| abstract
| - The Golden Dragon - The Golden Dragon isn't, as so many taverns are, a place of refuge. No, this place is meant as a place of socializing, a place of merry laughter and shared troubles, a vision of the companionship and mutual respect that makes life in Crown's Refuge even possible. Finished in warm red wood, the Dragon is simply a long, wide room. Like most taverns, a bar dominates one wall - in this case, the rear one - with the establishment's stores stacked carefully behind whoever happens to be working the bar at any given moment. Two large fireplaces are built into the right-hand wall, both equipped to cook; identical emplacements that offer both warmth and a means to use that warmth to create savory delights, and a place to share tall tales and stories of lamentation and woe. The tavern has no dark corners, and no square tables to be shoved in them. Instead, round tables fill the remaining space, slightly taller than your usual surfaces to meet the few Syladris that take advantage of the Dragon halfway, with enough space between them to give the illusion of privacy for those few that desire it. Taran is seated in a chair, at a table by the wall, his chair tilted back to lean against it. There is tea, at his table, and the fingers of both hands are wrapped around a cup. Zia returns, as promised, not long after originally leaving, Naoi close behind her. Her expression is a little more relaxed now, and she pauses inside the door to allow the Ordinator passage. "There." She offers a nods Taran's way and spans half the distance herself before stopping and leaning against the wall. Near, but not too. Naoi follows after, hardly in much trappings of her rank. With her hair free of bindings and falling to the shoulder, and the barebones wool dress she has on, she could almost be mistaken for just a regular serving girl, a face in the crowd. Most serving girls, though, aren't asked to do what she is and most don't have a firm grimace and an intense stare. The Ordinator follows Ziavri's motion to where Taran sits, then moves forward to approach the man's table. "Sit right." The chair is gripped, and she drags it back, wood scraping on wood. Then she sits, hands folding demurely in her lap. "Your friend was quite worried for you." Taran glances up, fingers still wrapped around a cup of tea held to his lips. He finishes the sip, and lowers the cup. "A lot of people seem to be. Good evening, and no. Sitting up, the chair is too short." A faint smile touches Zia's features, and she backs a step towards the door. "I'll wait outside. I don't think it's my place to listen in on this one." She says it as if that's ever bothered her before. "I don't suspect it is your friends that worry the most." Naoi responds, studying the man closely. Ziavri recieves a small nod, her acknowledgement, but nothing more. "You know why I am here, don't you?" She leans back in her chair, inhaling deeply. "Or is it as much a surprise to you, Taran, as it is for me?" "You are here to interrogate me," says Taran calmly. "And then to judge me, and to report that judgment to your sisters." The cup is raised to his lips, another sip is taken. Calm, blank. "You are here because I asked for you." "That is right." Naoi responds, "You refused to speak with Celeste, for your own reasons, and they... are yours." The woman quiets for a moment, "I was told you used Shadow-Magic to create a tower, outside the Great Aegis, outside what was once your home, far from both. You did it because it was easier and safer, and that is WRONG, but I have a bias on this that cannot be denied. I... have learned much, and I will use that. I will never spare you, as I suspect you think Celeste would, if I truely deemed you mad. That Tower, it has become your life, your home, your everything? What does it signify to you?" Naoi and Taran sit at a table, Ordinator and Mage, Interrogator and Interrogatee. They each play their part, as one would expect, and so far... peacefully. Taran raises the cup to his lips, sips. "Define 'create'," he says quietly. "And....no. I do not know whether Celeste would be quick to forgive or to condemn, and I do not care. Whatever her choice, many would suspect a reason other than an interest in justice motivated her. I do not want to go through this only to have to do it again because no one believes it." Muri enters the tavern, pack on her back and looks around the tavern. Scanning several faces, she notices Naoi and Taran, raising a hand in their direction as greeting. She moves toward them with apparent intent, smiling to both. "G'eve, Missus," she says. "Messer. Ah'm sorry t'interrupts, but 'as ye seen Missus Zia 'bouts? Ah thought mayhaps she come fer sup' but Ah don' seen 'er now." She tilts 'er head. "So logical, and so callous... Is it that, or is it bitterness that she spurned you once, when your heart she gently cradled to her breast?" Naoi responds, leaning back into her chair. "Did you or did you not use your magic in building the Tower, Taran. Do not play this game with me. You are far more clever then I am, but I am patient enough to ease the divide between us by walloping you until you answer truthfully. Muri's interruption recieves a very distracted, "She just stepped out. Good luck." Taran slants a look at Naoi. "If you act like a Scourge, my dear, I will treat you like one," he says, still in that quiet tone. "Judge against me and I will stand still for you to kill me. Until then, play nice. The question was valid. The city you sit in was created with Shadow, from nothing. As Light's Reach was created with Light from nothing." Muri nods to Naoi. "Me thanks, Missus," she says, casting a worried glance Taran's way, she turns and leaves once more. "I will take that as your admission that it was." Naoi responds, smoothly. "Now, please, my other question? What does that building signify to you?" Taran shakes his head. "It was not. Shadow was used to move quite ordinary - but extremely heavy - stone, and timber beams, to upper storeys. No more." "You used it, it assisted, it is A PART of it's history now, Taran. That you did not rise it from the ground does not mean it is not tainted with that dark gift. This place is tainted, and it is loved. I am wise enough, and experienced JUST enough, to realize that. It has DONE good, it has been REDEEMED for it's horrendous birth. It is balanced. What does your home offer?" "Sanctuary," says Taran. "For myself, for wildlanders. A watchtower over that part of the world. At the end of its life, a beacon of warning that will serve even if the enchantment of the Aria should fade." "There is honor in offering sanctuary, there is." Naoi says, nodding. "What do you mean by the a beacon of warning?" "As you climb the height that my home is built on, you find a view of the east that can only be matched by standing atop the northeastern Aegis," says Taran calmly. "A Shadow lives in the east. One that even bright sun does not dispel. I have seen, from my hilltop as we built, wildling tribes at times, traveling to the east. So, yes. We built quickly. At the top of my tower, instead of rooms I built a fire-height. I keep a flame burning there always. If that shadow in the east should ever move west, come toward us, toward Fastheld, I will light the beacon. The height will let Tshepsi see the fire from the Tempest Spire. And the guards on the Aegis wall will see it as well." "Would you allow Fastheld to claim this home, all this hard work. With you, as master of the Tower, but with the realization that it is not just for you that it now stands?" Naoi responds. "Or is it just for Crown's Refuge, my friend, that this generous gift to the world... is extended too? For you know better then I do, in it's creation, your soul has decayed." "I will let none claim my home," says Taran simply. "It is my *home*. That was, rather, the point of *building* it so. To have a place of my own." "Fair enough. Why is it so few know where it is? Why is it a sanctuary, and these are your words, for 'Wildlanders and Yourself'." Naoi says. "One could argue that, yes, it is unlikely a Freelander would travel that way, and yes, perhaps it is just a slip, but... there is hate brimming underneath your charming exterior, I think. Or, a deepset bitterness." She leans forward. "Will you extend me the offer to see your home, Taran?" Taran shakes his head. "No. I meant what I said; it is for wildlanders, and for myself. Not all were pleased to lose their independence here to Fastheld. My home has no weapons of war beyond what one man might carry. No siege engines, no fortifications. It is one tower, not a village or a city...nothing like what they have lost. But I was the last Archon and I can offer my home." The cup is raised, he sips and lowers it. "The height was an agreed on sanctuary before I came there. Partway up is a dell; I made a waystation there for whoever might come. A cabin, with bed and bath, stabling for horses. It stands empty, usually, but I maintain it. I claimed only the summit for myself." "So, you would bar me then?" Naoi responds. "Ziavri has been there, has she not? Is she a Wildlander, Taran?" Is there... humour somewhere? It is possible, but the mask is strong. "I... don't believe she is? What is this great Shadow you speak of? This... Tide of Darkness in the east, just beyond your sight." Taran smiles slightly. "Ziavri has made most of the furnishings for my home. She has a love of lore, and new sights. So I offered her time as a guest in my home. But you would not need to see the summit to see the shadow in the east. From the eastern face of the height you should be able to see it." "Stop being so defensive, I have accepted that you will not show me this wonderful home you have traded your comfort in this land, and perhaps your soul for." Naoi says, leaning back in her chair and studying the man, her right hand rising to her mouth and pinching her lower lip in thought. "You never did say what the tower means to you. You explained the ideal, but it is more then that, I think. Will you share, Taran?" Taran tilts his head. "Comfort?" he asks mildly. "Luxury paid for with bowing and scraping to men and women....I cannot respect, and who have no respect for me." He sits up, the legs of his chair finally resting all four on the floor, and sets his cup on the table. "Do you know what my particular shadow-curse is, my dear?" "Pride?" Naoi says with a crooked smile. Ah, but the mask breaks. Taran looks Naoi right in the eyes, and says calmly, "I read minds. I hear thoughts. I feel what others feel. And if you think that is not a curse...then you are certainly not thinking about it very hard." "What am I thinking right now?" Naoi asks, one eyebrow arching. "Well, Taran? Spit it out. What am I thinking?" Taran studies the ordinator intently, and then nods. "You defend yourself quite well, sister of the light. If everyone did that I would have a much easier life. But I can still feel your fear." He settles back again, with his tea, eyes closed. "I told the wrong person once, about it. The Mark was branded onto my cheek. The fear, revulsion...the hate was enough to make me sick. For days...maybe weeks...I was in a daze from it. I never have managed to quite feel human again." His tone turns gently musing as he regards his tea. "I would talk to nobles...and feel how much less than human they felt I was. How incapable of thought or reason, as if I were a talking sheep. I walk the streets of Fastheld as a known mage who surrendered his citizenship and the judgment of the crowd is right with me. My tower is my *sanctuary*, sister of the light. Where there are none but friends and wide open sky, I live and I do not have to pretend not to hear the blast of fear, of wrath, of pity...I am myself and the senses simply serve to keep me from being eaten by Wildlings. At last something I cannot regret." The chair scrapes back hard, the sound perhaps striking in it's intensity. The Ordinator moves quickly, attempting to bypass the table by simply leaping forward and sliding across to his side. If she is fast enough, she goes to clench the man by his collar, and gain an advantage before he can rise to his full height and simply neuter her by leverage alone. Taran doesn't react to this blur of motion in the manner that might be expected. Neither surprised nor alarmed, he is grabbed without resistance. "As you judge, strike without hesitation," is all he says. "Only the certain may know faith, Mage." Naoi says, jerking the man forward, gray eyes lit with inner fire. Her breath can be felt, they are so close. "Was that active, was that a choice, Taran? The truth!" Even with his passive acceptance, she gives a rough shake, as if THAT will assure that she gets what she wants. Taran does react to being shaken, though not well enough to stop it happening. Giving her a look somewhat between irritated and disappointed, he says, "You asked. Of course it was." Naoi releases her grip, both hands rising, all gentleness now. They go to capture Taran's face between them, and leans forward, to kiss the man's cheek. "I have my judgment, Taran. You are strong, made of iron. When my turn comes, whatever trials I may face, I wish I can be as brave. A challenge rose in you the need to try, to open yourself so to its use. You won nothing with that. There was no honor. Just the invasion of my privacy and the decay of your soul. Relent, and join me, or refuse, and risk the hounds and all that you have done go to waste." Taran shakes his head. "I proved my words honest. By what do you mean, 'join you'?" "There is a place, where you may be redeemed. I suspect, should I speak the name, what your answer would be." Naoi says. "Night's Edge has.. one guest already, of your gift, who now is rehabilatating for his return." Taran shakes his head. "You know I cannot. Whatever she felt for me, I loved her enough to surrender everything else. I surrendered citizenship to climb ladders to try and be worthy to stand at her side. I brought mages I called friends to their deaths on her judgment that they were fallen. I held the sword of the Prince in my hand and would have endured the tests of six duchies for her. She chose what she has, instead. No. I cannot go with you. I would prefer that we simply walk out of the front gate here, and I would stand still as you cut my throat. At least that knife will only cut once." "Oh, you proud stubborn fool." Naoi says, gray eyes hardening. Not with anger, not with fear, but with firm resolve. "I am sorry, Taran. I do not know what else I can offer you." The lips thin, and she drops a hand. "Give me your knife, and meet me outside this city's gate." Taran does so, drawing the kukri from his belt and handing it over. "No. I know my limitations. That is all." And with that he gets to his feet, heading to the door. Naoi watches the man rise to his feet, quiet, Kukri in hand. Then, the Ordinator rises, and follows the Mage.
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