Wayward Sons (Hadrian)

[Dayn]

35th of Spring, 511 AV

Dayn was nearing that point, midway between his second and third pitchers of ale, when he liked to wander through the Roshin District, listening the clamor of the tiny bazaar while he engaged in innocuous (and occasionally not-so-innocuous) flirtations. As usual, there wasn’t much activity in the Stallion in the middle of the day. Its current patronage was comprised of perpetual sots and the bone idle, who kept repeating the same platitude and tales until his head was near to bursting. Gulping down the last of his drink, Dayn pushed through the door and emerged into the blinding light. Syna, you bitch, he winced, blinking until his eyes adjusted to the brightness.

“It’s a bit early for drinking, isn’t it?” Dayn glanced to the side, unperturbed by the sight of his twin, Areya, lounging against a beam, clad in a light vest over a tunic.

“Ah, sweet sister, Dayn grinned. “I was wondering when I’d run into you again. If you’re not too busy, we could always-”

“Go for a drink?” Areya’s lips curled into a condescending smile. “That was my purpose for coming here, but since it’s plain from the insipid grin you’re wearing that you’d prefer the company of a floozy or three, I must decline your offer. In any event, I have to be getting back on patrol.”

“What?” Dayn affected a tone of mock outrage. “To me, you’re worth a dozen floozies.”

“How flattering.” Areya flounced off, leaving Dayn to his own devices. He drew a hand across his lips, frowning slightly. I don’t have an insipid smile, do I? Well, there was nothing he could do about that. Areya had an uncanny knack for knowing exactly what he was thinking, but for some reason, he’d never been able to figure her out.

Dayn left the gates behind him, making his way through the small clusters of taverns and carts where hawkers displayed their wares, to the lanes that allowed easy access to the various districts. The soaring walls on either side gave him the feeling of walking along a deep ravine. He strode on, passing windows and the occasional door, until his eyes flicked over a young man whose features seemed vaguely familiar. Dayn took a closer look. “Pardon me,” he said. ”You wouldn’t be related to Trajan Aelius, would you?”

[Hadrian]

When Hadrian looked up from perusing the wares of the merchants, it was with eyes that seemed to see too much. In fact, the chlorine blue of them were attuned to the Auristic spectrum just then, so they saw more than most eyes. Of course, he found that with the increased flow of information was helpful to a point, but then there was so much information to sort through that he got bogged down in it. What had he been thinking? Startled, he spoke the truth: "I am his son." Defensive, his reply was tinged with a hint of the Hypnotism that he had learned, but beyond his conscious control: "Who are you?" "I'm sorry," he continued, remembering the etiquette his mother had drilled into him. It was an unconscious reaction to other people, but it often came too late to make a good impression. Thus, it was a good thing she had recently died so she could turn over in her grave whenever her errant son interacted with actual people rather than books. Or scholars, who weren't really people, after all. Were they?

[Dayn]

“Dayn Nigriso,” he blurted, the words forming with a greater alacrity than usual. Now he just felt awkward. This wasn’t like accosting a friend on the street, where recognition was established in the flicker of an eye. “No need to apologize... um, whatever your name is.” Dayn frowned. This conversation isn’t going how I envisioned it. He peered into those chlorine eyes, trying to distinguish the younger man from the rest of his brood.

I’m not drunk, damn you. Don’t look at me like that.

“You probably haven’t seen me for a good ten years,” he explained. “I was the squire that broke your brother’s arm. It was his fault, though. He got amorous with my sister.” There. Dayn knew it was a flimsy rendition of his dealings with the Aelius family, and one that probably made him seem much nastier than he remembered, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances. If it didn’t spark a few memories, he could always take solace in another round of drinks.

[Hadrian]

The name rang several bells, being the name of one of the several prominent knightly familes. And Hadrian had been out of Syliras for the better part of several years to study in Zeltiva, and had traveled on his own to Sahova, to Sunberth, to Alvadas. The latter had been as much to escape the grief of his mother's passing, cast over his family like a choking pall, as anything else. "So you're my brother-in-law, then?" he asked. Trajan Aelius had married Plotina Trema, and he had always claimed there was Bracklin blood in his line. Somewhere. They had Trajan Junior, Calix, Vipsania, Cinna, Lucia, Hadrian, and Verus. One of his elder brothers had married a Nigriso, not to be outdone by young Verus who was a squire himself. "How can I help you?" he asked, his voice again tinged with Hypnotism, apparently his new defense mechanism. This man would answer his questions.

[Dayn]

“No, definitely not,” he said with a grin. He was more amused by the ludicrous notion of Areya – Areya, for Tyveth’s sake – being married than the unexpected suggestion that he might be related to the Aelius family. Well, if one of the brothers had married another Nigriso than they probably were related, but so distantly that it wasn’t anything to speak up. “My warnings come rarely, but they tend to be heeded,” Dayn said by means of explanation. Perhaps he was drunk. He definitely wasn’t making sense, because it seemed as if the both of them were only becoming more confused than before. Just walk away, he urged himself, but it was too late for that now.

Dayn nodded when the younger man asked him another question. And there it was again. That faint, vaguely suggestive whisper at the back of his head. His suspicions were becoming aroused, but the problem was that he found himself responding before he could stop to think, resulting in a hasty, rather insolent retort. “What the petch is your name?” He winced.

“Um, what I meant to say is that I haven’t the faintest inkling as to whom you are, but it will certainly come to me if you’d be so kind as to tell me your name. I also recall that you had a rather comely sister, with rather big – well, let’s forget about those for the moment.”

[Hadrian]

"Oh," he said, though he may or may not have been disappointed. Hadrian just wasn't very good at keeping up family appearances, or, apparently, family connections. "I'm Hadrian. The black sheep. I've been in Zeltiva and otherwise abroad for the better part of five years, so..." He frowned. Lucia had the bigger endowments, though Vipsania's were not what could be termed 'small'. Not that he thought much about his sisters' racks, but the man was asking. "Pleased to meet you?" There was the faintest lift at the end of his sentence, as if the pleasure was still in question. You don't look like a knight. No. What the petch do you do? Worse. "So what brings you back to Syliras after ten years?" That was all right. As he relaxed, he stopped adding hypnotic suggestion to his voice, though he still had not realized he was doing so.

[Dayn]

“Ah, the grubby one.” Dayn grinned up at Hadrian. “You’re much bigger than the last time I saw you.” He meant the statement to be more friendly than discourteous, though it could be easily misinterpreted. Dayn was the sort of man who offended people without trying, often by presuming a closer degree of intimacy than actually existed. He’d hung around with Calix, so ipso facto, he believed it appropriate to treat Hadrian as a little brother.

“I suppose it was about time to come home again,” Dayn replied. He hadn’t exactly been away for ten years, but the visits had been so brief and infrequent that he didn’t think them worth mentioning. “After my father nearly disowned me, I went from squire to mercenary in less than a season. Been all around the world, too. Ahnatep, Spires, Lhavit… and I’ve still got all my fingers.” He waggled them at Hadrian. “Never saw you in Zeltiva, though. What were you doing there, building boats?” His grin broadened.

[Hadrian]

Dayn's jibe was almost hilariously off mark; Hadrian had been the fastidious one, or, at least, he hadn't gotten as dirty with dusty books as his brothers had in the mud and snow, or counting coin for their father. He smiled all the same, reminded of simpler times. "You had more hair the last time I saw you," he ventured dryly. "I was at university. Magic. To piss off my father. It worked." His smile wasn't exactly nice. "Used to travel with Father, though. Since moving to Zeltiva I've mostly seen only Sunberth, Sahova, and Alvadas. None of those were long trips. I'm considering more travel, but I always am. They replaced their old magecrafter with one of my professors from Zeltiva, so I don't know how much work they will have for me after this season. "Anyway, it's a little late to start over as a squire, isn't it? What are you going to do here?"

[Dayn]

Ouch, now that was a low blow. Dayn feigned a wince as he stroked his gently receding hairline. He wasn’t a prickly sort of person, nor was he very concerned with his looks. “So you wanted to piss off your father. That doesn’t sound like the typical reason for studying, he remarked. “But I can appreciate that. It’s why I didn’t want to become a knight.” Now that they’d gotten on the subject of fathers, Dayn found his old gripes and grievances coming to the surface. But he wasn’t going to share. That would’ve been tedious, and he hated being tedious.

“Let’s just say that Sylir would have to return, crying bloody murder whilst riding a meteor, before I thought about becoming a squire again. It wasn’t for me the first time. It’s probably not for me now. I’m going to stick around for a while, drinking up what remains of my earnings before I have to move on again. You only live once, right?” He kept grinning, but now it was forced. His words were empty, and more than a bit sad. What the petch have I done with my life?

“So a magecrafter, huh. Sounds a bit dangerous,” he said idly, glancing around. “If you’re busy, I wouldn’t want to delay you or anything.”

[Hadrian]

He shrugged uncomfortably, aware enough of human emotion at least to know that his words had hit their mark too well. There was no ill will simmering within him for this Dayn Nigriso, and most of the ill will he bore his father was childish anyway. He tried to put those things behind him. "Sorry," he muttered. "I was interested in magic, and it turns out I have a knack for some of the disciplines. Irritating my parents was just a happy bonus. I think I would have followed that route anyway." A dark eyebrow rose at the vehemence of the man's words, and he thought he understood the unspoken subtext, but he just nodded rather than addressing it. Many of the people he had met in his travels seemed to burn with desperation; few were those who did great things merely because they enjoyed them. Even centuries after the holocaust of empires, they were still picking up the pieces in a dangerous world. It was no wonder the chaos remained. "All magic is dangerous," he said, nodding. It was a truism, and it was irritating to have it repeated ad nauseum at University, but it was no less true for repetition. "Once I get things going, the risk will also entail a huge payoff, but I don't have to go anywhere. It's a long process, but a lot of it is hurry-up-and-wait, if you know what I'm saying. I don't have to go back in until tomorrow morning. I have squires to make sure nothing explodes."