@wandering_giraffe [M for heavy themes/probably eventual Demonic Horror Stuff]
Ilia had only been to the capital twice before. Once as a very young child, on a trip that her father had referred to as "business", which she did not remember particularly well. And then again just two years ago, to attend a ball during her first official season "out" in Connlaothian society.
The buildings were certainly beautiful, no one could deny that. But she thought she rather preferred the sprawling grounds of their manor back in Uthlyn, where there were a few hidden spots that a person could stand in and pretend for a few moments that they weren't in a city at all.
But she wasn't here to judge aesthetics; she was on a mission.
The mansion she was looking for was not difficult to spot. It seemed her quarry was not overly concerned with
anonymity. The
problem would be getting inside. She had a calling card, but she knew she would hardly be
expected.
Still,
acting as though you belonged in a place could open a great many doors, she had learned. So she patted her thigh and called, "Come, Twyla," as she strode confidently up the long drive to the large, imposing doors. Her little cat mewed a protest, but abandoned her exploration of the shrubbery that lined the walkway and came scampering after her.
Ilia cleared her throat when she finally reached the doors, brushing one hand down the front of her skirts and reaching up to pat at her hair, making sure she looked every bit the young noblewoman she was meant to be, before she reached out to clap the massive iron knocker against the wood twice.
"Hello? Is there a Master Blackthorn in? I'd like an audience, please, if he's available."
Vaelin was...well...rather engrossed in a very intense chess match with his butler. He had just made a very important weapons deal and was celebrating by engaging in a battle. Well, a mental battle, but Vaelin enjoyed those just as much as physical ones.
"And I move my bishop to place your king in checkmate, hence," and Vaelin paused for dramatic effect, "checkmate."
He grinned, laying back in his seat.
His butler, Alistair, scowled, studying the chess board.
"Master BlackThorn, I do believe that you forgot about my rook. I castle my rook and king, capturing yours, and ending the game in a true checkmate."
He took a sip of his tea.
Vaelin's grin dropped, Vaelin abruptly leaning forward.
"That's not possible! How did I miss that?"
Alistair laughed, adding more sugar into his tea.
"You tend to miss the very small details, sir. Which is why I'm here, most of the time. It just doesn't work out when you happen to be against me in a chess game."
Vaelin sighed.
"Well said, as usual Alistair. Best two out of three?"
A knock at the door interrupted their conversation.
Alistair stood up.
"Duty calls, sir."
Vaelin stood up as well, adjusting his coat. He was worried that it might be the prestigious duke he just made a deal with.
"No, I need to answer the door this time, Alistair."
And with that, Vaelin left the living hall and went to the front door.
He opened the door.
"Well , you're certainly not who I was expecting—-Do I know you?" And he looked curiously at the lady and her cat.
"Hello!" Ilia positively beamed at him. "I'm not sure that we've ever been formally introduced, actually--my name is Ilia Amaranth."
She knew he would recognize her surname, if nothing else. It had been a long time since he'd seen her; she wasn't surprised that he didn't recognize her. She hardly remembered him, really. But some snooping through her father's old records had definitely shed some light on that particular chapter of their lives--and since Varyyn didn't seem all that inclined to fix things, she supposed it was up to her.
Her expression softened a bit as she looked Vaelin over. "You, ah...you look well," she said quietly.
Vaelin sucked in a breath as he heard the name "Amaranth". He hadn't thought about that name in a long time.
"You're...Varryn's daughter? I thought I rather recognized your face," he paused, looking rather uncomfortable. You shouldn't be here. It's not safe. If your father finds out you've been here..." He slammed the door in her face, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. But maybe he should talk to the girl. That was the least he could do.
He opened the door again.
"I'm sorry for the rudeness, but this is an awful lot to process. What brought you here anyways? Is," he hesitated. "Is Varryn alright?"
Well. All things considered, she supposed a slammed door was really on the lighter side of poor outcomes.
She had just scooped up Twyla, scratching the cat's ears as she debated knocking again or perhaps returning on a different day when the door opened once more.
"Oh." She smiled at him, a little nervously. "No no, he's--Father's quite fine. Actually, he's--we, I suppose--there's a dinner tonight," she said in a rush. She reached into the small handbag at her wrist and produced a calling card with the address of their townhouse. "It's mostly a business meeting, but, um... He would really like it if you attended. I just think he...he was unsure if it would be appropriate to ask you himself."
She smiled a little wider. "So I'm doing it."
Vaelin folded his arms.
"How do I know this isn't a trick to get me there and then kill me?"
He eyed the card suspiciously. After the incident he hadn't ever talked to Varryn. And why would he? The man had double-crossed him, ruining his business and practically forcing him to start over.
"But he asked you to invite me?" And he raised an eyebrow. Quite strange, especially after he had just finished making a weapons deal.
But he cautiously took the card, reading it over and sighing.
"I guess I'll come. What time do I need to be there?" The slightest hint of a small smile was showing in his eyes. He hadn't gone to any sort of social function in a long time.
"Kill you?!" Ilia practically squawked, staring at him with wide eyes. "Wh--no, of course not!"
Surely things hadn't ended that badly between them? she knew Vaelin had every right to be angry with her father, but... Surely that was a joke. Or at least an exaggeration.
She seemed to settle some when he took the card, and even tried for another smile, albeit more cautious this time. Choosing not to answer his question about Varyyn asking her to invite him, she said, "We'll have everything ready at seven, but a few of Father's guests won't be arriving until eight. You're welcome to arrive any time between, if you like."
She shifted her weight from foot to foot, some of her "proper lady" demeanor bleeding away to show the girl beneath. "It, um..." She licked her lips nervously, then murmured, "It's...nice to see you again. I'm sure you don't remember me much, but...ahem. Anyway."
She gave her head a little shake, then beamed another polite smile at him, all her airs back in place. "I do hope I'll see you this evening, Master Blackthorn."
Based on Ilia's reaction, it seemed that nobody was planning to kill him there. Well, one could never be too careful.
He mustered up a small smile.
"Well then, I shall be there at 7 o' clock sharp." He stood there for a second, thinking, twirling his handkerchief.
"I assume the dress code is more formal than not? At any rate, I'll be there, I can assure you."
He gave her a small, quick bow.
"Thank you for the invitation, Ilia. Goodbye until tonight."
And he closed the door, staring at the door for a good minute.
Vaelin needed some time to process this. He went upstairs into his study and sat at his desk, moving aside the seemingly endless piles of shady weapons deals and propositions, and put his head in his hands. He sighed. He did not expect the day to go like this. Well, he did expect the weapons deal to go off without a hitch, he made sure of that, but to hear about Varryn again...the very thought made him feel an emotion he hadn't thought of in a long time. And Varryn's daughter...the last time he saw her was very faint in his mind, but she had seemed to keep the sweet disposition he remembered. He sighed, getting up and going to the window overlooking the courtyard, checking the sundial for the time. It was already 4 o' clock. He needed to hurry if he was going to make it by 7.
He called Alistair up.
The butler poked his head in.
"Yes, sir, is everything alright?"
Vaelin waved him over, handing Alistair the card Ilia had given him.
"Arrange a carriage for me, please, and give the driver this address."
The butler nodded, taking a look at the card and tucking it into his coat pocket.
"Right, I will go make arrangements right away," he said, turning to go so what he had been told.
"Oh! And Alistair?"
Alistair turned back around.
"Yes, Master?"
"Get a bottle of ceremonial wine from the cellar please, and put it in the carriage," Vaelin requested.
Alistair nodded, leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.
3 hours later
Vaelin's comfortable carriage pulled up to Varryn's townhome, Vaelin getting out and thanking the driver. Vaelin was dressed in black pants and dashing black boots, his ruffled shirt complementing his multi pocketed maroon coat. Nervously, he smoothed his shirt, adjusting his coat and walking up to the front door. Vaelin raised his hand to knock on the door and hesitated, before knocking loudly on the door.
"Are guests arriving already?"
"Seems so," Ilia noted, craning her neck slightly to look out the parlor window at the drive. There were a handful of carriages unloading their passengers at the door. "Shall I greet them?"
"If you wouldn't mind." Her father gave her a distracted smile as he briefly glanced up from the table where he was carefully arranging a vase of flowers. "I still need to address the staff, as it were."
Ilia chuckled and rolled her eyes. In all her life, they had never had a single member of a "staff" for Varyyn to address; they kept up the appearances of servants, of course, with her father's demonic abilities. Which was what he meant when he said such things--he was, in fact, the only person preparing their dinner.
So it was left to Ilia to play hostess as his assorted business partners and social climbers arrived at their door. She smiled and curtsied and thanked people for coming, doing everything she was supposed to do. "We're just down that hall, in the dining room," she told them all, directing them back through the townhouse to the room where they would all be eating.
Within minutes, the sounds of conversation and laughter began echoing back down the hall, and she knew her father must have succeeded in arranging their meal just in time. She could hear his voice occasionally in the cloud of noise--nothing specific, just that even, polite tone he used when he needed to speak with people that he did not particularly care for.
She had deflated slightly when the trickle of arriving guests slowed, then stopped, and her personal invitation had not yet arrived. Then there was another knock, and she perked up hopefully as she answered the door.
"Master Blackthorn!" She smiled. "Welcome, ser. Please, come in."
He didn't have to wait very long for the door to open, Ilia welcoming in. He stepped inside, slightly bowing to her.
"Thank you again, for inviting me here." He cleared his throat. He held out the bottle of wine.
"A gift...for your father," he explained, and looked around the foyer where they were standing.
"Well then, I shall follow you," he said, nervousness showing in his voice.
He hadn't even spoke to Varryn since. What if he makes a fool of himself? He pushed down the feelings of bitterness and the tiny inkling of hate he was feeling.
"Oh, that's very kind." She took the bottle delicately and smiled at him with a polite nod. "Thank you very much. It's just this way--I do believe you're the last to arrive, let me walk with you."
"Mrrow?"
"Oh! Twyla, leave off." The little seemed to have appeared out of nowhere to sniff at Vaelin's boots. She crinkled her nose and sneezed, gave him a reproachful look, then darted off into the depths of the house.
"I'm sorry about her," Ilia said with a little laugh and a shake of her head as they walked. "She's a sweet thing, just overly curious. Father!"
Swinging the door to the dining room open, she called cheerfully as she held up the bottle of wine, "Our last guest has arrived, and he brought a gift!"
Varyyn was engaged in conversation with a circle of three other men, and turned to her absently. "Last guest? I thought--"
His eyes lit on Vaelin and widened. "You--!"
The sudden shout drew the attention of his other guests, and he quickly cleared his throat and schooled his expression back to neutrality. "...Master Blackthorn." He swallowed, then nodded politely. "What a...pleasant surprise."
He shot his entirely unrepentant daughter a Look that screamed, You are in so much trouble, young lady.
Knowing he could do nothing in front of his guests at the risk of losing face, Ilia smiled back at him innocently and said nothing.
Clearly, the young woman had lied when she said her father had asked her to invite Vaelin.
He smiled nervously when she took the bottle from him. Vaelin was so nervous, in fact, that when a cat smelled his boots he just about jumped out of his skin.
"Don't be sorry," Vaelin said. "I have a cat of my own at home. Your cat is much better behaved than mine."
He could hear the chatter from the dining room. Maybe this wasn't a wise decision. Why did he come? His thoughts were interrupted by Illia opening the dining room door and getting her fathers attention. Vaelin unconsciously stood up straighter.
Seeing Varryn for the first time in years did two things to Vaelin. For one thing his heart felt like it skipped a beat. On the other hand, the suppressed feeling of bitterness was reading its ugly head.
Varryn's surprised outburst didn't suprise Vaelin...that much. If Varryn had showed up on Vaelin's doorstep out of the blue he probably would have done the same thing.
Vaelin composed himself and bowed deeply.
"It's been a long time, Varryn."
But something didn't add up. Why would Varryn act so suprised to see him if he had invited him? Unless Varryn hadn't invited him, and Ilia had. He gave Ilia an unamused glare.
Vaelin coughed awkwardly.
"I brought wine, if you gentlemen would like some."
"It...certainly has, at that." Varyyn stared at him a moment longer, then cleared his throat and shook his head. "You are, of course, most welcome. And...thank you."
Ilia held up the aforementioned wine--a vintage that was a particular favorite of Varyyn's. He had no idea if that was intentional, if Vaelin even remembered something like that. And if it was intentional, was it meant as a peace offering or an insult?
"Master Blackthorn, I must say, it's something of a shock to see you here," said one of Varyyn's other guests, a rather minor weapons merchant from a small duchy near the southern border. "A pleasant shock, to be sure, to be sure. I didn't realize Lord Amaranth was conducting such a thorough business meeting after dinner."
"Nor did I," Varyyn muttered, almost too low to hear, with another quick glare in his daughter's direction.
"Well, I'll leave you gentlemen to it!" Ilia proclaimed brightly, placing the bottle of wine on the table and dipping into a half curtsy before moving for the door. "Come, Twyla."
The little ginger cat grumbled, clearly having been hoping to sneak tidbits under the table, but sauntered after her mistress.
Vaelin slowly sat down, rather conflicted about the whole matter.
He cleared his throat. "I uh...actually just closed a huge weapons deal. But, I don't want to take away from the business meeting that will be happening."
He messed around with the empty glass in front of him.
"Could I perhaps ask for a glass of water, though? It would be much appreciated."
"Perhaps, Varryn, we could talk after the business meeting...privately."
"Perhaps..." Varyyn stared at him for a moment, then seemed to snap back to himself. "Yes. Perhaps we should."
He slipped back into the affectations of host, calling, "Gentlemen, please, take your seats and we can begin."
It was not meant to be a terribly important dinner, but Varyyn was more than happy to allow the talk of business and alliances and pricing to distract him from his daughter's...surprise guest.
Eventually, he encouraged the gathered guests to move to the parlor, lingering himself in the dining room as they all filed out. Until just he and Vaelin were left.
Some of the familiar cloak of noble duty and obligation fell from his shoulders, and he shook his head at the blacksmith. "...What are you doing here?"
"I'm not really sure," Vaelin admitted. He sighed.
He fidgeted uncomfortably with his coat sleeve.
"Your daughter...she..." he cleared his throat.
"She found my house, somehow, and knocked on my door. She said that you invited me. That's partly why I came." His voice softened some.
"To see you again. But, but another part of me is wanting to know why. Why did you do it, Varryn. Why? You stole my livelihood! I just..." he frustratedly ran a hand through his black hair.
"Why?" His voice broke.
Varyyn stared at him silently for a long moment. There was a flicker of something behind his eyes, something like regret, or fear, or something even more treacherous.
But it vanished quickly, and he lifted his chin, jaw clenched.
"Because I am a bad man, Master Blackthorn," he told him emotionlessly. "I am selfish and greedy, and I repaid your kindness with cruelty." He paused, eyes going hard. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"
Vaelin made himself take deep breaths as Varryn was talkimg.
At Varryn's question, though, his eyes briefly flashed red.
"No, I honestly don't know what I was expecting."
Vaelin's hand twitched near his belt where his knife was hidden.
"You better be thankful. I could have killed both you and your daughter back then; but I didn't! Don't make me do something I'm going to regret, Varryn."
Varyyn's spine stiffened, and his eyes went red. Entirely, ominously red.
He took a step forward, and his glamour slipped, revealing a flash of lavender-charcoal skin and too-sharp teeth bared in a snarl.
Vaelin had known him better than most. Known he wasn't human, not entirely. But Varyyn could only remember one occasion when he'd fully dropped his glamour around the other man, and that had only be for a few moments. Now, he let it slip away entirely, the air around him suddenly thrumming with power as he stalked forward.
"Get. Out," he hissed. "You do not threaten my daughter. Ever. In fact, were it not for her, you would not still be breathing."
Vaelin hadn't forgotten that Varryn was half demon, but when it happened his heart still dropped.
Vaelin could feel the change in the room. And when Varryn moved forward, Vaelin unconsciously stepped backwards, his hand gripping the hilt of his dagger. He opened his mouth as if to say something, and then closed it, cautiously backing up. Vaelin wasn't stupid. To attack Varryn in his own home would be suicide.
"You better watch your back, Ryn," Vaelin growled, abruptly turning around, leaving the room and slamming the door closed.
The sound of a door opening and slamming shut indicated that Vaelin had left the townhouse.
It took longer than it should have for Varyyn to wrestle himself back under control enough to reinstate his glamour. Once he had, it took another few moments of deep, controlled breathing before he felt certain he could face his tiresome guests without losing control.
Ilia was in so much trouble.
2 Weeks Later...
Vaelin grumbled as he made his way to Varryn's empty townhouse. He'd been planning this ever since he had been "invited" to Varryn's townhome.
It was night out, but there was a full moon, and not a single cloud was in the sky. He muttered to himself. How was he supposed to be sneaky when there wasn't any cloud cover? He double checked his pockets. Good. All of his tools he needed he still had. He had made it to Varryn's street. He spotted the small opening in the hedge that he had identified earlier in the week, and snuck inside Varryn's yard.
The townhome was dark. He had heard through the grapevine that Varryn and Illia had left, and were back at their residence. That was good, because he didn't want to hurt anyone. He just wanted to make a statement. Which is exactly what he was doing.
Vaelin double checked in the windows, making sure nobody was home.
He started lining the outside of the house with dry tinder, sprinkling a magic powder he had obtained that would guarantee the fire he lit would catch, but also not spread beyond the townhome.
He heard a branch snap, and ran behind a tree, cautiously peeking out.
It was just a squirrel.
He sighed and continued lining the house. It took him about 30 minutes to line the house good, and when he was done, he stepped back to survey his work. He grabbed the matches out of his pocket and struck them against the metal sole of his boot. The first one didn't catch. He sighed and tried another one. That one caught, and he dropped it into the dry tinder surrounding the house. The fire spread faster than he was expecting, and he rolled under the hedge, leaving the scene.
It should have taken the better part of a week to return to Reajh from Uthlyn when word of the fire reached Varyyn's household. He managed to make the journey in three days--Ilia in tow, of course, because he certainly didn't trust leaving her to her own devices after the stunt she'd pulled.
Still, he made sure she was safely warded and had charged Twyla with making sure that her mistress stay in their room at the inn before setting out into the city.
He didn't need any supernatural power to learn where Master Blackthorn was living these days; he'd known for years, actually, from carefully placed questions with his own business interests in the city. He had told himself it was just to keep tabs on a potential threat.
He had never really believed it.
What did require a bit of demonic intervention was getting into the house without being noticed. A simple glamour to make him look like a servant worked at first, but then he needed use of some proper invisibility to make his way deeper into the house and find what he assumed had to be the main office.
He didn't bother knocking, dropping his invisibility spell and slamming the door open with one hand.
"Tell me you knew she wasn't there."
Vaelin was immersed in a very good book, his legs propped up on his desk, when Varryn slammed open the door.
Vaelin shut the book none too gently and glared at Varryn.
"Well of course I knew she wasn't there, I'm not completely insane, Varryn."
He sighed.
"You couldn't have waited till I finished this chapter? It was such a good chapter too."
Vaelin took his legs off the desk and set the book down on the desk, his eyes boring into Varryn's.
"I am curious, though. How much does Ilia know?"
There was certainly a relief at that, at knowing that he wouldn't have to kill him. A relief he decided he wouldn't examine too closely.
He growled quietly and crossed the space between them in three king, quick strides. The door slammed shut behind him with a flick of his wrist.
"What she knows is none of your damned business," he snarled, eyes flashing to their demonic form for a moment. "I have tried to keep you out of this Vaelin—don't make me regret not simply killing you when I should have."
Vaelin stood up, eyes flashing to something...dark...before flashing back to normal.
"Kept me out of what, Varryn? Things don't add up. We were rather close before, and then one day you just stab me in the back? For what? For money?" Vaelin's voice was dangerously calm, like the calm before the storm. Vaelin's hand punched the desk, making a dent in the wood.
"It's time you explain yourself, Varryn. I'm running out of patience."
Varyyn growled—and it was not a humanoid creature playing at a growl, but a true, proper growl. The kind of snarling sound that usually heralded a predator's fangs sinking into its prey's throat.
"And what makes you think," he hissed, taking a step forward, "that I have to tell you anything, mortal?"
He took another step, eyes burning as his glamour flaked away to reveal his true form beneath. "What makes you think I care for money, or the petty power your kind strive for in this plane? What makes you think you have earned the truth?"
It was unfair, and he knew it, and he didn't care. Vaelin may not have intended to harm Ilia, but that fire had been a threat—a threat, and a damned beacon.
Varyyn was not the only power who would have noticed it.
Vaelin stood up, drawing up to his full height, himself taking a step towards Varryn.
"What do you want, Ryn? I—-"
Just then, the door opened, and in walked Vaelin's butler, holding a tray of tea.
"Sir, I heard you had company. Did you and your guest want some tea?"
Vaelin took a moment to compose himself. "Just...set it down on my desk please." He gave his butler a warning glare as his butler set the tray down and left.
Varyyn heard the other human's footsteps and quickly threw his usual glamour back in place a moment before the butler walked in.
He smiled tightly at the other man, struggling to keep his composure and rage and a few other more confusing emotions that he desperately wished to ignore swirled in his chest.
"Thank you," he said politely as the butler set down the tray.
He waited until the man's footsteps had faded before taking a deep breath and turning to face Vaelin.
"What I want," he said slowly, clearly struggling to keep his voice even, "is to keep my daughter safe. Safe from anyone—anything—that would even unintentionally do her harm." He stared at Vaelin for a long moment. "Do you understand?"
Vaelin was very confused. Well actually he was feeling a lot of things. How did his butler know? He certainly didn't catch on that Varryn was even in his house.
Vaelin uncomfortably shifted on his feet.
"Well...since my butler brought up tea, you're welcome to have some."
He poured himself some tea, and then sipped on it, leaning against his desk.
"Listen, Ryn...I didn't mean to make threats against your daughter. I was angry, and I lost control." There was so much more Vaelin wanted to say. When he had been invited to Varryn's townhouse, he didn't plan for any of what had transpired to happen that way. He actually had wanted to tell Varryn that he missed him. Even after all that had happened. That he still loved him. But that didn't happen.
But all Vaelin said was,
"I still love you Ryn."
That—
Well. He definitely wasn't expecting that.
It was such an unexpected turn in the conversation, in fact, that Varyyn found himself blurting out the first response that came to his mind.
"Why?"
He blinked, then actually...blushed as his own voice seemed to register. "I— That is— You shouldn't," he scrambled, desperately hoping his face betrayed none of the turmoil in his chest. "I—I wronged you."
Of course, he'd done it to save his life—all their lives—in the best way that had seemed possible. But Vaelin didn't know that!
Vaelin set his cup of tea down.
"Well...I wronged you too."
That made a lot more sense in Vaelin's head. He searched his brain for the right words, because right now, he could hardly think straight.
Now Vaelin was blushing too. He was a very guarded and private man. Normally. Until he gets anywhere near Varryn.
"Ever since I first saw you I've loved you. I've been in hopelessly in love ever since, and even after...after what happened, I'm still hopelessly in love with you, Ryn."
Varyyn shook his head slowly. "You shouldn't," he muttered, shoving down any other response he might have to those words. "You really shouldn't—you don't even know me."
It didn't sound like an admonishment, despite how much he tried to make it one. It sounded...sad. Regretful.
He started to pace, unable to look at the master of the house. "Foolish mortal," he muttered, half to himself. "Foolish, naive..."
He descended into muttering in his mother tongue: a language of scorching flame and yawning abyss, a language that had no business being spoke in this plane and echoed oddly through its air. He didn't seem to notice, pacing and muttering for a few moments longer before he stopped and turned to face Vaelin again.
"...I never wanted to hurt you," he admitted, half growling. Frustrated. "I—I was trying to keep you safe. Keep you away." He sighed and shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But it seems you are determined to leap headlong into danger, despite my best efforts. You and Ilia both."
Vaelin noticed a strange chill settle over the room as Varryn was speaking in a strange tongue.
"I can protect you. Both you and your daughter. Like I did before." Vaelin walked closer to Varryn.
"You can stay here. Ilia can too. I have plenty of room. We can fight this together. You don't have to be alone, Ryn." Vaelin's eyes were pleading.
"No, Vaelin." Varyyn looked at him sadly--it was probably the most naked display of emotion he'd shown in years, other than his initial rage upon his arrival. "You can't. I--you have no idea how much I wish you could, but you can't. You don't even know what's after her..."
Vaelin frustratingly rubbed the back of his neck.
"I...no...God damn it Ryn!" He hated when Varryn was right.
"Is whatever that's after her half demon too?" He didn't ask mockingly. He was genuinely concerned and wondering. Vaelin was a very talented weaponsmith, and his mind was going.
"Demons have weaknesses too don't they," he half muttered to himself. Vaelin went behind his desk and brought out a small, seemingly insignificant dagger.
"I fashioned this years ago...I could make a more powerful one."
"Half-demon." Varyyn chuckled, though the sound was definitely unamused. "Is that what you think I am?"
Maybe...that was where they should start. If this man was so determined to make himself a target...maybe Varyyn should be preparing him for what he'd be a target of.
Clearly simply trying to chase him away from himself and Ilia hadn't worked.
He sighed and sat in the chair on the other side of Vaelin's desk. "How much do you think you know about me?"
Not as much as I should, Vaelin thought uneasily to himself.
"Well...years ago, I helped you and Ilia find a safe place to settle...you said you were in need of help...but it's been so long, Ryn."
"Just," he sighed, "Just tell me how I can help. I know I can help. I want to help. Please, just let me."
Varyyn shook his head--again, not a denial, more a disappointment. With himself, with Vaelin, it wasn't quite clear. "You know I'm not human," he sighed eventually. "You know my lineage is demonic." He'd told him that himself, though little else. "How much do you know about demons?"
"How much do I know about demons..." Vaelin muttered to himself. How much did he know? Varryn was half demon...or so he thought. Was he full demon? He sighed.
"Well..." he said, alittle worried at how much he didn't know...
"You came from...where did you come from? Demons are from another dimension are they not? Or have you ever been there?" Vaelin genuinely was just asking questions at this point.
Varyyn nodded slowly. He steepled his hands in front of his kith, brow slightly furrowed.
Every instinct was screaming at him to shut up—both to protect himself and Vaelin, but most importantly to protect Ilia.
But the weapons merchant had already proved he was unwilling to be safely shuffled off to the sidelines, and right now his lack of knowledge made him moreof a liability.
Of course, Varyyn could have always simply killed him. That was the obvious, easiest, and most practical solution.
But he couldn't do it. He told himself he'd keep it as an option in reserve, but...
"Dimension, realm, plane, yes." He nodded. "Something like that—it's called different things by different schools of thought on the matter. And yes, I've been there. I was born there, and lived most of my life there. Until Ilia."
"Yes, and then you and Illia came here...but why? Who—-or what—-is after you, Ryn? Or..." Vaelin was slowly putting the pieces together.
"Ilia...you left because of Ilia...to protect her..."
And then Vaelin thought of the idle, rather foolish threat he had made against Varryn. In his own house. Against Ilia too. That was quite foolish of him to do. He realized that now. But it was too late. The damage had been done.
"Yes," Varyyn sighed, leaning forward over his knees and pressing fingertips to temples. "I left to protect Ilia. Or rather--I did, but I told myself I was leaving to spite my brother."
He laughed, the sound dry and sharp and not at all amused, and leaned back in the chair. "As to what is after me, after her...even that question does not quite encapsulate the situation. A more narrow answer may be given to the question: who is not after us."
"What is not after 'us'?"
Vaelin wondered about that. He didn't know much about other dimensions, really. But he sure as hell knew everything about weapons.
"Can you not just take Ilia elsewhere? I could help...I could help smuggle both of you out. We could travel to the Kilanthro Mountains...I know of places in Le'raana where you could truly disappear." Vaelin uneasily shifted.
"Let me help you, Ryn. Please."
The demon lord shook his head slowly. "No. Connlaoth is still the safest place for us--so long as no one recognizes her own abilities. The people of this country are so paranoid about magic, they offer a shield of sorts."
Of course, demonic power couldn't be negated by a mordecai, but the mass fear of magic itself meant that most people in Ilia's life were overly wary of anything that seemed "unnatural", and it gave Varyyn an advantage.
Vaelin shifted on the desk, finishing his cup of tea and setting the empty cup back on the tray.
"Why did you really come here, Varryn? To make sure I wasn't going to kill your daughter?"
His cunning eyes stared into Varryn's, searching for something.
"Or," he stood up from the desk, advancing towards Varryn.
"Did you come here to kill me? To finish what you started when you took my livelihood from me?"
Varryn's expression shuttered. Any emotion that might have been cracking through the mask was swallowed up into dark, cold eyes. He stayed seated as Vaelin approached, but one corner of his lips twitched to reveal a brief, warning flash of sharp teeth.
"It's been a long time," he said softly, expressionless. "The man I once knew never would have threatened Ilia's life. Though I suppose you might not be the same man."
He held Vaelin's stare. "I have no desire to kill you, Ser Blackthorn. Not unless you leave me no choice."
Vaelin stopped, and sighed.
"I may not be the same man. I do promise that I won't harm your daughter. Or you.
I'm sorry, Ryn. I really am. I...I felt threatened. And I took it out on you."
Vaelin extended a hand towards Varryn.
"Can we start over? For Ilia? For us?" He asked softly.
Varyyn eyed his extended hand for a long moment, then looked up with a wryly arched brow.
"You do know the risks involved in making a deal with a demon, don't you?" It was difficult to tell from his tone if it was said in jest, or a true warning.