Change of Heart [Vaet]

[Lang Na]

The steam made it difficult to see. It made it difficult to breathe, in fact, the mugginess saturating the air with water vapor rather than air, and the atmosphere consequently weighed heavily on the body, like a warm, damp blanket that had settled into every crevice and on every surface, snuffing out the cold. The Fire fey usually frequented the area to take a dip in the supposedly-healthy water, and though Lang had come here to rest the mind, he hadn't slipped into any of the bubbling pools. Instead, he was seated on a small rock outcrop overlooking the geyser area, feet dangling over the high edge, and elbows resting in his lap. The past few days (or nights, rather) had been trying, and as a relatively new ruler, only harsher days could lay ahead. The knowledge was sobering; it rested on his usually lively demeanor, as if ice cold water had been splashed onto a roaring fire. It wasn't enough to kill it, but it purchased heavily nonetheless.

A hot breeze blew through the area, swaying the steam for a moment, and Lang could make out the outline of the edge of the line of mountains that marked the edge of their kingdoms before it was made invisible by the haze again. It was so small, if you thought about it - a kingdom, by any definition, that could be taken in with a glance, was such a small thing to give so much up for, and yet so insurmountably large. That this piece of land, this area, this square meter by square meter could be important and valuable enough to give up the immortal soul for was testament to the profound power of loyalty alone. Yet, Lang could not help but feel a little reluctant. It hadn't been a fair deal, after all. At the end of the day, he hadn't secured anything for sure. It was a losing deal no matter how you looked at it.

It was irritating - Lang was not the mulling type. The uncharacteristic nature of it frustrated him. Helplessness and being strong-armed into things he didn't want to do only served to flare his temper too. Thumping a fist on the dry ground, Lang let out a loud yell, eyes squeezing tight as the skin darkened to a burnt black. The air only carried the sound a few feet- it was too dense to do otherwise. For an instant, the moisture around him dissipated, as the temperature peaked so suddenly and severely that the water molecules could hardly hold together. As soon as he stopped, though, it was quick to rush back in, fill that empty space he had vacated. It was all too eager to rush back and smother him - a futile attempt.

[Vaet Qou]

Days had quickly turned into nights. Time was never on Vaet’s side, but there was a strong incentive in his labor; he knew it wasn’t a piece of equipment to add to his large weapon collection, but to add to someone else’s. And it was a fondness to him, to see the same marksmanship of his Master glimmer in the threshold of steam. He had exhausted his muscles and his mind, and would have retired for a few days if he hadn’t been so eager to present it to Lang. While Vaet had first went to the Fire Kingdom to find his friend, he wasn’t at all surprised to not find him in his quarters.

Vaet’s thought process had led him to the pits. It had been well known that the ruler would shun himself away from society and go to a secluded place, either to clear his mind or think twice on a topic. The double-bladed weapon was within his left palm, holding it an angle. He was trying not to come off as obvious as he searched the pits, wanting to make it a surprise. Squinting his eyes, and walking slowly, he had felt a wave of power. It had not alarmed the Warrior, knowing that Lang would often work on control as well.

After much plight, he noticed a shadowed figure still upon a rock. Unknowingly of the great distress, Vaet had walked up to the figure’s side and waved his free-hand in greeting. He had often hated this place, to dwell in what seemed like a mist of water. The moisture clung to his flesh and even started to weigh down his clothing. Vaet was grateful to be born in the heat, knowing that no matter how many layers he wore, he was never partial to the temperature unless it consisted of flames.

“There you are!” he announced, just incase Lang hadn’t noticed him approaching. The other’s weapon was still at a slant, at his side and half-way hidden behind the long cape that trailed after Vaet. As the distance between the two came to a close, and he saw what seemed to be like agony on Lang’s face, the Warrior fell to silence. He didn’t want to ask upfront what was wrong, but to allow Lang to explain himself, even though he didn’t exactly deserve an explanation after the stunt he pulled earlier.

[Lang Na]

It was a strange series of emotions that crossed over his face, so quickly and so many in number that it was difficult to make out one from another, let alone interpret them. Lang had always been quick, after all; he was a fey that trusted his gut instincts first, and reason second, because the former had yet to fail him in the half-millennium he'd been alive.

Upon seeing Vaet, Lang's expression tightened first - it was this person's presence that had forced his hand, and at some base, petty level, he was angry at Vaet for it. Then, annoyance - how could he think something like that, it had been his choice to make. Had he wished it, he could've damned Vaet if he wanted to (but the image and the thought of it turned his stomach, made an ice-cold chill run down his frame). Then an awkward, forced neutrality - wait, what was he doing? He couldn't very well go around giving out his thoughts on his sleeve. It was unbecoming for a ruler.

Then, in a split-second flash, an expression that was almost like something had stabbed him through the chest. It was the moment realization hit. Dangerous. It was dangerous. Vaet had been used against him, and what was to stop another Death Fey from swooping in and using him again? Using anyone that was important again? Almost instantly, Lang's face seemed to shutter, closing off. It was a hard thing to do for someone so accustomed to letting others know exactly what he felt, exactly when he felt like it. But this was too much of a threat, too much of a weakness. It was a lesson well-learned; he wouldn't let it happen again. The most shameful act of a ruler was to put his people in danger, and if just by being close was a threat...then there was only really one thing to do.

Lang's mouth pressed into a thin line that only quirked at the edges - an echo of a smile. "Ah, Vaet. What do you need?"

[Vaet Qou]

In an instant, an unwelcoming feeling had saturated the air around the two. Vaet’s eyes fell upon Lang’s face, watching the muscles pull in different directions. It was something Vaet usually did himself, trying to place the right emotion with his thoughts, to something appropriate for the situation instead. He had waited patiently, almost expecting for Lang to tell him what was going on. And while he continued to wait, there was nothing said. The Warrior craned his head to the left a little, his gaze becoming only apparent through slants.

Vaet wanted to glare at Lang for some reason. When the ruler had asked if he needed something, the probing glance did end up into a glare. That was no way to greet a friend, nor someone who was on your side. Usually he was use to the banter of disrespect, but he sensed nothing of friendless and thus was offended. The fingers around the blade of the weapon tightened, feeling the metal pinch at his flesh. “I don’t need anything,” he said in an instant, sounding lofty in the process.

If Lang wasn’t telling him what was wrong, it had to be pretty big. “You going to tell me what’s wrong? Are you still mad at me?” he glanced away after this question, acting like he didn’t really care if Lang was mad at him or not. Vaet had hoped that Lang would just admit that he was still angry, get over it and then share whatever was on his mind. Who cared if Lang didn’t share his problems with Vaet? It wasn’t like he wasted his time over his friendship, no, he was a Warrior of the Kingdom and had other things to do…

[Lang Na]

Lang averted his eyes. He was, in no way, as skilled as Vaet was in this art, and even his attempts at hiding his discomfort made it all the more obvious through his body language. He didn't shrink back (that was much too cowardly), but there seemed to be a sense of great reserve and over-exaggerated control in his stance, in the way he held himself, or the way he didn't. He didn't offer a welcoming smile, not even a friendly pat on the shoulder; he was treating Vaet like a stranger, when, out of all the people in the world, the two of them were anything but.

"No. I'm not angry," Lang was quick to say, probably because it came out easier, being that it was true. He hadn't been prepared to lie to his best friend. "...I'm not angry at you," he repeated, but it was more a correction than a repetition, though the only one that could know that was himself. "Just...busy." He wasn't - not if he had found the time to sit here empty-handed. It wasn't that Lang was necessarily bad at fooling people - he was just very, very bad at fooling Vaet, which posed a problem when that was the very person he had to mislead in the first place.

"I...anyway, you were looking for me?" He raised his eyes back to the Warrior, schooling his face not to let anything show. Perhaps the obvious lying would work to his favor - if Vaet realized that Lang was making an effort to block him out, it might be even more effective than doing it subtly (and subtle methods had never worked too well in conjunction with Lang anyway). At that moment, Lang caught sight of the blade half-hidden behind the other fey, and his eyes narrowed just a fraction. Great, and it had to be when Vaet had just finished doing a favor for him, too. The timing couldn't have been more perfect.

[Vaet Qou]

Vaet never lasted long when it came to looking away from Lang. There was no purpose to look upon the geysers and he knew he would only find information through Lang. Like two rubies on fire, he focused his eyes back onto the Ruler, piercing every movement. He didn’t appreciate the way Lang’s eyes were moving, shifting, unsteady unlike Lang’s personality. Vaet wanted his friend back, the person who would say what was on his mind without thinking twice on it. While they had been around each other for only minutes, it felt like their years of friendship had been severed.

Usually the one to play a guilt-trip, Vaet allowed Lang to continue with his explanation. What was Lang? A reprimanded child? Vaet was in no way scolding his friend for acting this way. A few ideas presented itself to Vaet, but he kept them buried, wanting to believe that Lang was better than his inkling. A long sigh came from the Warrior. He really wasn’t in the mood to hear any of this now. The untouchable feeling he experienced before was put out in the cold. Now all that Vaet felt was the days of labor, heat and exhaustion.

Angry, Vaet simply nodded his head at the question. They were opposites in their reaction -- Lang’s a physical response to scream and shout, while Vaet’s was to mentally shut down. Moving his right arm forward, the weapon came full into view. The hand that was holding onto the craft felt numb, unaware that the two blades were burning in flames. So, that is where his anger went -- directly to the weapon he made. Noticing the shadows on Lang’s face light up, Vaet simply dropped the weapon on the ground. As soon as it left his hand the flames had diminished.

“I don’t think this one is good enough, just throw it away,” he said dryly.

[Lang Na]

Lang stared down at it, watched as it clattered to the floor. It was a beautifully crafted weapon. He knew without asking that Vaet had probably labored over it, could imagine the effort, the time, the concentration poured into it. The blades were curved in mirroring angles, elegantly forming a stretched crescent from the handle, bound with a delicate lacing of metal wire, twisted into motifs and patterns along the length of it. There were designs etched into the sharp metal arches also, running along the weapon like a crawling flame, swooping into small half-circles, coming to points that echoed the weapon's shape. Lang almost reached out for it by reflex.

That was why, instead of picking it up, he tightened his hand into a fist. "All right," he said coolly, nonchalantly, and raising a foot, he kicked it off the edge of the cliff, hearing it crash its way down the side of the rock, likely marring all those perfect edges, scratching at all those painstaking designs. "I expected better of you, to be honest."

[Vaet Qou]

There was no response from Vaet. It was as though ice had pierced his form, freezing him from reacting, from actually registering what Lang had just done. While he had wanted to salvage the blade for an idea of his mistakes, there it went, lost with its memory; lost with it’s time. The best thing for him to do was to simply throw himself off the cliff after it, but he did no such thing, and his eyes glossed over. It was the last of his ambition holding on, trying to rekindle the flames he had felt. Was he proud of the weapon? Was it really that bad? It didn’t even really occur to him that what Lang had just done was heartless.

So, it had been really his fault. Lang saw the weapon and didn’t want to make Vaet feel bad over how bad it was? His mind shifted into a panic, he had to respond, to make it seem like it was an error he had saw all along. The corner of his mouth twitched and he had a smooth smile. “Yeah, I apologize; I did it in a rush. I’m going to take my time with the next one, okay?” Before Lang could acknowledge his sincere apology, he pushed his palms together. “I’ll make it better for you.”

The moisture in his hands stay there, and he wanted to wipe them away. For once in his life, he felt irreparable and conflicted. Still he stood here stupidly, acting like it was no big deal, when it had been basically been the biggest failure in his life. “Tomorrow, I will start on it… tomorrow…” now he seemed to be adding words, as though nervous that he had been so bad in his weaving. And he was irritated that they had both lied to him, he was never that good in the first place.

“First thing tomorrow…”

[Lang Na]

Lang's fists tightened to the point where they began to shake, but he steadied them by pressing them into his side, hiding the slight movement. His nails left imprints in his palm - he could feel it burning through his skin. It was a cruel thing he had just done, which was why he did it in the first place, but that didn't make the backlash any less severe on his end, either. It was rather admirable, then, that he could hide it so well, and on such short notice, but then again, from the moment he had decided what to do by lifting his foot, eyes on the weapon as if trying to memorize the artistry in it before he ruined it, he had been bracing himself. It took almost all the control he had to not blurt out everything, and for a person who usually lacked it, perhaps that was the most admirable thing indeed. It'd be worse if he did, he reminded himself.

It took a few tries to get the words out - his mouth opened and closed, teeth clacking. It was hard to push these sentences and actions out. It seemed to go against everything he was. "Don't waste any time then," he said finally, nearly choking on the coldness of it, the sharpness of it, because everything about this encounter had been crafted as skillfully as the weapon had been, and for the same purpose, as well - to hurt. It was a weaving of a different sort, perhaps even more difficult than magic weaving. It taxed more heavily on the heart.

"See to it that this time, you do a better job." The air was suffocating, but this was like stuffing cotton down his throat, into his lungs.

[Vaet Qou]

The longer Vaet stood there, the longer he had wished Lang would take it back. His ears were ringing with voices, reminding him that he had been extremely talented, but they were being smothered. Lang continued to respond to him, to remind him that his failure was not an option -- that next time his work would be optimal. No sign of true emotion reached Vaet’s gaze, but he moved his head in slow nods. The heat was getting to Vaet, his own clothing making him feel trapped. He had wanted to escape Lang’s presence, to hide away, to dwell in his failures alone.

There was nothing he could do, and for the first time he had noticed that it was Lang’s gaze that was causing him to feel anxious. Two days without sleep, and the world was starting to look bleak. He tried to stay away from the surrender, but Lang had said earlier that he was the Warrior of Fire, and that he would be able to remake the weapon of their master. Now he was telling him that he couldn’t do it! Tired. Vaet was tired, that was the mistake, he should have taken naps between the crafting.

It was like a delayed reaction, and Vaet’s head turned sharply toward the direction the weapon went. Like he had finally heard each echo of tear in the metal; piercing his soul. A hammer proceeded in his chest, and there was acceleration he never experienced before. Without really thinking, he reached back, his hand searching for some sort of support. Feeling nothing but air, he staggered backward, the false smile wavering.

For once in his life, his soul had said, I hate you. He hated this pain, the panic, the way air barely reached his lungs. Being the one to thrive on irrational disliking, he was used to it, but this hate was entirely different. The hand that seemed to be flopping in the air, went to his forehead instead, like he had a migraine. “Of course,” he said, keeping his hand on his head as he gave the ruler an awkward bow. Showing once again he was apologetic.

[Lang Na]

For a wavering second, his resolve weakened. Lang took a step forward, as if to stop Vaet, to clear this intentional misunderstanding, but a step was about as far as he got. He froze after the first foot forward, and his second foot never even lifted its heel off the ground. His arms stayed firmly planted at his sides. Lang glanced over his shoulder, but it was impossible to see the blade from his vantage point. It probably lay in either poor condition, or, even worse, in pieces, at the base of the jagged rocks.

Lang had never fancied himself a cruel ruler - he had tried not to be, not like the one before him, had grown up under a man that was more tyrannical than kingly, and had wanted to distance himself from that as much as possible - but he sure felt like one at that moment. He couldn't begin to imagine what Vaet was thinking, past the obvious hurt in his actions, his forced smile and gestures. He didn't even want to begin imagining it; it was tough enough already with just his side of the equation to deal with.

All he could do was nod, the movement choppy and equally awkward. He raised one fist, and with some effort, unfurled the fingers, waving Vaet away.

[Vaet Qou]

This cruelty had been foreign to Vaet, and the rarity was even worse when it came from your closest friend. He had wanted to stay in that bowed position; had hoped that Lang would simply be the first to walk away. He felt the need to see his mistakes in the blade, whether it was in a million pieces or not, but he wasn't going to climb down to retrieve it -- no, he had more pride than that. Lifting his head at last, he caught the last gesture of Lang's waving hand.

A dismissal from Ruler to Warrior, and no good-byes would be shared from friend to friend. Vaet, heavy in this new found emotion, turned his back to Lang. The artificial smile fell from his stressed features, and his vision started to blur from drowsiness. He would have been content with laying down right there and falling into a coma, but his steps took him forward, one foot in-front of the other.

"Glad you're not mad at me," he said quietly, refusing to hold onto the emotions any longer. Vaet followed the path from which he came, not looking back once.

[Lang Na]

Lang himself had turned around. If he strained his ears, he could hear Vaet's parting steps, but he was trying not to, truthfully. He willingly let the steam around him muffle the sound, and let the view without the figure of his retreating friend (standing solidly on his two feet, but somehow looking not unlike a kicked animal, whimpering back with its tail between its legs - a sorry sight indeed) calm his fraying composure. It wasn't until he waited a few moments, and then turned around for a better glance, that he confirmed Vaet was gone.

He waited a few seconds after that, not moving, and when there was no indication of Vaet returning, Lang took a few steps forward, teetering at the very edge of the cliff. It was hard to make out anything below him because of the moist fog, but he was sure the weapon had fallen there. Without a second thought, began climbing down. The path was steep, and there were few places where he could find purchase for his hands and feet. A few times, he slipped, sliding against the vertical rock. By the time he had made it to the bottom, he had acquired quite an impressive collection of scratches.

The weapon lay wedged between two particularly tall shards of rock, balancing precariously between them by its handle. It swayed a little in the hot air, like a pendulum. The view was thankfully better here, but he still earned a cut or two fishing it out of its spot. With a breath of relief, Lang rested against the boulder, turning the blade in his hands. It hadn't broken into pieces. The blades hadn't even loosened from the hilt. It really was well made, Lang thought wryly, and though it was indeed scratched up, far from its earlier pristine condition, it was still a beautiful piece of work.

He ran his fingers down the edges, reveling in the craftsmanship of the weapon now that he was at leisure to. The least he could do was this.