Mistake
Wherein Tomlyn makes a simple mistake with fateful consequences.
Timeline: Rebellion
Tomlyn whistled a light tune as he left Ephraim's quarters, the basket of freshly baked rolls and morning pasties just a bit lighter on his arm. He rounded the corner and saw a woman in servant's skirts carefully carrying a tray with a teapot, two cups and saucers, and some scones.
"Yo, Mer!" Tomlyn called.
Merrida Dursk jumped, the tea cups rolling at her sudden jolt. "Oh, no, no, no, no!" she yelped, trying to steady the tray. The tea cups fortunately settled, and she sighed as Tomlyn came up to her.
Merrida's brown eyes narrowed into a glare, a poor imitation of her Mistress. She was as neat and prim as ever—not a black hair out of place in her tightly braided up-do, nor a single wrinkle in her pressed blouse.
He grinned at her. "Want a roll? Baked 'em fresh myself." He held up the basket as he spoke, but she turned her back on him and stalked forward.
"Those are for the Mistress," Merrida replied stiffly and continued walking ahead of him.
He grinned and walked up next to her, matching her cadence easily. "Come on, Mer. They're good this morning. I got them juuuust right."
"That is for my Mistress to decide," she snipped.
Ah, Merrida. He didn't know why she disliked him so much, but he heard from Bertrand it has something to do with: "being lazy, taking advantage of Mistress Dawnwood's good graces, being far too casual with His Highness, and not taking his job seriously in any capacity."
It wasn't like Merrida actually saw him at work, but if he really was lazy, well, Tomlyn would be long dead. Still, it was fun to let her be annoyed with him and bother her, so he didn't try to reconcile his image.
He whistled again as they walked the rest of the way towards Sylf's rooms and when they neared the door, Tomlyn deftly dashed ahead, opening the door.
"After you," he grinned.
"You're supposed to knock first!" Merrida hissed, her brows knitted together in annoyance.
"It's fine, just come in," Sylf's voice called.
Tomlyn made a show of bowing while gesturing for Merrida to enter first. She did, her nose stuck up in the air. Grinning, Tomlyn closed the door behind him and made his way to his usual spot on the couch.
Sylf's quarters were smaller than most of the rooms of other high ranking officials. She preferred rooms with clear sight-lines so instead of a bedroom and antechamber, her office and bed were all in the same space, separated by a large partition. The large partition hiding her bed, powder station, and dressers was already up.
Her office area was neatly organized and arranged, in typical Sylf fashion. There was a sitting area arranged near the fireplace towards the middle of the room, with a couch, small table, and two arm chairs. Sylf's desk was towards the back of the room, positioned so the large window was behind her. It also obfuscated the secret passage leading out of her room and to the underground tunnels beneath the palace, some of which led out of the grounds.
Tomlyn set the basket on the table and plopped down on the couch, lazily kicking his legs up so he spanned the entirety of the furniture. From the couch, he had a perfect view of Sylf behind her desk. She was already dressed for the day in her usual livery, her dark hair in its sharp, high ponytail. Today, it seemed she settled on an abalone and pearl combination for her choice of jewelry, plundered from the last time Tomlyn was in Dent. And, as usual, she wore his large, oval, black diamond ring on her left hand.
Merrida set the tea set down on Sylf's desk, and the elf set aside her papers to begin pouring the hot water into the tea cups while Merrida busied herself organizing the new memos and business of the day. Tomlyn took the opportunity to move the basket to Sylf's desk. She inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma, before selecting a cheese pastry. She took a bite and hummed appreciatively.
"They're good, right?" He asked.
"You've definitely gotten better at this," Sylf said before taking another bite. Merrida was pulling one of the arm chairs over to the desk and Sylf gestured to her. "Merrida, have some of these. They're delicious."
"Thank you, Mistress," she said politely. Merrida went for the sweet roll, just like Tomlyn knew she would. He could tell she enjoyed it even though she tried not to let it show. Sylf set one of the tea cups in front of Merrida and then took her own cup and saucer, relaxing back into her large leather chair.
Once Merrida finished her roll and had a sip of tea, the business of the day began. Tomlyn gave his report, talking about their hounds and pups outside of city and an update on their efforts to track the Silver Thread. Then Sylf gave an update on the city—apparently the gangs were in upheaval again but that was nothing out of the ordinary. Merrida went last, reporting about Ephraim's palace, though it was mostly rumors and gossip.
"Lastly, I confirmed that," Merrida paused, hesitant. She glanced at Sylf nervously but Sylf gestured for her to continue. "Marquess Van Eek will be bringing his daughter, Caterina, to His Highness' summer court."
At that Tomlyn, frowned. "Van Eek? He hasn't wanted anything to do with E. for years. And now he wants to play nice?"
Sylf inclined her head to Merrida. "What do you think?"
"W-well," Merrida stammered. She glanced nervously at Sylf again. "Lady Caterina debuted into society earlier this year, so she is now at an appropriate marriageable age. Additionally, it is rumored that Lady Caterina is quite fetching and is of a similar disposition to His Highness. She also has a love for flower arranging. So, considering how His Highness has been struggling to win over the Van Eek, he may use a marriage to Caterina as a way to appease High Highness, but on the Marquess' terms."
"Exactly," Sylf said. If Sylf was bothered by the news, then she certainly didn't show it. "I expect you to find out more information on Caterina Van Eek."
"Yes, of course, Mistress," Merrida said quickly, dropping her eyes. Tomlyn didn't know what the fuss was about. Ephraim made a show of flaunting his bachelor status, so possible marriages weren't uncommon. None of them had stuck yet and Tomlyn didn't see any reason why this Caterina would any more than the others. Especially not with Sylf around.
They moved into Sylf's schedule for the day, Merrida reciting the places and times Sylf needed to be throughout the palace. When Tomlyn was between missions in the palace he usually spent his time in the kitchens helping Lenore or accompanying Sylf if she needed him. Occasionally he got some free time with Ephraim. Today was more of the usual—the daily Council Meeting, a meeting with the Grand Duke to go over Ephraim's security detail for his summer chateau, afternoon tea with Ephraim was moved up to lunch, and—
"His Highness requested that I block off time after your lunch and give you this." Merrida produced a golden envelope. She passed it to Sylf, who took it frowning.
"Hey, Sylf, toss me a roll," Tomlyn called. Merrida shot him a dirty look, but Sylf tossed him the roll anyway, without glancing away from the envelope's contents. Tomlyn bit into the soft, delicious bread and gave Merrida a smug grin.
"It's a thank you for 'all of my hard work'," Sylf announced. "Dominique Alexander is bringing fabrics to the palace this afternoon and is fitting the ladies in Ephraim's inner circle with new wardrobes for the summer."
Merrida lit up, her face bursting with excitement. "Dominique Alexander?! They're only the most sought after gown designer right now!" As if catching herself, Merrida cleared her throat and straightened into a stiff posture. "Not that I care or anything."
Sylf's lips quirked into an amused smirk. "Merrida, fetch the nicer stationary so I can write a reply."
Merrida quickly got up and darted past Tomlyn to one of the dressers next to the fireplace. Sylf caught Tomlyn's eye and he returned her amused smirk with a grin. When Merrida brought the stationary, Sylf talked as she wrote.
"Make sure to clear your schedule as well, Merrida. I want you to pick out some things for yourself too."
"Oh!" Merrida squealed. "I-I couldn't possibly-"
"You said it yourself, Dominique Alexander is a gown designer. I don't wear gowns."
"Oh, yes, of course, Mistress," she said quickly.
"In addition, I'm not planning on being at the summer court for the entire duration." Sylf cast a quick glance to Tomlyn but he wasn't sure why. There wasn't anything going on that he knew of.
"And so," Sylf continued, "I'd like you to travel to the chateau in Kassandra's retinue. With the summer balls, it will be the perfect test for you. By the time I arrive, I expect you to have learned everything about anyone of interest, in addition to Caterina Van Eek."
Merrida breathed in deeply, her chest puffing out a little. "Yes, Mistress. I won't let you down."
Sylf took a few moments to finish the thank you note and handed it to Merrida and added, "Besides, I think we all deserve a little fun."
"Yes, Mistress! Thank you, Mistress!" Merrida gushed, the giddy excitement taking over her again. Then she paused. "What will you be doing instead of going to the chateau?"
Sylf's gaze slid over to Tomlyn again. Was there something he was forgetting? An anniversary of some kind? Something he was supposed to do? Shit, he couldn't remember.
"It's personal," she said. Though her voice was still cool, it was a touch softer.
"I see, Mistress," Merrida said, without missing a beat. She curtsied deeply. "I'll bring this to His Highness right away and see you at the Council Meeting in an hour."
The girl all but skipped out of the room, shutting the door quickly behind her. Sylf finished her tea and rose from her desk. Tomlyn watched the swaying of her hips, perfectly outlined in her fitted trousers, as she moved towards him. He raised his boots so she could sit at the end of the couch, intending for his boots to rest in her lap, but she swatted them away.
"Fine, fine," he said begrudgingly. He swiveled his legs off the couch and sat up, kicking his boots up on the table instead. Sylf settled next to him, her hands neatly folded in her lap.
"You know," he said casually. "I'm glad you don't like gowns. It would be a crime to hide your legs under skirts."
Normally Sylf would roll her eyes, but, instead, she gave him a small smirk. "I know."
He grinned at her and she held his gaze in her peridot eyes. He was lucky she was in a good mood, considering he was about to ruin it.
"Look, I'm just going to come clean. Whatever it is you keep looking at me for, I totally forgot and can't remember. At all."
Sylf chuckled, amused. "That's because I haven't told you yet."
Tomlyn audibly sighed. "Good, because I did not feel like getting kicked off of this very fine couch considering I am very fine company this morning." At that, she did roll her eyes. He grinned. "So, what's the job?"
"No job," she said. She shifted so she was pressed against him. Tomlyn lifted his arm, and she moved closer so his arm was wrapped around her shoulder. She raised her left hand with the black diamond ring and began to toy with the seam of his course shirt along the open V in the center of his chest. Her warm fingers grazed his skin and he wondered, now that Merrida had vacated the room, if he could convince Sylf to play with him a bit more this morning.
"I was thinking," Sylf started, "That it would be nice to take a vacation when the court moves. Just the two of us."
That's not what Tomlyn was expecting. "Vacation? Where?"
"I was thinking maybe we could go up North. To the Fingers?" She glanced away and he could see her purple cheeks darken. Blushing? Since when did Sylf blush?
"The Fingers? Isn't that a bit far?" he asked, making sure to keep a casual tone.
"I thought it would be a nice change of pace. The Fingers can be nice."
"Since when is going to an area with a bunch of stuck-up, mostly reclusive elves nice?"
"Says the drow."
"Hey, no one ever suggests going to the Underdark for vacation. Instead people suggest, you know, the coast?"
"The Fingers has really nice forests," She pressed. "Crystal clear lakes, beautiful waterfalls."
"Sylf, I'm a city boy. Nature gives me hives."
"Okay, but, don't you…want to visit the Unsurmountable Mount?"
"Uh, visit a mountain that's literally unclimbable? You're really doing a great job selling this vacation." Tomlyn frowned at her. "What's this really about?"
Sylf sighed. "I was just thinking that, well, we're almost 300 so maybe…" she trailed off and he could feel the tension in her fingers as they pressed into him. "Look, we both know that if things don't go our way in the royal court by the next spring solstice, Ephraim is going to call his banners and declare war. This may be our last chance to do anything for ourselves."
"Okay, but, in that case, wouldn't you rather go to the chateau with E.'s summer court? There's going to be a ton of parties, and I'm sure E. has something special planned for you."
Sylf's lips pressed together tightly. "I'm not talking about Ephraim. I'm talking about us."
There was something in her voice that made the old tingle in his mind begin to twitch. There was something going on here, something she was blatantly not telling him, but he wasn't sure what.
"I'll see you at the chateau. What's the big deal?"
She sighed, annoyed. "We're always working. Don't you just want to drink, and gamble, and dance, and fuck without worrying about anything else for a bit?"
He grinned at her. "So, you do like dancing with me."
She scowled at him. "You know how I feel about dancing, and that's besides the point." Her scowl fell as her eyes cast down to her hand, the ring. "Let's do something for us." There was a note of pleading in her voice, and Tomlyn didn't like it. Something about all of this was off. Damn. He was really looking forward to that play time on the couch.
He lifted his arm from around her, pulling her fingers away from his chest, and rose from the couch. "Look, Sylf, I don't think—"
She rose sharply and grabbed his arm. "Just, consider it. Won't you?"
Tomlyn sighed. "Alright, alright. I'll think about it." She released his arm, but she looked apprehensive. That only confirmed his suspicions—something was definitely wrong. Tomlyn didn't waste time leaving. He moved past her, grabbed the basked with a few of the baked goods still inside, and left her room.
Instead of heading back to the kitchens, he made his way to the library. The older, thin human at the main desk looked at him with a sneer as he approached.
"This library is not for servants," he sniffed.
Tomlyn looked down. Oh, he still looked like a kitchen boy. Whoops. He leaned over the desk, resting his arm across the length and leaned in. In a low, but cordial tone he said,
"Look, Marius, I know how I'm dressed but I'm in Mistress Dawnwood's service. She sent me here specifically to do some research and wants a report back ASAP."
The librarian's frown deepened. "You think I'm fool enough to fall for that? Get out of here or I will call the guards."
Tomlyn sighed dramatically, slowly pulling away from the desk. "And if you did that, I'd have to call for Mistress Dawnwood. And then she'd come here." Tomlyn made a show of eying the librarian knowingly. "You do know how she feels about people who waste her time, right?"
Marius paled and drew back a bit. "What was it that you said you needed, sir?"
"Information on the elves in the Fingers. Cultural stuff. Don't know exactly what I'm looking for yet, though."
"Ah, well, I can get you started with a basic primer. If you'll follow me." Marius gestured for Tomlyn to follow and the librarian led him to a set of shelves on elven culture, pulled out a few tomes, and suggested a few more before leaving Tomlyn to his own devices.
Tomlyn nestled himself on the floor leaning against a shelf, his legs extended and crossed at the ankles against the opposite shelf. He ate a delicious cheese pastry while he slowly flipped through the recommended tomes. In his 35 collective years of knowing Sylf, there was very little he actually knew about where she came from. During the planning session a few months ago, she mentioned she wanted to be a Sentinel, but she wasn't allowed to progress in her ranger training. Hmm… Based on the primer of all four cities, she definitely wasn't from Surshonae, considering she wasn't all fae like, and probably not Selbrod because her magic was nil. That left Bragdill and Dratilia.
Tomlyn sorted the other books by city and considered which one to start with. If he was going by her purple skin tone alone, probably Bragdill, but that may not mean much. Still, better start with the obvious choice. He continued eating as he read, looking for anything to do with 300 or century celebrations. It turned out that Bragdillians did celebrate their births on their century marker in various ways, but Sylf wouldn't be 300 for at least another decade. So why was 300 important now?
He flipped ahead past the section on courtship to religion. Sylf wasn't religious at all, but it didn't hurt to check. But, like he anticipated, that yielded no results. What was he missing? Frowning, he flipped back in the book to the section on courtship and marriage. He hesitated before starting to read, though he wasn't quite sure why. Still, he forced himself to read, for due diligence's sake. He wasn't finding anything remarkable, for surface elves anyway, and he was about to close the book and move on when a particular passage jumped out at him:
The first step in formalizing a partnership is through the presentation of each partner to both families, announcing the partnership. Among commoners, this is usually a more informal occasion and typically celebrated in a large dinner. Among nobles, the presentation is a formal event and each house tends to have their own ritual for the recognition of the partnership. In many cases, this can be compared to human betrothals.
Tomlyn stared at words on the page and then read it again. He set the book aside, still open to the page he was on, frowning. What did this have to do with being 300? Maybe that they were both getting older? But it wasn't that much older, was it?
Okay, time-out. What did he know for sure? That Sylf wanted to go to the Fingers, on "vacation." That she wanted to spend some leisure time away from Ephraim's court. And that she wanted to go with him, and just him. The two of them, alone.
He supposed that Sylf didn't have to be from the Fingers. Faseari was another potential option, given its location in the Great Thatch. But if she wasn't from the Fingers, why go up there at all? She didn't give a single good justification for why either of them should make the trip up. Not to mention she was incredibly cryptic about the whole thing.
He sighed, shutting his eyes tightly and rubbing his temples. If he was right and Sylf was from Bragdill, it wasn't an unreasonable assumption that she did want him to meet her family. And the reason why should be cryptic about it because she was never talked about anything regarding her family or her upbringing, so, she was likely uncomfortable just voicing it outright. And if all of that was true then…
Tomlyn felt an anxiousness in him begin to swirl. He didn't know what to do with this information. He had nothing to offer, no wealth or status or leverage to offer her or her family. Sure she was his Shadow and they were partners in crime, literally, but even now he was her subordinate. While Tomlyn was good at what he did, he always knew when it came to handling and peddling information, Sylf was better.
It should be Ephraim going to the Fingers with her. Anyone close to the Prince could see the way he looked at Sylf: the way he brightened when she entered a room, or his soft, longing gaze as she left. Tomlyn also knew that the two had grown considerably closer over the past year or so, occasionally even sharing a kiss or two. It didn't bother him, really. In fact, the two of them made a lot of sense.
They got along well, and they both enjoyed reading. Goddess help Tomlyn if he had to sit in on one of their "book club" sessions again. Not to mention Sylf was in a strong position of authority within Ephraim's court and well respected, despite being mostly feared. Then there was the wealth she was accumulating, all on her own accord. All in all, it was only a matter of time before Ephraim gave her a title.
Tomlyn leaned his head back against the books behind him and closed his eyes. He couldn't go with Sylf to the Fingers, it was out of the question.
The anxiety in him continued to fester as he shoved the texts to the side and made his way out of the library, leaving the remaining pastries for Marius. Checking his pocket watch, he made his way towards the gardens. He found Sylf and Merrida chatting by the doors leading out to the gardens just in time.
He approached them casually, despite his nervousness. This was about to be a very awkward conversation. Best to rip the bandage off quickly. When he reached Sylf, Merrida was already mid-curtsy and then was off, leaving the two of them alone. Well, mostly alone, with the guards around and all.
"Hey, do you have a minute before you go chat with E.?"
Sylf inclined her head outside, and they walked slowly down the winding path that led to the secluded location Sylf and Ephraim shared tea and discussed more sensitive information.
"I did some research on the Fingers, and I don't think it's a good idea." There it was said. He should have felt better about it, like a weight lifting, but instead, he felt the opposite. Why was that?
"Research?" Sylf asked, frowning. "What kind of research?"
"You know, things to do, places to see," he lied. "No one recommends seeing the Unsurmountable Mount."
"It is kind of shit," she admitted. There was no suspicion in her voice or face, and Tomlyn felt a twinge of guilt. She believed him completely and fully, without question. His Shadow. The anxiousness in him grew. He was the better liar, but she was his Shadow and she knew him through and through. She was going to call him out on his lie any moment now.
Sylf stopped and turned to him, a light smirk playing on her lips. "Let's go to the coast instead. To Dent! There are pirates over there."
Despite knowing he had to say no to her, he couldn't help but grin and add, "We'd make great pirates."
"Mmm, I think you'd make a great Captain."
"Me?" he asked surprised. "If anything it would be you." He couldn't picture being in charge of anything, especially not with Sylf around.
"Oh, it would definitely be you. You would win everyone to your side with your fast talking swagger and love of drinking, gambling, and sea shanties."
"So, then, that would make you my First Mate?"
"Naturally," she snorted. "Someone has to make sure you actually do the work of plundering instead of singing and drinking all day."
At that he laughed. Now it was coming into picture. He could see himself standing at the wheel of a large ship with Sylf barking orders to a crew, Sylf kicking him awake after a night full of drinking, and then Sylf charting their course with him in his cabin, which would inevitably lead to Sylf in his bed as the ship rocked gently back and forth through the night.
"It sounds nice," he replied, still smiling from his laughter. She returned his smile, and Tomlyn felt his breath stop. She was pure radiance, just exuding a warmth and softness that was more rare, more valuable than any treasure he'd ever known. His hand cupped her face, and he wanted to take some of that warmth with him, bottle it, and tuck it away where only he could find it.
She stepped closer to him, the black diamond on her hand glittering in the sun as she pressed her palms against his chest. "To the coast, then?" she asked, her voice full of eagerness and…hope.
At her words, he felt his senses return. He longed to say yes, but he had nothing to offer her. Hell, he didn't actually have any money to go on vacation—he only kept enough for his missions, his usual tithe, basic needs, and just enough to gamble at a tavern every so often. He wanted to go, he truly did, but it just wasn't his place.
Tomlyn reluctantly dropped his hand from her cheek and stepped back from her, and he watched her perfect visage slowly crumble into confusion and disbelief. Then, pain. He looked away, diverting his gaze to the ground.
"I, uh, I still think you should go to the chateau instead. E. needs you there." Each word was a weight in him, a wrongness. He didn't understand. This was the right thing to do. It was better for her this way.
Sylf was quiet next to him, and he couldn't bring himself to look at her. Desperate to fill the silence between them, he continued, "You can't leave Mer to keep track of everything going down at court by herself. She's not ready yet. And Van Eek is tricky business; E. is going to need all the help he can get."
"Merrida will be fine. I wouldn't have asked her to do that work if I didn't think she could handle it," Sylf snapped.
Tomlyn ran his hand through his hair, finally looking up into her frustrated visage. "Sylf, listen, you and I both know that you belong by E.'s side. I know how close you two have grown and—"
She cut him off and snapped, "Why does everything have to be about him? Why can't something be about us?"
"Because he's the most important person here."
"You mean, he's the most important person to you." Her words were harsh and bitter. Angry, even. Tomlyn didn't understand why, but he responded without hesitation,
"Well, yeah. Of course he is. Why wouldn't he be?"
Sylf looked at him pained, a sudden longing striking across her features. Her left hand, and the black diamond, raised a bit, as though she wanted to reach out to him. But, then, she dropped her hand and it fell limply to her side.
"I see." Her voice was cold and flat, so opposite of the warmth and excitement from just moments before. He opened his mouth to say something, but then her face settled into her mask, a blank expression he hadn't seen since he knew her as Atrea Silverleaf. It was cold and devoid of any of the warmth she just held, as if such warmth was foreign to her body altogether.
"Sylf," he began, reaching for her cheek, but she jerked her head away. He dropped his hand and sighed.
They stood there, stuck in the hellish silence with both of them refusing to move or speak. Tomlyn didn't know what to do, but he knew something was deeply wrong, beyond her usual reaction when he made her mad. He could feel it in the air, and the way she refused to look at him. She wasn't feisty or fiery or cool and arrogant, like he expected. She just seemed… defeated. Empty.
There was a rustling behind them and sure enough, Ephraim came into view. The Prince's handsome face lit up at the sight of them, his smile reaching up to his warm golden eyes. Somehow, Ephraim was a brief respite from the sudden chasm Tomlyn felt between him and Sylf.
"Oh, Tommy! Are you joining us today?"
"Nah," he replied, turning away from Sylf and walking towards his Prince. "I just had to settle something with Sylf beforehand." At that, he heard the swivel of her feet. Casting a glance back, he saw her stalk away and disappear along the path.
Ephraim frowned. "Is everything alright?"
"Yeah, she'll just be mad at me for awhile. Hey, so, is it only the ladies who get new clothes?"
Ephraim grinned. "I'm getting fitted this afternoon in my quarters. Want to come? I can sneak you a fitting too, but don't tell my Uncle."
"Hah, never! I'll see you there," Tomlyn said with a wink.
As Tomlyn strode away the weight in him remained. He wasn't sure why. He knew he did the right thing, even if it made Sylf mad at him now. Once she got her new clothes and was whisked away to the intrigue of the summer chateau, she would see how much happier she was there. Sylf would be performing her duties and courting the possibility of real romance, instead of being stuck at the coast wasting her time with him. She would see, Tomlyn was sure.
~*0*~
Tomlyn strolled through the gardens towards where he was told Sylf would be. He arrived far later than he intended to the summer court, about halfway though the duration of the court's stay. He was supposed to return a few weeks ago, but he picked up a good lead and had to investigate.
He whistled a tune, anticipation building in him. He was excited to see Sylf and wondered if she had acquired any new lace unmentionables with her summer wardrobe. He usually had one or two memories of her and Ephraim that he held onto when he was working, sometimes as a distraction, other times a comfort. This last mission was exhausting, but her radiant glow, and the silly dream of the two of them on the high seas, got him through. He was definitely looking forward to some new memories, though. Particularly if they involved lace.
He made his way to the little clearing and paused just to take her in. Sylf was holding a book in her lap, reading quietly while Merrida sat adjacent to her, doing some needlework. Instead of being in her usual livery—the black jacket and gray trousers—Sylf wore a light yellow fabric that swayed lightly in the breeze. On anyone else, it might have been a dress, but instead the fabric was loosely cinched at her waist and split into large, billowing pants. He also appreciated that the fabric clung around her shoulders, exposing her shoulders and her neck rather exquisitely.
Eager, he stepped out into the siting area. Merrida looked up at him and glared.
"Hey Mer, long time no see. Mind giving me and the Mistress a minute?" He winked at her, but Merrida's glare persisted. It was getting better, but not quite as good as Sylf's.
"She stays," Sylf said, her voice cool.
Disappointment welled in him. Sylf was still angry with him, which he didn't expect. Her grudges from their spats never lasted this long.
She looked up from the book, her visage hard and controlled. He just stared at her, confused. He wanted to reach over to her, to touch her hand, to—
Her hand. Her left hand, resting on the open page was bare. His black diamond ring was missing. It wasn't as though she was devoid of other jewels, though. Around her neck was a simple diamond pendant, with matching earrings. She acquired the glittering white diamonds while on a tricky heist, and he remembered how she proudly revealed them to him while in her claw-foot tub in the row house. Mmm that was a nice night indeed.
So, Sylf was wearing jewels. Just not the one she always wore. The one that, when he gave it to her so many years ago, he slipped on her hand to the glow of her rare, radiant smile. The one that, once she started working for Ephraim as his Spy Mistress, she never took off. Not once. Until now.
"Oh. Um, alright. Do you want me to give my report now or should I come back?" He asked. He wished she would send him away. He felt like his whole world was tilting, as though he'd been stabbed but he didn't know it and he was still in the brief limbo where his body was numb from shock. You know, the part right before the screaming pain set in.
"Now is fine," Sylf replied. She closed the book and looked up at him expectantly. "Let's do it in the cant. Merrida needs practice," She added, in the melodic, sing-song of the thieves cant.
Tomlyn pulled out his worn notebook and opened his scrawlings, giving his report in the rhythm of the cant. As he read off the page, his mind began to drift. He recalled a time he ran into Sylf on a job, back when he only knew her as Atrea. They were both in disguise, sent there by different clients, and were after the same item.
Despite their disguises, he recognized her instantly. How could he forget those marvelous sharp eyes from the tavern the previous night? He went up to her and whispered in her ear, the cant melodic and taunting, "Next time we gamble, we play with dice instead of cards, A."
She merely smirked and whispered back, "I'd focus on the prize at hand, else you'll lose and fail again, McDanna."
But he did fail the job, though not because of Sylf. Instead, another hired thief got caught, and he and Sylf ended up working together to escape undetected. And the next time they met in the tavern, they played dice and he bet her a dance and won. Frustrated they both failed with nothing to show their clients, they ended up dancing until the early morning. When they started, all he could think about was how mad he was about the job, the lost money, the angry gang. By the wee hours of the morning with the barkeep throwing them out, all he could think about was how he wasn't ready for the night to end.
Goddess, he ached to hold her. To toss this stupid notebook aside and pull her into his arms. To feel her warm, perfect, body against his, and make up a tune and twirl her around. She always moved effortlessly in his arms, as though she was made for it: graceful and nimble, she easily followed his lead without hesitation or misstep.
He didn't move. He finished his report, and the cant, normally so lively in his ears, sounded dull and lifeless.
"We're closing in on the Silver Thread. Good," Sylf sounded pleased. Tomlyn perked up, hopeful that his success would melt her cold and distanced demeanor.
"Merrida, catch Tomlyn up on affairs at the summer court," Sylf instructed, still in the cant. Merrida began speaking, her cant still a bit clunky, but it was significantly better than the last time Tomlyn heard it.
Apparently Caterina Van Eek had no interest in marrying Ephraim and instead hoped to use him to get out of her father's tight grip, though they were reportedly friendly with each other. There were some other odds and ends, but nothing else that really mattered.
When she finished, Tomlyn waited hesitantly. Sylf still sat tall and straight, almost like a noblewoman. No, just like a noblewoman. How had he not seen how naturally elegance and refinement came to her? Was it the clothes? Or…did he just not know her like he thought?
It felt jarring. There was no way the woman sitting before him, cold and poised, would ever be a pirate, let alone his First Mate. He had liked the idea of being in charge of something for the first time, and he ran with the dream. But the woman sitting before him was not the woman in his dreams. He hated it. He hated this, whatever this was.
"Your cant is better, but you need more practice," Sylf said in Common. She turned her cool gaze towards him. "Tomlyn, I want you to take Merrida under your wing for the next week or so. Get her out and about in town. She's still too stiff."
Merrida shot to her feet. "Mistress you can't! Not after—" Merrida clamped a hand over her mouth, clearly not meaning to protest so strongly, but her other hand clenched into a fist. Odd.
"Wow, didn't know you disliked me that much, Mer," Tomlyn joked loosely. "Don't worry, I'll show you a good time." He winked at her, but she turned to him and a cold weight dropped in his gut. There was real, genuine rage in her glare.
"You will because Tomlyn is excellent at cons—blending in, charming strangers, making them believe they're the most important people in the room, and then taking what he wants and leaving."
There was something about the way Sylf said it, something cold and dark and bitter, that made him jump to his feet and start to move towards her. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but then her gaze locked with his, her peridot eyes as hard as steel. He halted, stopping mid stride.
Tomlyn's eyes flickered down to her naked hand. He liked her naked. He would like to slowly push down that yellow jumper of hers while laying kisses along the length of her shoulder while she growled at him, demanding and hungry. But he didn't like to see her hand so naked, so exposed, so…alone.
That feeling of being stabbed, but in the limbo state of numbness? Yeah, forget that. Instead, he felt a burst pain, like he'd been hit by a direct explosion. He just stood there, staring down at her in shock, unable to move or think and just feeling like he was being torn apart.
"We could," he started. He fumbled for his words, trying to do something, anything to salvage the situation. "Sylf, I—"
"I think we're finished here." She said, cutting him off. There was a finality in her voice, and Tomlyn knew that was it. They were just…done. He wouldn't get to hold her, to smell her faded floral scent, to trace the scar under her breast before he pleasured her. To see her roll her eyes at one of his quips, to rest his head in her lap as she quietly read, to feel her next to him as he prayed, waiting patiently. Goddess, not even to dance, to feel the flow of the rhythm and her body as they melded with his into one.
That was it. Done.
Sylf looked up at him, her expression blank. "You may leave, now."
Tomlyn turned and walked away, unsure of how his body was even functioning when his mind was at such a loss. He walked aimlessly, but far from his Mistress. No…she wasn't that anymore was she? He supposed in the work sense she was but…well, she'd been his Mistress long before she went to work for Ephraim. And now that was gone too.
Suddenly, Merrida appeared in front of him, furious and glowering. "You don't even know, do you? Do you even care?" She was angry, her voice wavering. When he said nothing, tears spilled down her olive cheeks. "How could you be so cruel?" she whispered. She turned away from him but he grabbed her arm.
"Let's start tomorrow morning. Meet me at the servants entrance an hour after dawn. Wear casual clothes." His voice sounded dull and flat. Merrida wrenched her arm from his grasp and darted off, unable to hide her sobs. Tomlyn ignored her. His feet moved on their own, and he wandered about the chateau until he found what he was looking for.
He was standing in front of a small chapel that played host to most of the common gods, but Tomlyn found his way to the well lit corner and the brazier of a bright, burning flame. He sat down in front of it and pulled out his prayer book.
He mumbled the prayer while reading the worn page slowly, even thought he knew it by memory. As with each recitation, different parts of the prayer stood out to him:
She is the cleansing fire.
And so we too start slowly and humbly.
Prudence requires us to use the gifts Periti bestowed to quickly act so that we may make the best decisions for our ember, rather than fail them due to poor judgment.
But he was not prudent with Sylf, was he? And his failure had cost him her companionship.
He should have gone with her to the Fingers. He should have done it and…told her that he, what? Didn't want to be her partner? Didn't want to meet her family? They already were partners, in a sense. But he had nothing to offer Sylf and nothing to give her family in exchange for their partnership. He was an expendable pawn in a larger game and that was the last thing Sylf needed.
'Worthless. Pointless. Everything you do is an insult to this family.' He shuddered at the ringing of his mother's voice in his ear. He always seemed to think of her in his worst moments, as though his mother's dark figure was always lurking behind him, just lying in wait.
But, no, he was not worthless, he told himself. Tomlyn refused to let his mother's voice guide his thoughts when he turned his back on the Underdark, and this moment was no different. He had Periti now; he didn't need his mother's insults.
Tomlyn returned to the Peritian text with a fervor, searching for answers.
Resolve requires us to rely upon ourselves so that we may withstand even the most difficult situations, rather than crumble in the face of them.
Dedication requires us to rely solely on our faith, so that we may stand firm in our walk and not stumble along the way.
Altruism requires us to put the lives of those who follow us above the needs of ourselves.
Resolve, Dedication, Altruism. He read the passages over and over again, a cant of its own as he recognized and accepted his failure to Sylf, and he humbled himself to see the larger picture.
It hurt now, but, in the long run, ending his companionship and intimacy with Sylf made them both better off. It was bound to happen, eventually. Sylf was always planning and moving ahead in her life whereas Tomlyn just liked living in the moment. Sooner or later, she was going to leave him behind. Might as well be sooner.
Tomlyn knew that. He believed that he was just dragging Sylf down, truly. So why was it-no matter how much he relied on his Dedication, how much he hardened his Resolve, how much he accepted his Altruistic fate-did Tomlyn still feel like he made a terrible mistake?
I really like this chapter for a few reasons. It's nice to see different sides of Tomlyn and I really wanted to incorporate his spirituality. I also love Merrida. I wish I could write her in more things, but, this is what she gets haha. Lastly, I love the idea of Sylf and Tomlyn as pirates together, plundering the seas. That scene always makes me sad though, and I hope it got you in the feels too.
This is obviously a major break point and is set later in the timeline, closer to when Sylf goes off and gets captured. I also wish I had a better way to convey the timeline but oh well lol.