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[ and yet, sometimes still, one is too stubborn to change.
what comes first is the click of a tongue, followed by the crossing of arms. then, a voice: ] 'Yes', to what? Would it kill you to elaborate?
[ time and time again, kaveh wonders, why him? he is well-aware that when a master conducts a summoning without a catalyst, the grail chooses a fitting servant. whether the personalities align or not matters not, something kaveh has never quite understood. after all, how are two people meant to work together to victory when they can barely work together between each other?
whether his was performed with or without one remains a mystery still. sumeru itself could've been his catalyst, he thinks. it is his birth place, where he lived all his life, where he performed his greatest deeds, where he eventually died. the house of daena still stands, and in it, there are books with his name on them. the light of kshahrewar, sumeru's most talented architect. to this day, decades later, he is still known as such.
and yet— yet, really, what is he here for? to go grocery shopping, of all things, while his master doesn't even bother to look at him when he speaks? ]
... I couldn't. [ kaveh finds room on the divan adjacent to his master's, a long sigh escaping his throat. his body might lack the physical exhaustion, but his mind surely shoulders it. ] There was a Servant nearby. I couldn't tell where, so I left. I wasn't just going to steal from the market either. [ he pauses for a moment, reaches out to give the poor little kitty some pets, before he speaks again. ] I will just go back later. Go with me next time.
what comes first is the click of a tongue, followed by the crossing of arms. then, a voice: ] 'Yes', to what? Would it kill you to elaborate?
[ time and time again, kaveh wonders, why him? he is well-aware that when a master conducts a summoning without a catalyst, the grail chooses a fitting servant. whether the personalities align or not matters not, something kaveh has never quite understood. after all, how are two people meant to work together to victory when they can barely work together between each other?
whether his was performed with or without one remains a mystery still. sumeru itself could've been his catalyst, he thinks. it is his birth place, where he lived all his life, where he performed his greatest deeds, where he eventually died. the house of daena still stands, and in it, there are books with his name on them. the light of kshahrewar, sumeru's most talented architect. to this day, decades later, he is still known as such.
and yet— yet, really, what is he here for? to go grocery shopping, of all things, while his master doesn't even bother to look at him when he speaks? ]
... I couldn't. [ kaveh finds room on the divan adjacent to his master's, a long sigh escaping his throat. his body might lack the physical exhaustion, but his mind surely shoulders it. ] There was a Servant nearby. I couldn't tell where, so I left. I wasn't just going to steal from the market either. [ he pauses for a moment, reaches out to give the poor little kitty some pets, before he speaks again. ] I will just go back later. Go with me next time.
[ that is not the right answer, he manages the thought. the right answer would have been not to say anything. the right answer would have been to leave. kaveh knows not what would be of him in the quiet of alhaitham's room, but it is much better than to share it with the man himself. it is much better than having to listen to his voice. it is easier on his thoughts. it is nicer on his body.
questions, questions, questions. they enter one ear, and leave the other. the words become soup in his mind when he tries to picture them. kaveh, still, forces himself to rationalize it. when did your heat begin? does he even know how to answer it?
his ears ring. his body defies biology. it is hotter beyond belief, it is hurting, it is wanting. kaveh moves at last — uncurls from his position, leans back into the wall and lays there, exhausted. it is fine if he does not look at alhaitham. the ceiling will be, suddenly, the most fascinating art piece he has ever laid his eyes on. think. ]
... After lunch, I think. [ the answer is not unfamiliar on his tongue. somewhere in his mind, he thinks, that conclusion had long been reached. he breathes in, then out.
the second question is much harder to rationalize. had he even paid them any attention? the servants. the slaves. that familiar maid. kaveh attempts to picture them all. but the mind is a tricky little thing that has been studied for years, yet never understood. a person's dreams, and what instigates them. intrusive thoughts, and what births them. its own independency, and whyever so hard to be controlled.
kaveh does not picture the servants, the slaves, the maid. he pictures, instead, alhaitham. alhaitham, who brings him food, then mouthfeeds him. alhaitham, who comes to retrieve lunch, but spares time to lose himself in kaveh. alhaitham, who brings gifts for kaveh, and makes kaveh into his own.
kaveh shakes his head. none of those things happened. ]
I can't... I can't remember anyone. Probably the same people as always?
[ probably is never enough. it is, however, what he can offer. and as for the last question—
the earliest memory he has on it is his mother explaining what he is. omegas, she had said, are special. they are, she continued, the greater lord's favorite children. those who are meant to bring life into the world, regardless of their gender. it comes with great responsibility, and it is not something to be abused. lokapala has since allowed her omegas to choose the right person, the one meant to see them at their most vulnerable. his mother had, then, told him the symptoms, so he is not afraid once it happens. kaveh has waited ever since. for the right moment, the right person.
he turns, and looks at alhaitham. he should not. ]
... No one. [ honey. that is what his voices tastes like. honey harvested from avidya, delivered across sumeru. it is temptation taken form. it is the most primal form of nature. it is want, and kaveh weaponizes it unconsciously. ] This is... my first time.
questions, questions, questions. they enter one ear, and leave the other. the words become soup in his mind when he tries to picture them. kaveh, still, forces himself to rationalize it. when did your heat begin? does he even know how to answer it?
his ears ring. his body defies biology. it is hotter beyond belief, it is hurting, it is wanting. kaveh moves at last — uncurls from his position, leans back into the wall and lays there, exhausted. it is fine if he does not look at alhaitham. the ceiling will be, suddenly, the most fascinating art piece he has ever laid his eyes on. think. ]
... After lunch, I think. [ the answer is not unfamiliar on his tongue. somewhere in his mind, he thinks, that conclusion had long been reached. he breathes in, then out.
the second question is much harder to rationalize. had he even paid them any attention? the servants. the slaves. that familiar maid. kaveh attempts to picture them all. but the mind is a tricky little thing that has been studied for years, yet never understood. a person's dreams, and what instigates them. intrusive thoughts, and what births them. its own independency, and whyever so hard to be controlled.
kaveh does not picture the servants, the slaves, the maid. he pictures, instead, alhaitham. alhaitham, who brings him food, then mouthfeeds him. alhaitham, who comes to retrieve lunch, but spares time to lose himself in kaveh. alhaitham, who brings gifts for kaveh, and makes kaveh into his own.
kaveh shakes his head. none of those things happened. ]
I can't... I can't remember anyone. Probably the same people as always?
[ probably is never enough. it is, however, what he can offer. and as for the last question—
the earliest memory he has on it is his mother explaining what he is. omegas, she had said, are special. they are, she continued, the greater lord's favorite children. those who are meant to bring life into the world, regardless of their gender. it comes with great responsibility, and it is not something to be abused. lokapala has since allowed her omegas to choose the right person, the one meant to see them at their most vulnerable. his mother had, then, told him the symptoms, so he is not afraid once it happens. kaveh has waited ever since. for the right moment, the right person.
he turns, and looks at alhaitham. he should not. ]
... No one. [ honey. that is what his voices tastes like. honey harvested from avidya, delivered across sumeru. it is temptation taken form. it is the most primal form of nature. it is want, and kaveh weaponizes it unconsciously. ] This is... my first time.
[ kaveh had once thought that no one would understand. it is a culmination of several different causes. it is guilt, it is regret. it is the death of a family member by his own hands, it is the way he had painted the world gray. his mother, then, left, and kaveh allowed her. kaveh lied to her. kaveh had said yes, i will be fine; he had said, no, the eleazar hasn't worsened in years. kaveh had thought, i deserve this.
it is known that eleazar robs. it robs a person of their senses. it robs a person of their motor skills. it robs a person of their identity. kaveh would have been known as the kshahrewar student with eleazar. kaveh's designs would have been obscured by his illness. kaveh's name would have been forgotten. how was he to allow such a thing? kaveh's name would have been synonymous with unattainable.
and so, he proved himself. that he is better than his disease. that he could do his work, and the work of others, and excel greatly in all that he does. he shone, he glimmered, he made himself known. kaveh, the light of kshahrewar. so much more than the eleazar. some had thought he was cured of it. some were sure of it.
he is, ultimately, a sunburst. he burns for others, provides them warmth, but burns himself to exhaustion. he will burn himself into dust, and dust is never remembered. a mark has to be left. and alhaitham, the pride of haravatat, who observes history as it is made, and records it for the future— alhaitham, he begs, please remember me too. ]
The same point that the Akademiya exists alongside the House of Daena. [ kaveh begins, nearly matter-of-factly. ] Books are complements. I will teach you everything I know, but it is within a scholar's nature to seek further knowledge. There is ignorance in relying on a single source of knowledge; otherwise, what basis is there for debate, and what reason would we find in discussion?
[ the sun is warm on his skin, but he cannot feel it. kaveh yawns, nonetheless. ] Don't be so stubborn. I will recommend you books whether you read them or not.
it is known that eleazar robs. it robs a person of their senses. it robs a person of their motor skills. it robs a person of their identity. kaveh would have been known as the kshahrewar student with eleazar. kaveh's designs would have been obscured by his illness. kaveh's name would have been forgotten. how was he to allow such a thing? kaveh's name would have been synonymous with unattainable.
and so, he proved himself. that he is better than his disease. that he could do his work, and the work of others, and excel greatly in all that he does. he shone, he glimmered, he made himself known. kaveh, the light of kshahrewar. so much more than the eleazar. some had thought he was cured of it. some were sure of it.
he is, ultimately, a sunburst. he burns for others, provides them warmth, but burns himself to exhaustion. he will burn himself into dust, and dust is never remembered. a mark has to be left. and alhaitham, the pride of haravatat, who observes history as it is made, and records it for the future— alhaitham, he begs, please remember me too. ]
The same point that the Akademiya exists alongside the House of Daena. [ kaveh begins, nearly matter-of-factly. ] Books are complements. I will teach you everything I know, but it is within a scholar's nature to seek further knowledge. There is ignorance in relying on a single source of knowledge; otherwise, what basis is there for debate, and what reason would we find in discussion?
[ the sun is warm on his skin, but he cannot feel it. kaveh yawns, nonetheless. ] Don't be so stubborn. I will recommend you books whether you read them or not.
[ the cat is like the vibration of a warm little sun. it purrs, as cats down when met with ceaseless attention, and curls in on the stoic lap it has taken shelter in. the stoic lap: alhaitham's fingers draw itself over the rough-hewn pages of the journal. it is the scent of paper and memory, of dust and a time long spent. it is a life lived condensed into the form of mere ink and paper; it is a life lived that alhaitham has never, and will never experience. alhaitham handles it with the reverence of a man picking through the scripture of something holy. his seeking fingers are not meant for the ears of a cat, who stretches and turns its body so it can sun its other side.
for kaveh, the mere briefest of flickers - as if attention is a finite resource meant to be conserved: ]
Why? So I can observe for myself my Servant running from battle, dogged, like a hunted criminal?
[ and then, in the same, bland tone: ] Which Servant?
for kaveh, the mere briefest of flickers - as if attention is a finite resource meant to be conserved: ]
Why? So I can observe for myself my Servant running from battle, dogged, like a hunted criminal?
[ and then, in the same, bland tone: ] Which Servant?
[ alhaitham is unmade.
the biological rationale is this: that fertility is vital to the survival of the human race. that protection and provision is needed for procreation. that need and infatuation is impetus for behaviours that promote survival. you will protect that which you, if not love, then at least desire. in theory, the amurta biologists posit, the strata of secondary sexual characteristics creates a society where each know their own roles. alhaitham knows the arguments well, because they form the foundation of the basic caste system. vissudha had her roots in a nation state that worshipped fecundity. vissudha stratified her society in order to create a population dedicated to formalise the most savage qualities of desire.
kaveh is devastation-made-form. my first time, he says, in a voice like spun honey. desire carves through alhaitham like a quake. he is blind with it. the world is white-hot and bright, the light refracted from marble and glass like lancelets. nothing is meant to withstand the siren of that tone. nothing dares.
alhaitham crosses the room. the air is thick with scent. his body burns through it like the careening of a comet. each footfall drags alhaitham through time and space to a kaveh who is simultaneously too near and too far. there is nothing inviting about the curl of kaveh's body. he hides, like a creature burned, a golden curl against the corner of a wall that could not possibly contain him. he is light, and sweetness, and a galaxy of yearning. he belongs in a case for display; he belongs in the folds of a bed. alhaitham looks down with the hard, hewn lines of the divan between them, and thinks -
alhaitham is not yet unmade.
with uncertain precision, alhaitham drops what he is holding. the smattering of blankets and comforters deposit themselves over kaveh's upturned face. ]
You should have said, Prince of the Lokapala, that you were on suppressants.
[ the gravel of his voice is unfamiliar to even alhaitham, who tastes iron on his tongue. he has, he realises, bitten through his lip.
it is not worth considering. ] How long on average? Think, Kaveh.
the biological rationale is this: that fertility is vital to the survival of the human race. that protection and provision is needed for procreation. that need and infatuation is impetus for behaviours that promote survival. you will protect that which you, if not love, then at least desire. in theory, the amurta biologists posit, the strata of secondary sexual characteristics creates a society where each know their own roles. alhaitham knows the arguments well, because they form the foundation of the basic caste system. vissudha had her roots in a nation state that worshipped fecundity. vissudha stratified her society in order to create a population dedicated to formalise the most savage qualities of desire.
kaveh is devastation-made-form. my first time, he says, in a voice like spun honey. desire carves through alhaitham like a quake. he is blind with it. the world is white-hot and bright, the light refracted from marble and glass like lancelets. nothing is meant to withstand the siren of that tone. nothing dares.
alhaitham crosses the room. the air is thick with scent. his body burns through it like the careening of a comet. each footfall drags alhaitham through time and space to a kaveh who is simultaneously too near and too far. there is nothing inviting about the curl of kaveh's body. he hides, like a creature burned, a golden curl against the corner of a wall that could not possibly contain him. he is light, and sweetness, and a galaxy of yearning. he belongs in a case for display; he belongs in the folds of a bed. alhaitham looks down with the hard, hewn lines of the divan between them, and thinks -
alhaitham is not yet unmade.
with uncertain precision, alhaitham drops what he is holding. the smattering of blankets and comforters deposit themselves over kaveh's upturned face. ]
You should have said, Prince of the Lokapala, that you were on suppressants.
[ the gravel of his voice is unfamiliar to even alhaitham, who tastes iron on his tongue. he has, he realises, bitten through his lip.
it is not worth considering. ] How long on average? Think, Kaveh.
[ with the mulishness of a man who knows the stakes at hand are inconsequential. the basis for debate has always been the conflict between views. there had once been a time where two views were aligned. there had once been a falling out where two views diverged. for kaveh, it has been two years. for alhaitham, it has been two hundred. two binary stars became aware of each other's existence, and began their spiraling orbit. once, alhaitham did not believe in fate. even now, he still does not; reincarnation does not set the course for the same wheels of samsara. one cannot use the past to predict the future when the future refuses to be predicted. this, he has always believed. but kaveh once again repeats another day on the birthdate of a goddess, and alhaitham knows that the wheel cannot continue to churn.
there is ignorance relying on a single source of knowledge. there, too, is ignorance in relying on a single source of faith. ]
To learn from a stubborn, inflexible instructor, must I not be stubborn and inflexible myself? I am yet to be convinced of the value of your teaching. [ kaveh yawns. the day began not four hours ago. sometimes, a day can only be four hours. alhaitham feels the yawn as if it were his own, a shiver that begins in kaveh's shoulders and ends lodged somewhere in his chest.
the motions are rote: alhaitham leans kaveh against him, coaxing him to his feet. he pockets their handkerchiefs and secures his cloak around kaveh's shoulders. alhaitham continues, ] You are, after all, the one who believes that whether the drapes are orange or blue have any bearing on the quality of light through our windows.
[ the next motion eases kaveh up into his arms. alhaitham tilts him just so, the shifting of a motion designed to slide kaveh's arms over his neck. with the line of his lips: ] Don't kick. Argue with words, not violence.
there is ignorance relying on a single source of knowledge. there, too, is ignorance in relying on a single source of faith. ]
To learn from a stubborn, inflexible instructor, must I not be stubborn and inflexible myself? I am yet to be convinced of the value of your teaching. [ kaveh yawns. the day began not four hours ago. sometimes, a day can only be four hours. alhaitham feels the yawn as if it were his own, a shiver that begins in kaveh's shoulders and ends lodged somewhere in his chest.
the motions are rote: alhaitham leans kaveh against him, coaxing him to his feet. he pockets their handkerchiefs and secures his cloak around kaveh's shoulders. alhaitham continues, ] You are, after all, the one who believes that whether the drapes are orange or blue have any bearing on the quality of light through our windows.
[ the next motion eases kaveh up into his arms. alhaitham tilts him just so, the shifting of a motion designed to slide kaveh's arms over his neck. with the line of his lips: ] Don't kick. Argue with words, not violence.
Did you miss the part where I said I'm not meant for direct confrontation?!
[ and such is the fate of servants summoned by masters who know no better. he does not think his is ignorant to the ways of the holy grail war, but he either overestimates the servant he is now stuck with, or this is simply a way to taunt him. it won't work.
(it might, if kaveh is suicidal enough.)
the thought is almost worth entertaining. it would not be hard to run a knife through his heart and kill himself; servants, after all, do not die the way humans do. he would return to the throne of heroes, and there exist until the next time a master calls for him. kaveh, master architect of sumeru, has a temper not written in history books or biographies written by late sages. but kaveh, light of kshahrewar, has always been too stubborn to go down without a fight.
besides— servants who answer the grail's call also have a wish of their own. it is an opportunity too good to give up.
kaveh sighs, and it reverberates around the room, as though to announce its weight. ]
Unsure. I didn't see them, nor did I stay long enough to try. That's why I'm telling you to go with me. Aren't you supposed to do something about it?
[ and such is the fate of servants summoned by masters who know no better. he does not think his is ignorant to the ways of the holy grail war, but he either overestimates the servant he is now stuck with, or this is simply a way to taunt him. it won't work.
(it might, if kaveh is suicidal enough.)
the thought is almost worth entertaining. it would not be hard to run a knife through his heart and kill himself; servants, after all, do not die the way humans do. he would return to the throne of heroes, and there exist until the next time a master calls for him. kaveh, master architect of sumeru, has a temper not written in history books or biographies written by late sages. but kaveh, light of kshahrewar, has always been too stubborn to go down without a fight.
besides— servants who answer the grail's call also have a wish of their own. it is an opportunity too good to give up.
kaveh sighs, and it reverberates around the room, as though to announce its weight. ]
Unsure. I didn't see them, nor did I stay long enough to try. That's why I'm telling you to go with me. Aren't you supposed to do something about it?
[ there are fantasy books that give birth to creatures of fontainian sea able to enchant travelers with their voices alone. they sing, they lure, they bite. it is, ultimately, fantasy, but kaveh finds room in his mind to think, this is it.
kaveh is unmade.
alhaitham approaches, and he finds his body expecting. wanting. he is eager, and thoughts leave his mind. in the shelves of his mind, his mother had spoken of this. in memories now forgotten, there is an instance of time when the sun shone high, at the height of summer. a younger kaveh sat on his mother's lap in their gardens, served tea, shared secrets between each other. she spoke of love, of desire. she spoke of a time where kaveh will be rid of rationality, and will want ever so egoistically. she had said then that selfishness is part of human nature, that there is no shame in it. kaveh, in spite of the love he held for his mother, grew selfless.
kaveh, rid of rationality, wants the way his mother had told him about.
the blankets and comforters, he finds, are not enough. they are clean, smell of soap and flora. it is not what he wants. it is not enough.
kaveh sets them aside. want ever so egoistically. he reaches across the divan that separates them, and holds onto the fabric of alhaitham's clothes. want.
the question has never reached his ears. ]
Your bed, [ there are fantasy books on fontainian mythology. they lure with honey-coated words. they bite. ] Take me to it?
[ kaveh wants. he wants, ultimately, to lose himself in the smell of alhaitham's covers. ]
kaveh is unmade.
alhaitham approaches, and he finds his body expecting. wanting. he is eager, and thoughts leave his mind. in the shelves of his mind, his mother had spoken of this. in memories now forgotten, there is an instance of time when the sun shone high, at the height of summer. a younger kaveh sat on his mother's lap in their gardens, served tea, shared secrets between each other. she spoke of love, of desire. she spoke of a time where kaveh will be rid of rationality, and will want ever so egoistically. she had said then that selfishness is part of human nature, that there is no shame in it. kaveh, in spite of the love he held for his mother, grew selfless.
kaveh, rid of rationality, wants the way his mother had told him about.
the blankets and comforters, he finds, are not enough. they are clean, smell of soap and flora. it is not what he wants. it is not enough.
kaveh sets them aside. want ever so egoistically. he reaches across the divan that separates them, and holds onto the fabric of alhaitham's clothes. want.
the question has never reached his ears. ]
Your bed, [ there are fantasy books on fontainian mythology. they lure with honey-coated words. they bite. ] Take me to it?
[ kaveh wants. he wants, ultimately, to lose himself in the smell of alhaitham's covers. ]
[ a day starts and ends not when the sun rises and sets, but when his body decides.
a day, sometimes, is twenty-four hours. a day, sometimes, is only four. if he is less fortunate, sometimes kaveh skips a day in his life, then two, then three. when he is bed-ridden and a victim of the eleazar, he cannot walk. cannot perform his routine, cannot see the blue sky outside, what color the trees will be, water his plants. it is excruciating. it is limiting. it is, he finds, so unbearably unfair.
kaveh finds, too, that sometimes he hates not being able to touch the floor. it grounds him. it is a privilege of the masses, and what good are his legs if he cannot use them? alhaitham eases him up into his arms, and the motion is not unfamiliar. it is home as alhaitham's house is. it is, still, broadcasted weakness.
the motion is routine: he holds onto alhaitham, bites into his lip. their argument now long forgotten. ]
I can walk. I don't want to go home yet. [ yet, still, he does not fight back. ] At least take me elsewhere.
a day, sometimes, is twenty-four hours. a day, sometimes, is only four. if he is less fortunate, sometimes kaveh skips a day in his life, then two, then three. when he is bed-ridden and a victim of the eleazar, he cannot walk. cannot perform his routine, cannot see the blue sky outside, what color the trees will be, water his plants. it is excruciating. it is limiting. it is, he finds, so unbearably unfair.
kaveh finds, too, that sometimes he hates not being able to touch the floor. it grounds him. it is a privilege of the masses, and what good are his legs if he cannot use them? alhaitham eases him up into his arms, and the motion is not unfamiliar. it is home as alhaitham's house is. it is, still, broadcasted weakness.
the motion is routine: he holds onto alhaitham, bites into his lip. their argument now long forgotten. ]
I can walk. I don't want to go home yet. [ yet, still, he does not fight back. ] At least take me elsewhere.
[ kaveh reaches across the divan. no, alhaitham thinks, with some resonance of desperation, that what reaches across the divan is no longer kaveh. a creature is made in part through the predictable internal workings of their thoughts and the rational constant of their behaviours. that people did not always act rationally did not detract from the internal consistency of said logic. a man who chose irrationality would always choose irrationality given the same circumstances and impetus. outliers exist, but infrequently. and alhaitham has always known that there are things a person must always hold onto, lest they are led astray by the vicissitudes of life. you were not you if you allowed yourself to stray.
the thing reaching across the divan is not kaveh. kaveh, who detests the prince of the vissudha. kaveh, who still mourns the loss of his people. kaveh, who refuses to let go of a pride so fundamental to him that to strip him of it is to shame the world that allowed it. you could remove kaveh from lokapala, but you could not remove lokapala from kaveh. not kaveh, not like this. something in alhaitham whispers from the unknowable: is this the kaveh you love, or is this the kaveh you could love?
there had been two children, once. alhaitham had seen sunlight all his life, but it had never been so golden as the day it fell upon the flaxen strands of kaveh's beneath the mottled shade of the palm trees. kaveh is liquid sunshine across the divan, and a part of alhaitham, the part of him that had been born for this, this, thinks this: that alhaitham has failed to tell kaveh all this time, that he has been hungry, to tell him that he had been searching for him like meat, like water -
like blood. alhaitham tastes it where he had bitten through his lip. the taste of iron carries forward the steel-clad crucible of his self-control, it feeds it as it writhes. fishermen, alhaitham remembers, used to bind themselves to the masts of their ships so that the fontainian sea would not have them. not once - never. alhaitham pulls kaveh into his arms.
he tosses him into his bed.
the motion is not a kind or playful one. what follows is a pillow and the put-aside comforter, distance created through layers. alhaitham bares his teeth, and, because it is necessary, bites down onto the back of his arm. his teeth sink in. blood slinks. pain blooms. clarity of mind returns. alhaitham bites himself a second time, incisors sinking in until the protest of his arm gains flame - and then looks back to the bed with a haggard breath. ]
Kaveh. [ even kaveh's name is liquid sunshine given form - but alhaitham's eyes remain clear. they must. ] Do not leave that bed. I will tie you there if I must. [ and before the protests - ]
Kaveh.
[ like the syllables of a serrated knife. alhaitham's lips drip red. ] Understand.
the thing reaching across the divan is not kaveh. kaveh, who detests the prince of the vissudha. kaveh, who still mourns the loss of his people. kaveh, who refuses to let go of a pride so fundamental to him that to strip him of it is to shame the world that allowed it. you could remove kaveh from lokapala, but you could not remove lokapala from kaveh. not kaveh, not like this. something in alhaitham whispers from the unknowable: is this the kaveh you love, or is this the kaveh you could love?
there had been two children, once. alhaitham had seen sunlight all his life, but it had never been so golden as the day it fell upon the flaxen strands of kaveh's beneath the mottled shade of the palm trees. kaveh is liquid sunshine across the divan, and a part of alhaitham, the part of him that had been born for this, this, thinks this: that alhaitham has failed to tell kaveh all this time, that he has been hungry, to tell him that he had been searching for him like meat, like water -
like blood. alhaitham tastes it where he had bitten through his lip. the taste of iron carries forward the steel-clad crucible of his self-control, it feeds it as it writhes. fishermen, alhaitham remembers, used to bind themselves to the masts of their ships so that the fontainian sea would not have them. not once - never. alhaitham pulls kaveh into his arms.
he tosses him into his bed.
the motion is not a kind or playful one. what follows is a pillow and the put-aside comforter, distance created through layers. alhaitham bares his teeth, and, because it is necessary, bites down onto the back of his arm. his teeth sink in. blood slinks. pain blooms. clarity of mind returns. alhaitham bites himself a second time, incisors sinking in until the protest of his arm gains flame - and then looks back to the bed with a haggard breath. ]
Kaveh. [ even kaveh's name is liquid sunshine given form - but alhaitham's eyes remain clear. they must. ] Do not leave that bed. I will tie you there if I must. [ and before the protests - ]
Kaveh.
[ like the syllables of a serrated knife. alhaitham's lips drip red. ] Understand.
[ kaveh's sigh chases itself around the room like a cat for its tail. alhaitham's fingers trace the ephemeral outlines of a pair of hands that he cannot remember, of a gesture long-since lost to time. she would have put her hands here, he knew, just like so. the slant of the letters are like marks on a map. the very gaps between the words measure the size of a hand, the slender edge of a finger, the careful press of a palm just so to avoid the smudge of ink. you could learn a lot about a person through their hands. you couldn't do much without them.
kaveh, the architect, would know. alhaitham had known since the very beginning that kaveh's hands were not meant to wield a sword. it does not mean, however, that the world is kind enough to allow him to exist without one. whether a servant was meant for direct confrontation or not does not mean that a piece cannot be used in such a fashion - it merely meant that there were better, alternate uses. like designing and bringing to life a door that opened the sealed vault of a repository older than anything the city, with its limited history, could afford. but kaveh could do it. kaveh was far older, and this is his city.
the cat stirs. alhaitham's other hand gently rests upon the lush carpet of its orange fur. finally, the green of his gaze flickers up. ]
I am not needed in the streets; you are aware of this. For you to insist upon it must be the manifestation of your tendency to never say what you really mean. [ alhaitham's eyebrow quirks. ] You are bored, and you desire company.
kaveh, the architect, would know. alhaitham had known since the very beginning that kaveh's hands were not meant to wield a sword. it does not mean, however, that the world is kind enough to allow him to exist without one. whether a servant was meant for direct confrontation or not does not mean that a piece cannot be used in such a fashion - it merely meant that there were better, alternate uses. like designing and bringing to life a door that opened the sealed vault of a repository older than anything the city, with its limited history, could afford. but kaveh could do it. kaveh was far older, and this is his city.
the cat stirs. alhaitham's other hand gently rests upon the lush carpet of its orange fur. finally, the green of his gaze flickers up. ]
I am not needed in the streets; you are aware of this. For you to insist upon it must be the manifestation of your tendency to never say what you really mean. [ alhaitham's eyebrow quirks. ] You are bored, and you desire company.
https://twitter.com/chikological/status/1666816652141531142 and now im revived... thank u friend ;o;
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haravatits
2023-06-09 05:38 am (UTC)(link)
[ kaveh is light. it is not, however, worryingly so. alhaitham knows the cycles of kaveh's weight, tied intrinsically to the cycle of his illness and what it will allow him to eat or not eat. the fragility of his body is belied by the voracity of his mind. kaveh has always wanted what he could not allow himself to have. a wound gives off its own light, or so the doctors of the bimarstan say. if all the lamps in sumeru were turned out, you could dress this wound by what shines from it. it is only with alhaitham that kaveh's desires, the selfish light of them, can take on form.
elsewhere, he says. alhaitham thinks - there is nowhere where he can take kaveh that is not here, in this place, where his illness roots. where kaveh wants to be taken is not a place for his body, but a place for his mind. there had been a field of padisarahs beneath a sky so ravishingly blue, that one could lean up and drink from it.
the akasha had taken the dreams of the people and used them as fuel for a new god. this, alhaitham can never forgive. but that is neither here, nor there. kaveh's dream remains elusive; this, alhaitham cannot compromise on. not on this, not on kaveh. ]
You may be able to walk, but your manners are atrophied. Is this how you ask someone to take you elsewhere, Senior? [ alhaitham begins to walk. his steps are sure. they take him, with unyielding assurance, down the wending path circling the divine tree. ] In any case, elsewhere is not a location. Be specific.
elsewhere, he says. alhaitham thinks - there is nowhere where he can take kaveh that is not here, in this place, where his illness roots. where kaveh wants to be taken is not a place for his body, but a place for his mind. there had been a field of padisarahs beneath a sky so ravishingly blue, that one could lean up and drink from it.
the akasha had taken the dreams of the people and used them as fuel for a new god. this, alhaitham can never forgive. but that is neither here, nor there. kaveh's dream remains elusive; this, alhaitham cannot compromise on. not on this, not on kaveh. ]
You may be able to walk, but your manners are atrophied. Is this how you ask someone to take you elsewhere, Senior? [ alhaitham begins to walk. his steps are sure. they take him, with unyielding assurance, down the wending path circling the divine tree. ] In any case, elsewhere is not a location. Be specific.
[ the last of his mother's teachings had been thus: you have inherited my beauty, kaveh. there will be none who will resist you. none who will dare.
there had been admirers. letters sent anonymously. there had been flowers, there had been dates, there had been confessions. the crown prince of lokapala has always been popular. the golden of his hair is purer than the gold mined from the chasm. the red of his eyes leaves the trishiraite harvested from sumeran desert jealous. his smile becomes the sun itself. he is a child blessed by the gods, many have said. it is a rumor that has seen all that teyvat has to offer, a rumor even those across the seas have heard.
there were those who came to lokapala for the padisarahs that bloom come spring. there were those who came to lokapala for the crown prince, unmated, untouched, pristine and pure. given the opportunity, it is known, there would be none who would deny a chance to have a taste of him.
alhaitham does.
alhaitham, crown prince of vissudha, who kaveh has personally picked to blame for tainting him, bleeds to retain reason. red is a jewel oftentimes associated with the prince of lokapala. red is an anchor. red grounds alhaitham, and questions kaveh.
kaveh, who feels his body melt under the smell of sheets and cushion touched by alhaitham. kaveh, whose own reason has long left him, whose fingers clutch around the blankets, whose body burns for attention, whose body hurts if left untouched. kaveh, whose red meets alhaitham's red, and wonders, as he is wont to do, why?
red is an anchor. it grounds alhaitham, and wakes kaveh. ]
... Three pills, every six months. [ the question has long been forgotten. he recalls, however, the weight of alhaitham's tone on a specific word. ] They are due in a fortnight.
[ not now. not this early. the signs were there, but kaveh knows this has been induced by something. someone. not alhaitham, he thinks. elham might have been right. alhaitham knows how to speak. he is well-versed in the intonation of words and its hidden meanings as haravatats are wont to be. he says understand, and kaveh, who is, instead, well-versed in people, sees it as a quiet plea.
understand, he pleads, and kaveh wonders, understand what? kaveh wonders — ]
Why won't you touch me?
there had been admirers. letters sent anonymously. there had been flowers, there had been dates, there had been confessions. the crown prince of lokapala has always been popular. the golden of his hair is purer than the gold mined from the chasm. the red of his eyes leaves the trishiraite harvested from sumeran desert jealous. his smile becomes the sun itself. he is a child blessed by the gods, many have said. it is a rumor that has seen all that teyvat has to offer, a rumor even those across the seas have heard.
there were those who came to lokapala for the padisarahs that bloom come spring. there were those who came to lokapala for the crown prince, unmated, untouched, pristine and pure. given the opportunity, it is known, there would be none who would deny a chance to have a taste of him.
alhaitham does.
alhaitham, crown prince of vissudha, who kaveh has personally picked to blame for tainting him, bleeds to retain reason. red is a jewel oftentimes associated with the prince of lokapala. red is an anchor. red grounds alhaitham, and questions kaveh.
kaveh, who feels his body melt under the smell of sheets and cushion touched by alhaitham. kaveh, whose own reason has long left him, whose fingers clutch around the blankets, whose body burns for attention, whose body hurts if left untouched. kaveh, whose red meets alhaitham's red, and wonders, as he is wont to do, why?
red is an anchor. it grounds alhaitham, and wakes kaveh. ]
... Three pills, every six months. [ the question has long been forgotten. he recalls, however, the weight of alhaitham's tone on a specific word. ] They are due in a fortnight.
[ not now. not this early. the signs were there, but kaveh knows this has been induced by something. someone. not alhaitham, he thinks. elham might have been right. alhaitham knows how to speak. he is well-versed in the intonation of words and its hidden meanings as haravatats are wont to be. he says understand, and kaveh, who is, instead, well-versed in people, sees it as a quiet plea.
understand, he pleads, and kaveh wonders, understand what? kaveh wonders — ]
Why won't you touch me?
[ servants are those who have left a mark in history. either heroes, villains, communal workers who benefit society one way or another. kaveh is one with no mystery. he is a recent servant, even, barely a century old. he is on the weaker side. he is a man whose name is still fresh on the tongues of sumeran people, who speak of his achievements, who teach newer kshahrewar students of his contributions to sumeru, to the world of architecture, to the arts. he is known. his life is written in books penned by people who knew of him, or have once talked to him.
he is the renowned kaveh, light of kshahrewar, sumeru's most talented architect.
he is a caster-class servant.
he is not, of all things, bored. he does not desire company. the absurdity of the statements show on his face, because kaveh has never been one known to hide certain emotions. if he is insulted, sumeru will know. if he finds himself offended, teyvat will know. he is a rishboland tiger that bites if you look at him the wrong way. he is a cat whose tail has been stepped on. ]
Are you out of your mind?! [ and his voice, too, chases itself around the room. it scares the poor little cat, who rises and hides at the noise. ] Have you forgotten this is a war?! Am I supposed to sabotage my own Master, and withhold information to myself? Should I watch you walk into the market next time you decide to see the light of the day, and pretend you're not running into an enemy territory? I'm not your enemy! We're supposed to work together! Ugh!
[ the knife through the heart is a temptation truly hard to resist. ]
Unbelievable. Just unbelievable. It is just my luck to be stuck with such an unreasonable Master. Maybe I should go back there by myself and get ambushed. Spare me the trouble of having to listen to you.
he is the renowned kaveh, light of kshahrewar, sumeru's most talented architect.
he is a caster-class servant.
he is not, of all things, bored. he does not desire company. the absurdity of the statements show on his face, because kaveh has never been one known to hide certain emotions. if he is insulted, sumeru will know. if he finds himself offended, teyvat will know. he is a rishboland tiger that bites if you look at him the wrong way. he is a cat whose tail has been stepped on. ]
Are you out of your mind?! [ and his voice, too, chases itself around the room. it scares the poor little cat, who rises and hides at the noise. ] Have you forgotten this is a war?! Am I supposed to sabotage my own Master, and withhold information to myself? Should I watch you walk into the market next time you decide to see the light of the day, and pretend you're not running into an enemy territory? I'm not your enemy! We're supposed to work together! Ugh!
[ the knife through the heart is a temptation truly hard to resist. ]
Unbelievable. Just unbelievable. It is just my luck to be stuck with such an unreasonable Master. Maybe I should go back there by myself and get ambushed. Spare me the trouble of having to listen to you.
[ elsewhere, he says. kaveh thinks — there is nowhere where alhaitham can take him that is not here, in this place, where his illness roots. elsewhere, he says. kaveh thinks — alhaitham is the only one who could distract him from reality, sometimes. they argue, still. kaveh is less willing to engage nowadays, but he appreciates in alhaitham what he has not done; he has not changed. not his treatment of kaveh, not how he sees kaveh. he has not once thought of kaveh as the kshahrewar student with eleazar. kaveh has always just been that — kaveh, the light of kshahrewar, sumeru's most renowned architect.
elsewhere, he says. kaveh thinks — anywhere with you is fine. anywhere where it's just us.
alhaitham walks down the wending path. kaveh finds his body trembling, even in alhaitham's grasp. he finds, too, his grip on him tightening. it is an automatic response. it is the fear of being seen. it is, after all, broadcasted weakness.
alhaitham has lifted him up before, in their home, to take him to the bed, once he has fallen asleep on the divan, on his desk. alhaitham has picked him up in his arms before, in lambad's tavern, to take him home, after kaveh has drowned his sorrows in beer and wine. those are routine. this is not. if they are seen, he thinks, people will know. people will assume. they will look. they will pity him. the once light of kshahrewar, sumeru's most talented architect, cursed with eleazar. his legs do not work today. tomorrow, his hands. he will never draw again. he will be forgotten, his designs remembered not for his mastery of the arts, but for the eleazar-ridden hands that have created them.
kaveh bites down on his lip, and tastes iron. he has grown to despise the public eye. ]
Anywhere, [ his voice trembles with his body. it is, too, as weak as he is. he does not, either, have much control on it. not even that. ] Outside of the city. By the river, I don't know. Anywhere with just us.
[ kaveh does not say it this time. please, however, hangs on the tip of his tongue. it is implied. his tone is, by itself, as heavy as the plea. ]
elsewhere, he says. kaveh thinks — anywhere with you is fine. anywhere where it's just us.
alhaitham walks down the wending path. kaveh finds his body trembling, even in alhaitham's grasp. he finds, too, his grip on him tightening. it is an automatic response. it is the fear of being seen. it is, after all, broadcasted weakness.
alhaitham has lifted him up before, in their home, to take him to the bed, once he has fallen asleep on the divan, on his desk. alhaitham has picked him up in his arms before, in lambad's tavern, to take him home, after kaveh has drowned his sorrows in beer and wine. those are routine. this is not. if they are seen, he thinks, people will know. people will assume. they will look. they will pity him. the once light of kshahrewar, sumeru's most talented architect, cursed with eleazar. his legs do not work today. tomorrow, his hands. he will never draw again. he will be forgotten, his designs remembered not for his mastery of the arts, but for the eleazar-ridden hands that have created them.
kaveh bites down on his lip, and tastes iron. he has grown to despise the public eye. ]
Anywhere, [ his voice trembles with his body. it is, too, as weak as he is. he does not, either, have much control on it. not even that. ] Outside of the city. By the river, I don't know. Anywhere with just us.
[ kaveh does not say it this time. please, however, hangs on the tip of his tongue. it is implied. his tone is, by itself, as heavy as the plea. ]
[ as always, alhaitham thinks, kaveh asks the wrong questions. from the very beginning, the questions had come as a deluge. no waterfall of the ali qapu could sustain it. has alhaitham enjoyed the slaughter of the lokapalan people? is kaveh to accept his fate? does the fate of the lokapalan slaves matter to alhaitham? why do you return my jewelery? why are you doing this? why? why? why?
why won't you touch me, kaveh asks. the wrong question again. alhaitham thinks, perhaps the right question can never be voiced: who is alhaitham, and what is kaveh to him? one's fate is tied to the way an individual chooses to interact with the world; one's fate is tied to the way an individual chooses to allow the world in. alhaitham has not allowed the world in, not once. not ever. there is no room within him for anything save for the sole purpose that he strives towards. he had once looked into the abyss of probabilities, and identified a door in a far-off, far-flung galaxy. he had looked at it, and put down the first flagstone of a path built towards this impossible destination. he had been ten, and he had been angry, and the world had seemed terribly small for it.
the question cannot be why. but it is in kaveh's nature to ask. three pills, every six months, and due in a fortnight - but not tonight. alhaitham only needed this in order to confirm the game afoot. his mouth is stained red as he looks at kaveh, really looks. kaveh's limbs tangle within the rope of sheets. he is agonised. he is unmade. and alhaitham - cannot be unmade. ]
Because [ alhaitham says, in a voice like tainted iron, with a rasp like rusted steel, ] it would please Azar too much, and please me too little.
[ the crucible of his self-control holds. alhaitham breathes in. the air is musk and honey-sweet. ] You do not want me, Kaveh. You merely need me. Is this how you wish to be?
why won't you touch me, kaveh asks. the wrong question again. alhaitham thinks, perhaps the right question can never be voiced: who is alhaitham, and what is kaveh to him? one's fate is tied to the way an individual chooses to interact with the world; one's fate is tied to the way an individual chooses to allow the world in. alhaitham has not allowed the world in, not once. not ever. there is no room within him for anything save for the sole purpose that he strives towards. he had once looked into the abyss of probabilities, and identified a door in a far-off, far-flung galaxy. he had looked at it, and put down the first flagstone of a path built towards this impossible destination. he had been ten, and he had been angry, and the world had seemed terribly small for it.
the question cannot be why. but it is in kaveh's nature to ask. three pills, every six months, and due in a fortnight - but not tonight. alhaitham only needed this in order to confirm the game afoot. his mouth is stained red as he looks at kaveh, really looks. kaveh's limbs tangle within the rope of sheets. he is agonised. he is unmade. and alhaitham - cannot be unmade. ]
Because [ alhaitham says, in a voice like tainted iron, with a rasp like rusted steel, ] it would please Azar too much, and please me too little.
[ the crucible of his self-control holds. alhaitham breathes in. the air is musk and honey-sweet. ] You do not want me, Kaveh. You merely need me. Is this how you wish to be?
[ anyway, kaveh says. what alhaitham hears: that kaveh hates the public eye. that kaveh hates his hatred; that it festers like something gangrenous, an amputation made form. the darkness is like the disease. what it obscures is hope. but the paradox of alhaitham is that the weight in his arms and the trembling of kaveh's voice is, in itself, comforting. to draw comfort from such a thing is monstrous. this, alhaitham, too, believes. but it speaks to a fundamental truth that even the illness could not rob: that kaveh is yet to be apathetic to the gazes of others. that if you can hate, it means you still care. if you still care, it means you have the will to fight. and if you have the will to fight, then you have not lost.
kaveh has not been unmade. alhaitham draws him close. if his lips skim the gold of kaveh's hair, it is but a mere coincidence. the canting of his head is for the microcosm that he holds in his arms: the wind, the sky, the sea. that is what makes up kaveh. ]
Fine. [ is what alhaitham saids. and then, in that self-same, flint-edged tone: ] Hold on, then. Do not let go.
[ because what the lunatic of the akademiya does next lives up to the reputation of his name. the wind rises. alhaitham's strides lengthen. the barrier between tree and path approaches and is vaulted. a young woman's voice calls out in warning. she is ever so faraway - the world seems ever so far away. the ground drops out beneath them, and they are flying.
alhaitham's glider snaps out behind them with the finality of a chapter shut. the world spins, dizzying, and then -
the sky. the sky. the sky. ]
kaveh has not been unmade. alhaitham draws him close. if his lips skim the gold of kaveh's hair, it is but a mere coincidence. the canting of his head is for the microcosm that he holds in his arms: the wind, the sky, the sea. that is what makes up kaveh. ]
Fine. [ is what alhaitham saids. and then, in that self-same, flint-edged tone: ] Hold on, then. Do not let go.
[ because what the lunatic of the akademiya does next lives up to the reputation of his name. the wind rises. alhaitham's strides lengthen. the barrier between tree and path approaches and is vaulted. a young woman's voice calls out in warning. she is ever so faraway - the world seems ever so far away. the ground drops out beneath them, and they are flying.
alhaitham's glider snaps out behind them with the finality of a chapter shut. the world spins, dizzying, and then -
the sky. the sky. the sky. ]
[ the land, and the sky. it continues to be them, even here. even in a world where kaveh is eleazar-ridden, and alhaitham is still the same, unshakable, unchanged, impossible friend. it is routine. it is them. it is 'kaveh' and it is 'alhaitham', in all their forms, in all their needs, in what makes them them. it is, most importantly, where it's safe. it's home.
kaveh cannot feel the breeze, cold come autumn and winter, dry come spring and summer. his skin has long forfeit the need for touch, yet they fall, they float, they fly — and kaveh, impossibly so, feels the breeze. it is numb against his skin, as though he is wearing five layers instead of one. but he feels it. chill. gentle. a pinch ticklish.
darkness is like the disease, at times. darkness is, too, a canvas. it can be anything the painter wishes. kaveh paints it blue, with gentle greens. his grip on alhaitham tightens. it is natural to fear heights. it is primal. but alhaitham, he knows, would always catch him. always, he knows better, wouldn't allow the possibility to come where kaveh would slip, where kaveh would fall.
he holds. he keeps him safe. he remains unchanged, a pillar through time. ever unmoving, ever reliable. ever the same. ]
... What a show-off. [ a whisper into secrecy, shared between two. ] You could just have walked out the gates... Most people are in the Grand Baazar around this time. What are you doing?
kaveh cannot feel the breeze, cold come autumn and winter, dry come spring and summer. his skin has long forfeit the need for touch, yet they fall, they float, they fly — and kaveh, impossibly so, feels the breeze. it is numb against his skin, as though he is wearing five layers instead of one. but he feels it. chill. gentle. a pinch ticklish.
darkness is like the disease, at times. darkness is, too, a canvas. it can be anything the painter wishes. kaveh paints it blue, with gentle greens. his grip on alhaitham tightens. it is natural to fear heights. it is primal. but alhaitham, he knows, would always catch him. always, he knows better, wouldn't allow the possibility to come where kaveh would slip, where kaveh would fall.
he holds. he keeps him safe. he remains unchanged, a pillar through time. ever unmoving, ever reliable. ever the same. ]
... What a show-off. [ a whisper into secrecy, shared between two. ] You could just have walked out the gates... Most people are in the Grand Baazar around this time. What are you doing?
[ kaveh asks, because it is within a scholar's nature to inquire. kaveh is prince, but he is human, but he is an architect, but he is a scholar. a scholar who enjoys the secrets of the world, a scholar who wants to learn, learn, learn. he asks, until there are no questions left to ask. he asks, and does not think that there are wrong questions to be asked. all of them will provide him an answer, if answered at all. all of them will provide him knowledge, and information, and food for thought. all of them matter.
he will, then, continue to ask all the wrong questions, until there are no wrong questions left to be asked. he will continue to ask the whats, the hows, the whys. alhaitham will answer him with time, or not at all. but for a man held captive, taken from home, questions are all he has, and answers are solaces. after all —
after all, alhaitham mentions the regent, and kaveh, who has hardly seen him, let alone thought of him, thinks now. it is a new puzzle piece in the haziness of his honey-coated mind. he is not apt to solve the puzzle just now, but he will ponder it, later. he will think. he will question. he will wonder. it is, after all, all that kaveh has.
azar, later. alhaitham, who struggles in ways kaveh does not understand, who struggles in way he should not — alhaitham, now.
kaveh sits up on the bed. it is an uncomfortable motion, all around. ]
Then, [ words have weight. they get stuck on his throat. the thought itself is madness taken-form. but it is, always, all that kaveh has. ] do you want me to want you? If I did, would you?
he will, then, continue to ask all the wrong questions, until there are no wrong questions left to be asked. he will continue to ask the whats, the hows, the whys. alhaitham will answer him with time, or not at all. but for a man held captive, taken from home, questions are all he has, and answers are solaces. after all —
after all, alhaitham mentions the regent, and kaveh, who has hardly seen him, let alone thought of him, thinks now. it is a new puzzle piece in the haziness of his honey-coated mind. he is not apt to solve the puzzle just now, but he will ponder it, later. he will think. he will question. he will wonder. it is, after all, all that kaveh has.
azar, later. alhaitham, who struggles in ways kaveh does not understand, who struggles in way he should not — alhaitham, now.
kaveh sits up on the bed. it is an uncomfortable motion, all around. ]
Then, [ words have weight. they get stuck on his throat. the thought itself is madness taken-form. but it is, always, all that kaveh has. ] do you want me to want you? If I did, would you?
What am I doing? [ alhaitham breathes out much in the way of a laugh. the eddying breeze takes it and whips it behind them like the lofty flight of a half-formed flower petal, the sweet of its fragrance carried far. ] I am taking you away.
[ sumeru city sprawls out beneath the wings of alhaitham's glider. this must be, alhaitham thinks, the view that birds see from above. perspective has always been key to a life lived. who you are, and where you are, and when you are dictates the view that you see when you leap. a vahumana driyosh will see the teeming lines of people as social contracts made bare, a city bound by the lifeblood of order imposed not by others but by the shackles of civilisation itself. an amurta herbad will see veins and arteries and the potential of spilled blood, a burgeoning population serviced by a single, understaffed and underfunded hospital in the beginnings of a crisis of healthcare. a harvatat scribe may see the potential for language flowing like water, each economic exchange tabulated and recorded through spoken contracts and written word, because without language there is no exchange, and where there is no exchange, there is no creation.
a kshahrewar with eleazar -
alhaitham allows them to glide over the spiraled peaks of the akademiya's gazebos. even the rtawahists never look up this time of the day. they are above prying eyes in both senses of the world - the metaphor and the reality coming together in a midday dream.
in the far distance, the palace of alcazarzaray rises from the canopy. ]
[ sumeru city sprawls out beneath the wings of alhaitham's glider. this must be, alhaitham thinks, the view that birds see from above. perspective has always been key to a life lived. who you are, and where you are, and when you are dictates the view that you see when you leap. a vahumana driyosh will see the teeming lines of people as social contracts made bare, a city bound by the lifeblood of order imposed not by others but by the shackles of civilisation itself. an amurta herbad will see veins and arteries and the potential of spilled blood, a burgeoning population serviced by a single, understaffed and underfunded hospital in the beginnings of a crisis of healthcare. a harvatat scribe may see the potential for language flowing like water, each economic exchange tabulated and recorded through spoken contracts and written word, because without language there is no exchange, and where there is no exchange, there is no creation.
a kshahrewar with eleazar -
alhaitham allows them to glide over the spiraled peaks of the akademiya's gazebos. even the rtawahists never look up this time of the day. they are above prying eyes in both senses of the world - the metaphor and the reality coming together in a midday dream.
in the far distance, the palace of alcazarzaray rises from the canopy. ]
[ kaveh sits up. it's impossible for alhaitham's eyes to not follow that liquid motion. the setting of a golden sun casts ribbons of light across the obscene pale of kaveh's skin. the blankets shift around him like the beginnings of a wanton whirlpool. and alhaitham is only a man, just a man, and he is bleeding. the air tastes of honey and blood. perhaps that has always been what history distilled down to, the desires of mankind and the bloodshed to obtain it. alhaitham, who has chosen a different path, merely looks.
the question evokes no imagery and invokes no thought. there has never been any need. alhaitham has always known his own measure; he would not be alhaitham otherwise. ]
Ask me that question again when you want me.
[ it comes not as a plea, nor a demand. it comes not as a question or a statement. it comes as everything and nothing all at once - alhaitham, standing at the edge of a gulf of his own making, and choosing to place the key where kaveh can reach.
the knock on the door is visceral. alhaitham bares his teeth. he then systematically remembers himself. gone is the deep, emanating growl and the press of his nails to the bloody shreds of his palm; his body shifts as the crucible of his self-control clamps down with bloodless finality, and he goes to the door in three, long strides. the door is opened but a crack. his head is bowed. words are exchange, and then some.
when he retreats, it's first to allow the door to close before he turns. alhaitham has in his hands a package wrapped in cloth. ]
Kaveh. Do not leave the bed.
the question evokes no imagery and invokes no thought. there has never been any need. alhaitham has always known his own measure; he would not be alhaitham otherwise. ]
Ask me that question again when you want me.
[ it comes not as a plea, nor a demand. it comes not as a question or a statement. it comes as everything and nothing all at once - alhaitham, standing at the edge of a gulf of his own making, and choosing to place the key where kaveh can reach.
the knock on the door is visceral. alhaitham bares his teeth. he then systematically remembers himself. gone is the deep, emanating growl and the press of his nails to the bloody shreds of his palm; his body shifts as the crucible of his self-control clamps down with bloodless finality, and he goes to the door in three, long strides. the door is opened but a crack. his head is bowed. words are exchange, and then some.
when he retreats, it's first to allow the door to close before he turns. alhaitham has in his hands a package wrapped in cloth. ]
Kaveh. Do not leave the bed.
[ with the screeching of a small banshee, alhaitham thinks. the cat in his lap looks up, affronted, its little orange ears pulled back as it surveys the latest mess in the living room. working together, withholding information, terrible luck. the latter, alhaitham knows, is true. even the briefest cursory scan of kaveh's statistics implies that some deity or spirit has found disfavour in the architect, because there is little to no other way that particular statistic should have been so low. it had been one of the first things alhaitham had asked when the spirit congealed from the throne of heroes; the answer had been much like this - kaveh expending energy through sound and motion, and alhaitham, observing.
the sound will need to continue, or so alhaitham knows. the ending of the light of the kshahrewar is a story that each and every man, woman or child in sumeru knows by heart. the light had died the day the light extinguished - or so the fable goes, a country crafted and made and saved and set free, to the sacrifice of something that should never have been lost in the first place. this, alhaitham knows. one did not need to live a tragedy to feel its echoes. kaveh's face morphs, and alhaitham breathes out, the quirk of his eyebrow like a punctuation mark in itself. ]
I see. Then, I have overestimated your capabilities. [ alhaitham looks back to his book. he, once again, begins to read. ] I had thought a Servant capable of running a single errand on their own; perhaps the stories left out the individuals who held your hand like a nursemaid while you became legend.
the sound will need to continue, or so alhaitham knows. the ending of the light of the kshahrewar is a story that each and every man, woman or child in sumeru knows by heart. the light had died the day the light extinguished - or so the fable goes, a country crafted and made and saved and set free, to the sacrifice of something that should never have been lost in the first place. this, alhaitham knows. one did not need to live a tragedy to feel its echoes. kaveh's face morphs, and alhaitham breathes out, the quirk of his eyebrow like a punctuation mark in itself. ]
I see. Then, I have overestimated your capabilities. [ alhaitham looks back to his book. he, once again, begins to read. ] I had thought a Servant capable of running a single errand on their own; perhaps the stories left out the individuals who held your hand like a nursemaid while you became legend.
[ kaveh does not know alhaitham. he does not understand the intricacies of his mind palace, does not know his motivations and the driving force behind his every action. but kaveh is learning. kaveh, who knows how to observe, and knows how to analyze; kaveh is slowly coming to paint a bigger picture.
alhaitham does not answer no. alhaitham does not answer him in the way a person who wants nothing to do with someone else would. alhaitham, instead, says words that tell him this: that they will continue to be in each other's lives, that this might happen again, that kaveh's own feelings might come to change. there is no certainty. the boundary between want and need is, after all, impossibly thin. for kaveh, it is a line never to be crossed.
kaveh, after all, never allows himself to want, and the question is answered on its own.
he watches, because that, too, is one of the few things he has. there will be no one who can resist you. alhaitham, who he thought would be the exception, is not. alhaitham, he finds, is at his mercy, like all others who courted him were. alhaitham warns him again, and kaveh thinks, that's not right. what good is there away from a bed intoxicated with alhaitham's scent?
besides. his legs would not take him anywhere, would be victims of his own weakness. instead—
instead, kaveh looks. at alhaitham. at the splashes of red on his person. at the package he holds in hands. kaveh does not ever allow himself to want, but a kaveh poisoned by desire will want the way his mother told him to. ever so egoistically.
he burns, sunburst. kaveh removes his shirt, as though this is the natural order of things. his skin is red, glistering. pristine. untouched. kaveh leans back, and cants his head. ever so naturally. ]
Then come here. [ honey drips down the corners of his mouth. it is poisonous, and kaveh knows it well. ] ... Haitham, please?
alhaitham does not answer no. alhaitham does not answer him in the way a person who wants nothing to do with someone else would. alhaitham, instead, says words that tell him this: that they will continue to be in each other's lives, that this might happen again, that kaveh's own feelings might come to change. there is no certainty. the boundary between want and need is, after all, impossibly thin. for kaveh, it is a line never to be crossed.
kaveh, after all, never allows himself to want, and the question is answered on its own.
he watches, because that, too, is one of the few things he has. there will be no one who can resist you. alhaitham, who he thought would be the exception, is not. alhaitham, he finds, is at his mercy, like all others who courted him were. alhaitham warns him again, and kaveh thinks, that's not right. what good is there away from a bed intoxicated with alhaitham's scent?
besides. his legs would not take him anywhere, would be victims of his own weakness. instead—
instead, kaveh looks. at alhaitham. at the splashes of red on his person. at the package he holds in hands. kaveh does not ever allow himself to want, but a kaveh poisoned by desire will want the way his mother told him to. ever so egoistically.
he burns, sunburst. kaveh removes his shirt, as though this is the natural order of things. his skin is red, glistering. pristine. untouched. kaveh leans back, and cants his head. ever so naturally. ]
Then come here. [ honey drips down the corners of his mouth. it is poisonous, and kaveh knows it well. ] ... Haitham, please?
[ a kshahrewar with eleazar sees a painted canvas, sees history that has been made, sees dreams that have come true. it is a colorful world, it is tales to be told and memories to cherish. it is said that kshahrewar darshan is made of wide-eyed people, that kshahrewar students must think outside the box, and see beyond what is shown. alhaitham, he thinks, does not show him the landscape of sumeru city, the evergreen trees past it, a part of himself out into the distance. he shows him a world that has not yet abandoned him. a world that exists, beautiful and eternal, eleazar or not.
a world that has not at all been swallowed by darkness. ]
... That's why I told just walking out the gates is fine.
[ it would be simple. it would the guilt of dependency weigh less. it would make him far less happy. kaveh would have succumbed to the loneliness of it all. kaveh would have seen a world yellow and blue and green, and thought, in spite of everything, that he is utterly disconnected from it.
alhaitham, however, is always one step ahead. alhaitham reads him like a book, each and every time, a book he has long memorized, a book he knows by heart. alhaitham never allows him to fall.
he rests his head on alhaitham's shoulder. the breeze, the little kaveh can feel of it, is nice. the scenery is one he will keep to memory, and when his hands work, he will sketch it out. a memory to cherish, a tale to be told. ]
We should camp out, one of these days. Go fishing. Maybe trying out next things aren't so bad.
a world that has not at all been swallowed by darkness. ]
... That's why I told just walking out the gates is fine.
[ it would be simple. it would the guilt of dependency weigh less. it would make him far less happy. kaveh would have succumbed to the loneliness of it all. kaveh would have seen a world yellow and blue and green, and thought, in spite of everything, that he is utterly disconnected from it.
alhaitham, however, is always one step ahead. alhaitham reads him like a book, each and every time, a book he has long memorized, a book he knows by heart. alhaitham never allows him to fall.
he rests his head on alhaitham's shoulder. the breeze, the little kaveh can feel of it, is nice. the scenery is one he will keep to memory, and when his hands work, he will sketch it out. a memory to cherish, a tale to be told. ]
We should camp out, one of these days. Go fishing. Maybe trying out next things aren't so bad.
[ that's why i told you just walking out the gates is fine, kaveh says. what alhaitham hears: that the wind is gentle today, that the sun illuminates the myriad of colours that make up sumeru city, and kaveh, his kaveh, who cannot allow himself to want, once again has no choice but to turn his eyes back to the world. sumeru city glides out from beneath their feet. the canopy casts uneven sheathes of shadow over the flaxen gold of kaveh's hair. alhaitham corrects their course, checks the heading of the wind, and begins to bank. a wing dips just so. the divine tree's trunk is like the fulcrum of a shifting world.
kaveh speaks of fishing, of camping. alhaitham, who has never enjoyed either of these things, considers it. there are ponds, and lakes. there are enough sickly-looking shrubbery dotting the landscape for kaveh to force alhaitham to practice his sketching as they wait for fish to bite. there are the stars out from beneath the canopy of the rainforest, should they choose to pursue it.
the world is vast. the world is also not kind. the medication it would take and the amenities to bring on such a trip to ease kaveh's comfort would be substantial. ]
Is learning a new craft alone not enough novelty for my life?
[ but alhaitham considers it. ]
kaveh speaks of fishing, of camping. alhaitham, who has never enjoyed either of these things, considers it. there are ponds, and lakes. there are enough sickly-looking shrubbery dotting the landscape for kaveh to force alhaitham to practice his sketching as they wait for fish to bite. there are the stars out from beneath the canopy of the rainforest, should they choose to pursue it.
the world is vast. the world is also not kind. the medication it would take and the amenities to bring on such a trip to ease kaveh's comfort would be substantial. ]
Is learning a new craft alone not enough novelty for my life?
[ but alhaitham considers it. ]
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