Arriving at home had not been as unpleasant as Nauleth had anticipated. Hadrian had been receptive, perhaps even a perceptible level warmer than their surprise reunion for the Circus. Lillian had cried, and it'd been an odd comfort to know he'd been missed. Nicias had punched him in the stomach first, but it was only to be expected from an ornery little brother, after all. It was hard to take the boy's pouting seriously for long when his front teeth were missing. Nadia, however, had said nothing. She was not so easy to tame, even after all this time.

Still, his parental pep talk had only made everything he'd come to Vienda for all the more real. Heavier. Naul was currently like an over-wound spring, taut and stiff with the kind of nervousness that might have made anyone else giddy and talkative. Instead, the dark-eyed boy was quiet, almost stern. He'd spent the entire carriage ride over unable to find anything useful to do with his hands, sweaty and nervous as they were. He'd gnawed on the inside of his cheek a while. He'd fidgeted with his clothes—the clothes he'd cowed completely before Angus to let him choose, the clothes that were suddenly restricting and uncomfortable and strange.

By the time they'd arrived at the Bruthgraves, Naul was a silent figure of anxious energy, thin lipped and barely contained. He was, admittedly, very grateful for not being alone. However, as the rain pattered steadily on the roof of the carriage, the boy found himself having difficulty being willing to get out. Instead, he just sat there, blinking.

It was safe here.

Sure, he totally wanted to go through with it all. He'd practiced. He'd planned. He'd reminded himself to stay nice and calm again and again.

But, it was still safe here.

The boy looked sheepishly at Angus, "Promise me everything will be just fine."

Angus was smiling happily. This was no where near as gut-wrenching for him as it was for Nauleth. The worst that could happen to him would be that people would be unpleasant to him, while he was being nice to them. Even that came with the added bonus of knowing that Angus would still feel pretty good about himself after he left.

It was difficult not to feel sympathy in the face of Naul's nervousness.

"If the worst happens, I shall attempt to cast healing spells on you, you shall be fine." Angus said, in the spirit of brotherly love.

"I hope your parents like wine, Athrym. I wasn't sure what to bring as thanks for them letting me in." He said to Athrym. "I really am excited about meeting your mother. She has such a way with the written word."

She'd managed to use it to terrify Nauleth. Few things in the world had ever managed that. Angus was intrigued.

Athrym stood outside of the carriage, beside a young human girl holding a wide umbrella to keep her dry, looking up at the boys. She'd missed Nauleth all day at the estate, spending the majority of her time avoiding her father and mulling over her conversation with her mother. It had been interesting, and informative, to say the least. As the door opened, she was surprised to find Angus greeting her instead of the salt and pepper haired boy. Behind the brown haired boy, she could see Naul staring into space. A twinge of worry caught her. Was he changing his mind? Was the idea of her parents too much for him. The blonde bit her lip, thinking of something to say.



Glancing back at Angus, the girl smiled a little, genuinely pleased by Angus' thoughtfulness.

"Thankyou Angus. I am pretty sure they drink it, Margol drinks anything." Shifting on the spot, she shrugged.

"Carme-Mother is rather more than I expected actually. I think it would be good for you to talk to her. I'll take you inside and point out the study and the sitting room, but after that I will be retiring to the library. You can come and find me there." Leaning over slightly, she tucked her fringe behind her ear and looked at her fiance-to-be.

"Nauleth? Are you ready?"

Naul startled like a deer caught in the garden, so slightly lost had he been in his own thoughts. The boy who had plenty of bravado in the face of opposition on the Lawn at Brunnhold found it was strangely difficult to shape it all into something more like courage. It wasn't like he had doubts. It wasn't like he didn't know what he wanted. It wasn't like he wasn't already mostly resolved to go through with things regardless of today's outcome. But, still.

His palms were sweaty and his heart fluttered and someone far away was using Hydrosmosis to make his stomach dance. He probably should've gotten a haircut. He offered Angus a weak smile at his masculine form of humorous comfort before turning to let his expression grow warmer for the blonde.

Athrym. She was why he was here. The pretty, sharp-witted girl who somehow managed to burn with a cold, enticing fire. The girl he'd never willingly admit he'd had eyes for since lower form. The girl who, for different reasons, was hardly any tamer than himself. The girl whose parents did produce a genuine fear in the confines of his chest, if only because he'd come to realize he'd have to be honest—he couldn't just put on a show or ride on someone else's coattails. Not this time.

The dark-eyed boy did have feelings, feelings that couldn't rely on the haughty bravery that brought other students to tears on the Lawn. This was different. This time, his feelings had to speak for themselves.

That was scary.

Still, Nauleth's smile eventually turned genuine. Was he ready? Now he was ... mostly. Hadrian had assured his son that he wasn't the first who wanted to rearrange Margol's gears, and Lillian had instilled in him a bit of her limited personal understanding of Carmell's icy exterior.

So, this was it, then.

"If ready can be subjective, then, yes, I'll claim to be." He finally replied, clambering from the carriage and dispelling what nervousness he could by snatching up the blonde's hands in his clammy ones. He'd missed her, mostly out of irrational worry. The boy gave in and mustered a lopsided, half-confident grin, resisting the urge to kiss her there in the rain on her front lawn, "There's no Seventen regiment waiting for me inside, is there?"

He sighed, relaxing a little, "I don't think I could take them all. I'm rather clocking nervous."

"Thank you, Athrym." Angus said, bowing.

He left the pair to their own devices, sure they had much to talk about. He waited just inside the entryway, out of the rain. He was ready to find Carmell as soon as Athrym showed him where to look.


((SFSR, tired, bleh.))

The blonde squeezed his hands gently, running her thumb over the back of them.

"You'll be fine, I promise. Just remember, Margol is deaf as a post and as dumb as an ox. He's pathetic. As for my mother..." Pausing, she smiled a little.

"If you can handle me, you can handle my mother." Turning slightly, she pulled on his hand lightly, leading him towards the entrance. Stepping past Angus, she pushed the door open and led them inside, leaving the closing up and taking of coats to her little human umbrella stand. Facing the boys again, she smiled, sweeping one arm across the white and blue decor of her home's lobby.

"Welcome to the Bruthgrave Estate. Carmell is the decorator here, so practically everything is white or made of some sort of stone. If you haven't already guessed from the letter, my mother is Gioran. I guess I should have known, but it really explains a lot." Glancing at Angus, she gestured to the archway under the stairs balcony.

"Mother is in there, if you want to see her." Looking at Naul again, she smiled and squeezed his hands.

"Margol is through the hall on the right, in his study. Prepare to be amazed by cigar smoke and cognac." Taking a quick risk, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek briefly.

"I'll be through the left archway in the library when your ready to find me." Nodding, she let go of his hands reluctantly and left them standing there, boots fading into the library.

Naul offered the best expression of confidence he could muster for the blonde as she left Angus and himself standing together in the hallway. Then, he straightened the folds from his jacket and cleared his throat, glancing at the taller boy through his white-streaked bangs,

"Well, if you smell fire or hear screaming ... don't hesitate to come to my rescue, Angie. I'm confident I can trust Carmell to your graces for now, at least." He chuckled at this, a bit of bravado shining through. Removing one hand from his pocket, he gave a solemn salute before turning on his heel and walking toward the study, pulse ringing in his ears.

The dark-eyed boy steeled his thoughts on the short walk, stopping to hover outside the door and knock. He knew how he felt and he was quite sure what he wanted. He just hoped he could endure Margol to get it.

"Lord Bruthgrave?" He managed to keep his voice from wavering, reaching to tuck his bangs behind his ears, hair already pulled back. He studied the fine grains of the door, the make of the handle, the smooth tiles of the floor, the shoes on feet, and finally the sweaty palms of his hands. This was it. Or at least, the first part of it all.

"It's Nauleth Siordanti, sir."

((modding here, just to let y'know))

There was a sound of clinking and an elderly cough, before a surprisingly strong voice called out.

"Come in Mister Siordanti!" Upon opening the door, Nauleth would find Margol sitting in a high backed black recliner, pushed back so his legs were elevated, brandy glass in one hand and cigar in the other. Looking over at the dark eyed boy, the older galdor smiled. The room had obviously been strictly decorated by Margol, full of dark colors, rich wood and mounted animal heads. Almost in spite, the main animal trophy was a snarling, blue eyed Kluiw, staring forever into nothingness.

"Sit down my boy! I've already poured you a drink. Theraldon Cognac, best in Vienda by my tastes!" Indeed, beside Margol was a small redwood table with a glass of clear amber fluid and an ashtray, thick cigar sitting in it ready to be lit. On the other side of the table, a matching recliner sat waiting for the young man. There wasn't really much other choice on seating unless Naul went behind Margol's desk.

Angus bowed to the pair, believing this was his cue to leave them to their final... well, temporarily final... goodbyes. He followed Athrym's directions, moving through the archway and into a room that was as starkly white as those previous to it. He could see what Athrym had meant. His mother had gone through such a phase. She'd argued that white went with everything and while that was true, Angus had put up quite a fuss when she'd painted his bedroom over. He'd liked the green. He'd been so distressed by it that he hid under the bed for a whole day and no one noticed until dinnertime. He was so annoyed at having been forgotten in such a way, that he refused to get out at all when the maid came to get him. They'd had to leave his food by the bed under his bed until his father came to embarassedly apologise and then yell at him for behaving childishly.

He'd been five at the time, mind.

"Hello?" Angus called out. "Might I introduce myself, Lady Buthgrave? My name is Angus Worthing, I'm an aquaintance of your daughter's."

He was excited that his heart was all aflutter. He hoped Lady Bruthgrave liked him. She seemed to have a way with words that he hadn't even seen in Dawin's books. She'd managed to evoke feelings of terror in Nauleth Siordanti, the ballsiest, unflappable, toughest duelist he knew. If she'd possessed the right qualifications, he might have even fancied himself a bit in love with her.

At least there was alcohol.

Naul might have hovered in the doorway a little longer than usual, hand gripping the doorknob, setting his countenance as he met the glass-eyed gazes of the poor beasts on the wall. He pretended not to see himself among them, mustering a slightly stiff, formal bow before closing the door behind him,

"Thank you, Lord Bruthgrave." He had no idea what volume was necessary to reach the much older man, so he took his cue from the tone of Margol's own voice. He sat, perhaps a little cautiously, in the recliner assigned for him, taking the drink in his slim-fingered hands but not yet drinking. He would have just fidgeted otherwise.

"I, uh, appreciate your willingness to see me, sir." Naul met the man's gaze and bobbed another bow, unsure of what else to say, anticipating all sorts of terrible things in the back of his churning mind. He decided not to look at the heads on the wall for a second time.

From the back of the room, in front of a wall built bookcase, a woman turned slowly, white blonde hair falling in a silky curtain down her back, framing her pale, angular face. Eyes so pale blue they seemed clear looked at Angus with an emotionless, stone cold stare. Pulling a black shawl tighter around her shoulders, the woman finally spoke in a quiet, bitter voice.

"An acquaintance of Athrym? I would throw you out as a liar if she hadn't already told me to expect you." Stepping away from the case, she moved to stand in front of the low burning fireplace, holding out her hands to warm them. The golden dress she wore underneath reflected the orange of the firelight in almost an otherworldly glow.

"What do you want to discuss, Mister Worthing? Surely, My Lord in the study would be better suited to entertain you, he has the cognac and the cigars out of that I can be sure." Pausing, she glanced at him slightly.

"If your here to speak on Nauleth's behalf, I strongly suggest you leave." Her voice rang with glacial frost, making it obvious where Athrym picked up the habit, only hers was more practiced and far more like a smack in the face with an ice cold slab of granite. Even her field would leave Angus feeling chilled.

------

Margol puffed on his cigar, swilling his cognac, as though the boy hadn't spoken. The silence started to become uncomfortable, as though the man hadn't heard the student. Finally, he spoke, a burst of sound in an awkwardly silent room.

"So, tell me about yourself Mister Siordanti. Why do you want my permission to ask Athrym for her hand?" Scoffing the man laughed into his glass.

"Alioe can only guess why your bothering, but you can tell your father, the Bruthgraves are more than pleased to form a marriage with the Siordanti's. I just want to know the why behind it first."

((Should we side thread?))



"Oh no, Lady Bruthgrave, I never touch cigars. I think they have an ill influence on my sporting performance." Angus replied, though really he just hated the smell. "I was hoping to speak with you and gain your aquaintance as I have Athrym's."



Athrym was starting to make more and more sense, in Angus' mind. He wondered if she'd ever gain the same magnificence her mother had. The way she carried herself was far above the adolescent posturing Angus was used to at Brunnhold. He tried to memorise the carriage of her head, to see if he might be able to adapt it to his own purposes. If he hadn't had a rather phenomenal amount of self esteem, beneath his few weak points, he would have been very intimidated.

As it was, he felt like a moth. Attracted to a flame that might very well burn his wings off. It was just that the flame was so very alluring.

"Perish the thought." Angus said, though he was sure Nauleth would have appreciated it and it was definitely on his mind. "Nauleth can speak for himself, I assure you and the cad went and hurt my feelings, not two days ago. I'll leave his judgement to your tender graces."

Angus stepped closer, trying to keep his steps from being tentative.

"I hope you're not offended, I saw the letter that you wrote to Nauleth. He was quite perturbed by it." Angus' voice gained a little humour, knowing this was the understatement of the year. "I was most impressed by it. I've never read anything quite so passionate. Athrym is lucky to have your support in the matter of her marriage."

Unspoken was the fact that she was significantly less lucky to have Margol.

"Might we sit, my lady? I would request a walk in your company but I believe it is going to rain again." Angus said, tone respectful, though hopeful.

Naul coughed from over the rim of his drink, setting the glass back down on the table and folding his hands as calmly as possible in his lap before answering, "Your daughter is an excellent student and a brilliant magician. Her ambition to understand and work with the mona is rivaled only her thirst for knowledge."

He smirked lopsidedly, lacing his fingers together slowly, "But, honestly, all academia aside, I think she's altogether lovely."

He arched an eyebrow, accentuating the lag in his expression, and decided to brush off his usual reckless bravado, "For a man who only has one heir, I find it rather disturbing that you consider your daughter someone so unworthy a prize. Compared to your trophies, Athrym would appear to outshine them," Naul spoke up cautiously, letting an edge of humility creep into his tone of voice, "regardless of some of the trouble."

(( viewtopic.php?f=4&t=2100 - side thread sharky ))

Margol chuckled quietly, hands shaking slightly in age. He had heard most of what Naul had said, even if some of the words had sounded wrong. Taking a moment to puff on his cigar, the older galdor looked at Naul slyly.

"My greatest trophy, dear boy, is out in the sitting room. I can tell you, it cost me a lot of money to have Carmell. Her brother arranged the marriage, but it was worth it. The giorans really drive a hard bargain. I honestly just wanted the connection to her father. Mathen Granite is the best there is, and what better match then Bruthgrave Stonemasons? The whole partnership Mathen-Bruthgrave Stone is possibly the most lucrative venture to date. We don't just supply granite for building anymore, Riech Mathen expanded the quarry to include slate and limestone, and found a rather brilliant vein of diamond." Grinning, he sipped his cognac and winked at the boy.

"Profits split fifty-fifty, considering my end of the bargain is to supply the refinery and cutters. You'd be surprised at how women fall to pieces over shiny pieces of rock." Sitting back, smoking and drinking, the man continued in a pleasant voice.

"My daughter is no prize Nauleth. She's a pain in the clocking erse. Just like her mother sometimes. At least her mother has learnt respect. It took a while, but she learnt it." Sighing, he chuckled.

"I think Athrym is going to be a tough one to break, but judging from your reputation, I think your the boy to do it."

Naul scowled into his drink, no longer interested. He and his parents had had their disagreements, had dealt plainly with his own disciplinary problems, and had even not spoken for two years in the process. Still, somewhere inside, despite all of the exasperation, he found himself sincerely hoping his family did not consider him unworthy. Troublesome, yes. He could accept that. Unlikable, surely not entirely.

The boy had no plans to be breaking Athrym of anything—not in any of the ways Margol seemed to imply with his tone of voice when speaking of the girl. The reality was unfortunately that she had already been broken. She was still a prize, but one that required a willingness to look instead of just a simple acceptance of the obvious. He did not have the patience to debate the finer differences with the older man at the moment with the way things were already going. None at all. That left only one other topic of possible conversation from the old, obviously clueless bastard's ramblings,

"My reputation?" Naul inclined his head, leaning back in his seat in order to look at the older galdor more carefully, "While I may have made some mistakes in my time at Brunnhold, I hardly see how that applies to my relationship with your daughter in the way you seem to be implying. What is it you think Athrym needs to be broken of, anyway?"

He tried to keep the edge of annoyance out of his voice, but at the required volume, it was very difficult to hide.

Margol chucked through the smoke of his cigar, deteriorating into a hacking cough that turned him red in the face and sounded like he might cough up a lung. Wheezing and gasping, he finally eased off, still chuckling slightly.

"Come boy, you don't think a man of my age and reputation doesn't have sources inside of the school, watching the stand out students for potential pairings. Athrym is coming closer to the end of her time there, and I did hope to find someone with a strong mind and iron fist that could tame her temper. From what I have heard, your quite the magister Mister Siordanti. Challenging duels to any who oppose you, even taking my own daughter on the lawns. Don't get me wrong young man, I know the girl has talent. But she's just like her mother was. Insolent, argumentative, and strong willed. It was going to take a man with the capacity to bend that will and put her in her place, and it appears you were that man. Already I see a difference in her attitude. She's a lot less nasty than usual." Ashing his cigar, the galdor left it in the ashtray.

"It took me the better half of a year to convince Carmell our joining was for the best. It was a little easier once she was pregnant with Athrym. Seems hormones really help them to mellow out. But you know how it is, whip a kenser long enough and you will get it to go the way you want it to." Giving the boy a meaningful grin, the old man pushed himself out of the recliner, grabbing a cane that was laying by the arm and standing with its support. Leaning heavily on it, the man approached his mounted Kluiw head, one hand behind his back, studying the snarling beast.

"You have my permission to ask her Nauleth, and the sooner you two wed the better. No point hanging around if you already know the outcome. It would be good to sit down with your father and discuss the union of our houses. I believe we can come to a decent deal, I'll even give profit splits of 60/50, because I know that taking Athrym is quite the payment itself." Sighing, he chuckled again.

"Taffy." He said quite matter-of-factly.

Naul clenched his jaw and managed to resist letting the disgust that broiled in the pit of his stomach rise to make its presence known across his face. It was obvious the older galdor cared for very little, and while he had somewhat expected to glimpse some of Margol's character, he'd wished things had been more pleasant than they were. He had the man's permission ... but did it even matter? It certainly didn't feel like Lord Bruthgrave cared.

The dark-eyed boy watched the man with a restless distaste. This could've gone worse. He had what he wanted, though Naul was still unsure of the cost.

Setting his now-empty glass on the side table with a visible, lopsided wince, he mustered up the guts to plow through with gratitude, "Well, sir, I am most thankful to receive your permission to ... uh ... take Athrym off your hands, as you say. I am sure that you know my father Hadrian would be most pleased to hear from you about the more formal aspects of this arrangement in order to make sure it is as mutually beneficial as possible."

He forced as business-like smile as he could, wrestling with his uneasy field, "As for your suggestion of as soon as possible ... how soon were you thinking, Lord Bruthgrave? If you'd forgive my boldness, regardless of what kind of light this may shed on my character in your eyes, I would like to propose that there be a wedding before graduation. Perhaps even within the year?"

Naul offered a sly grin at this, "You know enough of your daughter's reputation if you know so much about mine. An early wedding may do much for rumors and perhaps save you any further trouble from unwelcome comments. I also feel as though it may be more beneficial to our studies, strange as it may sound."

"I would understand if you disagreed, however, sir." He added quietly, expression settling into something neutral and expectant.

Margol raised both eyebrows, turning to face the boy with a scoff.

"Well! You certainly are ahead of me! I thought perhaps in your ninth or last form, but well, if you want to do it within the year, you have my full permissions! Your a smart boy, Mister Siordanti, a real future thinker. The less rumors about my daughter, the better. The Bruthgrave reputation can't continue to suffer because of her...dallying." Stepping forward, he stuck out a shaky hand.

"Welcome to the fold, Nauleth Siordanti."

Was this over? Was this it? Was Margol so easy to win over? Well then. Naul would clocking take that. Take that and run, that is.

He might have hesitated noticeably, dark eyes lingering on the older galdor's hand. Naul didn't want to touch it, didn't want to shake it, didn't want to be any real part of Margol's family with a single exception. He sighed, exhaling through his nose, and kept a smile plastered lopsidedly across his aquiline features. The boy stood, bobbed a bow, and shook the man's hand firmly, his own palm sweaty and warm.

"Thank you, Lord Bruthgrave." He meant that, if nothing else. Permission granted, at least. That was a good thing, indeed, "I appreciate your generous consideration."

Naul hovered briefly, sliding his hands away and into his pockets, "I suppose my father and I will be seeing more of you before the week is over to work out the more formal details of this arrangement. May I take my leave until then ... or is there more you'd like to ask of me, sir?"

The boy was eager to escape. He was beginning to feel the cold gaze of stuffed beasts and glass eyes in a most uncomfortable way. He could at least manage a sneak in to inform Athrym of the news before he prepared to face her mother.

Margol nodded vaugly, an odd smile on his face.

"I shall have to see you and your father before the week is out, okay Mister Siordanti? Work out the details and contracts and all that. Good to meet you. I trust you can see yourself out? Good boy." Leaning heavily on his cane, the old man wandered towards his desk, having not heard a word Nauleth had said.

Naul blinked, briefly wondering if a simple, modified Aural Assault spell would do the old man some good. Perhaps he was better the way he was, really. He'd just given the boy all the permission he could ever want, and though he realized with a bit of a chill he still had to endure whatever Carmell had planned for him ... things were suddenly a lot more official than they had been. That was good, right?

"Good evening, Lord Bruthgrave." He added loudly, nodding at the man before making as polite a hasty retreat as possible.

He closed the study door behind him to lean against it, hand lingering on the knob behind him. And sighed, closing his eyes. What a clocking crafty old bastard. Naul could care less about financial arrangements and future business opportunities, perhaps to his detriment in some ways. He had always figured those things were best left to fall into place without his meddling with them, anyway. Maybe one day he'd have enough patience to care.

Right now, he could just be happy.

Finally sliding away from the door, Naul turned and wandered purposefully toward the library instead of the sitting room. He knew Carmell was waiting for him, but he wasn't quite ready. Looking around curiously as he walked the hall alone, he didn't bother knocking, preferring instead to crack the door and peek his head in, hoping Athrym was easy to find.

"Pssst." He whispered loudly, "Are you in here?"

Athrym turned sharply from the tome she'd become engrossed in. Apparently her mother had spent a good deal of time collecting gioran books, both fact and fiction. One particularly interesting one detailed their theories on the mona and its relation to casting times. Smiling at the boy, she stood from the soft white chair she'd been sitting in and stretched, feeling satisfying cracks in spots.

"Hello. How did it go?" She asked softly, almost as though she was scared of the answer. Margol seemed to be interested in the marriage idea, but then again, Margol was an imbecile.

"Your father's a cheeky old bastard, if I may put things as politely as possible while I'm a guest in his house and in the process of proposing to his daughter." Hissed the dark-eyed boy, barely containing a lopsided grin, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He leaned there and tucked his hands back in his pockets, expression warming as he let his gaze linger contentedly on the blond.

"I could clocking well think of a few more choice words for that man, but it would be a waste of time and an insult to you." Nauleth chuckled, tone of voice taunting as he drew out his answer to her question. It was obvious by his smile that things had gone well, but his tone of voice carried the undertones of just how uncomfortable Margol had made him.

"He seems quite convinced—pleased even—that I'm the only young man in Brunnhold who can tame you ..." He found it impossible to not sound smug at that, one side of his face turning coy before the other, "And agreed that the sooner I do so, the better."

The blonde walked closer as the boy spoke, smiling slightly with a hint of curiosity.

"You know, if I had a tally for every time someone said that about Margol, I would be Queen." She said with a little roll of the eyes. Cheeky...not the word she would choose to use.



Tilting her head slightly, she stopped in front of him, tucking her fringe behind her ear.

"I hope he didn't discourage you. Margol is an idiot Naul, a self absorbed idiot. I have no idea why my mother has bothered with him for so long."



The girl paused, one eyebrow raised and an odd look in her eyes.

"Tame me?" She said quietly in a tone of indignant offense, "Does he think I'm a clocking housepet? Stop-clocking fool, if I just had one..."


Athyrm paused mid ramble, her other eyebrow going up to match the other one.

"Really? He agreed? I would have expected him to drag it out. Not to be rude, but it would probably benefit him more financially and politically if he spent time building a rapport with your father." Narrowing her eyes, she stepped closer so she was looking up at the boy, fingertips resting lightly on his shirt.

"Does he think I'm going to run off and marry someone of less worth? Is that why he agreed so easily? Gods, he is such a fool."

Naul couldn't help but laugh, but it was sardonic, hard-edged. Hands reaching up to her own, he spoke quietly as if he was afraid he could be heard by anyone but the blonde, "I got the feeling he feels you're quite the burden, for he was anything but hesitant. Fool or not, Ath, he didn't put up a fight. Sure, I think it's atrocious that he considers you an object instead of seeing you for who you are, but oh well. More for me."

He grinned, warmth spreading across his sharp features one side before the other, "I don't clocking care about his opinions or what he wants from my name ... Not yet, anyway. I suppose it should be my responsibility to be concerned about all that financial, political, social chroveshit ... one day."

The dark-eyed boy shrugged, fingers lacing with hers against his chest, "I'm more than happy to take you off his hands, you know. I'm sure as the Circle's round not going to complain if he's in a hurry ... So long as your mother doesn't stop my breath in my lungs, that is."