A Clue
He was the only one in the ward. It occurred to him that perhaps it was a little sad that he often preferred it that way. But there was a peace in the dimly lit and empty building, one Vaelanys was not afraid to break with a soft humming as he carefully arranged boxes of medicinal teas on a shelf and set out a book to make doubly certain the information he'd written on the labels would not be misplaced.
The task didn't take long and when he was satisfied with the organization of the teas he stepped back to look them over, one soft pleased sigh escaping him. Now, perhaps they would at least not need to wait for him to blend something in an emergency. Closing the door of the ward behind him he wandered down to the office.
Piles of papers were strewn neatly over the surface and his fingertips drifted over the heap waiting to be filed, before he reminded himself that it was no longer his job. It was the small stack in front of the Commander's seat that caught his attention next, reports from missions he hadn't seen more than the aftermath of, lists and details of those to come.
He paused, feeling almost guilty for looking through them before he reminded himself that he was Lieutenant Commander here, however little he might feel it at times, and however poorly he fit in with the rest of the Company. He flipped thoughtfully through the papers, one hand on the desk as he leaned rather awkwardly over the arm of a chair he could not bring himself to sit in.
He paused on a list of commissioned items. Scanning over a list of things gathered and acquired. The dust of a holy man, crystals, ore, he had heard and read about each of those things and how it had been found but at the bottom of the list was a phrase that gave him pause. "The Blood of the Mother." He murmured, and found himself frowning.
There was a familiarity to that phrase that disturbed him somehow and he picked up the paper it was written on, slowly sinking back into the chair as he stared at it. He hadn't heard it phrased exactly so, but he had heard Thorn speak of his mother and the ink at moments that still made him shiver to think of them. And the first thing those words made him think of was the darkness of the ink and the madness he had felt inside it, the darkness of Thorn's blood.
Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps this was some more innocuous reference to a plant, or the blood of some maternal animal, but Vaelanys could not make himself believe that. His teeth caught at his lower lip for a moment. Perhaps he should mention it to Thorn?
Just as quickly he dismissed the idea. The Ink was the one point on which he was entirely certain he disagreed with the man he loved. He could ask Kieros what in the name of the Light this list was, and why the Ink was on it. But that thought he pushed aside even more quickly. His last attempt at conversation with the man he was supposed to share the burden of command with could only have been called disastrous.
Thorn had been upset they even spoke, suspicious in a way Vaelanys couldn't even blame him for when he felt the same over anything that brought the warlock into contact with Kieros at all. He sighed. He liked the paladin, he respected him, but he felt he could no more speak to him than he might have spoken to the King of Stormwind. There were boundaries drawn and he didn't know how to cross them, or even if he should try.
He could write a note. His fingers extended briefly toward a sheet of blank paper, but in the end he frowned. He didn't have the right words to fill a note, not without awkward formality that might obscure his meaning further behind the scripts he had been taught almost from birth. Perhaps it was best then just to leave it. He set the paper down, pushed himself to his feet, but it sat there at the top of that pile, the phrase taunting at him, reminding him of things attempted and failed and the cold darkness he felt grip Thorn every time he went to the Courts.
He wanted the Ink gone. He wanted the man he loved free of its darkness. He wanted not to feel the way it tugged at Thorn until he was afraid it would take him away. Vaelanys swallowed. Slowly he reached for the quill that sat nearby. For a moment he only held it, poised above the margin of the paper, thoughts churning uncomfortably inside him. Then finally he lowered the tip to the paper, scribed out one word in his neat bold hand. "Ink?"
He set the quill away almost hurriedly, chest tight with discomfort over what he had done, then turned and hurried out of the office before he could change his mind and blot it out. @midnight-ashes @eternal-emerald @lynxesguild for mentions
