If one were to judge him simply by appearances, it would be difficult – nay, impossible – to know that High Lord Rhys Stone had once walked a fine line between life and death.
Not by choice, of course, but by bad luck, bad genes, and incredibly bad timing – when the gaeva had first struck him, long ago, when he had been just a boy. He had been a teenager, back then, flighty and vain, but as compassionate, and maybe undeserving of his fate. But fate had no problem with picking her victims randomly. For a time, fate stood back, and watched with bored, tired eyes, as death held Rhys by the throat, dragging him into darkness, while Rhys, already a scrawny, weak boy, had fought back, tooth, claw and nail, for his life. It was a silent battle, one that Rhys eventually won, with a weary heart and tired lungs – but he had returned, somehow, to the world of the living. He had looked death in the eye and smiled, as he shook that looming beast away.
If not for his apothecary, the man learned in old and ancient healing artes, Rhys Stone would be dead.
To trust someone else with your life is to recognize that you have, efficiently, split your soul in two. Once you give someone the tools to end you and to heal you, the bond between both parties is no longer the same, and it never will be. The apothecary – who had been old, but wise, generous, and patient, despite all of Rhys' flamboyant behavior – was easily the High Lord's right-hand man. It was a relationship of total trust and respect – one that Rhys had always boyishly assumed that would last forever. But, like rainbows and dandelion seeds, all things must come to a halt. Eventually, the rainbow will fade away from blue eyes, and dandelions, if they are not pulled up by gardeners or dogs, are eventually plucked by children, their seeds blown away in the wind. But everyone knows a rainbow cannot last forever. For Rhys Stone, it was a total and complete surprise.
He was leaving, his apothecary – to care for his dying mother, during her last days on earth. Rhys, who knew the pain of losing both parents, could not deny his best man the chance to see his mother before she left this earth. Kia be with you, he had said, and watched him leave, with the knowledge that he would not be back for some time, that he would be out of an apothecary for heavens knew how long. He had known, the old man, that if Rhys could not find a proper apothecary that his life would be in danger... but left anyway. Was it out of trust – that Rhys was competent enough to find a replacement? Or was it because... No, he would not think of that. He would never.
Rhys, at first, was in denial, and lay awake wondering how in the world something like this could happen. He had been a good man – had raised his children with a loving hand, been a doting and loving husband, had sent good vibes to Kia fortnightly... And somehow, he knew his father never had to deal with such issues. But he had to be strong, or death would visit him once again, he knew. Stop sulking, he told himself, and do something. The effects of that accursed disease could revisit him before the month went out, he knew. The disease – ah, the damn gaeva, of course. His stress. His trauma.
A month and a half he had gone without the elixir – and Rhys Stone was pulling at straws. Thankfully, he had an appointment to see another apothecary candidate today, who, hopefully, would prove to be more competent than the others who had applied. Ah, and Rhys was not a man who liked to use such harsh words – like 'incompetent' – but that was really the only way to describe everyone else who had arrived. It made him long for his old friend, it made him want to curse, for once in his life – but that was not gentlemanly, and, despite his horrible condition, Rhys Stone was a gentleman before he was anything else. He could only pray that this new one was a shining sun amongst the elixir of burnt out stars.
It took him longer to get ready than before – blame the gaeva. His stress, and this infernal heat was bringing on an intense migraine – and he could take nothing for his pain. The only thing that kept him going was remembering that he had been through worse – when he had been a boy, long ago. That dance with death – it only reminded him how he never wanted to be so close to the light again. And if surviving meant readying himself to meet with another candidate, then so be it. The High Lord, despite his sickness, was dressed royally – in purples and silvers with black shoes, minus his usual purple robes. It was too hot to fool around with such things – despite his fondness for robes.
He was not a man who liked to keep people waiting, but the gaeva made him slower than normal. Usually, Rhys was quick, efficient, and busy – one had to be, to keep up with this sort of lifestyle, but now, he was effectively weakened, drained. It hadn't changed much, for Nyleha helped with most of the political intricacies of this job anyway – Kia bless her soul. Eventually, Rhys was able to make it to his office, the visitor's center if one would – where he had interviewed countless possible alchemists this month. It had been a job he had labored with alone – for how would anyone else know what Rhys needed for the job?
Unlike Rhys, the current candidate had been right on time. After Rhys composed himself, the valet let the man in – a blonde man, with green eyes, who introduced himself as Lucan Stromwell. Rhys smiled, but the sparkle in his eyes was quite dim – at any other time, he would've been more animated. Still, he took hold of the man's hand and shook it firmly, with vigor, with strength. Handshakes were always Rhys' way of assessing his fellow man passively – how strong they were of character and heart usually showed in their hands.
"Mr. Stromwell, it's so good of you to come! Please, take a seat – anywhere will do."
The office was quite large – a little too large to be considered an office. Rhys went to sit behind a desk – in front of such desk laid a few chairs, made of plush materials, comfortable and fashionable at the same time. The same could be said of the room – which was large, yet homey. Two windows, draped with purple curtains, were open on both sides of the room, which showed off the gardens of House Stone that lay outside of them. The room itself was adorned with exquisite paintings and a few statues, some commissioned by Rhys, others bought at art galas and fairs. The room seemed to be themed – many of the paintings and statues seemed to focus on water, streams, and oceans. The few statutes positioned around the room were of water carriers, equipped with a basket of water that they either carried by their hip, or on their heads. It gave the room a very calming feeling, in Rhys' opinion.
"I must apologize," Rhys began, clasping his hands together on his desk. "I am not normally a man who keeps others waiting for long. These are... trying times, for me." He would say no more on the matter – should the man prove to be a proficient, no, an excellent alchemist, then perhaps these times would no longer be so trying.
"I do appreciate, however, you coming out all this way, to try out for the job. Not many have bothered – and those who have ended up making the trip for nothing." He shook his head – it was silly, to keep loitering around in the past, and brightened up a little. "Ah, but let's not bother ourselves with that! Now – tell me – I'd like to know a little about you, Mr. Stromwell," he asked, his voice a little more exuberant than before. Rhys was a man who loved to socialize, even when he was graced with a pounding migraine.
"Or, if you're the enigmatic type, maybe you could tell me about your skills with alchemy. That's what's most important here, is it not? And – oh!" He stopped, in the middle of his sentence, as if he had forgotten something very important. "Would you like a drink, while we're chatting? Coffee, tea, or maybe a glass of wine?" The valet would get it for him, if he wanted it. It may have seemed like Rhys simply being a gracious host, as normal, but there was also a lot to learn from what a man chose to drink at an interview, if he chose to drink anything at all.
