47th of Yaris, 2718
RHYS' PODUNK BIRTHPLACE | MIDDAY-ISH
The rush of adrenaline from standing up to Captain Damen D'Arthe had been short-lived in the face of post-riot trauma and physical exhaustion. Rhys had barely crawled home from filing his charges and explaining detailed truths to his own superior officer, Captain Arthur Haines. He was a broken thing, the not-galdor, and two days of paranoid, nightmare filled restlessness for both of them had been too long.
Which one of them had been more grateful to leave Vienda behind?
It was a toss up, perhaps, for while taking Charity far from the city where her father prowled like a chroven for her company and where too-fresh memories of blood and gunfire haunted him, the young Valentin was instead taking them both home. His real home. Elmonton. Where he hadn't been in years and where he had no interest in returning to, save for his insatiable need to know the origin of the lies, to hear from his father's own lips the nature of his heritage and birth. Was he really half human? Had his galdor life and his professional success been an act of brilliant rebellion for all of these years?
Plagued by vertigo, irritated by tinnitus, Rhys was forced to swallow his nervous fear and deal with the ugly reality of withdrawal while he traveled with his delicate pianist. The first few days of travel by boat down the Arova had been a welcome distraction, a breath of fresh air, and the exhausted pair could pretend for a few precious moments as Vienda faded from the horizon that they were safe, that they were simply on a much-needed vacation.
Confined to a carriage, however? Things had, at least for the tall Sergeant, been much more of a challenge than he'd entirely been able to let on. Motion sickness was a horrible travel companion, the after effects of his over-casting during the long riot lingering with a ferocity he could hardly fend off, desperate to distract himself and his lover from her own darker, deeper issues. They'd found comfort in each other, shedding heavy layers of emotional trauma and heartache as the Anaxi countryside rolled by through the windows of their little bubble while it bounced along the paved main roads that crossed so carefully through their troubled Kingdom.
It was difficult at first to distinguish Elmenton proper from any of the other much smaller, possibly unnamed hamlets they passed through, having stopped at an inn or two for a wash and a hot meal during their journey over land. Rhys was eager to stop moving, the weight of his revelation growing heavier the closer they approached the small farming village of his birth. Charity's excitement was endearing, a welcome light in the growing stormy darkness he attempted to hide from view.
"Small. Yes. Beautiful but boring." He smirked at her, teasing her as a whole side of Anaxas she'd never seen was revealed in the rolling landscape and tiny imitation of a downtown while they rolled through without stopping, "I'm nothing but rough lower class country stock, remember. Farmboy. That's me."
She laughed and smiled when he could not, and yet as she peered out the windows and crawled over his person, the young Valentin couldn't help but chuckle at her, hands moving over her familiar body while he followed her observations,
"Cows are a lot more stupid than puppies. More like kensers. We had a few cows, yes—I—they're kind of dirty, but—oh, that's a water pump. They have them in the Dives—haven't you seen one before?" His tongue was between his teeth and he was grinning at her, finally, amused but distracted. Her hand curled over his and he sighed, restlessly tempted by her offer to hide one more day from the truth while enjoying each other's private company in the one tiny inn that occupied Elmonton proper. It sounded nice, but he felt the closeness of everything far too heavily to enjoy putting off the inevitable.
"No, I'm not okay. I haven't been home in years. Not since, gods, I don't know, fifth form? Sixth? I didn't even clocking bother to send a letter ahead of us. What the clock for? I don't know what I'm going to say—how I'm going to ask—what he's going to be like, Ol' Theo—" Rhys didn't call the man father. He hadn't in a long, long time. Not since before his entrance to Brunnhold, and even then the word had only been used begrudgingly because Theodore had never truly showered his son with the kind of affection he'd heard other children received from some of their parents. He'd always just been a means to an end. Rhys knew that now.
And he was here to put an end to that forever.
"—I don't want to wait. It's not far from here, anyway. We'll just ... get things over with, and there's a guest house. Wait until you see the stars—" His blue eyes, still so tired, came into focus on Charity's face with a more definite smile, leaning into the brush of her hand and thankful for the comforting mingling of their fields, for their lack of need to entirely communicate with words. Like their childhood friendship all over again, their closeness was such an indescribable necessity, and while he made every attempt not to analyze their differences, not to focus now on what he was instead of who they were to each other, he couldn't help it. He'd been raised his whole life to believe a wick couldn't do what a galdor did in any way, shape, or form, and yet he defied every convention he'd been trained and uniformed to uphold and protect. He was, perhaps, a poor sorcerer for a galdor, but he was, instead, a powerful, dangerous creature as a wick.
That had been a strange, uncomfortable revelation.
"—I need to know and I'm tired of waiting. We're going to scare the shit out of Ol' Theo, though. He'll think I'm bringing my new wife home. You just wait." He laughed, then, quiet and knowing, giving her hand a squeeze, "Not that I'd mind such a thing, Charity, but still. He'll ask."
Shifting in his seat, he placed a kiss pointedly against her forehead, leaning to glance out the window and watch the bright green- and blue-flowered fields roll by.
The fields of his childhood: indigo.
The fields that dyed the uniform he wore.
The constant color of his life of lies.
Their carriage would eventually rumble up the rough gravel and dirt road that led to the estate of his birth, passing through the rich landscape of the Valentin plantation. It was large, impressive, and owned for several generations. There were other crops for food, a few cows and kenser and horses. Some pigs down by the stream. Ducks. Chickens. A dog or two. A handful of osta. Barns. The drying house to process the flowers into dye. The houses for the estate's workers: passives, mostly, but also humans. Humans like his mother had been.
Yelenn.
Her name in his mind always heard in Gale's voice.
"Well, here's where I was born." Rhys nodded in the direction of the large main house, rustic in it's Brayde County galdori splendor. It was still impressive, but with a country charm that didn't exist in Vienda at all. Immediately nervous at the sight of his childhood home, the tall Sergeant's hands strayed to the collar of his shirt, to the buttons of his vest, to his shoes, fussing and straightening until finally curling with exasperated fear into the unkempt length of his hair,
"Good Lady, I'm not ready."
He groaned, blue eyes reluctantly leaving Charity's face to see a servant emerge from the muted extravagance of the main house, ready to greet the obvious surprise of their moa-drawn carriage when it came to a stop. The young man rushed to greet them, wary eyes on the driver and Rhys heard his name on the old human's lips above them while he shifted toward the door, one hand reaching to open it while the other tangled his fingers with the blonde galdor next to him, "I'm sorry, but I don't see this going well."
"Welcome home, Mister Valentin." The young servant was too young to remember him, if he'd even been around the last time the tall Sergeant had visited, but he knew all the right words and hid any awkward surprise behind a well-trained servant's humility, "Master Theodore is not expecting you, is he?"
"No, no he's not. My apologies for arriving unannounced." The not-galdor faked formality with a shy smile, unfolding from the carriage with an unspoken gratitude and offering to help the delicate pianist out behind him instead of letting the young human do his job,
"Oh! And a guest." The servant beamed, obviously making assumptions by the way his gaze wandered over them both, "Someone will get your luggage, Sir and Madame. Let me take you inside and get you comfortable. Your father is in the drying house, I'm afraid. Someone will have to fetch him."
Rhys chewed on the inside of his cheek and nodded, nerves fraying his field and immediately regretting the decision to travel here the minute he was standing in front of his childhood home. His ears rang above his elevated pulse and his blue eyes struggled to focus on the building he now knew Theodore was busy overseeing in,
"Thank you." Managed the younger Valentin, following as indicated with an obvious reluctance.
Inside the Valentin estate was not at all extravagant or luxurious so much as minimalist and practical. It was painfully obvious Rhys' father was a preoccupied bachelor of advanced age, for everything was meticulously well kept, from the art on the walls depicting the landscapes of Brayde County at various times of the year to the choices of expensive but very useful furniture. The house was hardly bustling with servants, and the emptiness could be felt as the young man with dark hair and dark eyes in his khaki suit led the pair through the hall and toward a sitting room full of beautiful windows, a crackling hearth, and a view of more sweeping fields of indigo,
"Someone will bring you tea shortly, Mister Valentin. Theodore will join you shortly. Thank you for waiting, Missus Val—"
Rhys considered letting him finish, the hint of a sudden smile playing under the taut emotionless expression he'd let his aquiline features form into, arching a slim brow to let Charity correct for herself or not, taunting her simply for his own needful distraction and coy amusement.