Na via lerno victoria

Play it by ear, he thought. Just play it by ear.

The music that signaled their turn started up, and Wes took a deep breath and faced Aras. He returned the bow, and blushed at the man’s words. “That’s alright, Duke Aras. I’m not very… Interesting company. I’m afraid I’d bore whoever you’d recommend to me.”

Straightening himself, he went up the stairs, exhaling as he did so. Dancing isn’t hard, he repeated to himself. Dancing isn’t hard…

Once the duke faced him, Wes put his hand on Aras’ shoulder and offered his free hand to him. The elf tried loosening his shoulders with a few concentrated breaths. It was easier, looking at Aras while the people around them blurred into the background.

     "Regardless, no one can fault another for retreating to the balcony with a bottle of spiced mead after a round or two of dancing. It only matters that you are content with the night's entertainment.."

     The heels of leather dress shoes clicked on smooth, unbroken marble, each step landing a beat slower than Weston's. Aras let himself be led in the dance, though he found himself tugging at the General's grasp when they reached a corner of the ballroom floor. While a portion of his conscience felt that leading the conversation would result in leading the dance by mistake, another portion jabbed at Aras' own ego and poorly-suppressed distaste at being led by another person in power.

     Aras was not sure of the details, as Weston's own homeland was out of Aras' reach --regardless, both Van Pelt and Dame Rosaline have confirmed the elf to have lands and armies firmly leashed to his hand. Experience only filled in the rest, and his expectation and intrigue of the elf grew tenfold.

     Perhaps there were drawbacks to checking on one's guests. At the very least, the General hadn't seemed to mind subtle hints Aras was too proud to not drop.

     After all, it was a thrill to meet another leader; Aras was eager to know what sort Weston was.

      "So much that the sender would waste gold on an arm like yours to merely pass letters? I'd have to agree with that sentiment, sellsword."

      Leaning over to accept the letter, Aras took the chance to press a shining coin into Kai's hand --a small tip for the trouble.

“You’re either a master of sarcasm or going blind, because there’s no damn ceremony involved right now and it’s pretty clear the journey was a bit more than wearing.” He said after a few moments, his tired haze stopping him from distinguishing good things to say from those he probably shouldn’t. “If it’s the former, good job, I kneel before someone I can only hope to match one day. If it’s the latter, bloody hells, see a healer.”

      Ah, youth. Gone were the days when sarcasm towards one's elders would be answered by a firm slip across their cheeks, and Aras missed them so.

      Alas, the dirt-covered lad was a visitor to his faraway home, and it was Aras' new job to be as amiable as possible.

Normally, he would have avoided the event, or attended for a little while before departing back to his room, but the elf couldn’t tell the duke himself no at an event he was hosting.

As the Aras spoke, his attention immediately went from nervously scanning the crowd to the shorter man. Giving him a polite smile, the knots in his stomach only tightened as his hand moved to take the duke’s. “That’s a shame.” Wes replied gently.

“I think it’s wonderful.” It wasn’t a total lie. Despite his own issues with parties and things, it really was nice. The decorations, the atmosphere, the food… It brought a slight smile to his face. “I haven’t attended a lot of events before coming here, but… The ones you host are absolutely memorable.” 

Thinking that answer sufficed, Wes went back to looking at all the dancers. He was light enough on his feet, he thought. He could easily do this, it’s not like dancing was terribly difficult. Beyond the dancers, he tried to find any of the three people he knew from here, and… Couldn’t.

     "That is pleasing to hear, General. For obvious reasons, I feared all this pomp and ceremony would be too much for some --I thank you for attending, regardless." The couple ahead of them took their cue on the ballroom floor, raised heels clacking in tune with gentle strings. Stepping in time with the music, Aras pulled Weston to the edge of the steps --did this mean he'd have to lead the dance? Nay, perhaps he'd best let the taller one lead.

     Weston was as frayed as the edges of an open sack, that much was obvious to the Duke. If he wasn't given some room to ruffle his feathers and prove to himself that he can yet excel in social practices, the next party may as well be harder to take than a death sentence --at least, that was Aras' logic.

      Best keep the guests as comfortable as possible, the Duke thought to himself. A slow crescendo signaled their own chance to take the stage, and as per ballroom etiquette, Aras made a short bow.

   But then she realized that even if could change it, what would happen then?

   “I don’t get to be the same like you. Imagine it, each time, your circumstances have changed. Over and over, again, it’s a failure.” Her hand reached out, touching the wall, glaring. “In one life, I am a girl on the streets with no family, no hope for the future, I hate everything. In another, I am of noble birth and am willing to fight for my country until my dying breath. Even more, as rare as it is, I am born a man. I am to be a leader, to help my people face an uncertain future but I rally them nonetheless.”

   Oh how the bitterness is spat from her mouth, her hand curling into a fist before she lowered it. Anger had never helped since her time here. It only made waste time when she could actually be doing something. Her eyes burned into the wall, like it held some secret message for her, some clue to what she or him or they were doing here.

   Why did it matter so damn much?

      "So you do not use it for vanity alone. A simple 'no' could've sufficed, but considering the possible gravity of your situation, I will be accommodating for just once." He almost droned in return, turning his gaze to stone floors. The woman was in a frothing rage, to say the very least; to her credit, he did make a casual jab at something quite painful.

      Regardless, she did make for quite a distraction.

      "It does you no favours for me to assuming knowledge of living different lives. That is your burden to bear, and I've no right to offer counsel even if the weight on our shoulders is just as great. Not that you require any, of course." Roderich leaned into the bench, wood and stone sapping whatever little warmth he had. 

      “When I wake from this dream, I will be standing over my newborn child’s cot, hanging him from a hand, and a knife in another. You will pardon me for being unappreciative of my sameness, for reliving that moment three hundred and sixty-seven times takes more than a simple toll... but all that holds little meaning, now.”

     “There is one thing I can assume. If being trapped in seemingly endless cycles is our hell, then this is the smallest form of respite you and I have. As much as it reminds us that we are mere failures scrapping at the pieces to a picture we attempt to put together, I can at least take solace in this serenity while it lasts.”