It was hard to put his finger on that smell. Maturing over time to become something beyond the capabilities of the human nose, he had no real comparison for the scent certain people carried. If the cool light of the moon or dew on grass in the wee hours of the morn had a smell of their own, maybe. But ultimately, one was scentless and the other was just water. But it carried the chill and majesty of the void borne saucer overhead, pure and unadulterated by rot and decay. It was just still, eternal, incapable of the imperfection of a living organism.
Flowers, too, a pleasant and subtle smell of petals... Lavender, maybe. No, it was most certainly lavender, pine needles and rose water. Tyr had smelled that before, but it wasn't who he'd expected. Too late now, however. He alighted on the shingled surface of a tall building, facing an old friend. A brother, maybe, he wasn't sure what they were – only that there were only two things Tyr could ever truly claim to love, and that man was one of them.
“You came.” Iscari's voice was as smooth as silk, with a deeper masculine intonation than Tyr remembered. The moonlight hitting his face, with a backdrop of the city, arena, and that ocean of stars beyond. It looked like something painted by one of the gods themselves, he was just... Too beautiful. Far more beautiful than the other man.
He'd grown, they all had.
Tyr knew what he looked like. He was handsome, and people commented on it quite a bit, but he was hard and rigid in expression. Those brutal and upturned brows of his father, lips that were far to ready to split and bite a hand held to it. Violent, people feared Tyr, sometimes by appearance alone, he could be called attractive but it was in the way of a predator. Perhaps, like Jartor, they'd simply call him majestic and heavy one day, but for now there was no end to the women that approached him.
Iscari, on the other hand... He put the moon itself to shame. Luna's light seemed to stretch down and catch at his cheeks, just to feel for herself what true perfection was like. Again, Tyr would repeat that there was nobody alive among any of the races who could compete with that level of elegance. Tyr had none of that fragility and expressiveness that made everything Iscari did, just standing there, seem like a performance. “I hoped you'd have ignored my call. Now, I guess we'll see who between us brothers is stronger.”
“...Huh? You want to fight?” Tyr asked, taken aback by the strange statement. Iscari could use his spira in a much finer way than he could, expanding it through the streets to lead Tyr by the nose and onto the rooftops overlooking the city. What kind of fight would it be between them? The Varian prince could squish him like an ant, there was no challenge to it. Kael was one thing, Iscari was prised to be the strongest primus of all time, Tyr had a feeling it'd be like that – and he was glad for it. The world would only be better if that were the case.
“No.” Iscari shook his head slowly, staring directly it's Tyr's eyes with a mournful expression. “I have to fight you. I really am sorry about this, but my glorious purpose and destiny is to end you – though I love you so. What a tragic end befalls we, eternal companions, forced into this eternal duel throughout the cosmos.” He shook his head sadly, hands perched dramatically, fingers pressed to his forehead and back arched, staring at the moon again. “But alas, who are we but slaves to the fates? Tragedy this way comes.”
“Alright.” Tyr nodded grimly, the familiar weight of Aska settling in his hand. Dropping into a combat stance and preparing to feel his body splattered all over the ground again. “Whenever you're ready, I guess.”
“What the hell is wrong with you...” Iscari snorted. “I was kidding, you idiot, nobody talks like that.”
“Actually...” Tyr relaxed, though Iscari laughed at the look of plain disappointment on the other mans face. He really was incredible, so brave and gallant. “You might be surprised. That was, uh... Pretty portentous? That's a word, right?”
“You know it is, brother.” Iscari smiled softly. “Playing coy and dumb might have been cute when we were children, but we are men now. How old are you, eh? Twenty three? Four? My father says that you were in the astral space for over three years.”
“I have no idea.” Tyr said. “Many races don't celebrate their birthing day, or have their own customs for age. Twenty two, let's say. In any event, what does age matter to us? We're immortal, Iscari, we will never die. Keeping track seems like such a waste of time to me. Do it like the dwarves do and measure by decade, that seems more appropriate, time flies too fast to bother with.”
Though he'd spoken the words, Tyr was confused with how naturally they'd come. He was too young to feel this old, and he knew that, a flicker of concern that he was growing cold like the others only at a faster rate. Dead to all the colors life was capable of bringing to the eyes, though he'd been that way for as long as he could remember. The sky was gray, the moon was gray, the tiles he knew were red that he was standing on were gray. But Iscari was flowing in watercolor, slowing painting everything else.
“It matters to you.” Iscari looked him in the eye, his silver orbs were vivid and bright. More luminous than the light of the moon should allow. “Your time on this world is more limited than my own. Something happened, though, you are not so frail as before. So much stronger... It's amazing, I couldn't believe it, but I'm glad you found it.”
“Something did happen.” Tyr nodded. “I made a deal with Agni, and he keeps me safe and among the living, so long as I behave in a certain way. Or so I was led to believe. Perhaps he was talking out of his ass and this whole 'you'll explode and die in the most painful way possible' was all a bunch of nonsense to ensure I keep running. I've been manipulated my entire life, I trust very little, especially from a god.”
“You spoke with a god?” Iscari frowned, raising an eyebrow. “Directly, you conversed with the divine?”
“Three of them so far.” Tyr shrugged. “Wasn't a big deal, honestly. I'd advise caution around them, though.”
“As would I, Tyr.” Iscari sighed. “The gods are not what people think they are. I have learned much, pursuing a cure to your... Infirmity. I am close, I can feel it, a permanent one. You don't need to rely on them, Tyr, I will protect you. Nobody else will do the things I am willing to do for you, we cannot trust them, none of them. Not my father, or our friends, only each other. I have learned this, there is evil in this world and it swims around them like fish in the sea.”
“You didn't need to do that for me.”
“But I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I have loved you since the first day we met and I felt the you that was. The you that you no longer are, but there are traces of it. Little bits and pieces in your fractured self.” Iscari smiled softly, the moonlight catching his immaculate face again. There was such devotion and irrevocable feeling in that gaze, letting Tyr know how sincere he truly was. What faith Iscari showed in him, through all the ups and downs, never once forsaking him after all that time. Like the others had, perhaps he was right. Everything was temporary but his bond with Iscari felt so permanent.
“I see.” Tyr exhaled, he was glad it was Iscari and not one of the others. Someone who could understand him, the only one he believed ever would. “Then I thank you for it. And I apologize for leaving you behind without a word. And for ignoring you, I should have answered.”
“It is not something to apologize for.” Iscari said, still smiling. “I have never blamed you for it, nor did I feel any anger. How could I? I said what I meant, and I feel what I said. Down into the deepest parts of myself, we are two sides of the same coin, you and I. Even my father knows it, and he doesn't like it. After all, if I am so angelic and radiant, you must be something truly demonic.”
“Yeah.” Tyr chuckled, standing next to Iscari and joining him in appreciation of the starry sky. “You're handsome and smart and talented, and I'm just... Good at punching things, a little less queasy over spilled blood.”
Iscari laughed, eliciting imagery of a doves wings in flight, a gentle sound full of genuine mirth. “Like our fathers before us, I am the shield and you are the sword. Together, we will achieve such magnificent things, standing side by side to watch the eras turn before our very eyes. And our kingdoms will be one. One empire, and the successor states, too. And we will rule them together. Can you not see it? What glorious progress we could make if we ceased feuding and joined hands. Who could stand against us?”
The greatest nation ever built, an end to the eras of stagnation that dogged humanity. No more holding them back, no more crucifying spectacular talent and accusing them of such vile things, burning their works. A Golden Age like no other.
“That sounds nice.” Tyr pondered the implications of it, and Iscari was absolutely right. One day, no army could stand before them, together with their aspects combined he doubted even someone like Abaddon could stop them. “But it's not the way.”
“The way.” Iscari spat, shaking his head slowly. “The way is poison, and I've come to see that. Our fathers know it too, I think, some foul trickery to keep us kindred separate and apart. Because they fear us.”
“Who fears us?” Tyr asked. “I'm not exactly scary, you know. And if I'm not, you most certainly aren't.”
“I'd say the gods.” Iscari's voice was full of deep contemplation. “But I don't think that's exactly right. Neither of us want the gifts on offer to us, but we'll be forced to take them – or so my father explained it to me. Even your new brother could not save you from that fate. You have been abused and made a martyr of too many times to do anything else. But he could join us, I've no wish to hurt any living thing and I never would willingly without cause. He is my brother as well, after all.”
“You speak of heresy, regardless.” Tyr had never been devout, but Iscari's abrupt face into self righteousness was more than he'd bargained for. It wasn't an accusation, Tyr still planned really and truly to kill a god himself, he didn't really care – but he cared about Iscari and the consequences that could come from such action. The other primus' would fight them, whoever they were in the era in which Iscari planned to reshape the world. “Where is this coming from?”
“Common sense, Tyr. I mean really. Did you know my father possesses enough medicine to cure all the blind men in Varia? Yet when I ask, he said 'its not the way', just like the others.” Iscari replied simply. “And despite your words, you don't sound so offended at the idea.”
“We have a lot of time before we're forced to make a choice like that.” Tyr scowled at the thought of holding dominion over others in that way. How would it work, would there be two emperors, or was Iscari indirectly proposing to him? He wasn't even sure if he'd say no, if that were the case. “I intend to enjoy that time as much as possible, and I expect you to do the same.”
“Enjoy.” Iscari glared. “Are you enjoying yourself, Tyr?”
“I try to.” Tyr shrugged nonchalantly. “Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. I'm just here, living, trying to get something out of it. I'm not sure what I'm looking for but I now realize I will find it. One day, and you will, too.”
Iscari relaxed in his drama, an uneven smirk on his face. “That's true. Perhaps I'll grow old and bitter like my father and will no longer care for these things as I do now. As long as we remain friends and brethren, I do not care what happens. Do you still feel the same way?”
“Always.” Tyr nodded. “One day we will be together again, you and I. I always knew that, and we'll... I don't know, man. We'll do something cool, or maybe just have a few ales and grow old and gray, passing on our unfortunate wisdom to your children. Papa Iscari and Uncle Tyr, I don't have much in the way of an inheritance, so I suppose I'll be free to visit quite often. You can pay me to sit around and teach your children to be lunatics.”
“Our children.” Iscari corrected. “You've many fine wives to choose from, might as well start making some. As I have.”
“You have?”
“Of course, it's our duty. No luck yet, though. I've fourteen wives, curious that none of them are laden with child. But I'm virile, or so the sages say. Are you still pure?”
Tyr snorted at his choice of words, 'pure'. As if the act of copulating with someone made one the opposite. “Nope, bit the bullet and found it more enjoyable than I expected.”
“This is good.” Iscari nodded. “But before we separate again, I need a favor from you. I'm sure you've sensed her presence. She could not hear our conversation, that was for our ears alone, but she recognized you when all others failed to. It was a nice show, by the way, I wish to hear you play again.”
“I did. And you can, any time you'd like.” Tyr replied. “Go ahead.”
“Again, before I go...” Iscari said. “You and I are not yet awakened, but some day soon we will be. If you find your aspect, never tell anyone the truth of it. Not even me. Nobody – not your closest friends or sworn allies, or even your wives. You will understand in time, but promise me this.”
“I'll try to keep that in mind.” Tyr was confused, but he agreed. If there was one person he cared about the most out of all he'd ever known, it had always been Iscari. The one person of a similar age, of a purity enough to set his soul at rest. Every other 'human', even his friends, they all cast their shadows and it made him itch. As if being alive meant they were corrupted, it made him uncomfortable when he looked too deeply into them, ensuring he refrained from doing so.
“I said promise.”
“Alright, I promise.”
“Good. And avoid the churches, Tyr. Their agents are in this city and they only avoid striking out because Lucian is present. They are dangerous.”
“I'm dangerous, Iscari. What's a paladin going to do to me?”
“Just be safe.”
“I will, now fuck off.”
The man left, replaced by Astrid. As expected, that lavender scent that had been so closely entwined with Iscari's own. It was stronger now, dense enough to come to the point of being slightly unfamiliar.
Emotionally speaking, she was the most detached yet friendly of all Tyr's wives – the last person he would have expected to come track him down. He didn't understand the mechanics of what magic kept her shrouded from him but for the briefest scent of her unique 'brand', but there she was.
Radiant and womanly, filling out over the years to become a beauty beyond compare. None of the inflection present on the faces of Alex or Sigi that made them... Not less attractive, but more human, little tics and movements in the face – very easy to read. Astrid was like an angel in comparison, reminding him of Orpheus, her perfection so sharp and visceral that it made her unreal. Like a statue or a painting, inscrutable, sometimes smiling but he was never sure if it was genuine or not.
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Unreal or whatever the case may be, Tyr felt his stomach tighten in anxiety. And it wasn't he who spoke first, it was her.
“I am sorry, Tyr.” She said softly. Her back was straight, standing proud and tall in more utilitarian clothing than the dress she'd worn when he'd noticed her in the crowd. Dressing very similarly to the way he did, in riding attire. But her eyes were sad, apologetic in a sincere way, no shame in her demeanor – only the sincerity. She was always so... Soft, dainty, ladylike? But away from prying eyes, she showed an incredible strength in bearing that reminded Tyr a bit of his mother. Some called Astrid ditsy or absentminded, but she was clever and cunning in a way he could never get a grasp on. A depth to her that went beyond more normal people, she was raised all her life by one primus or another, and it showed. “You told me what would happen, and I practically laughed at you. It happened, and I was too cowardly to act against it.”
“I think our roles should be reversed in this case.” Tyr said. “It is I who should apologize for leaving. At least in the way that I did.”
“It was good that you left.” She accepted what he'd said and in turn, said her piece. “Made things easier. I saw clearer, I saw my duty and managed to separate expectation from reality. It gave me a chance to learn so much about myself. Do you remember what I said to you on our wedding day, so long ago?”
“Aye, that I was an ugly, mean spirited boy, and that you'd hang me from a tree if I ever touched you.” Tyr smirked, his steely eyes boring into her own. “Fair words, I guess. Not many trees out here in the scrublands though, perhaps we can set a date in more appropriate climes.”
She laughed, her eyebrows twitching and lips splitting to reveal perfect teeth. He wondered, there was a thing about mages. They were all so... Pretty? Perfect? Astrid was someone who few could compare to in elegance and grace, but it wasn't just genetic. Mages were just attractive, almost universally with respect to age as an obvious factor. A few exceptions but those were rare, usually borne of a poor choice in diet rather than bad looks. The mana had it's influence on them, just as he'd seen with himself. Spira only served to accentuate it. Physical appearance for the mana and a magnetic charisma from the spira, something like that.
What a strange world they lived in...
“I 'loved' someone when I was of that age, when my father had me taken from the keep and sent to Haran. I cursed Ragnar, never afraid of the primus, and he listened to me. Didn't raise a hand, only patted my head and told me that you were 'not so bad'. Only after many years did I realize that I had not loved this other boy, it was just an infatuation, a wish to possess what I couldn't, to do things I should not. I came to accept my relationship with you, even offering my body when we spent the night together, and you refused me. I was hurt by that, and it surprised me – because in my mind you were so alike an untamed beast. But I think that's what I like about you, that free spirited nature, and the way you sometimes rail against yourself to act the way you should rather than want.” Astrid seated herself on the eave of the roof, letting her long legs dangle precariously over the edge. “Throughout it all, I thought myself too good for you. Why would I get stuck with this crude man, with no tact, and even less sense in his skull?”
“...This is taking an odd turn.” Tyr said.
“Just shut up and listen to me.”
“Anything for my noble northman princess.” Tyr joined her. Her tone was so hard and imperious, speaking in a way that he'd never heard from her. But Astrid... He'd realized long ago most of her personality was all an act. A caricature. An emulation, just like him. Tyr felt the nails always, he wanted to fight and challenge, eat and sleep and... Unmentionable things in a more proper environment. A beast, he had very few urges but they seemed to influence him more than others.
There wasn't much else on his mind, he wanted to taste the iron tang of blood in his mouth. To rip and tear and burn, to build something just to kick it all down and watch it crumble. Not out of anger, or hate of that thing, but because it felt like what he was made to do. It was so natural for him to want to hurt and be hurt in exchange, he'd been doing it for so long that it had become second nature. Sometimes he'd let the monsters tear at him because at least the hot sensation of what pain he could feel was still real. Sick, absolutely, but it was him and he was done letting other people tell him what he was or how he should be.
Only when he was near children did he feel any differently. Usually... But Astrid calmed him in a way similar to how Iscari did. She felt like a cool rock in the middle of a scorching desert. An emotional oasis of sorts, yet she was warm at the same time. Motherly, that might be how he'd describe her, but always something else just below the surface. Like a cycle of hot and cold that stimulated him in her presence, making up for the flaws he could smell on her.
“You've grown quite handsome, all roguish and charming. So different from the 'mutt' of Haran, the boy you were before.” She smiled. “As a man, I quite like the one you've become, if appearances are the context.”
“And you are captivating in your beauty.” Tyr said, she looked at him skeptically in response. “I mean it. My father is a shallow man, and so am I, I like how you look. It's acceptable, and you've got a fat ass which is always a huge plus for me.”
“You are gross.”
“There's nothing wrong with having preferences, woman.” Tyr snorted.
“It's what's inside that counts.” Astrid chided him, slapping his arm playfully. “External appearances can be deceiving, I've been deceiving people my entire life. Only with you can I truly be myself. How odd that feels to say...”
“Have you been?” Tyr asked. He doubted that very much based on her past behavior compared to her current demeanor. People changed over time but they'd only been apart for about a year, maybe a year and a half, in real time.
“Yes and no.” Astrid shrugged. “But I want to be. I'm sick and tired of dresses and silverware and all of these customs. I want to ride and feel the wind in my hair. I want to adventure and feel the rush of battle. And I want to be loved. I want to be a woman like my mother before me who was wild and glorious, I...” She paused, her passionate face distorting in nervous concern. “You will tell nobody this?”
“Of course.” Tyr nodded. “Your secrets are safe with me if only you'd ask. Not a very talkative person most times, an oath is an oath.”
“I like that.” She replied contentedly. “You've many flaws but you are honest and forthright, and you keep to your oaths as far as I am aware. But... I want to kill someone.”
“...Well, then.” Tyr's face was as flat as a sheet of paper, but he didn't shy away from her admission. He'd wanted to kill many specific people in the past, and had. But he'd never just 'wanted to kill someone', there had always been a reason. Alex had never accepted his claims that he could 'feel it', when someone needed to die, that's why he always gave them his two choices when at all possible. But he did. He knew intrinsically that some people really and truly needed a good gutting, and he enjoyed doing it for what it was. Something told him it was right, that there was no law that could tell him otherwise. Maybe he was just psychotic, he didn't really care.
“Don't get me wrong, I don't want to murder.” She held her hands up in defense of herself. “I want... I want to battle and challenge myself, and I want to win. You have killed many men, and I want to know what it feels like. Will you tell me?”
“It depends.” Tyr was a bit startled, but not concerned. Who was he to judge another for the itch of seeing one person in particular and... No, Tyr would repeat himself internally that he had never wanted to kill for the sake of killing. He'd wanted to hurt someone, sure, to see them fallen and broken. But he, somewhere deep down, wanted them to live beyond that. To always live and know that they would forever be at his mercy. He wanted to lord his superiority over the defeated, and he couldn't do that if they were dead, once someone was gone his power over them left with whatever composed their mortality. “I have felt great enjoyment and pride over a victory, but I'd rather not kill if it doesn't feel right, which I play by instinct. Sometimes, I feel that I have to. To remove someone from the equation of provoking further threat. So, yes, I have killed many, but I have not sought it out in some time. As for how it feels...” He pondered.
“It is hot, violent, and wildly nauseating at first. When you find someone who pushes and challenges you, and to beat them, there is pride and an almost overpowering sensation to it. I have killed men who have done evil, and I felt great satisfaction in it. I don't love it, but I like it, its primal and instinctual, to be the biggest wolf in the pack, but usually my motivations for killing mean something else bad happened, I could live without it. You have changed, Astrid, and not necessarily for the worse as the statement might insinuate.”
She frowned. “I have. I have seen what men like Hastur can do, the ravages he wrought creating more of his ilk. Bad men. I have killed no man, though, always acting appropriately. I am no murderess, but I find myself wanting to judge them, I want to know what it feels like, and I want to watch an evil man die. Is that wrong?”
“Some people think that it is.” Tyr frowned, calm appreciation for a conversation he could really engage in. Albeit and extremely dark one. “I don't. We're all animals, to kill for the fun of it is wrong but to kill for a motive or to make the world a better place couldn't be. Even if that means eliminating all potential threats in your vicinity to prevent your own self from being harmed. The problem is... Something said to me many times before, who am I to judge them? It applies to anyone, I think motive has to matter, but I'm no saint or philosopher. I was a puppet for a long time, killing because I was manipulated into doing so. Because it amused someone or something, but that does not absolve me of sin. It is a heavy thing, regardless. I won't feel it, but I'm not a machine, someone like you, however... It'll make you confront yourself in an intimate way, to measure how insignificant you are, imagining yourself being crushed. They will haunt you, and most bow and bend under that force.”
“I still want to do it.”
“Then come with me.” Tyr said, appreciative of the interest she had in what she most assuredly considering 'doing good'. She was a woman, a grown one and an adult, she was responsible for her own choices just as he was, he would never coddle them. “Men, monsters, it doesn't matter. They were all the same, living things that lost a confrontation. I will teach you.”
“I wish I could, but I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because I have yet more to learn and I am still afraid of the unknown.” Astrid sighed wistfully. “I will not leave my sisters to abscond with you, not until you settle your matters with them as well. I do want to, though. I think I love you, I was very upset after you left, even though we never spent all that much time together, it felt odd.”
“You don't.” Tyr replied, finding it all a bit too ridiculous for him. “That is a little girl speaking, and that's all. I have felt what love is like, not inside myself but inside others. I am an empath, it is the deepest and most nuanced emotion I have ever felt. The love for a child, or a loved one. Love is such a broad word and it encompasses hundreds of emotions, most of which I don't have any experience with. You do not love me. And no, I would never read you without your consent. This is all empirical, but I am absolutely confident that love comes from some place deeper than whatever we have.”
Astrid glared at him, her wistful expression turning to wrath in the blink of an eye. “You think yourself so impressive, so independent and daring. You never respected us, not truly. Even when we were forced to marry you, you just made it harder to deal with the arrangement. In your absence, I have come to know what I want. And while you might not be the best choice all considered, it is you, even if I cannot say why. Do not spit on my confession with doubt and insult. I am a grown woman and I know myself, do you know how arrogant it is to tell me what I feel?”
“Ah...” Tyr frowned at her. She was so forceful and brutally honest. Telling him she 'loved' him with one hand, and slapping him with the other. Not literally, but... “That's fair, but I don't deserve that kind of faith.”
“You don't. Like I said, you've many faults, but I cannot help how I feel.” She said, calmer this time. “I can't even explain it. I don't care if you reciprocate my feelings, we are lawfully bound and you'll never be rid of any of us. I have all the power here, and I find that I like that. We could have agreed to the annulment, but we didn't, we could have put horns on your helmet and nobody would've batted an eye, but we didn't. I'd like you to, for the first time, accept our arrangement. I have done right by you, as best I could, and I have given you far more than you deserve, can you say the same?”
“I can try.” Tyr said. “I have long made peace with the fact that I have been blessed with things I do not deserve.” He didn't say that it was because of his aspect. Whatever it was, he was absolutely sure that it was relevant in this context, maybe he did deserve that kind of curse for all of the foul things he'd done. “I love you too, Astrid.”
“You're lying.” She scowled at him, but her cheeks were red and her eyes revealed some internal conflict in the hearing of it.
“I'm not.” Tyr refuted her with a shake of his head. “I think about you, all of you, every single day. I remember how you smell, how you sound, how your hand felt on mine. Years ago. Like nothing I've ever felt before, which is a source of nausea for me considering I do not feel so strongly about my current wife and companion. I do not deserve her either, and yet she is there. In my defense, I think I love her as well, but I don't even know what love is. It's such an abstract concept, too complicated, and I cannot feel myself the way I can feel others. Just know that I would do anything for all of you if only you'd ask, that has to be what love is. I would burn cities for you.”
“You would do all that?” She raised an eyebrow in amusement. “If I asked you to march into Taur right now and kill everyone inside, you would do it? Commit genocide on Baccia at a whim?”
Tyr nodded, and he would.
They had a power over him that he couldn't explain. Once forcing him into deep shame and regret over something so ridiculous as a promise not to kill when they were in grave danger at the hands of slavers. It seemed so silly now, but it had given him perspective in the grand scheme. “If it made sense, and if I knew that was what you really wanted. Or needed. Those concepts are very different, and I've been forced to come to understand want and need intimately.”
“Then take me.” Astrid scooted back on the tiles, laying against the rooftop, staring at him with sultry eyes and whispering. “Right here and right now.”
Tyr flinched, shrugging to feign nonchalance. It felt like his first time all over again, his cheeks burning with heat for whatever ungodly reason. “I can do that.” And that's when she slapped him clean across the face, laughing throughout.
“Good gods but you're a dull one. I was kidding, do you think I'd let my first time be on a rooftop? You'll have to do better than that, I'm afraid. Go see to your other wife, I've said what I needed to say, and need say no more.” She said that, but they sat there for a long while in quiet contentment. Tyr felt no warmth in his loins, only a kind of safety and surety that he rarely ever felt, like they belonged together.
It was embarrassing, a bit disgusting, but he didn't hate it for what it was. Maybe they did belong together, she was revealing some rather psychopathic tendencies all of a sudden. Those little chains he felt connecting him to all these people tightened in proximity to them, giving him something he never realized he'd needed.
“Astrid.” He said.
“Tyr.” She responded.
“Thanks.” Tyr smiled. “Thanks for showing me the real you for the first time, even if it came as quite a shock.”
“If I would've been forced to walk around straight backed and corseted for one more year I'd have thrown myself off the skyway. Thanks for not laughing as others have in the past. Thank you for accepting me for being wild and free, or at least knowing and accepting that I will be that person I want to be one day.”
“I think I'll like her a bit better, whoever my dear wife becomes through nothing save her own merit.” Tyr mused absentmindedly. “I do like dresses though, skirts are a lot easier to get up into. I do not yet possess the hardness of spirit to pierce leather riding pants just yet, but I'm practicing. Tearing them apart is in my repertoire but it's very wasteful.”
“You are remarkably exceptional at ruining a perfectly touching moment, Tyr Faeron.” Astrid smiled brightly at the moon, wanting to howl at it as the wolves did.