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Post by Diocles on Jan 28, 2021 23:43:15 GMT
Árón struggles to control his rising anger. "Why would the gladiator say such a thing? Is this not the same man who followed your black-hearted companion whose soul now goes howling into the Void?"
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Post by Storyteller on Jan 29, 2021 0:20:34 GMT
I nod. "Yes, Merchant Árón." I am strangely formal with him, perhaps my shame so heavy on me, and I push past it to lift his hand to my lips. "My beloved. He was one of those whose life I purchased with that very sacrifice he mocked."
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Post by Diocles on Jan 29, 2021 0:23:18 GMT
"Then I shall slay him." This pronouncement shakes you to your core, for it is inexorable as the sea.
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Post by Storyteller on Jan 29, 2021 0:29:14 GMT
I would not question Árón's words any more than I would Galadrin's own. "I love you," I say. "Your care of me makes nothing else matter. It would no longer matter what he said, what shame might come, for I have been loved by you."
And by Iritari, whom still I love, and who I wish could one day meet Árón.
Perhaps in the afterlife, in Galadrin's own halls...
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Post by Diocles on Jan 29, 2021 0:35:10 GMT
You spend the day with your beloved Árón, in his bed, and at his board, where he has ample stores. Then you both sing a hymn to Galadrin as you watch the moon rise over the black and turbulent sea, and though you are happy at Árón's side, you heart aches for Iritari, who lies somewhere beneath those waves.
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Post by Storyteller on Jan 29, 2021 0:40:57 GMT
I lean my head against Árón's shoulder. "May Galadrin bless all those given to him," I murmur.
I love you, Iritari, I think. And I wish you could be here with us. Árón would love you as I do, I know. Who could not love you? And who could not love him?
I reach up and touch the little braid of Iritari's hair in mine. It is an Elunian love token, the braid, which ought to be made with a lock from each of the three lovers in a triad. I gave him a lock of my own hair before he was lost, and the thought is a comfort to me, to know he had a piece of me with him always...
"May I have a lock of your hair, beloved?" I ask. "To braid into mine, Elunian-fashion?"
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Post by Diocles on Jan 29, 2021 0:51:18 GMT
Árón gazes into your eyes for a moment. "Of course, beloved. Is that the custom of your people?"
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Post by Storyteller on Jan 29, 2021 0:58:07 GMT
"It is," I say. "Of course, usually it is three males," I add with a blush. "But you are so kind as to love me anyway, so, yes. Elunians usually mate in threes, though sometimes a pair will never close their triad. It would be expected that I would give a lock my own hair to you, to braid into yours, too." Then I ask, "What are the love-customs of the Kindor? For it would soothe my heart to show all love to you..."
I do not speak of the little braid with Iritari's hair in it, but I know that my Árón has seen it.
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Post by Diocles on Jan 29, 2021 1:01:20 GMT
Árón has seen it yet has said nothing, which cannot but puzzle you, for his heart is open to you in all ways. "We Kindor are the horselords of Norivea, and we love by riding and hunting together, our saddles and reins adorned with the love tokens of our mates." You sense his loss at no longer riding, but you know his joy at sacrificing that in order to serve Galadrin.
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Post by Storyteller on Jan 29, 2021 1:08:39 GMT
My heart moves within me. This, this is a gift I can give to my noble-hearted Árón!
Of course, the Academy might not have such a thing, nor would they give it to me if they did, but I will manage it somehow.
I lift again his hand and kiss the tattoos on the back of it.
"Do they wear the marks of their loves, too?" I ask tracing over some of the whorls with my finger.
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Post by Diocles on Jan 29, 2021 1:13:12 GMT
"Of course," he says with a laugh. "I didn't mention it because the markings of the Kindor are clear to all. But yes." He gives you a small ceramic container that clicks shut. When you open it, you see a blue powder. "This is woad," he explains. "I want you to experiment with different designs on your face, and when you find the one you like, tell me."
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Post by Storyteller on Jan 29, 2021 1:16:58 GMT
"Yes, my beloved," I say. I take the woad. I will experiment, and I will find what I like, so that I can wear Árón's marks open to all.
"And thank you for the lock of hair, too." I braid his lock in with mine and Iritari's. It is a proper braid, though Árón's shade of red is not much different from my own.
I do not tell him of my planned gift, but I swear to Galadrin that I shall succeed!
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