These Shadows [Lang]

[Vaet Qou]

Two weeks had gone by since Vaet left the Fire Kingdom. The last time he had been out of his kingdom was with his parents, which he had not remembered, being as it was his birth. Whatever resentment he held for the Ruler of Fire now had been extinguished. He had felt at ease to see his home again, for traveling in foreign places had their pros and cons. While he had not taken a life on his journey, there had been instances where he had come close. There was only one character that he had bothered to remembered, which was a female. He did not plan to keep in touch with her, however.

The weapon he had crafted was complete. Vaet had yet to sleep in his own bed, but he at least returned home to clean up. He had picked a peculiar outfit for today, one that was a dark maroon -- almost black. The shirt was loose, hanging off of his form, while another one was beneath it. Both hands were decorated with bandages, still trying to heal the cuts he had received. The only time he had hurt his hands when he first began the process of weapon weaving. There was no disgrace in getting hurt, aware that his master had several scars to bear. Yet, elemental weaving for weapons was almost taboo -- often Fey were afraid it would possess the soul.

Vaet had been careful not to go too far with his creation, knowing when it was logical to stop. He had returned home with his sanity, did he not? He had been on his way to the ritualistic fire, deciding it would be best to pay his respect. The weapon had been covered in a cloth, in which he held in both of his arms, refusing to his hands any further. In a matter of seconds the gold platted doors greeted Vaet, and a slight smile appeared on his face. Finally.

If he had not wanted to prove Lang wrong; Vaet would have kept the weapon. As he was about to turn to use his shoulder to open the door, by turning around backwards, he had caught a few faint voices. There was an inkling in the whispers, as though it was a ritual being performed. Curiously, Vaet peered through the cracks of the door. There he saw Lang’s back. Wondering who it was, he had pushed backwards, to open the door completely to try and see who the Ruler was speaking to.

However anyone looked at it, there was no one there in front of Lang. He couldn’t see anything. “I could’ve swore..” he whispered to himself, brows going into a knit, awfully confused. Vaet stood there with a somewhat mystified look upon his face, forgetting what he was doing.

[Lang Na]

Lang immediately whipped around, heat flaring for a second in alarm as the small flames in the area flickered and then blazed before settling into their normal size. Everything about the circumstances was strange. The Fire Ruler was not the type to talk in hushed tones and secretive whispers, and he was certainly not the type to be caught so unaware. Though the temperature had risen for a moment with Vaet's entrance, the room still held, in its shadows and furthest corners, a lingering sense of foreboding, and - something odder yet to find in Succeneur - cold.

Sylvias had disappeared as soon as the intrusion was sensed, and all that remained was that distinct feeling of emptiness, being slowly filled by the return of normalcy. Their conversation concerning the impending war was cut short. Lang stood in the room alone, near the table he had pushed off of. The middle of the area was vacated, like something had once been there, though there was no evidence of its presence now. To any passerby, it was a painfully normal sight, with a distinct sense of abnormality to it, like knowing something about the picture was off (maybe perspective, maybe proportions, maybe the color, the lack of such), but without being able to put your finger on it.

Lang straightened, tension in his frame easing at the sight of the familiar face. Things were still awkward between them, and he had no doubt they would be that way for a while. It was just a matter of coping, until soon, this awkwardness became customary (as sad as it sounded, as hard as it was to swallow). Maybe the acceptance of it was even more difficult to bear than the act itself. Lang leaned back, hands on the edge of the tabletop, and cleared his throat. "Vaet. Did you need something?"

[Vaet Qou]

Peculiar. Vaet’s eyes scanned the room, noticing the room echoing what was once preoccupied. Chairs moved, the table filled with what seemed to be scrolls. It was like a meeting had just occurred, which would be understandable thing to accept but the whispering was what made him so uneasy. It was suspicious of Lang. Nothing gave to the Warrior’s face, wanting to corner Lang. If he had looked curious then Lang would know that he had caught on, so for the time being he acted as though he saw and heard nothing. Then again, how could he ignore the stale feeling in the air?

Pushing the door open further, Vaet moved inside of the room. The eternal flames were rather bright, casting random shadows every where, especially larger ones near the statues. Two weeks of his absence and Lang was acting like he hadn’t left at all. Had he even been missed? No, why should he be? The Ruler had minions now, he could occupy his time with whom ever he pleased. Vaet was old news. Perhaps in his absence Lang had planned for a replacement for the Warrior title.

However, the weapon hidden in the cloth would surely make him change his mind -- if that had been the case. It happened to be coincidence that the Fire Ruler was even here. “No, nothing in particular,” he answered, still focused on the bonfire ahead. Once he reached the padded mats on the ground, Vaet lowered himself to his knees, adjusting his torso to place the clothed weapon on the floor next to him. The bundled object had obstructed his hands, but Lang would be able to see clearly that Vaet was injured; his hands bandaged in layers, a few spots of red.

In quiet contemplation, Vaet put his fingers together. He had wanted to touch his palms, but kept them at a distance. Holding his arms upward, he placed the tip of his fingers close to his chin and then closed his eyes in silent prayer. However, there was no silence from Vaet. “Someone was there,” he said, remaining poised.

[Lang Na]

"Where did you injure yourself?" Lang interrupted, eyes fixed on the other's wrist. It was an automatic reaction, made before he could remind himself not to act so familiar. He lowered himself to his knees as well (Vaet shouldn't be kneeling), hand half-outstretched before his wits caught up to him. Wait, remember the Death Fey. He was only just here! That was all it took - and he froze, eyes wide and still lowered, not quite meeting the likely curiosity in Vaet's gaze. Slowly, his fingers retracted into a fist, and his arm drew back, knuckles dragging across the ground until they hit the cloth wrapping the weapon.

Wrapping fingers around the handle, he pulled the hidden blade back into his lap, seemingly having forgotten the matter of the injury, or just trying very hard not to remember it (the difference was small and gargantuan). It was obvious he had no intention of answering Vaet's last observation. Slowly, he began to unfurl the cloth, knowing before seeing that this one would be even more masterful than the last one, and that very possibly, it'd be too skillfully crafted to even find fault in. Despite knowing that, he drew in a breath as the last layer of fabric gave way.

The smooth, polished metal glinted in the light as he ran his fingers over it. It was excessively well-made. The first had been stunning, but this one was breathtaking. He opened his mouth reflexively to complain, but the words couldn't get past his throat, like the lie was too preposterous to even be said. Their master would have burst with pride, if he were still here. It was unmistakably a masterpiece. "This..." he said finally, eyes still fixed on the double blade, the graceful arch, "...Thank you."

[Vaet Qou]

Vaet kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see the new person that had replaced Lang. To Vaet, the male before him was merely a vessel, harboring the title of Ruler for himself. It was like someone had extracted all the fondness from Lang and replaced it with a copy of what used to be his friend. Almost sickening to even think about it, but Vaet accepted these consequences for whatever reasons. He would protect this body from harm, to attain loyalty at all costs. If Lang dared to kick Vaet around like a dog, then so be it. To come here was not to simply bless to weapon, but to pray for his friend.

The question was heard in his contemplative composure, but he didn’t want to acknowledge the forced concern. A shadow crossed over the light beneath his eyelids. Opening his eyes, he turned his head to see that Lang was knelt beside him. Not only had the Ruler been close to him, but Lang was holding the clothed weapon, revealing it for all eyes to see. Yes, to be made out of all elements was taboo, and while he hadn’t thought of the weapon before -- for some reason he felt a weapon of such immortality should belong only to someone who had great sacrifice.

For rulers were acquainted with sacrifices. To be made with gold, kindled with fire, cooled with enchanted water and buried in cursed soil -- to simply manifest in the coldest of climates, accompanied with a healing spell, and to be blessed with wind, who exactly deserved to wield such a thing? This weapon would have a life of its own. Another reason why Vaet had refused to touch, for once it was finished, the first one it had been touched by would be the only one to ever touch it again.

He had wanted to change in his journey for this weapon, and knew the cost that it had taken. So, when he noticed the look upon Lang’s face… it had been worth it. If Lang had complained anyways, Vaet would know that he had lied, because no one could refuse the blade -- aside from the creator. “You’re welcome…” he said softly, unsure what his face should be doing. For now Vaet was simply happy, deciding to hold his tongue on the presence earlier. He had not want to disrupt this moment.

[Lang Na]

"How did you..." Lang began, but rather than finishing the question with a simple, perfunctory 'make this,' he fell quiet instead. The answer would be useless. It would be like asking a painter how he had painted a fine piece of art. Even if you knew the steps, you wouldn't know the process. Settling back on his heels, Lang seemed to grow impatient with just touching the weapon with fleeting brushes, and finally wrapped his fingers around the handle. Flexible like water, sturdy like wood, and warm like fire, it seemed to give way to the creases of his fingers as much as his fingers gave way to its solid form, almost like equal respect. It fit in his hand in the way only two pliable things could fit together.

"How long did this take you?" he asked instead, testing its weight, feeling the care and the responsibility weigh down his hand in addition to the materials. Not quite realizing it himself, Lang smiled down at it, expression softening from the hard creases and shadows that hiding and lying had given it. For a second, it was as if nothing had changed. It was a good weapon - no, it was a great weapon, and there was no way Vaet could not have known it, being the creator. It didn't even need flattery.

[Vaet Qou]

What a comfort! All the worries that plagued Vaet’s mind seemed to frizzle out. The stress leaving his body made everything all clear. For he was pretty damn tired. There was an ache in his muscles that would not go away until he had actually slept in a bed again, but it was his hands that had the greater affect. He would not suffice as a very good Warrior during the healing process. While he had bartered with gypsies for healing remedies, he had not requested an extra one for himself -- too much pride came from the wounds he bared.

Vaet shifted his head a little, to watch Lang’s face carefully. The smile sent an awkward chill down his spine, and it was then he swallowed dryly. A glimmer of his friend was somewhere there, and he had wanted to reach for that small opening. But he could not. “Almost three weeks,” he replied, the tone of his voice airy and light. It was so good to be home. The ceremonial flame’s warmth was the best reminder, but having Lang there upon his return was even better. A peaceful smile appeared on Vaet’s tired face, basking in the warmth.

Lifting one hand away from his praying fingers, through his bandages he pointed out the handle. “It’ll never hurt your hands,” he remarked, knowing that was the best thing about it (despite how indestructible it was). “It’ll heal your flesh before anything actually scars it.” Such nuisances such as calluses or cuts were nonexistent now. Vaet certainly had bragging rights, but it wasn’t in him to boast about it -- satisfied enough that he could speak to Lang without feeling shadowed by something dire.

[Lang Na]

Lang raised his head, just a fraction, just enough to glance at the bandages stemming from Vaet's wrists, up to the tips of his fingers. He didn't have to look to guess that the skin was probably marred with cuts, bruises, callouses, maybe even blisters. "It hurt yours," he said, quietly. It wasn't a question; it was something he knew already. He was asking for neither explanation nor rebuttal. Instead, he held out his left hand, palm up. "Let me see it."

[Vaet Qou]

Vaet glanced at the offer hand as though it was a rattle snake at first. The Warrior had been unsure of showing the damage to Lang. Beneath the wrappings the hands had appeared slightly discolored by bruises but it was the two long cuts that went from the begging of the palm to the start of the wrist that made gripping things painful. The weapon had been literally crafted from blood, a means to give it true life. He was thankful that another Fey along his journey had offered to help with the bandages, for his tired fingers were of no use near the end.

“It’s really no big deal,” he said casually, for wounds had always healed. Even if Lang did get to see his hands, what would the Ruler do? “It’ll heal in no time.” Vaet was trying to be optimistic for Lang.

[Lang Na]

Uncharacteristically, Lang was quick to retreat. He drew back his hand immediately - Vaet's refusal and his own recalling of the circumstances made the action fast, jerky, sudden. Immediately, Lang straightened, expression shuttering, and the almost child-like glee disappeared from his face as he stood, grew formal. "Oh," he said, stiffly. "Of course. I expected no less from you." He pushed off his knees, climbing to his feet, with the weapon still in hand. It fit so well that it was almost a shame, like a heartcry, to let it go.

"Anyway...thank you," he repeated, but this time, the words seemed hollower, more of a pleasantry than a sincere feeling. "This weapon is...it's exactly what I was looking for." It was almost a dismissal, hidden behind the meager praise. It was hard, after all. Lang would rather draw away then force the both of them to butt heads. And who knew? Sylvias may very well still be lingering in the halls. Though once, Lang would've made time for his friend, things were different now - strained, drawn thin. War did that to people.

[Vaet Qou]

The Lang he knew disappeared just as quickly as he appeared. Now Vaet was left with this awkward person, who put on a façade. Seeing the offer to look at his wounds being taken away was an insult, and the Warrior shifted back a little, to take a long gander at the ruler. Who was this person? Vaet felt the fire on his face, but it was not the heat from the flames that caused the temperature to rise. Just as Lang was rising to his feet, the Warrior followed his league. During the entire time that he had moved, not once had he allowed the other male to leave his sight.

Vaet frowned suddenly, turning to face Lang more directly as he took a defiant step toward the ruler. “What has gotten into you, Lang?” the question was not polite, he said it bluntly, even angrily. “Ever since that day -- “ and the images of the boy across from him kicking his weapon off the edges of rocks, to hear such noises of metal to stone. So, it hadn’t been an ordeal over a weapon at all. It couldn’t have been. Before the change happened, Lang always kept Vaet confident. Now the Ruler was projecting words that never came from the heart.

Wanting to clench his hands into fists, he did not, for he knew of the pain that would come with it. Vaet appeared to be breathing heavy, as though it was a panic attack, but it was merely frustration. “You cannot tell me that it is because you’ve ascended in power! There is something you’re not telling me, there is someone you’re not sharing with me.” Vaet glared at Lang now.

Do you need something?

Those words were not a greeting, and this was the second time.

[Lang Na]

Like a child being scolded, Lang stood his ground and let himself be questioned, but his eyes turned away, as if he was not able to face the accusations being thrown, because then surely, definitely, something in his expression would give him away. He was a ruler, a fighter, a brother, a friend, and he could say, with confidence, that he excelled at all these things normally, but he was a poor actor and a poorer liar in the presence of people he should neither be acting nor lying to.

"It's not something I am the liberty to share," he said aloofly, or, at least, with as much of an attempt to be aloof as he could manage. Lang was no stranger to anger, and though it was rarely that Vaet lost his temper, he did not shy away from it. He might have been the only one who knew, but this was justified - all of it, from the cruelty to the iciness to the change in demeanor, and if to ensure that the things most important to him remained safe, it had to stay that way, with him being the only one privy to his reasons, then he would do it.

He had faced harder battles before.

"It's not something you need to know, either." Lang turned to Vaet, using his height to stare him down. "Besides, who are you, that you think you can question me?"

[Vaet Qou]

Averting eyes, always a sign in Lang that there was something amiss. Vaet wanted to follow the other male’s gaze to see what he was looking for -- possibly an exit? But he wasn’t going to be relentless anymore. Height meant nothing to Vaet in these situations, for the Ruler could stare down upon him all he want. Couldn’t share? These secrets were horrid, what could it have possibly been? If it had something to do with him, he would have certainly been displeased. Vaet had no doubt in his mind that if he had a predicament involving Lang, he would tell him, no matter what it was.

But he was stupid that way, to put so much faith in a person and except the same respect to be returned. To put so much faith in a ruler. Vaet’s eyes flared suddenly. Who was he? Certainly not a friend at this rate, and to have someone less than you in society question the ruler could be labeled as a tyranny? However, he would have never pegged Lang to be that type.

“You disgust me,” he said flatly, hardly noticing that the bandages around his fingers were starting to singe. Oh, he had certainly wanted smash that deceptive, lying face with his hands. To take that putrid mask right off, and --

A tinge of guilt bubbled somewhere between his rage and sanity. This had been his friend, almost like a brother, and he had swore loyalty. But had Lang showed him any mercy when it came to the weapon he had first created? “The power finally consume you, Lang, is that it? That you have to go so far to talk down to me??”

[Lang Na]

The line of his mouth tightened as his teeth clamped together. As a ruler, and before that, trained as a warrior to some regard, Lang was practiced in hiding weaknesses. His stare didn't waver, didn't even flicker, and the sharp jab of pain in his chest passed with hardly any obvious indication. (Despite circumstances, he was a little proud of that; it wasn't easy to pull off.)

"You don't understand anything," Lang answered, after swallowing, and his tone was dark, heated, like any spark could set it ablaze, out of control. The temperature around him seized into searing, and it was too fast for Vaet to even counter-control it if he wanted to. It lasted only a second, just long enough to serve as a warning, just strong enough to push Vaet away from him. As his eyes diluted back from the sudden black haze that overtook them, he added, "So don't talk as if you do. I am doing what is best for the people. Last I recalled, coddling you wasn't a responsibility of the job."

[Vaet Qou]

The heat was unbearable. Vaet had originally wanted to stand against it, but the longer he stilled himself; the more it started to feel as though his eye lashes would singe right off. Reluctantly, Vaet took a few retreating step backwards. He should have bitten his tongue, to not call out Lang in that method. But he had been so tired and pissed. Darkness took forth Lang’s eyes and Vaet knew that he had really pushed the other male to the edge. Perhaps if Lang decided to share the information, then things would make sense -- then he would keep his silence.

Vaet’s power thirsted to be quenched, and by now the bandages around his hands were already burnt into pieces, charred. The wounds he had before reopened, and blood tricked from his fingers onto the floor, padding the floor in tiny dots. If he hadn’t been so hot and bothered, the pain would have been severe. Right now the Warrior was focused on one thing only, and that was by using any means to expose this secret Lang protected so well.

“Coddling?” he barked at Lang, “What the hell is there to coddle? I haven’t asked you for a single thing!” And it was true, he had not asked anything from the boy, except to know what was being kept tight. While before he could have accepted the secret, there was no way he could now. Vaet had been nothing but loyal and cordial, and not once had he went out of his way to fill Lang’s time with meaningless conversations. Before Lang could respond, he also added, “Keep your useless secret, die with it for all I care!”

While these were strong words now, later he knew that they would come with much regret.