The Monster in the Room
Log Info
- Title: The Only Monster in the Room
- Emitter: Ravenstongue
- Characters: Ravenstongue, Telamon
- Place: Ravenstongue and Telamon's house
- Summary: Ravenstongue is out running errands and Telamon is tidying up the house when who else shows up but Ravenstongue's estranged father, Glórenacil. The elf man appears to be scared out of his mind, so Telamon invites him in and proceeds to learn why Glórenacil has been harassing Ravenstongue: he has been urged by his wife and by the Feathered One to clear the family name, and chose to do so by concocting a convoluted and seemingly directionless plan that offended his wife. He reveals that Ainasse sabotaged him, but his behavior is so deplorable that it offers him hardly any relief, especially as the Feathered One appears and threatens Glórenacil's life for what he's done. Telamon manages to keep the Feathered One from harming Glórenacil and makes a deal with the man, allowing him to live so long as he promises to never set foot in Alexandria again. Glórenacil lives another day...
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Dramatis Personae =--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Ravenstongue 5'0" 99 Lb Half-Elf Female Short half-elf girl with violet eyes and black hair. Telamon 5'6" 140 Lb Half-Elf Male A platinum-blond half-sil man with dancing dark eyes -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-=-= NPCs of Note =-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Glórenacil 5'7" 120 Lb Wild Elf Male A gaunt-looking wild elf man with violet eyes. The Feathered One 6'0" ?? Lb Fey Male A tall fey man with violet eyes and a primal appearance. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
It's the day after the Eluna ritual, beautiful and pleasantly warm with a cool, light breeze that feels even better in the shade. It's so nice of a day that Cor'lana has departed from the house, telling her fiance she would be back in half an hour after running some errands.
But when a knock comes at the door half an hour after the feytouched sorceress has left, it's not the short raven-haired girl that waits there.
Instead, Glórenacil Lúpecyll waits. His shoulder-length red hair looks like it has not been combed through in several days. There are dark bags under his violet eyes--one of the few things that the man has in common with his daughter, aside from his cheekbones, which are seem almost gaunt and look ghastly in combination with his dark bags. Yet he has managed to dress himself in a brocade waistcoat and finely tailored slacks, a golden chain hanging from a pocket on his coat.
It's a sad contradiction of a man. Waiting for someone to open the door.
Telamon had busied himself with tidying up -- he's not above cheating, especially with his unseen servant doing the brunt of the work. Hey, when you have that option... and now with everything clean and put away, he's paging through his copy of 'Traveling at Night'. His lips pursed in thought, the book already festooned with a half dozen ribbons used for bookmarks as he mulls over the contents.
The knock at the door jerks him up out of his thoughts, and his brow furrows slightly. Closing the book, he sets it down, before walking to the door. He half expects it to be Aryia, considering what a nice day it is. Hell, he's regretting not going with 'Lana--
And then he opens the door and the only thought he has is, 'Oh gods-dammit, not THIS asshole again.'
His eyes are dark, as he regards Glórenacil with all the warmth and welcome of a white dragon's maw. But he's too well taught to simply curse the man and shut the door. Instead, he regards the older elf coolly, and says, in fairly blunt sildanyari, "What do you want?"
Glórenacil wastes very little time. He looks at Telamon with a look that indicates a subtle annoyance in the way his mouth presses a little tighter for a few seconds. But then he sighs and says, "Oh, you're the boy from the library. Is Cor'lana here? I need to speak with her. Please. It's urgent." He's opted for tradespeak instead of sildanyari, a move that seems to pair with his description of Telamon as a 'boy' like an infernal pairing of sour wine and smelly cheese.
However, he casts a glance over his shoulder. A crow calls in the distance, which earns a little "shit!" from Glórenacil in the sildanyari tongue. "Urgently!" the elf nobleman repeats in tradespeak. "I haven't a moment to waste."
Telamon lifts an eyebrow. "She's out. Errands." He smiles mirthlessly. "I can't decide if I should run you off, so she doesn't have to deal with you, or -keep- you here so she can have the pleasure of telling you off herself." He's switched to tradespeak as well. "I mean, really, a faked arranged marriage? I thought you were -smart-."
He pauses, apparently collecting himself, and then he shows teeth in something that would NOT be mistaken for a grin. "But where are my manners? After all, soon enough you'll be my father-in-law. I must show some respect."
The crow calling, and Glórenacil's reaction, cause his eyebrow to rise. "Guilty conscience? Or something more?"
The violet eyes that Telamon's fiancée inherited are put to visible use--Telamon can clearly see the metaphorical gears spinning behind them as a dawning look that's part realization, part horror, settles on his face. "/You/! You're Telamon Atlon!" he cries out, taking a step back. "And you're--"
There's suddenly an awful lot of crow calling in the distance.
No, deeper voices. These are the croaks of ravens. ("In the wild, young ravens call to each other when they've spotted something to eat, so the flock shares," Cor'lana had explained to Telamon once.)
Glórenacil growls and says, "Just let me in that damn house and close the door, and I will do anything. Anything! My life's at stake here! The family's at stake! Cor'lana, too!"
"Well, shit." Telamon muses. For a moment he's tempted to just toss Glórenacil to the mercy of the ravens. But... sigh. He wonders, idly, if Grandfather finally tumbled to the awareness that the idiot was trying to interfere with the couple, before discarding the thought as irrelevant for the moment. "Alright, get in here. Did you piss off Grandfather and he finally noticed?"
He steps back, letting Glórenacil enter. "Take your shoes off. We try to keep the floor clean." Once the older elf is inside, he shuts the door. "I really need to work on some way to call to her when she's out and about," he mutters, before taking Glórenacil by the elbow and escorting him into the living area. Pulling out a chair, he points. "Sit. Want a drink? We have some fairly good cider."
Glórenacil takes his shoes off as directed, snapping the door behind him shut as quickly as can be. The man seems to cast off a layer of unhappiness just from having a closed door between him and the flock of birds that call off in the distance--but only a layer. He still looks none too pleased about the situation, especially as he casts Telamon a dirty look for touching his elbow. The elf man snaps his arm back and grumbles that he can walk.
He does take the chair as ordered. "I... would ordinarily say yes, but knowing my luck as of late, it's poisoned." The redhead elf claps two hands to his face, massaging his gaunt cheeks. He's visibly lost weight since the last time Telamon has seen him.
Then the violet eyes turn up to look at Telamon. "I will be blunt. Something has caused the Feathered One to harass me again. I believe he has sent me dreams and portents over the last two months. Just his ravens, just phrases of him commanding me to do as he bids--and he keeps showing me you and Cor'lana as of late in dreams. My wife and I are run ragged as we simply do not understand what it is that he wants. He has always communicated in this way to us."
He thumbs at his facial skin again almost helplessly. "That is why I have been doing... Things. You weren't supposed to know about the betrothal--it was a sham deal. I don't know how you were even informed. I'm just trying to keep this family together , which is hard enough to do without the Feathered One in the way."
His voice is desperate. The things he says are... scattered. There's not particularly a clear connection, which is evident of a man who is all out of sorts.
GAME: Telamon rolls sense motive+3: (13)+7+3: 23
"Odd. Because Lana and I -didn't- tell him about your little games. I wonder how he found out." Telamon seats himself on the couch opposite, rubbing his chin. "Then again, all it would take is one person with the right spell and a little knowledge. Dangerous thing, that."
He just stares at Glórenacil's confession, looking annoyed. "What do you mean 'I wasn't supposed to know'? That Olyn boy showed up with a servant in tow on this doorstep--" Then he stops, his mouth open for a moment, before throwing his head back and laughing momentarily. "Because I wasn't expected to be here, was I? You had -no idea- I was keeping company with your daughter, did you?"
He leans forward suddenly, his dark eyes intent. "Cards on the table, Glórenacil. Why are you so desperate to bring Cor'lana back into the family? That's the part that I can't figure out. Recognizing her could be construed as an olive branch, but it strikes me as absurd to then state she won't inherit once your child with Lady Ainasse is born. Kind of insulting. And then the false betrothal? It would've been found out anyways. Cor'lana wouldn't have wanted to marry someone eleven years her junior and would've contested it -- fiercely." He stares at Glórenacil, his eyes more than a little menacing.
The whole time Telamon bears down on Glórenacil, the redheaded man is left reeling, the gears behind his eyes turning some more. Is this the sort of person that Cor'lana's father happens to be--a charlatan who is always thinking of his next desperate plan, the next hand in his game--or is it truly the mark of a proud man on the brink of snapping?
"Of course I wouldn't make a grown woman--as barely an adult as she is--marry a child!" Glórenacil finally snarls back. "Ainasse--Ainasse, my lady-wife, my love--she is... She deserves better. She's always deserved better. Yet nothing I do satisfies her. Nothing I do satisfies her nor the Feathered One. They both ask the same thing--'bring the family back up to status.' How was I supposed to know? How was I supposed..."
He looks at Telamon with a sudden horror in his violet eyes. "Of course you have Vailevan's hair. Of course you do. Gods help me, I thought I buried him, yet you torment me," Glórenacil says, although his words give way to tearless weeping. "My Ainasse was almost taken from me and that's why I did what I did, but even in death, you haunt me still. You haunt me still, you son of a bitch!"
But despite his howled words, Glórenacil doesn't seem violent. For the moment. His hands go to cover his face as he unwinds himself in the chair, slumping over like he is falling down.
GAME: Telamon rolls sense motive+3: (13)+7+3: 23 GAME: Telamon rolls perception: (20)+12: 32
Telamon leans back a little, but doesn't flinch away from the outburst. "Why then?" His voice softens, but only slightly. "You hurt her, Glórenacil. You wounded her, and I've been healing that wound ever since. And then you swan back into her life with these antics?"
He stands, taking a deep breath, and then his head twitches incrementally towards the bedroom door. Casually, he walks over, standing with his back to the bedroom door. Blocking it. "Fratricide's a pretty serious crime, unless there are some extenuating circumstances, you know." Absently, he tucks his hands behind his back. "Why don't you explain what happened? With Vailevan... and Ainasse... and you."
With his hands hidden behind his back, he silently hopes Grandfather knows handspeech, gesturing, << Stay your hand. >>
Glórenacil hasn't noticed the sound of talons softly hitting the floor in the bedroom like Telamon has. He's too far gone in his own emotions to notice much beyond his own thoughts and the sound of Telamon's voice. "Ainasse... Aina," he says, switching to what's likely a pet name. "If Aine were born thousands of years ago, maybe she'd be Queen. She deserves to be Queen. But she was born far too late and far too down the line; only a pawn on a wider chessboard. She was unhappy with my brother. I know she was--what nobleman marries off his daughter to an adventurer instead of paying treasure like anyone else? My brother was a sick man, a hedonist. He hurt Aina so many times. That's why... I comforted her. I fell for her. And finally, three decades of pain and suffering later, I found the right opportunity."
His voice is hollow, yet pained. "I had him poisoned at a party far away from both of us. But Aina was suspected. Aina, who did nothing wrong! It was all my idea. It's always been my idea. That's why we came here--I wanted to start a new life with her. Give her the child she wanted, give her a life off the chessboard."
There's a feeling that some people get. Some people can tell when there are people behind them. The hair stands up on the back of their neck, and the sensation of feeling watched crawls down the spine. It's like that with the presence of Grandfather.
More accurately, Alud'rigan, the Feathered One.
<< I am behind the door, young one. I am here to ensure he doesn't trouble you or Cor'lana. >> The voice rolls into Telamon's mind magically. It feels like a connection's been opened that Telamon can use himself without having to keep signing behind his back.
Telamon covers any shock by placing his hand over his chin, partly hiding his mouth -- though it's less about Glórenacil's confession and more due to the Feathered One contacting him. "It happens sometimes," he says sadly. "Father once told me that elves could be... prone to falling into some very bad habits. And they just get more ingrained with time -- and elves have a lot of that." He smiles slightly. "If it helps, I feel the same way about Cor'lana that you do about Ainasse. I told her once I'd storm the Iron Hells with a bucket of water for her."
He leans his head back, staring at the ceiling, before walking back to the couch. "But you haven't explained how Lana fits into this. Why the games? She doesn't want your title, or your estate. She'd be happy to just... go her own way. Let you live your life, and she lives hers."
Mentally, he focuses. << Don't come jumping out here just yet, Grandfather. We need to unravel this knot and right now is the best opportunity. >>
"She wasn't supposed to find out," Glórenacil says, echoing something he said earlier. "She wasn't supposed to know. This wasn't supposed to involve her--I had hired a half-elf woman to take on the 'role' of Cor'lana. I thought with a carefully maneuvered marriage, I could start building back our reputation. I had plans... So did Lady Melise Meontraed. We were never seriously planning on having them wedded. We were conpsiring. After all, Aina can't go home to her own family with all of this... nonsense about Llyranost and especially our reputation. She deserves to be able to see her sisters again--"
Glórenacil looks more intently at Telamon. "But Aina found out what I was doing. Found out I'd 'legitimized Cor'lana'--I was a fool and didn't tell her, because I knew she'd object to it. She despises the girl, and she was so upset that she sabotaged the whole thing. I learned this morning she is the reason why you got those notices of legitimacy and marriage."
He looks stone sober now, his eyes almost dead inside as he looks at Telamon and says, "She left this morning. Said she'd let me know when our child is born. And now the Feathered One wants my head on a pike. I... I have to do something. Something! "
He pulls a knife out of his sleeve and lunges up from his chair. "I suppose it's easiest to just get rid of the loose ends, isn't it? Gods, I hope you gurgle for breath like my brother di--"
There's a whirl of feathers as the door opens. Violet eyes streak a trail in a world that's suddenly feathers--
And then there's only the Feathered One, monstrous claws wrapped around Glórenacil's throat. His pale face is contorted in anger, his long canines in his mouth menacing as he snarls into Glórenacil's sheet-white face: "The kindest thing I can do for the family reputation is to break your fucking neck, Glórenacil."
What's disturbing is that Telamon doesn't even -react- to the Feathered One's rush. He'd started when Glórenacil drew a knife, but he actually relaxes a little. "Please, Grandfather. Let's not do anything rash here. Blood is so hard to get out of the floor." Murmured in Sylvan, before he gets to his feet.
"Put him back in the chair, please -- without the blade. Good gods, Glórenacil, were you -seriously- going to attack me with a knife? Do you pick fights with dragons too?" Telamon's eyes glow deep within, the stars within flaring for a moment. Shaking his head, "I was right. At first we thought it was both of you, but it was at cross purposes."
He laughs again, grimly. "Gods! I'm a fool. I'll wager if I had told Ainasse I wanted no part of the family, that she was -welcome- to you and whatever estate you had, she'd have probably been happy to see the backs of us."
He pauses, then looks at Grandfather. "Let him speak, Grandfather. He can't talk if you're choking him like a chicken."
There's a moment where it seems like the Feathered One is struggling to simply not crush Glórenacil's windpipe between his claws as he looks at his descendant with clear and utter rage. "Drop the knife," he snarls carefully into Glórenacil's ear in tradespeak. "I know it is that disgusting cold iron. You would never have been able to kill me with a tool so weak."
He doesn't need to say it twice. Glórenacil drops it to the floor. The Feathered One's rage-contorted face does not change an iota, instead bringing Glórenacil by the neck back down to the chair. His claws release, and Glórenacil pants heavily, tears budding up in the violet eyes that he shares with his fey lord ancestor.
"You... You fucking monster," Glórenacil spits out once he's caught his breath. "You've only ever asked for more, more, more, more. I don't believe for a moment that those children go to Quelynos to live with you until they pass peacefully. I believe your home is a graveyard of murdered children."
The Feathered One stares at him for a moment.
And then he smiles.
"I'm not your interrogator here. Your daughter's husband is. I am behaving. I suggest you start complying or I won't behave for much longer."
Telamon reaches down to collect the cold iron knife. "Gods, you really are -stupid-, Glórenacil. I can't believe this. We've spent all this heartache worrying about a man too dumb to pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel."
He gestures, and the unseen servant glides over to take the knife, carrying it into the kitchen area. "You know, it's not like I could -stop- Grandfather from taking Cor'lana. But, funny thing... he hasn't. Maybe because while I was cautious, I was willing to listen." He leans over Glórenacil a little. "There's plenty of warnings -- good ones -- about making deals with outsiders. Or dragons. But sometimes you have to, because you're stuck with them."
"But then, you're not about diplomacy, or cutting deals, huh? It's your way or no way."
Glórenacil looks like he's reeling beneath the weight of Telamon's words. His violet eyes fix onto his daughter's fiance with a look that veers between despair and rage. "You don't understand," he says. "You're not born indebted to a monster. You didn't grow up knowing that one day, someone who was loved and wanted could be taken away by a beast who demands everything of you and gives you nothing in return."
Then he says the thing that will likely seal his fate, spittle flying from his mouth. "And your bride? Was a mistake made at the bottom of a bottle of wine."
Telamon looks exasperated. "You built him up into the monster with myths and rumor and legend, you ass! If he was half the monster you -claimed- he was, I'd be trying to figure out how to explain the mess to Lana at this point." He clenches his teeth. "How can you be so pig-headed--"
And then Glórenacil -really- doubles down.
Telamon's face goes very, very still, his eyes glittering. His hair actually begins to stand on end a bit, waving gently in an unseen breeze, and for a long moment he looks like he's about to kill Glórenacil. Very, very quietly, he says, "You know, I wanted to try and understand. To try and fix things. You are her father, after all. I know well how important family is." A pause. "Better than you, you son of a bitch. And my sentiment is the only thing keeping Grandfather from TWISTING YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF!"
He -bellows- the last, a bizarre reverb in his voice.
The Feathered One's clawed hands go to caress the sides of Glórenacil's head in what can only be presumed to be the precursor to a much deadlier embrace. The weight of what's just happened registers on the descendant's face. He squirms in his chair. "Wait! Wait, please! I'll... I'll do anything! Anything!"
The fey lord smiles widely. "Telamon, I have an idea," he says. "He believes that my home in Quelynos is a graveyard."
Then the smile falls sharply from his face. "Perhaps I could add his corpse to the 'graveyard'. Alternatively, I am happy to carry out whatever sentence you think is applicable."
Telamon is clearly struggling to rein in his temper. "Don't tempt me, Grandfather." he growls in Sylvan. He sucks in a breath, hair still stirring. "Anything, hm? You have no idea just how angry I am. I want to -hurt- you. Hurt you like you hurt her." His fingers flex and clench, as he looms over the man. "But I'll settle for never seeing you again. -How- that's attained is still up in the air."
He reaches out and casually gets a fistful of Glórenacil's waistcoat. "Because you don't have a good reputation for keeping your word. You tried to use her as a child to fend off what you -thought- was a monster -- the fact that he wasn't doesn't change how loathsome your act was. Then when the Feathered One comes calling you demanded she clean up your mess for you. And then, after everything, you -continue- to try and interfere in her life -- and mine, by extension."
His voice becomes oddly gentle. "Father once told me something he'd heard from a man, a human guard in Alexandria. 'If you have to look along the shaft of an arrow from the wrong end, if a man has you at his mercy, then hope like hell he's an evil man. Because the evil like power -- power over people. And they want to see you in fear. They want you to know you are going to die. So they'll talk, they'll gloat, they'll put off the murder like another man will put off a good pipe. So hope like hell your captor is an evil man. A good man will kill you with hardly a word.'."
"So tell me why I should keep talking to you."
"I..." Glórenacil stops and looks at Telamon with a pathetic glance. The nobleman is slumped into his chair. "I've lost Aina. She's left. She has my child with her. Everything I've worked for is gone."
He pauses a moment longer. "I have nothing to live for. I don't know how to win her back. I don't think I can. So... Maybe it's best you just take me out of my godsdamned misery."
The Feathered One looks between Glórenacil and Telamon. At this point, he's only waiting on Telamon to give him direction.
Telamon looks disgusted. "Oh shut up, you horrible little man, and let me think." He rubs the bridge of his nose. "So your wife is... what? On the way back to Llyranost? Unless it gets flattened by the moon falling out of the sky, it should still be there. I suggest you go back as well, once you've come to your senses."
He drills Glórenacil with an icy stare. "Believe me, I would -dearly- like to feed you to Grandfather, one part at a time. But he's not a monster, nor am I." He pauses, and adds chillingly, "And if I -was- a monster, I'd have just had both you and your lady wife killed, right after you'd recognized Cor'lana. She'd inherit everything, legally."
He lets that hang in the air, before continuing. "But it's your lucky day. The only monster in this room is you. Whether you stay a monster, well, that's your problem." He looks thoughtful. "I think I know how to settle this. I'll talk to Lana and we'll draw up an abdication of inheritance. She will no longer stand in any succession for your estate. That should satisfy Lady Ainasse, at least in part."
"My terms, however, are that you leave us alone. For good. Because next time I might just decide to start calling in markers. Grandfather. Telperius Atlon. Aryia the Boulder-Splitter. Archmage Mikilos. Every hand I can find, raised against you, regardless of the cost to me."
The threats sink into Glórenacil. He just sits there lamely in his chair, like a corpse that's bleeding out from the dagger wounds of Telamon's words and demands.
Then finally, his violet eyes flicker back up to Telamon.
"Fine," he says. It's a hollow voice, resigned to defeat. "Fine. I'll... go back to Llyranost. Just so I can be there for my child. Whatever legal documents you have drawn up--I'm sure that 'Grandfather', as you so call him, will get them to either of us. I'll either drink myself to death or just go in the woods to die, I suppose."
The Feathered One rolls his eyes. "A pity party, really? You deserved all of this, Glórenacil. And what I want to know--although surely your only wife will know this--did she ever really want you? Love you? Or did you take advantage of a woman treated as a political pawn by her father trapped in a loveless marriage?"
Glórenacil's sunken eyes look at the Feathered One for a long moment. Finally, he croaks, as his mouth seems to have suddenly gone dry: "I don't know."
The Feathered One makes a noise of disgust. "Of course you don't. Shall I toss him out of the house for you, then, young master?"
Telamon is tempted to grind his heel into Glórenacil's face -- metaphorically, if not literally -- some more, but suddenly he just wants to be done with this. Done with this appalling man who is almost a horrid funhouse-mirror reverse version of the father he loves. "Gracefully, Grandfather. Appearances must be maintained." He stands up, and gestures for the Feathered One to 'help' Glórenacil to his feet (his cooperation is entirely optional).
"An elf's life is long, Glórenacil. There's always the prospect for new growth. But to be perfectly honest... I really don't want to know." Opening the door, he pushes Glórenacil outside. "Happy travels!" he adds, before shutting the door and leaning against it with his back to it.
"...Fuck. I knew I should've gone with Lana today. Why didn't I? I just had to say, 'Oh, no worries, I'll tidy up and try and get some reading done.'." He rubs his temples.
Grandfather is more than happy to help Telamon with disposing of the trash. He stands and smiles genially--such a sharp contrast to the incredibly foreboding figure that he was moments before. "Ahhh, well, I am sorry about that, as well, Telamon--I fully intended on just hunting him down and killing him in an alleyway for the guards to find. Instead, he decided to beg for help at your house--probably hoping that he'd find Cor'lana and beg her to 'call me off'. As though I'm a hunter's hound of some sort."
He helps about the matter of tidying up, making sure the place doesn't look like it's just had Cor'lana's most detestable father inside the home. "Your Sylvan is remarkable now, by the way. You only have a slight accent, but that's normal at first--"
Then comes the sound of keys at the door and a confused looking Cor'lana holding what appears to be an absolutely massive bag of various pastries. "Sorry for the wait--I, umm, I kind of participated in a little poetry slam they were having at the Sweetest Treat and I won top prize," she says.
Then her eyes dart back to the door. "...Did my father happen to be here? I thought I saw him, but he ducked into one of the student pubs down the street from here before I could confirm anything."
GAME: Telamon rolls bluff: (7)+14: 21 GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Sense Motive: (3)+2: 5
"I... confess Lana and I kind of kept his shenanigans from you, Grandfather. We didn't want to bring you in unless things got completely out of hand." Telamon has the grace to look a little embarrassed. "In any case, I'd like to broach something with you, regarding descendants, at some point."
He actually blushes a little at the commentary about his Sylvan. "Well... Lana's been teaching me. You're probably familiar with the term 'pillow dictionary', and, ah... I do try to be an attentive student."
When the door clicks open, Tel's face lights up, wiping any lasting trace of stress and replacing it with happiness. "No worries, love. Grandfather decided to slip on in and we've been catching up on things. He was just complimenting me," and he transitions smoothly to Sylvan, "on my rapidly improving grasp of language, which is of course a reflection on my beloved teacher." He grins impudently.
Cor'lana grins a little as she is addressed as Telamon's beloved teacher. "He's earned top marks in his lessons so far," she replies in Sylvan. The feytouched sorceress strides over to plant a kiss on Telamon's cheek, reaching up on her tip-toes to do so.
"Indeed, I am impressed," Grandfather says happily. "You both have grown in such splendid ways as of late."
The kindly fey lord gestures to the bedroom. "I actually gave Telamon a dress I found at the market to put away in your room, Cor'lana. I think it'd look splendid on you. Really, I ought to be going--I have an appointment to discuss some important matters soon with that bookshop owner."
Cor'lana blinks. "Important matters?" she asks.
"Yes, a job interview. I think I'd like to stock books sometimes." Grandfather smiles ear to ear.
Just like the smile he gave when he told Glórenacil that his fate was in Telamon's hands.
Telamon blushes lightly again at the kiss, but folds an arm around Lana in return, nuzzling the top of her head. "It's a work in progress, Grandfather. Like a garden. You till, plant, weed, and it's a lot of work but it's always worth it."
He blinks slowly at the idea of Grandfather stocking books, his brow furrowed. "... Well, okay. Let us know how it goes, Grandfather. And don't forget I want to talk to you at some point." He smiles broadly at the fey lord, clearly wondering what would motivate him to take such a job but... well, it's his life.
"Thank you. I will make sure to stop by again... tomorrow, perhaps?" Grandfather says. "A good day for the both of you."
"Have a... oh gods. What do people even say for interviews? Err--oh! Good luck!" Cor'lana says, smiling to Grandfather.
The fey lord departs into the spring day, transforming into a bird after the door to the Lúpecyll-Atlon home closes behind him.
But as Cor'lana returns the nuzzle into Telamon's arms, he hears one last resounding line in his head before the magical connection cuts short:
<< I hope you never have to see me in that state again, young Telamon. Know I am always ready to defend Cor'lana from her father. You are not alone in that. ... But he might have made a nice unmarked grave. Pity about that. >>
The violet-eyed bride in Telamon's arms is blissfully unaware. She is only happy to be home.