Post by Harry on Oct 18, 2024 22:56:50 GMT
“Matches, what’s going on?”
The dragonscaled man shuts the door behind him as he and Zola enter a bedroom upstairs in the farmhouse. As the door shuts, he sheds a lot of confidence and bravado and becomes the more honest version of himself Zola has become familiar with.
“I have something I wanted to chat with you about… But not before thanking you again, and checking in. I barged in expecting a lot and didn’t get an awful lot of time to ask properly how you’re handling things back in Aeschira. And…the build up to the big day.”
Zola's expression softens. “It’s okay, Matches. Things are going well so far! My sister has agreed to become co-Matrons with me and the high council of Aeschira has recognised our claim. The situation is as good as we could possibly hope for.”
“Co-Matrons? Right on. Should help bring the two of you together. And less pressure on your shoulders. Sounds good.” He gives a little genuine smile.
“Yeah! There’s still a lot to do, though, like rescuing my mums and dealing with Tebrin and my birth parents. But right now, I’m learning a lot from Larynda, I’m getting to know my cousins, and there’s already a queue of suitors outside the door… It’s going pretty good, all things considered!” She sighs and plops down on the edge of the bed. “What about yourself? Is there something wrong? You weren’t feeling jealous just now, were you?”
The question was uttered in a playful tone, but Matches can’t miss the brief, worried glance she sneaks at him.
“Is that what you were fishing for? A little bit of jealousy?” He laughs a little, but it sounds tired, not quite with the vibrant energy he can usually bring. He rests on his hands and leans back.
“The family and the Archwyrms had a meeting. Important event, I wore a gorgeous suit… And it was decided that we only have one route forward, which is nothing short of outright war with Arcravine, the Primordial earth elemental that’s been giving us grief. It’s…the fight of our lives coming up, I can feel it. We all can.”
She blinks. “What… A-And you’re sure this is the only way forward? What does it mean to fight in a war between Primordials and Archwyrms?”
Matches breathes out with exhaustion. “I don’t fully understand it, I’m not as clever as Orianna or Calla. But we spent hours debating our options, asking for guidance… All alternatives fell away. We’re set for war. And I don’t know what it looks like. These beings, they’re…immeasurable. In every aspect. I don’t know what’s waiting for us exactly, only that we need to be ready to fight.”
“So that means Digs is fighting this war too? And Orianna and Calla and Elarris and…” Zola’s voice trails off and she stares into the distance for a moment. There is a sorrowful look in her amber eye as she gazes up at Matches. “I’m sorry, this is giving me some déjà vu. I fought in a war not unlike this one, not too long ago.”
“It’s okay. I’m sorry to bring up something that’s made you upset…” He places a tentative hand on her shoulder. “The thing is… It’s really brought the family together. We know what we’re doing and what the stakes are, and so we’ve started being a bit more open and honest. We’re closer than we have ever been.” He clears his throat and his voice turns a little shaky. “Orianna told me that…in the near future, when she gets strong enough she can— She might…be able to bring my partner back to life. Truly and honestly this time.”
“Really?” Zola throws her arms around his neck. “By the gods, Matches, that’s incredible!”
He wraps his arms around her shoulders and holds her tight, the warmth and comfort that unravels him doing so again.
“It doesn’t feel real to say, but…I trust Orianna and— It’s going to happen.” He pulls away a little to look at her again. He tries to form the words but has to work hard to get them right, taking his time. “And I wanted you to know… Because you helped me through the worst time I’ve had since she died, and I don’t want any confusion or feelings that aren’t honest… I wouldn’t change a moment of that time we spent together. No matter what comes next. Thank you.”
Tears well up in Zola’s one good eye as she cups his cheeks in her hands. She looks into his eyes with deep, genuine affection, and it feels nothing like the flattery she was heaping upon Alferron earlier. “I wouldn’t either. And before I left, you were talking about running away from everything… Well, I’m glad you didn’t. I’m glad that you’re staying to fight, even though it’s scary. I’ve told you, Matches, you’re brave and extraordinary.”
“Oh, you… You are one of the kindest souls I have ever met.” He sniffs and places his hand on hers. “Now, I don’t know all the ins and outs… But sometimes these kinds of spells can require a lot of resources. And if… When. When we get her back, she’s going to need support to live right. I’m no good with my cash, enough nights at yours must’ve told you that. So all this talk of business makes me think I need a foot in the door. If I can support this venture in any way and get a decent, steady flow of pay for it, I’ll do anything. I wouldn’t ask for a handout after everything you’ve done. But I need something. Being a Herald doesn’t always pay the bills.”
“Well… I suppose we’ll need a liaison on the surface world, to deliver messages between House Rhomdaen and the Baron. But that means you’ll have to learn the sending spell, not just fire spells.” Zola pokes him in the ribs. “Does that sound good? I’ll give you the job on one condition.”
“Yes… Alright!” Matches squirms at the touch. “I’ll talk to Vulcanax about diversifying my skills. Should be doable. What’s the condition?”
“Be honest with me. Did you actually feel jealous just now?”
“Well… I can’t say I haven’t missed the attention. I didn’t think I’d have to see it from that angle. But I also know what’s work for you and what’s not.”
She giggles. “Yeah, and did you see how red his face got when I ‘bumped’ into him? Priceless!” She pauses for a second, listening for voices outside the door, then her face turns serious and her voice drops to a whisper. “Okay, I’ll be honest, Matches. We’re not in this for the money, exactly. We’re in this so that an outsider doesn’t start making his own spider silk. He could learn how to farm it himself, if given time. That’s why we needed to take control…”
Matches leans back and nods. He re-lights his cigar with a snap of his fingers and takes another drag. “Makes sense. It’s quite a powerful thing he’s stumbled onto here. And I don’t know how old he is, but he doesn’t seem ready for all of the implications he might’ve gotten himself into.”
“Not at all. It was bold, but very ill-thought out. And that means something coming from me. If you do take this job, Matches, then there will be times when I ask you to do…less-than-honourable things for us.”
“Like I said, I owe you more than one. I’ll do whatever you need.” He offers the cigar across to her.
She smiles, pecks a kiss on his cheek, and takes the cigar. “Thanks,” she says in Undercommon, and takes a drag.
After a while, she returns the cigar to him and squeezes his hand. “Take care of Digs for me, will you? In the war, I mean. All of you will make it, I know you will.”
“You’re close with the little fella? I’ll keep an eye on him, of course.” Matches takes the cigar back in between his teeth to return the squeeze of her hand.
“Yeah. He’s helped me a lot with my parents.” She glances down at their joined hands, and it strikes her how odd it feels that they are not in a more intimate position by now. But she shakes her head with a smile. Just something she has to get used to. “A real handful, just like you. How come Orianna and Calla are fine but you boys turned out like this, huh?”
“I can’t say that it’s a boy thing, Lucky and Elarris downstairs are very sensible. I think it’s just who we are. I don’t think I can stop being a bit of a mess.” Matches flashes his classic cheeky grin.
Still holding his hand, Zola stands up, pulling him towards the door. “Well then, my Hot Mess Herald, let’s go downstairs and help his lordship make dinner.”
When dinner is over, Jaezred asks Matches for help to carry the dirty dishes to the washbasin by the well.
Matches follows with all the manners he can muster. When they reach the well, he produces a new cigar and lights it in the dark of the night.
The drow lord clears his throat awkwardly. “The Matron told me about the war. Please don’t hold it against Her Grace, she owed me one for tracking you lot down and she said nothing of your personal affairs.” He sets the stack of plates down on the ground and wipes his hands with a cloth hanging from his belt. “Will… Will Henri be fighting in this war, too?”
Matches doesn’t seem to move to clean any plates yet, first scanning Jaezred over. “All of the Heralds will be. My brother is no exception.”
Jaezred arches a brow at the term of kinship, but nods nonetheless. “That is… Well… I suppose I should make good with him before the time comes, then.”
Matches sighs deeply, taking a drag of the cigar and blowing smoke rings that glow gently above the well, providing a warm orange light. “He doesn’t need judgement right now. He needs support.”
Jaezred looks at him confused. “What did he tell you about our last conversation?”
“Look. I don’t understand the old Infinite Apples and Pears situation as well as some of my family, but it’s important to them, and to Henri. Even if it does sound a bit freaky, judging him for his involvement with it is not going to change his mind. It’s part of who he is.” Matches leans against the well and exhales deeply.
“Judging—? What?” Jaezred sighs and shakes his head. “No, you don’t understand.”
He sits down on the rim of the old well. Three hours of cooking didn’t tire him out, but this conversation already has. “We were in his bedroom, getting intimate, when he offered to take me on a jaunt on the Staircase. I knew it was dangerous, so I asked what the price was. He said… He said it cost a moment of your soul, a little bit of yourself, but that he would be happy to pay it for me. ‘The more you give, the more you want to give, until there is nothing left.’ That’s what he said. And though I know he would never admit it, I…sensed a sadness in his voice.
“I was…caught off-guard. I said I could never ask something like that of him, but then his eyes turned into mirrors and there were these silver threads coiling around his wrist… I confess, I got a little scared and told him to stop.”
Matches looks over Jaezred in a new light, a bit more sympathetic. He sighs. “I mean, fair play, I’d be a bit spooked.”
“I never meant to judge Henri. He wasn’t the only person in that room to have been tied to a powerful entity like that. After that, I asked him what he wanted. He said being an Infinite is what he deserves — to attain power and station and all that comes with it. But when I asked him what he would do with that power, he could not answer. I told him”—Jaezred pauses, looking embarrassed—“that I’d learnt I didn’t need to give up everything of myself in order to be loved. Overall, he did not receive it well.”
Matches mulls over the words and scratches his forehead with one claw. “Well, if it makes you feel any better. We’ve got a direction for that power. This war… We’ll need every advantage we can get. And he’s got no shortage of love in the family. We’re all going to be looking out for him and making sure he makes the right choices.”
“I’m sure you will,” says Jaezred, though he doesn’t sound entirely convinced. He kneels down and first cleans the whole stack of dirty plates with a casting of prestidigitation, then begins to scrub each of them one-by-one with soap and water. It’s an odd sight, a highborn lord doing menial chores. “I left because I did not wish to be party to something that was hurting him. But it doesn’t matter now. It wouldn’t sit right with me if he died in a war and the last conversation we had was a fight.”
Matches frowns at the lack of faith, but he sits on the edge of the well, leans down, and grabs a clean plate to start drying with a small hand towel. “So… What are you going to say? In order to…make good. As it were?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I’d just want to put it behind us.”
“Well… It’s the right thing to do, I’d say. Just be kind to him, whatever you end up choosing to say. I’m gathering that you’re not a stranger to having a few partners ranging from casual to serious. I’m not unfamiliar with that, no judgement. But his Archwyrm reckons you’ll be back in his life in some form or another. Of course, his Archwyrm is a bastard who is no help whatsoever, so it could be nothing.” Matches shows a bit of genuine irritation as he says this, looking up as if hoping Throdrazz hears him. “What I’m trying to get at is… I have no idea what your relationship will be, if one exists at all. So whatever it is, make it kind. Give him the respect he deserves. That’s all you’ve gotta do.”
Jaezred closes his eyes and sighs again. “Well, as I’ve just told you, the last time I tried to show him kindness and understanding, he did not react well. I am not very inclined to speak on personal matters with him any further, to be honest. Because what good does it do? Getting close with someone only to get hurt, or hurt them by accident. Serves me well for forgetting that compassion gets you nowhere.”
He scrubs the plate a little too strongly as he mutters bitterly, leaving long scratch marks on the surface.
Matches stifles a laugh. “Bloody Hells, I’m glad I don’t have to live as long as you lot. I’m not trying to be as jaded as you one day.”
“I wouldn’t count on it. You’re about to go into war, boy.”
Matches gives a little shrug of acknowledgement. “You’ve got a point, but you’re deflecting. He’s a young lad, he can get a bit insecure about his identity. Who hasn’t? When someone pushes back against your kindness because they aren’t ready for it, you don’t close yourself off to them. You’ve got to apologise, but make sure you’re around to help them out. That’s being compassionate.”
“That’s his problem, not mine. Why the Hells does everyone here expect me to play the role of a father?”
Jaezred catches himself after the outburst, pinching the bridge of his nose and groaning softly.
Matches’s eyebrows shoot up a little, not expecting to touch such a specific nerve. “I didn’t say anything about being fatherly. I’m just talking about being decent. You’re talking as if being compassionate is the easy option and that everything should work out for you because you decided to be kind. You shouldn’t be compassionate to expect something out of it, you should do it because it's decent.”
Jaezred looks at him like he’d just said that the world should be run by poodles or that peasants ought to have rights. The concept is, evidently, utterly foreign to him.
Matches cannot stop his laughter this time, delighting in the incredulous look of an out-of-touch lord. “Gods above, that’s what you have trouble with? Is that what you get for being a lord? Seeing everything as transactional?”
Jaezred sputters for a second. “Is it mad to expect that if you are kind to someone, they should be kind to you back? Is that not the foundation upon which surface world morality is built?”
“Alright, mate. What we up here on the surface refer to as a friend is someone in your life you should want to be kind to continuously. Sometimes they have — and stay with me on this one — difficult lives and personal troubles, that make being kind hard to do all the time. Clearly you have that problem too sometimes. But if you shut down your own kindness at the first sign of them struggling, because it makes you feel bad, they’re going to find it harder and harder to come back to you. If it helps, think of it as a long term investment. Not a one for one exchange of being nice.”
The drow sneers and opens his mouth to retort with something pithy, but shuts it again when he remembers all the times Imryll had been kind to him despite his acting like an arsehole.
“Fine. Patience is indeed needed in dealing with you people.” He rolls his eyes. “Lolth’s venomous tits. Mayhaps I should be glad, despite everything, that Zola Rhomdaen is going to the Underdark to get a proper education,” he adds under his breath in Drowic.
“Is patience not meant to be more your thing? You’ve got all the time in the world for it.” Matches gives a shit eating grin and puffs on his cigar nonchalantly.
“Yes, quite unlike you. I hope, for your sake, that you’ve got your last will and testament ready before this war comes around. Not that you’ve much to leave to anyone.”
“Let us pray the Matron Rhomdaen will be happy with a loose button and some pocket dust,” Jaezred says disdainfully as he finishes the last of the dishes. He dries his hands with the cloth, drops it on the ground, and then turns to walk back towards the house, not waiting for Matches.
“Prick,” Matches grumbles to himself as he shoots a few blasts of fire close to the plates to dry them off quicker, piles the dishes up, and carries them in alone.