his dirtied face and took off toward home at a run. Anything that saved him the displeased angle of Thea's supremely expressive eyebrows was worth obedience. Even if curiosity would yet again eat up the child's attentions, of which Nov had no doubt he would be suffering headaches over one way or the other. But right now, he needed to focus on one thing and one thing only.

As soon as Theo was out of earshot, Noven turned to the Initiate beside him. Would the title still even apply, he wondered, if Keene was no longer in Sahova?

"What are you doing here, Keene?" he finally managed to ask instead. It wasn't a particularly warm or endearing way to reunite with the man he had been so passionately entangled with less than a year ago. But when he had fled from the Berth with his fellow, former Scars, it had been so certain he would never see the mage again. He had spent entire seasons trying to drown himself in Kelp Beer at just the very thought. Thrown himself into the task of surviving in a strange, new city and keeping the worst of his curse at bay. Even put himself through the torturous tedium of writing, something he had never done in his entire life, and then sending his sopping mess of a letter with no assurance he would receive anything back. That it would reach the Sahovian at all.

Yet, here they were.

"How...how long have you been in this city?"

[Keene Ward]

.
There was a slight pang of longing in his chest as Noven's hand griped his own, the shield only glimmering slightly, as his skin shivered with the memory of both the pain and pleasure it had experienced at the hand of the man who's touch was stopped only by the thin barrier between them. Noven was lighter than he remembered, though, as Keene helped the other man to his feet more by standing firm than any true effort on his part, he supposed it was possible that he simply grown a bit stronger in the seasons that had followed their parting. In the few ticks it took to right the other man, his mind was calm and still. Questions hovered at the edge of his consciousness, but they kept their place until their eyes met once more and the peace was shattered.

He spoke his name. It was a simple word, one that Keene had heard many, many times before, but the man before him was so much more than anything he'd ever experienced before. His mind unleashed a flood of memories, some accurate and others not so much, washing over him in a wave of emotion that smoldered behind the cracked facade of his grey-green stare. The shield wavered, his will to feel the heat of Noven's grip that refused to release his warring with the logical reasoning of why it had been placed there in the first place. Even if he had wanted to, no words formed in the amalgam of heady visions that wrapped themselves around his brain. He had prepared himself for everything but a reunion with the spiced, chocolate skinned young man who had thrown him into such a burning fever nearly a year ago, and those preparations turned to betray him in that moment, leaving him not only speechless but actionless as well.

The child, however, was entirely unaffected by the silent war of thought and emotion that had taken hold of both young men, his voice uncertain but clear, clear enough to draw Noven's gaze and release Keene from the panic, desire, and confusion. Noven's words, familiar and foreign all the same, worked as a sort of balm to Keene's uncertainty, allowing him to once more draw in air in a steady, calming rhythm as he slipped his hand from Noven's, drawing it to his chest in pensive thought, distracted by his own mind enough that the conversation between the other man and boy faded into background noise.

It was difficult for him to push aside the larger, louder thoughts that all revolved around the general idea of "he's here" to focus on more important, more relevant things. The first he was able to get any handle on was the simple "how", which he quickly answered with "boat" which, from there, more eloquent cognition began to kick in. The problem wasn't how Noven had gotten to Zeltiva or even why he was there; the problem was that they were there together, after they had parted. It hadn't been a simple "goodbye"; they had spent their every tick together, even more than that had he a word for it. Noven had left, and Keene had remained; there had been a severing of ties, or at the very least, a long a painful attempt at such. Yet, staring at the firm jaw and bronzed skin that, no matter how hard he had tried, seemed impossible to remove from his memory, he found that whatever work he had thought he had done in regards to the ragged ache that had taken hold of him in the days after the man's departure had been little more than quiet lies.

Noven.

His heart seemed the slam itself against his chest as their eyes met once more. He was at a loss for words, even as questions were asked, and when he did speak, they were the first things that he was able to dredge from the tumultuous maelstrom of thoughts that raged through his mind. "I didn't know where to send a reply to." The words sounded almost empty of any meaning or emotion, just words that had somehow escaped, and a faint glimmer of surprise shifted in Keene's gaze before he was able to shake his head, eyes falling to the palms of his hands instead as he took a short moment to draw a calming, steadying breath. "I'm... The island. There was an evacuation at the turn of spring. I've... Been here since then. Here. In Zeltiva." He stopped, shaking his head again and preparing himself to look back at the face that held more power over him than any spell. Noven was dangerous, far more dangerous than he had ever thought him to be if he was reduced to such uselessness by a single glance.

Steeling himself, when Keene spoke again, his voice had returned to its soft, cool tone, though it still wavered here and there, a clear sign that his naturally passive disposition had been heavily disrupted. "I wrote you a letter." It had been something that had bothered him, he who practiced the equivalency of exchange cursed with the burden of his lover's words without being able to reciprocate his own, even if his had been more or less, it was the balance of it that he had been denied, and there was a bitterness he could not explain nor properly conceal. "I..." His fingers twitched, hand rising to gently trace the familiar line of Noven's jaw, the shield just barely shining as it served to keep their skin apart. "Noven." He withdrew his hand, lips turning into an uncertain frown as he shook his head. It felt strange to say the name he had tried so desperately to cast out of his mind; the name he had offered to the winds to carry away the memories it lay saturated in. It seemed they had not carried it far enough away. "I should leave."

It was the only true course of action left to him. There was no place for Noven in his life nor for him in his. They had agreed on that, and he had broken far too many boundaries with Noven the first time. To fall back into the same habit was all too likely, and though he spoke with conviction, his eyes faltered. What he wanted and what was best were once more at odds, and he had no practice with such things. All the while, in the back of his mind, his mind screamed at him to take just one last taste of the rough lips, to feel the searing heat of the man's chest, to lose himself, if only for one last time. It was conflicting enough that, even after he suggested it was best he depart, he remained as inert as the trees around them, the winds shivering their way through them as easily as the two men who stood opposite each other, wholly oblivious to the impossible situation as nature often was.

[Noven]

He could see it in the other man, in the way the darks of Keene's eyes widened and how his breath quickened when their gazes met. Nov imagined he was reacting very much the same, though he had little attention left to feel self conscious, and knew with absolute certainty that old feelings still lingered. How could they not, after the kinds of things that had happened between them? After the kinds of things they had done?

The response Keene chose, however, reflected more confusion and hesitance than anything else. It wasn't unexpected, nor was it reassuring. All this time, Nov had wondered whether the embers he kept stoked over the seasons were his alone to tend to. Pointless musings, he knew. Yet he couldn't help questioning. There were countless times he had rationalized it would be best to forget the matter altogether. Move on and resist looking back where he could no longer return to, just as he had done for the Berth. It kept him moving forward, one step at a time, even on days when merely surviving the symptoms of his curse had him reaching for that white flag more than once.

But always he returned to that same, damnable question. That useless, futile, hopeless question. And it was never not on his mind.

As a Sunberthian, he had learned the laws of loss early on. Noven was sure he'd lost more than he'd ever gained in life, and like all good natives of the City of Slums he just kept chugging along, stubborn as a mule and about as miserable as one, too. So he knew how to make things tolerable enough to remain functional. But that in no way meant he did not suffer every single, waking tick of his existence as a fugitive.

And yet, in the face of all of his turmoil, he could do little more than stand there and listen to Keene give him just about the blandest explanation ever to hit this side of Zeltiva.

"A letter..." Nov echoed absently. That was what was on the forefront of the Sahovian's mind? Something he had written undoubtedly whole seasons ago? The caretaker supposed it made sense, if he had been the one trying to respond but with no where to respond to. All the things he wanted to say left unspoken for only gods knew how long. Forever, they had both assumed.

Nov was about to dismiss the whole letter issue. They were here now, after all, in the flesh and perfectly capable of saying what needed to be said to one another in person. But then Keene raised a hand to trace his jaw, and with that single touch a tidal wave of memories came rushing back. It left the darker man frozen in place. He wanted nothing more to reciprocate, his muscles itching to act out of pure instinct and habit, yet they could not for fear that sudden action might jar him from this dream. Dissipate Keene like a fragile illusion or send him fleeing like a startled bird taking to the skies. The mage was by no means weak or easily frightened, as Nov had witnessed innumerable times, but something about his body language kept his counterpart firmly in check.

Keene said his name again, and it took all of Nov's focus to resist the pull of temptation and old passions. And then, surprisingly, the Initiate frowned, his hand withdrawing without warning and head shaking in disapproval of...what? Noven found his heart sinking straight past his stomach, spiraling into a chasm of stark, nightmarish reality.

"I should leave."

He broke free from his frozen state and grabbed Keene by the elbow. Not hard, but firmly enough to get his attention, and careful as always to touch only the fabric of the man's sleeve.

"Don't," Noven blurted. "Not yet..."

He looked quickly to make sure they were still alone in the forest, then continued, "There's so much...too much you haven't explained. And so much more you don't know."

Letting go of Keene's arm, Nov tried his best to keep the panic at bay. He hadn't expected the mage to suggest leaving. That was the last thing on his own mind, even if he could understand some of the former lover's anxieties. What they had felt with one another on that island was nothing short of impossible. It had thrown them into a raging bonfire of emotion and lust and they had barely come out of it with wits left enough to part ways rationally. They had known they could not stay together in The Citadel. They were both chasing after ambitions no sane person would, and to remain in each other's presence meant too many complications. Too many risks that they could not afford, including each other's lives.

But to simply leave? Just like that, after no less than two chimes of finding one another? How wondrously and infuriatingly like Keene to do exactly that.

"All this time and you've been right here under my nose," Noven muttered. Now it was his turn to shake his head. "I don't understand, what do you mean by you are the island?"

He waited for Keene's reply, but only just so before more pressing matters came to mind. "Where are you even staying? How have you been living?" A moment of hesitance, then mild but belated anger came rolling forth next, "And where do you have to be that's so godsdamned important, Keene? Krysus. I'm here, and you're here, and we haven't seen each other in so petching long. Didn't even know if I'd ever see you again at all. You can't just...just do that thing...touch me like that and then--"

Noven's gloved fists were curled now, his breathing heavier than it had been a few ticks ago. He was angry, angry at so much, but most of all himself. He hated the bitterness in his own voice. For three long seasons he had been trying his best to cope, whatever coping entailed for the likes of him. And for three long seasons he thought he was getting somewhere.

Then Keene appeared out of seemingly thin air, and the fugitive was thrown right back to that very day they had said their goodbyes. It was almost as hopeless as it was vexing.

"I understand...if you have to leave. Again," Nov finally managed through the confusing fog of his tumultuous emotions. He'd never been good with feelings and he was especially clumsy around the serene young man before him. "I won't hold you back. I mean try, that is, and probably fail. You were strong then, and you're even stronger now."

He looked at Keene levelly then, nothing but genuine intent replacing the frustration in his eyes. "Just stay long enough for me to say thank you. For saving my life. It's the least I can do."

And then, with the smallest, wryest of grins, he added, "No mystery brew either, this time. Promise."

[Keene Ward]

.
He should have left when he had first spoken - or even before that. The moment Noven's hand griped his arm with a tender but firm accost of any egress he might attempt, there was a shiver of anticipation that ran through his body like a strike of lighting. Rather than the typical, reflexive repulsion that any sort of physical contact caused him, even with fabric to keep their skin apart, it took all the scattered willpower he could muster to kept himself from reciprocating with a far more intimate point of contact. He couldn't keep his eyes off of Noven's, the turmoil he felt, writhing and boiling just beneath his own outer neutrality, was clearly displayed on the man's tortured face. It hurt, a pressing, crushing pain that, had he not known better, would have made him think it was he who fallen out of the tree and not the man who had him rooted to the ground with just a single touch.

At the question, however, there was a brief moment of respite as his lips turned in a frown, a glimmer of perplexity in his eyes as he dug through the whirring thoughts of his mind to recall what exactly it was he had said. "I stuttered." He blinked, uncertain as to whether or not that was what Noven had been inquiring about with such intensity. It seemed, however, that his words weren't nearly quite as ready for him as Noven continued. "I've been staying in my house." He didn't understand the second half of the question, shaking his head as his frown increased, confusion helping to dull the beating of his heart and pulsing of his blood. "I... What?" As Noven's words filled with frustration enough to force him into a temporary silence, Keene found himself moving forward instinctually, his thoughts a jumble of "should"s and "want"s all moving too quickly for him to think properly. "Noven..." His fingers stopped just shy of the man's clenched jaw before he pulled them away, eyes falling to the ground as he shook his own head.

"I know." His own voice, while void of the astringent aggravation of his partner, held its own strain as emotion licked at the edges of tone, words subdued. "I didn't... I wasn't...." His breath left him in a heavy sigh as he tried to gather the thoughts that seemed to run through his fingers with all the tangibility of a shadow. "It's not where I have to be. It's... Where I shouldn't." He looked up, the slight height difference feeling for all the world like an entire realm above him. His eyes wavered, a mix of pain and longing pressing against the pale-green blankness, seeping through the cracks of his emotional armor. "You... I can't feel like this. Every day." Running a hand through his hair, he took a few steps back, eyes closing as he drew in breath through his nose to let it slip from between his lips. "I... I can't."

Noven was impossible. There was a part of Keene that almost hated how the man's voice made him feel: safe, warm, loved. It was a torture, one that, as he let his eyes settle on the man once more, he understood was not one sided. There had been pain and difficulty on both ends. Whatever agony Noven had gone through had not been enough, or perhaps only so different that they had each come to different conclusions. "I don't have to leave." He said the words slowly, trying his best to emphasize the point he was trying to get across. "I... I need to leave. I thought we... agreed." It was so difficult with Noven so close. He had a chance to go back, to break the promises he'd made himself and Noven almost a year ago. It seemed that had been the only true thing he'd learned on the island: how to break things. "I thought I was." Had he been stronger, his heart would not have ached like it did.

As he was about to refuse the man's request using what little strength he did have left, Noven's smile was the last straw. He threw up his hands, the only sign of his frustration, before he strode over in a few swift steps, pressing his lips against the other man's in a searching, almost frantic exploration. It was a glorious burn, one that he had not expected to be so pleasurable as it had been far more painful before. He heart felt like it was going to explode, and though his mind was a hurricane of conflict, a single thought repeated over and over in his mind: Just one kiss. Just one.

It wasn't enough. He broke the kiss, his breath shaky as he pressed his lips into the crook between Noven's neck and shoulder, voice breathless. "This..." He ran the course of Noven's jaw, fingers digging with something that was a mix between desperation and self-imposed aggravation. "Why..." The flavor of Noven's kiss was an alluring toxin, one he had to force himself from taking once more, eyes burning with a familiar flame, but brows knit in a similarly nostalgic distance. "I missed you, Noven." He couldn't pull himself any farther away than a hair's breadth from the lips his own wanted nothing more than to taste. "But you left. I stayed. I..." He clenched his jaw, his hands shaking as he tried to control himself, emotion he had thought thrown to the winds overflowing from too small and too cracked a chalice. "Why?"

He ran his hands in a gentle, wavering line, separating himself enough to run the line of either side of Noven's jaw, pressing just enough to watch the small dip of the supple flesh of his cheeks, tantalizing in every form of the word. "Why can't I forget you. Why can't I leave. Why..." He just couldn't anymore. It was too much, too sudden and all at once. Instead, he just sank himself into Noven, stumbling forward, pressing against him as his back hit one of the many sturdy trees about them. He could feel something hot running down the side of his face, but, in the moment, it didn't matter. Noven was back, and he was took weak to let him go. The island had given him power, but it had sapped his strength. Noven had been wrong: he had never been strong and there, burning like a dying star, his weakness was clearly and painfully displayed for the other man to see.

Pretty muchhttps://youtu.be/n_ElK9tyKIU

idk how to make it video. :(

[Noven]

Out of habit, Noven narrowed his eyes just a fraction, searching those pale, clear features for any indication that they were hiding something. But, try as he might, he could find no cracks in the face of perfect calm. He never had been able to, nor did he ever have reason to believe he was being tricked. Not by Keene. Perhaps he'd spent longer than he'd realized living as a fugitive in a foreign city, to be suspicious of the other man at all.

As Keene struggled to answer the slew of questions, however, Nov realized that it wasn't some sinister secret he was sensing. It was conflict, brewing steadily beneath that icy composure. A dissonance, if not evident through gut feeling alone, made plain enough in the way Keene spoke of resistance while his body drew ever nearer.

It was like watching a straw roof bow beneath the weight of a relentless downpour. The longer rain continued to fall, the more it sagged. And under it all was one lone, icy mage, trying his best to keep the inevitable at bay. Would he break? Nov wondered as he witnessed the whole thing unfold, transfixed like a moth before candlelight. He was helpless to do anything but watch, unable and unwilling to determine the outcome for his counterpart, knowing it was Keene's choice and Keene's alone to make.

And what of Noven's own choices? He found himself drawn into the same pit of confusion, more unsure now than ever. They had discussed this before, in a way, but it had seemed more necessary than voluntary. There wasn't the luxury of choice then. They had merely taken the single path left open to them at the time and coped however they could in the wake of their decisions.

But now...now there a second option. The option of staying. Of taking advantage of the strange, unexpected, and more often than not cruel ways fate threw two people back in each other's paths.

Pain struck his heart at Keene's words. Not so much because of the words themselves, but of the truth behind them. Nov understood, more than most could, why walking away would seem like the better choice. He knew what it cost the man before him to say what he said. He could see it in the way that flawless facade began to crack, glimmers of familiar passion and longing shining through. It only made the war within himself grow ever bloodier, one side ushering him to leave, now, and have the matter be settled once and for all, the other screaming for him to fight, to hold onto this flame before it was extinguished entirely.

In the end, Noven had chosen the most practical yet civil route he could. He was going to respect Keene's wishes and the finality of their goodbyes on the island. It seemed the right thing to do. Or the only thing, as he could not keep the mage against his will. The Sunberthian was quite sure he'd regret it if he tried.

But then Keene was throwing up his hands, and before Nov could so much as raise an eyebrow in confusion, he felt those smooth, icy lips press against his own.

His mind went blank. All he could think, feel, know was a year's worth of pent up longing and fervor pouring forth all at once. The straw roof had finally broken and they were caught directly underneath, helpless in the face of its crushing force. But the mage wasn't alone as it happened, and for a moment that was all that mattered. Though Keene's flesh remained forever cool to the touch, Noven's made up for his lack of heat a hundred times over. His skin suddenly felt hot enough to burn them both to ash and bone. His heart, beating so hard he was certain the other man to feel it overtaxing itself through the fabric of their clothes, drowned out all other sound as it thudded vigorously in his ears.

When the kiss finally ended, Nov barely had time to recover his breath before he could feel lips and hands on him again, burrowing into him with desperate need.

Keene was speaking, but his darker companion could barely absorb his words. He was too busy being on the receiving end of that burning look in Keene's pale green eyes, wondering for the dozenth time since the initial kiss how either of them managed to say goodbye in the first place.

He could feel himself responding, far too readily, as his back hit a tree and Keene sank ever deeper against him. It never failed to surprise him, the Sahovian's strength. He didn't know many who could so thoughtlessly, effortlessly move him the way Keene did. He was at least four fingers taller and in possession of twice the brawn, but even so he found himself pinned between a tree and a former lover, their lips still nothing but a whisper away from one another.

It was unexpected. Unexpectedly enticing.

No, he reminded himself, no, it's too easy to give in. To forget why we left. He has reasons. Had...

And then he saw Keene's tears. The sight was rarer than kindness in the slums, than a patch of skin on his body that hadn't been bruised or scarred. Even in grief--or relief, frustration, confusion, whatever it was that Keene was feeling--he had a grace about him, smoothing every gesture he made and every word he uttered. Nov knew that had he been alone, his own reactions would have come across as ugly and crass in comparison. But perhaps Keene's presence still retained the same effect it always did, because the fugitive was now bringing up a sleeve to dry some of the other man's tears, careful not to inflict unnecessary pain. The moment felt oddly serene in the wake of their passionate kiss not ticks before.

"We're human," was his answer to the weeping mage's frustrated questions. "We aren't meant to handle losing things well, I don't think. And losing people is so much harder. Especially right after you've learned to love them."

The hardest part came last.

"I'll not leave you, Keene." He only just managed to push the words out, his throat tightening of its own accord. "Not again. Not if you don't want me to. You know you only have to ask, because I can deny you nothing." A crease began form between his brow, though his cheek remained pressed against the cool comfort of Keene's palm. He knew it caused the other man pain, but so long as it was a price willingly paid, he would allow himself this one piece of selfishness.

"But I have unfinished business, and where ever it takes me I've got no right to make you follow. So if I'm to stay..." Taking a breath, he forced himself to speak his next words. "...If I am to stay, then we move forward. Together. Or...if that can't be done, we wait until it's all finished. Till there is no business left and only us."

He had been staring distractedly at Keene's lips the entire time, knowing that if he looked the man in the eye he would lose his resolve instantly. But now that his piece had been said, he met that pale, green gaze with naked anticipation.

"What of you, Keene? Where will you go next and how far will it take you?"

[Keene Ward]

.
When Noven moved to lightly wipe away the soft chill of his tears, Keene stopped the hand, gently pulling Noven's hand from the linen barrier to slip his cool fingers between Noven's, a sharp inhale of breath at the sharp pain of the contact, but one that was heavily dulled by the warmth and security of it. His voice had fallen to a soft, soothing tone; the baritone of Noven's words serving only to feed the rising flame that seemed to twist and writhe within Keene, his pale fingers tightening their grip on their darker counterparts as he looked up at the other man, his scent mingling with the slight bite of salt that just barely crept in at the corners of his mouth. His emotions, once released, were difficult to reign in, and he was finding, the arms of the only other person he'd ever felt so strongly towards, that he couldn't care less in the moment whether he laughed or cried. Instead, he let his face press soft and cool against Noven's neck as he spoke, teeth grit against the burn of Noven's skin and allure of it all the same.

"Have I learned to love you?" He said the words softly, more a whisper to the bronzed neck than anything else. Lips ran along the length of the familiar curves, his breath a few shades colder than the the skin before him. It had been difficult when Noven had left, crushing to the point where he had broken down on the top of a mountain at his wit's end. All of that replayed in echos as he drew another deep, shuddering breath, inhaling the scent he hadn't realized he'd missed so much, craved so deeply, savoring the light tang of Noven's kiss that still lingered on his tongue. He didn't understand what love was, nor how one was supposed to learn it. All he could do was pull himself just a bit closer, as if Noven's rapid heartbeat to push back against the incessant, screaming thoughts that raged through his head. At Noven's next words, however, Keene raised his head again, fingers tracing the lines that he'd gone over thousands of times in his head. His eyes wavered, wells of emotion only just held at bay by his pale-green gaze. "Noven..."

The urge to kiss him welled up within him, but Noven wasn't finished. Keene didn't even know what to think anymore, his mind muddied by the searing pain were his fingers quivered against Noven's cheek and the conflict of emotion and logic that clashed and crashed, a tumultuous background but one that was ignored for favor of the voice he had never been able to remember just right. Had Keene understood the concept of irony, he may have smiled at Noven's logical, though certainly heartfelt, declaration. It was grounded enough that his ragged mind could follow it, and his lips fell in a frown, the corners of his eyes still glistening, though his tears had stopped for the time being. He forced himself to think, breaking the gaze that Noven lifted to meet his with such abandon.

He let his hands settle on Noven's shoulders, eyes sliding from Noven's face to the strong, simply clad chest, images flashing by, reminding him what the body looked like beneath the leather and linen. "I..." Focus was just within grasp, and Keene clung to it as best he could. He felt his heart calm some as he drew a steadying breath, pushing the impassioned memories from his current frame of thought as best he could as he mulled over what Noven had said to him. Noven understood, just as Keene did, that even if their paths had crossed again, they were still paths best tread alone. What he wanted was clearly before him, speaking to him, gently staring back at him with such warmth and worry. It was odd how desperately Keene wanted to keep that, to wrap himself up in Noven and never let him go, but it was in the moment. When they had parted, it had been painful, but they had carried on; life had continued.

Logic and reason dictated that his feelings for Noven were far too powerful and reckless to be considered anything but inimical to the two of them. Though he understood time and distance had separated them, he had fallen apart with a few words and a glance. It was absurd. It was ridiculous. It was wonderful. He shook his head, his contemplation only a few ticks in actuality. They were a poison for the other, desired but ultimately destructive. Still, perhaps it would not be so undesirable an end. Noven was not the only one who had goals to accomplish, stories to end. Keene knew he couldn't stay, that he wouldn't stay. Neither of them could, but Noven's words had struck an odd chord within him, one that was warm and soft, like a slowly moving flow of honey and heat that only just helped to numb the heavy chill of his understanding of what had to be done for the good of the both of them.

We wait until it's all finished. Till there is no business left and only us.

Keene had never thought to look so far ahead as to see Noven as a potential destination rather than just the incredibly alluring quagmire they each presented to the other. If he could wait, if they could wait, Keene wondered if it could be a possibility. His heart ached at the thought of it, but it didn't feel quite so heavy, nor so cold and bitter. "For now..." He let his eyes rise, his decision glimmering in the soft grey of his irises tinted green by his conviction. "In this place..." Keene drew closer, lips brushing against his partners as his fingers slid along the base of Noven's neck to slide up the back of his head, tangling in the familiar shock of hair as he gently pulled the caramel skinned face towards his own. "I will go only where you take me, however far it might be." His lips sought Noven's, teeth catching at velvet, cautiously tugging at the man's skin as his own body shivered. Letting himself steal another few ticks of the taste of Noven's kiss, Keene pushed himself away just enough that his eyes matched Noven's, just a few inches under the arc of his gaze.

"Three." The number was whispered, his throat suddenly dry, voice hardly his own as his body screamed out that now was not the time for words. "I will stay when our paths cross again, a third and final time." It was no prophecy, however mystic the words might have sounded in the soft, uneven tone. "I can't leave a third time, but a second..." He shook his head, his mind made up for the future but his body focused on the present. "We shouldn't- I... Shouldn't. But..." His eyes fixed on Noven's, pale to dark, ice to fire, but a reflection of passion in each. "For now, can I stay?"

The final words wavered, their uncertainty undeniable in the weakness of his own voice. He shook, out of the overwhelming force of the storm that had ravaged emotion and reason a like, but still he stood on his own two feet, eyes tinged with as much hope as sadness, the cracks of his facade allowing for a short glimpse into the quiet soul of his being. He waited, willing to follow but not to lead in that moment, doubt staying his more carnal desires. He had to leave, but he did not have to leave yet. Keene knew it was idiocy to even think about what ran through his mind, the warmth of their bodies well-remembered, as it couldn't last, not yet. But he wanted it, more than anything, there, pressed against Noven, the man who had broken him without a single strike, his everything if only until the day's end.

[Noven]

He was trying his best to keep a firm grip on what was most practical. Consequences, consequences, consequences. Think of the consequences of your actions. Nona had hit him over the head with that phrase at least a hundred times in his youth, for all the good it did him. His efforts were valiant and intentions well meaning, but his rate of success...not so commendable. For every two inches he managed to pull away, to create some distance so he could breathe and think, the littlest of movements from Keene drew him ten feet back. A sigh, a whisper, a brushing of lips--that was all it took to awaken old memories and send blood rushing downward.

Nov felt like he had been tossed into the sea and left to fend for himself. Kicking and flailing and inevitably dragged under by his own weight and ineptitude. Whenever Keene was involved, his wits became scrambled, his vision clouded. He couldn't tell if this was even good or bad. If the uncharted depths they found themselves sinking towards at that very moment would bring them peace, happiness, the kind of fulfillment every living soul yearned for.

Or if it would just bring them an early, watery grave.

While Keene's touch brought coolness to his fevered skin, Noven knew the very act caused his former lover pain. The sort of pain that would leave the mage's skin bloodied and broken if its source was something tangible. The Sunberthian had attempted to research this condition during his stint in the Memorial Library, but he quickly realized he knew so little of Keene's past. Without something to be traced back, it was near impossible to say where the condition sprung from. Quinn had told him that much, as stubborn as he'd first been denying the obvious, and convinced him to write a letter instead.

"You can't fix a person like you would a broken vase," she explained to him, the understanding in her voice almost harder to bear than the truth itself. "Some people take years to crack, others were made with flaws, and only the gods and goddesses know how much damage it takes to turn the comfort of another's touch into agony."

She was right, of course. It had taken Noven an entire fortnight to accept that, but she was right. And the irony of the situation was not lost on him; here he was, searching for answers that might relieve Keene of such ill-fated pain, when he himself was a Vexer. Marked by Krysus and never given more than a day's rest before he was forced into the streets again, hunting for his next unwitting victim. How could he, of all people, find a cure for something that had literally become the crux of his existence? And who was he to play investigator when he couldn't even figure out his own past?

At the sound of Keene's serene voice, the fugitive found himself drawn back to the present. There was a decisiveness in the other man's gaze that had Nov's stomach twisting in anticipation.

Words were coming out of Keene's mouth, lapping against him in cool puffs of breath, but all Nov could really focus on were the wandering hands that had entangled themselves in his hair. He was being drawn closer, physically now, and their lips brushed against one another's in that agonizing, bittersweet dance of threadbare resistance.

Only where you take me...

It took at least a whole chime before Noven fully digested Keene's words. He was too preoccupied with the lips that were now hungrily seeking his, teeth tugging and breath quickened as they shared a second kiss. A part of him mused how often he found himself at the mercy of the icy mage. He, a slum hardened dog of the Berth who took orders from no one unless it was for coin--or to save his own skin--was left helpless beneath the ministrations of a quiet, seemingly emotionless mage.

Fire and ice...as long as one was stronger, the other would perish. If it was a competition of killing ability, Noven had no doubt that the other man would win. But in the battle of wills, of passion and temptation, well...it appeared they were more equals than anyone could assume at first glance. So maybe they would perish together. Old and sated, preferably, after all of their business was finished.

But Noven knew better than to hope for the impossible.

"Three?" he echoed absently as the other man's answer continued to unravel. What did Keene mean by three?

A third and final time...the difficulty that came with pushing those words out was visible to Noven even through the haze of lust and torment. They both knew there was a price to paid for everything in life, and their union was no exception. No matter how fiercely their yearning for one another blazed, they were still men of power and purpose, set on the paths that had chosen long before they'd known any other options.

"We shouldn't, yet here we are," the darker of the two whispered back, his nose brushing against a cool, pale cheek. It was all he dared for now, knowing the pain that even the gentlest of touches caused.

Straightening, he looked down at Keene to show he was being gravely serious. "You don't need to ask me permission for something I've wanted ever since I stepped aboard that ship." The man wasn't even sure he had it in him to refuse anything to the mage, let alone deny him the one thing they had both craved for nearly a year and counting. But Keene's presence would present something of a problem if he took him back to the inn...

"A third time it is," he continued, gloved hand moving to touch the other man tentatively along the jaw, mimicking Keene's earlier actions. It was still hard to believe they were actually having this conversation. That the ghost haunting his thoughts and the cold, empty space in where his heart once beat so vibrantly was now here, in the flesh and solid to the touch. "After everything is finished and we've earned our peace, we'll pick a place. You and me. And we'll stay. Till we wrinkle like a couple of old prunes and bicker over who gets the last piece of cheese."

I'm not lying to him, Nov tried to convince himself as his touch turned into a more emboldened caress, even though he could taste the bitterness of fear and doubt now laced on his tongue. Not lying to myself. To us. Gods know we deserve something good for a change. What's the harm in dreaming?

He bent forward to lose himself in the taste of Keene's lips a third time, ignoring the resounding, silent answer to his own question. Another wry grin tugged at his mouth halfway through the kiss. "Though it should be me asking if I can stay. My place is ah...not fit for company." And by that, what he really meant was, there may or may not be a broken, blond waif of a lass in my quarters who has been my victim for the past season, and she'd most likely get herself killed trying to strangle you in your asleep in a fit of jealousy and cruelty.

And still that unspoken, nagging answer echoed around and around his head.

Because dreams will only get you and everyone you love killed. Becomes dreams don't come true. Because to hope is to blind yourself to truth.

Nov kissed Keene harder, drowning himself in his counterpart, desperately hoping that the icy coolness the mage exuded would douse some of the fear, grief, and rage that threatened to consume him every time he let his guard down.

Because only blood can solve a Berthian's problems.