Green

“Hesitation is healthy.” He finally answered. “Hesitation at the right time is healthy. A moment to assess the situation, to check in and make sure that your actions and convictions are aligned. But it should only last a moment. Any longer than that and it means you weren’t ready- you weren’t properly prepared. But yes, I did hesitate. And it feel like I was going to be consumed by it.”

Without any ceremony, while still mid sentence, the head of the Goodbrother family reached into the back of his armor and pulled out a hidden weapon- a dagger of his name’s make. A name Ender didn’t have. The dagger was put onto the squire’s lap as if it was the most normal, casual thing. “I like to think what the fire left became the best parts of me.”

“I think,” he said quietly, not looking up yet, “I’ve spent so long trying not to burn that I never thought about what I’d become if I did.” There was a silence after that, one he didn’t rush to fill. When he finally lifted his gaze, it held something steadier than before - not full confidence, but a kindling of something close to it. The beginning of belief.

His jaw worked as if chewing through the last of a thought. “I don’t want to be afraid of the fire anymore.” A pause. Then a tentative, almost shy look: “Will you show me how?”

doe-eyed and new to the world, he presented himself to abner like a mould of fresh, pliable clay that he could knead into his own design, into the sun father’s, a wellspring of countless possibilities. but after the sculpting came the kilning, and abner was not so sure if ender was ready for that event.

there would be forces working together to undo him, ones such as the haze of pleasure that thickly hung over everything and softened all edges in the bathhouse. pleasure was neither holy nor profane in itself. like fire, it could warm or destroy. it had to be understood, tempered, and held in balance. pleasure, when embraced, could become a path to communion, a shared light between souls. but when consumed blindly or abused, it became shadow.

“metaphorically? yes, and no.” his lips pulled back in a warm grin. “you need to understand pleasure to not let it become a vice. instead, it can be a friend, a way to connect with others … a bridge. it can be an enlightening experience for folks to feel pleasure together.” he stepped lightly around ender, the steam curling about him like incense on an altar. his eyes looked and peered through it, searching.

finally, they saw a worthy example. a man at the corner of a thermal pool, eyes cast downwards as his hand stroked something under the steaming waters, all by his lonesome. abner’s index finger moved to turn ender’s face towards the sight.

“that,” abner said quietly, breath ghosting the other’s earlobe from behind, “is a shadow. that is what it looks like when pleasure takes the reins. when it stops being a gift and becomes a burden. your task is to walk the line. not to smother your desires but to temper them, to control them.”

Ender’s stomach turned, not in revulsion, but in confusion. Conflict. Pity, maybe. And something else he didn’t yet have a name for. “I see,” he murmured, though his voice was barely audible - less a statement and more an uncertain whisper, like he wasn’t quite sure what he saw, only that it meant something. Something Abner was trying to show him. Something that had a weight he couldn’t yet carry.

He didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Just stood there, flushed and wide-eyed, steam clinging to his skin and lashes, caught between shame and understanding.

“I didn’t… I mean, I’ve never thought of it like that. That it could be…” A pause. “Shared light. I think I always thought -” He shook his head slightly. “I don’t know what I thought. That it was wrong, maybe. Or dangerous. That wanting anything too much made you weak.”

He turned his head just enough to glance at Ser - just barely. “But you’re saying it’s not the wanting. It’s the why. And the how.”

He swallowed, shifting his weight again, robes damp against his skin. “How do you know when it’s shadow?” A flicker of vulnerability crossed his expression. “How do I know? I don’t think I’ve ever… wanted something like that. Not really. Not that I’ve noticed. Or maybe I just didn’t know what I was feeling.”

Then, quieter still - uncertain: “Is it something you… teach?”

There was no doubt that this young man wasn't one of theirs, he'd certainly be dressed in something far different. Probably looser robes and in the Castherian green rather than the gold that the young man was in. Father Abner, that wasn't a name that Rohan recognized. Sollian maybe? Or Valtolian? The prince never cared enough to delve into the important figures from those kingdoms. "Oh, never heard of him." he said, though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely interested in knowing anything further. "I suppose you took a wrong turn and lost, these Argonians build their structures like labyrinths. It's so.. impractical."

As the servant came and picked up the drenched tunic, some of the wine dripped into a small pool on the stone floor and the two were left alone in the booth. "Don't worry about it, boy. It was just a simple tunic," Rohan had never been the type to dress flashy, especially during events like these where blood would most likely be spilled into the crowds. It didn't take long for the man to see Ender was trying to avoid looking at him for too long, perhaps because he was nervous or because Rohan was showing so much skin for a prince. "I presume you are new to being a squire, no?" The Black Swan flexed his muscles some as he said so.

There was a subtle shift in Rohan’s posture, a slight roll of the shoulders, the flex of muscle beneath scarred skin - and Ender’s brain, traitorous and overactive, chose that exact second to freeze. Again.

"I - " he stammered, tray halfway between being set down and clutched to his chest like a makeshift shield. "I mean - not new, really. I’ve been squired for… years. A few. More than a few. Long enough." His voice cracked embarrassingly halfway through, and he cleared his throat as if he could cough up the awkwardness.

He tried - truly tried - to recover some ground. “It’s just, you know, I’m still um- waiting to prove myself. The war ended and I started squiring. Not, um - ” He made a vague, flustered gesture in Rohan’s general direction, “many chances for valor, and I'm not used to being around... battle-hardened princes who look like they’ve fought dragons shirtless.”

Why did I say that out loud? The panic hit a half-second too late, and Ender winced.

Desperate to redirect, he turned his attention to the small pool of wine on the stone floor and crouched down, fishing a cloth from his satchel. “Anyway! Right. Yes. Impractical hallways. Completely agree. Terrible layout. Who builds guest wings above the kitchens?”

A nervous chuckle escaped him as he scrubbed at the wine, not quite brave enough to glance back up yet. “It’s like they want us to trip over ourselves trying to bring you wine.” Beat. Then, more quietly, “...Though I imagine most squires do it with a bit more grace.”

Seeing the young man stumble before him and the words not coming out, he had to be the squire to some lord. Perhaps an Argonian or any of the other kingdoms, Rohan was certain he would have recognized the boy if he was on of his own but then again Casther was no tiny nation. Before he could say anything, the red wine was spilled all over his waist. "It's...." he sighed, taking a step back and looking down at his tunic that was now clinging to his frame. "It's fine, I guess."

Undoing the buttons, he didn't hesitate to slip out of the fabric in front of the young man before him. He was far too old to care about things like modesty, especially in cases like this. "Jerick," he called out and one of his servants came rushing over. "Take this and do something with it, and bring me a fresh tunic. Preferably not white, in case the young man spills more wine." As he slid out of the tunic, his muscular and scarred torso was on display for Ender.

"You're not one of ours, are you?"

For a long, excruciating second, Ender forgot how to function. He blinked. Then blinked again. His gaze flickered wildly between the wine-stained fabric being handed off and the very broad, very scarred torso now on display in front of him. He could feel his ears heating, the sheer casualness of it sending his brain spiraling into disarray. Was this normal? Did he miss a lesson on how to be unbothered by a man removing his shirt directly in front of you? Ser would have something wise to say about composure, no doubt. Too bad Ender had all the composure of a startled fawn.

“I - ” He cleared his throat, willed his eyes up where they belonged. “No, I - ah - ” The question finally registered, and he nodded, probably too quickly. “Not one of yours. No. I’m - I squire for Father Abner. Ser.” The honorific tumbled out automatically, though he wasn’t entirely sure it was warranted. A sigh, "He's truly a great man."

He tried to reassemble what was left of his dignity, straightening his posture even as his fingers curled around the edges of the tray. “Again, I - really didn’t mean to -” A glance at the discarded tunic. A very deliberate effort not to glance lower. “I can… pay for that. Or replace it. Or… something.” His voice trailed off into an awkward mutter before he quickly added, “I don’t actually spill things all the time, you know. Just - sometimes.” A pause. Then, in a quieter voice, as if he couldn't quite believe his own gall, he muttered under his breath, “That really isn’t coming out, is it?”

He answered the glance with just a quick raise of one brow. Robin had been through much in his life and it'd shaped him into the sturdy piece of steel with a sharp edge that he was- and he was damn proud of it. "Moments like this will be part of your readiness, your true preparation."

He knew what it meant to be forged. Knew what it was to be shaped by another’s hands, to be pressed, molded, made into something useful. But steel had no say in what kind of weapon it became. He wasn’t sure he did, either.

Still, he nodded, even as uncertainty gnawed at the back of his mind. “Confidence,” he echoed, as if speaking the word aloud might help him grasp it. His lips pressed together briefly before he exhaled. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to - go through the fire, won’t I?” A wry attempt at a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t quite settle.

He stole another glance at Robin, measuring, considering. “You - didn’t hesitate, did you?” The question came unbidden, but he didn’t pull it back. “When you were tempered. When you were in the fire.” A beat. He rolled his shoulders, dropping his gaze to his hands as if suddenly remembering they were there. “Did it ever feel like... I don't know,” he was trying to keep with the metaphor but the poor boy wasn't known for his intellect. He wasn't known for much of anything, "it was just going to burn you away?"

but he had not always been that way. men like him, they tended to be as ubiquitous as vermin. men who were once pleasure-seekers, drowning in liquor and vices. men who wasted their lives away doing much of nothing at all. the castillo legacy was thought to be wasted on abner. it was a long, arduous climb towards the faith of sollia.

and yet, his light had found him at the end. now he was radiant, a lamp unto the less unfortunate, those who had lost their own way as well. abner oft discovered them in pleasure dens such as this one, attracted to the flame and the warmth of vitality like moths. not to say that pleasure was bad—sonatiuh himself encouraged it—but it addled the minds of men much too easily.

he opted to dress modestly for the occasion, or as modest as could be: a brown, sleeveless vest with a slit down to his chest, revealing hints of fur. and it seemed ender got the note as well. the sun priest let his lips curl into a slightly devious smile once he saw the young apostle enter, as hesitant as a newborn sheep. now this was someone who could be taught the bright teachings.

“let them be at ease,” abner suggested, lacing his own hands behind his back. a twinkle in the priest’s eyes was reserved for the younger male. “this is not exactly a holy place, as you can see, but i summoned you here for an important lesson. are you ready, mr. ender?” forgoing any moment of wait for the other’s response, he tugged his vest over his chest, disrobing it. warm steam came to meet a stout, dark-haired torso. abner’s smile bloomed. he tilted his head. “have you heard that pleasure and vice often go hand in hand together?”

His hands twitched at his sides, fingers tightening in the fabric of his robes as Ser -Father Abner - unclasped his vest without a hint of hesitation. Oh. Well, that was -that was a thing that was happening. Ender’s ears burned hotter than the steam around them, and he forced himself to stare straight ahead, eyes locked onto some indeterminate point just over Ser’s shoulder as though he were studying the very concept of divinity itself.

“I - uh - ” He started, then stopped. He was doing it again, blathering, tripping over himself in both thought and speech. Get it together, Ender. He squared his shoulders, exhaling sharply through his nose as if that would help him focus. Ser was speaking of lessons. He could handle lessons. Lessons were structured, lessons were safe. It was the context that made his skin prickle. “I, uh, I - yes, Ser, I’m always ready to learn,” he managed, though the words came out more like a plea than an affirmation. He shifted his stance awkwardly, clearing his throat before finally daring to glance back at his mentor.

“But, um. Pleasure and vice?” His brows knitted together, though whether it was from genuine confusion or sheer mortification, even he wasn’t sure. “I - suppose they could, but that depends on - um.” He hesitated, rubbing at the back of his neck - now Ender was looking at the ceiling. “Are we talking metaphorically or - ?”

Ender stopped himself before he could dig that hole any deeper. He suddenly wished he could melt into the steam.

A new land, a new chance to show off the power of Medes. Robin would always make sure to present his best for the initial impression. Ceremonial armor wasn’t just for show when you were the Lord Commander and the creator of the island nation's best weapons. It was a show that, no matter who did what to whom back in Valtolia, the Myre family was not to be touched.

He'd just finished an inspection of the Kingsguard when he'd sat down near Ender. He scanned over the young man, the ghost of a grin on his lips far more than his troops ever got as they were evaluated. "It's not every day we travel to a once-thought-lost land to partake in a tournament that could be a trap." Robin leaned in just a little, his voice questioning and teasing. "I hope you're prepared."

For a moment, he hesitated, his fingers tightening around the bracer’s strap as he considered his words. It wasn’t every day that Robin Goodbrother spoke to him directly, let alone with something resembling amusement.

"A trap?" Ender's eyes went wide, he cleared his throat and exhaled, shaking his head as he flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders back as though willing away his nerves. "Ser would tell me there’s no such thing as true preparation, only readiness." Parroting what he'd been told, Ender scarcely existed beyond his own awkwardness and the things he'd been told.

He cast a glance at Robin again, studying him for a fraction longer than he normally would. This man - his father - always seemed so assured, so immovable. A Lord Commander, a master of war, a man who had forged his own path, his own legend. Ender wondered, not for the first time, if he would ever be seen as anything more than a ghost of him.

Argonia had always been this mysterious, almost mythical location to most of Metia. Of course they knew that the eastern kingdom existed but nobody had come been in contact with them for as long as anyone could remember, some hushed whispers believed that their northern walls had collapsed and the beasts from the Uncharted Lands had taken the kingdom while others believed a volcano had been their destruction... and yet they were there, under everyone's nose this entire time. Casther was their only neighbor but Valtolia and Sollia had been more pressing concerns for them.

At his peak, Rohan would have signed up for this colosseum tourney without a second thought. Show off your own skills as a fighter and remind people why the Black Swan brought fear to those who faced him in battle. But instead, he was crippled with a cane to walk. The prince was here to cheer on the likes of his own men, and perhaps see what their neighbors to the east were like. If they ever decided to go to war, Casther would surely be their first target.

Sitting in one of the royal booths, his family was nowhere to be found. It was a bright day and Spring had come early this year. "I asked for some wine-" he turned around, stopping when he saw who it was. "Oh, I thought you were one of the servants." Rohan said before turning back around.

"Ah, no, I - " Ender barely got the words out before his foot caught on the uneven flooring beneath him, and in a very unfortunate sequence of events, the flagon tilted, his grip faltered, and the rich red wine sloshed over the rim, spilling directly onto the waist of the man before him.

Ender froze.

Then, with the swiftness of a man who had absolutely no plan, he scrambled to set the tray down and began patting at the stain with his own sleeve - before realizing, belatedly, that he probably shouldn’t be pawing at a man dressed as finely as this. "Oh, bollocks, I - sorry! I swear" He kept rubbing, "I don’t usually - well, I do, but not like this. It’s just - wine, you see, it’s - oh, this is not coming out, is it?"

He finally looked up, fully expecting to be met with fury, and offered what he hoped was a winning, if slightly sheepish, smile. "Er - sorry?"

the silvered wolf pendant that hangs from his throat is still. it's a familiar pressence against his skin, the cold metal of it, and even if he's lifting a goblet of ale to his lips, he would be ready if it were to begin buzzing. such has been his life for more than a decade. his golden hued eyes still scan the faces of those within the bar, many of which stay clear of his table. better for their own safety, perhaps, or maybe they suspect an unaligned witcher to be the reason that a prince is being hidden away like a precious gem.

they'd have the wrong witcher for that.

badr can feel eyes on him. that, too, is a familiar feeling. whether it's an appreciative glance or not, he's unsure. he puts the goblet down on the wooden surface and slowly turns his attentions to those around him. eyes linger over every face that looks in his direction, slow and assessing, with an expression as blank as he can manage with a few ales in his system. finally, when his eyes meet a pair that don't look away quickly and hold his gaze, he smiles.

"you have something to say to me?" he asks, keeping his voice level within the hustle and bustle of the tavern. "you might want to hurry and say it before i get the wrong impression."

Ender looked away quickly, flushing when he realized that he'd been caught, well, staring. He hadn’t expected to be called on it so directly. He reached for his mug and inadvertently knocked it over, spilling ale across the surface of his table before quickly fumbling out an apology. "S-sorry-" whether he was talking to the witcher, the table, the tavern workers, or the mug itself was still open to debate.

“I don’t-! No.” Ender answered, his voice steady only after he cleared his throat and messily stopped up the ale before he made a bigger mess. “I was only wondering what sort of man walks into a room and makes everyone else want to walk out.” He chuckled and rolled his eyes with exaggerated effort. “Guess I have my answer now.”