"Only through new eyes can the burden of failed existence be cast aside that we may see—truly see—for the first time."
—10th Understanding, 7th Book of Sorrow
Sometimes, even in a place like the Prison of Elders, the early cycle stillness was to be savored. It was the rare calm before the storm of the day's duties began in earnest. A time when the only sounds were the muffled rattle of the facility's ventilation system and the far-off murmur of watch-rotation chatter over the PA system. In the quiet, one could almost imagine themselves somewhere else. Somewhere less dismal, less cruel.
On any other morning, the illusion wouldn't have lasted. Meren had observed a consistent, predictable routine over the course of her three-and-a-half-cycle tenure in the Warden's company. He would be the first to rise to oversee the morning shift change, check for any disturbances during the cycle's designated nighttime hours, and sign off on the upcoming roster rotations. Then, after a brief Ether repast and the submission of staff time logs, he would set out on his rounds of the facility. Day in and day out, for decades, the Warden's morning routine had admittedly remained nigh unchanged. In this, he took great pride, rarely wavering from the strict regimen he'd established. As was befitting of a principled Scribe of House Judgement, Meren supposed.
This particular morning, however, the routine had apparently been upended.
Already, the morning watch-rotation was underway. Said Warden, meanwhile, was currently dead to the world, sprawled out across his nest, one arm flung above his head, mandibles slack and mouth slightly open. Soft, even breaths came and went as he slept on, unaware neither of the time nor the silent observer sharing his sleeping space.
Meren couldn't help the smile that crept onto her face as she watched Variks doze, her head propped up by her hand, elbow resting against the pillow. In sleep, he looked so peaceful, the lines of care and responsibility erased from his angular features, the ever-present tension eased from his wiry frame. In the pod's dim artificial light, his silvery crest gleamed dully, and Meren had to resist the urge to run her fingers through the fine, feathery setae.
Seeing him so vulnerable and unguarded was strange. The Variks she knew was almost always in motion. Maybe not physically, but mentally, his keen mind ceaselessly working, planning, strategizing. To catch him in a moment of such stillness felt like a privilege. Not for the first time, she considered the trust implied in being allowed to see him this way. The thought sent a wash of fondness through her, warming her to the core.
And to think, it almost hadn't ended up this way.
After their first night together following her return to the Prison, Meren had assumed, perhaps naively, that the invitation to share his nest would be extended in full from then on. After all, Variks had welcomed her back into his home with open arms, had he not? Surely, it wasn't out of the question that their newfound closeness would extend to their sleeping arrangements, too.
So it came as quite a surprise when, during their facility walkthrough the following day, Variks had shown her to an abandoned staff bunk area, offering the spartan space to her as private quarters.
Generous as it might have been, the gesture had stung more than Meren cared to admit. After all they'd shared, the idea of being shuffled off to a separate room felt like a clear message that whatever was between them would go no further. She'd tried to hide her disappointment, but the hurt must have shown on her face.
Variks had hesitated then, his mandibles flexing in uncertainty. "Unless," he'd said slowly, "you would prefer another arrangement?"
Meren's heart had leapt at the unspoken offer. "If it wouldn't be an inconvenience."
That had been the turning point. From then on, Variks' nest had officially become their shared refuge - a place of comfort and connection amidst the harsh realities of the Prison.
Thus far, the arrangement had worked to their mutual satisfaction. Why Variks had been so hesitant to begin with, Meren couldn't fathom. She supposed it didn't matter much anymore, though. What mattered was the present, and the present was rather agreeable.
Meren shifted slightly, adjusting her position to better admire the sleeping Scribe beside her. The blanket had slipped during the night, the fur now rumpled around his hips, baring the lean, scar-marked planes of his thorax and abdomen. Each slow breath drew her eye to the faint rippling of his spiracles nestled in the soft hollows between rigid chitinous plates. As the air cycled through them, the thin membranes would flutter, briefly revealing the dark blue of their inner lining. Everything about it was undeniably alien, and yet, so very fascinating.
It had taken some getting used to, being in such close proximity to an Eliksni. Not just in regards to their intimate interactions but in the simpler, everyday ones like sharing a nest or cohabiting in his small pod during the evening hours. When she'd first arrived at the Prison months ago, Variks had played the gracious host, careful to keep Eliksni idiosyncrasies to a minimum lest the newcomer be put off. And he still did, to an extent. But at the same time, the veneer of humanity that he'd carefully maintained was beginning to crack.
It was trivial things Meren noticed. Like him stopping abruptly in a doorway to scent the air in a new room. Or the habit of chittering and chirring to himself while absorbed in his work. Or the tendency to revert to subvocalization when frustrated or especially pleased - a handy social cue for other Eliksni, but little more than a barely-audible thrum to the human ear. Not to mention other odd ritual behaviors that had cropped up, such as preening his crest at the oddest times or rinsing his hands in a small ceramic washing bowl before and after his Ether meals. Most curious, though, was an interaction with a particular woven tapestry that he kept tucked away with his other private effects.
Meren had only seen him take it out briefly, and only when he'd thought her asleep. The tapestry had been faded and frayed from age and wear, the embroidery and threadbare details barely legible in the low light. If the fabric wasn't already in a sad enough state, its center appeared to have been cut out at some point, the gaping hole left ragged and unsightly. Despite the condition, Variks had held the thing almost reverently, running his clawtips along the knotted edges, pausing at each corner to murmur a near-silent Eliksni invocation. All the while, his unblinking gaze couldn't be torn from the tapestry's remains. Only upon reaching the end of his observance did his eyes squeeze firmly shut.
It was the first and only time she'd seen him visibly distraught.
With a soft sigh, Meren let the memory of the tapestry fade. At the end of the day, his Eliksni quirks were nothing she couldn't live with. Besides, if he could handle the peculiarities that came with sharing space with a human, the least she could do was extend him the same courtesy. Even if his self-reflective chittering was particularly irritating when she was trying to focus on her own work.
Relaxing, Meren settled down into the furs, content to simply drink in the sight of her slumbering partner. For once, there was no academic curiosity, no need to scrutinize every aspect of alien biology. Just the simple appreciation of the one fate had seen fit to place in her path.
Fate was funny like that, she mused. How, given the right circumstances, a chance encounter could blossom into something so unexpected, so...
"How long do you intend to stare?"
The sudden, mumbled question broke Meren from her thoughts, and her attention flicked to Variks' face. He hadn't stirred from his previous position, hadn't even opened his eyes.
A smirk tugging at her lips, Meren rolled onto her stomach, the blankets shifting off her shoulders. "Until you get up," she said.
Variks chuffed, finally cracking two eyes to look at her. His nictitating membranes slowly slid back as he focused on her face.
"Good morning," Meren greeted him, smiling wider.
At that, Variks let out a deep rumble and closed his eyes again, settling his head deeper into the pillow. "It is early."
"Too early for the Warden of the Prison of Elders?" she teased. "I never thought I'd see the day."
"The Prison will wait."
"Not according to the morning roster." Meren scooted closer, reaching out to brush her fingertips along his side. "Weren't you the one harping on the merits of punctuality and discipline just the other day? 'House Judgement was not built on a foundation of sloth,' and all that?"
Variks' response was a grunt. "You are far too energetic."
Meren chuckled softly at the grumbling remark. Usually, it was him up with the proverbial sun and pestering her to get out of bed. Now that the tables had turned, it was hard not to relish the opportunity to play the part of the insufferable early riser.
"Come on, the cycle is young," she coaxed, running her palm down his flank until she found the spot of exposed skin where the chitin of his thorax and abdomen met. In the two days since she'd discovered the sweet spot, it hadn't failed to elicit a response. Sure enough, her touch drew a faint, pleased hum.
"Always work to be done, yess?" Meren added in her best imitation of Variks' exaggerated accent. "Time waits for no one, yess?"
The teasing worked.
Variks' mandibles drew back, his inner eyes slitting open again to fix her with an amused, if bleary, look. "If you practiced your Eliksni half as much as the mockery of my voice, perhaps you would not struggle so."
Meren made a face at him. "I thought you said I was improving."
"Improving, yes," he replied. "But still a long way to go. Your accent is..."
"Terrible?"
"Unrefined," Variks amended. He stretched languidly, a wan, drawn-out hiss escaping him as he did so. "With diligence, you may yet be able to converse without insulting all in the room."
The incident came back with perfect clarity. The aghast look on Variks' face. The warble of affront that escaped his mouth.
"I put the pitch stress on the wrong syllable once. One time," Meren insisted. It wasn't her fault that an archaic Eliksni salutation and an extremely vulgar expletive shared the same spelling. Nor could she be held responsible for the human mouth's inability to effectively replicate the guttural sound required to make the distinction clear.
"A mistake which would have compelled most Eliksni to challenge you to an honor-duel," said Variks, his eyes closed again. "And rightly so. Insulting one's mother in such a fashion. Most disrespectful."
"It was unintentional!"
"Mm, an age-old excuse. How many conflicts have ignited over an unintended insult, hm? How many lives lost? How much blood spilled?" Despite the gravity of his words, Variks' tone was anything but. "Count yourself fortunate I am not so easily provoked, my dear."
Meren snorted at the quip. It would take far more than a clumsy linguistic blunder to so much as dent Variks' dignity, much less earn his ire.
"Thank the Traveler," she replied sarcastically, her fingertips returning to their absentminded exploration of his side. The contact seemed welcome, a soft sigh slipping from Variks as his body deflated further into the nest.
"Do better next time," he drawled. "Practice."
Whatever bickering impulse had roused him appeared to be ebbing, leaving him relaxed and pliable beneath her wandering hand. He didn't object as Meren moved closer, shifting her head to his pillow. The familiar, faintly earthy musk of his scent permeated the linen covering.
"I'll try," she assured him, her voice softer, less teasing. "But only if you get up."
Variks grumbled something incoherent in reply, sounding every bit the cranky old Eliksni he so often claimed not to be. It was more endearing than it ought to have been.
"Seriously? The Prison's going to descend into anarchy if you don't get out of bed," she went on, prodding his shoulder. "Imagine the chaos - Vex in the commissary, Cabal raiding the armory, a Hive infestation in the laundry facilities. What would the Queen think?"
"Let the Prison fall to ruin," rasped Variks.
"And have decades' worth of your hard work go up in smoke? All because you just had to have a bit of a lie-in?"
That got him to flop his head to the side, eyes cracking open again. His nictitating membranes were slower to retreat from his secondary set of eyes this time, giving his gaze a drowsy, unfocused cast.
"This facility has stood for centuries, Meren," he said. "It will survive a few hours more without my direct oversight."
Were it any other time, a clever tease would have already been on the tip of Meren's tongue. But something about his bleary-eyed expression made her pause. It wasn't like him to entertain the idea of shirking his responsibilities, even in jest.
"Hey." Meren's face turned serious. "Are you okay?"
What if he was unwell and she'd missed the signs?
Variks' gaze sharpened at the shift in her tone. At the same time, his inner eyes narrowed a fraction as if in disbelief of her concern.
"Tired." The word came out more a grunt than anything.
"Oh."
An unexpected wash of relief came over her. It wasn't sickness. Just exhaustion. How foolish of her to worry.
"Did you not sleep well?" Meren asked.
The incredulity on Variks' face deepened. "The quality of sleep is not what leaves me weary. But the lack thereof."
Meren bit her lip, fighting the smile that suddenly threatened to overtake her expression. "And whose fault is that?"
"Whose, indeed."
The grin broke through. "Oh, don't try to blame this on me," she admonished. "You're the one who couldn't keep your hands to yourself last night."
It was true. After dinner, he'd been the one to pull her into his lap and instigate the first round of the evening's activities. What followed had been an amorous, indulgent affair. So indulgent, in fact, that it had carried over into the early hours of the next cycle, neither of them able to resist the lure of a second and then a third helping of each other's company.
Variks surprisingly didn't argue the point. If anything, his expression betrayed a hint of pride.
"That is not what I meant," he clarified. "But I concede it was a contributing factor."
"The holodoc on Golden Age Martian agronomy probably could have waited, huh?" Meren mused, bringing a hand to his crest and letting her fingers slip through the silky setae.
"Your recommendation."
"And I stand by it."
The two-hour-long documentary, titled The Agrarian Age: The History of Terraformation and Sustainable Food Production on Mars, had seemed like a good idea at the time. Already nestled together, warm and comfortable in the afterglow of their exertions, the pair had agreed on the broadcast to unwind for a bit before retiring for the night. As it turned out, the program was a dry, academic rehash of the planet's Golden Age colonization and subsequent agricultural developments. The narrator's voice was soothing, though, and the steady stream of statistics and graphs held their interest far longer than expected. The final credits had rolled sometime around 0300 hours, at which point, Variks had promptly passed out with his muzzle buried against her shoulder. Meren had barely shut the datapad's screen off before following suit.
As if on cue, a yawn seized Variks, his maw stretching wide enough to engulf her whole head. The toothy display, disconcerting as it was, did nothing to deter the hand Meren still had threaded through his crest, however. When the yawn subsided, his inner eyelids flicked a few times, wicking away the moisture that had welled up during the near-dislocation of his lower jaw.
"Maybe a late start isn't the worst idea," Meren reasoned, brushing a few errant setae from his brow. They'd been working almost nonstop on the facility audit since she'd arrived. Only yesterday had they made it through the last of the cellblocks and automated prisoner security systems, marking the halfway point of the inspection. Even though there was much more to go, a bit of a break felt rightfully deserved.
Despite her encouragement, Variks made a resigned noise. "No, no. You are right. There is work to be done."
With some effort, he pushed himself up onto his secondary elbows, forcing Meren's hand from his crest. The action seemed to take a lot out of him. His head hung, eyes closing, as if the sudden motion had made him lightheaded.
"Variks."
The worry was back.
"A moment," said Variks, a primary hand waving her off. "Please."
Meren watched, concerned, as he slowly straightened, easing himself into a proper seated position. Once upright, he seemed to compose himself, yet a faint twitch of his mandibles betrayed the discomfort he was trying to hide.
Meren was sitting up in a flash. "You're hurt," she started. The blanket fell from her shoulders as she shifted towards him, baring her naked form. She didn't care.
Variks' attention snapped to her, the twitch turning into a frown.
"Not hurt." It sounded almost like he'd taken offense. "Sore. My back is not what it once was."
"I told you not to pick me up the other night."
Variks leaned his head against the wall behind him, looking more tired than ever. "It is nothing Ether cannot remedy."
Meren didn't respond right away, studying him.
Variks must have felt her gaze because his head turned towards her. He regarded her, blinking slowly. "Meren, there is no cause for alarm. Aches and old wounds. They are part of life, yes?"
Meren couldn't help but notice how one of his hands migrated to his knee. He kneaded the joint absently as if he'd done it a thousand times before. Perhaps he had.
She sighed, feeling a little guilty. Here she'd been needling him to get out of bed and get moving, and all the while, he was in pain. It made sense now, his reluctance to rise.
"You don't need to hide these things from me, you know," she murmured, reaching out to drag the furs up to his stomach, effectively tucking him in where he sat. He looked like he needed it.
Variks accepted the gesture with a tilt of his head.
"Next time, say something sooner, alright?" she went on, hoping her concern didn't come across as pitying. The Eliksni were a prideful people, and Variks was no exception. An excess of sympathy wasn't likely to be well-received.
"You need not worry yourself over me," replied Variks.
It looked like he meant to say more, but Meren rose to her knees before he could get another word out.
"Too late for that," she chirped, leaning in.
The kiss she planted between his eyes left him blinking out of sync.
"Sit tight," she added, patting his shoulder. "I'll bring you some tea. Then maybe I can convince you to let me rub your back. How does that sound?"
Only when Meren was halfway out of the nest did Variks at last blink himself out of his momentary stupor.
"Meren...that is not necessary," he argued even though she was already on her feet, rounding the nest.
"It's happening," she tossed over her shoulder. "And you're taking the rest of the morning off."
His next objection fell on deaf ears as Meren padded to the chest and retrieved the robe waiting atop it. The garment was a surprisingly elegant thing, considering Variks' typical wardrobe. The striking emerald material had been woven from Awoken Star-silk, and the silver embroidery along the hem and cuffs painstakingly stitched by hand. A gift from the Queen for his counsel, Variks had explained when he'd offered her use of it. Meren had tried not to gape as he'd held it out to her.
While Variks hadn't confirmed it outright, she suspected it was worth more Glimmer than she'd made in her lifetime.
Still, she'd accepted the loan with grace and had been careful to treat the luxurious robe with the utmost care.
As Meren shrugged into the garment, she took a moment to admire the craftsmanship again. It really was beautiful. In addition to the intricate embroidery, a furred trim along the lapel added a touch of opulence and warmth. It didn't matter that the fit was a little awkward, being tailored for a certain Scribe and all, and that the garment had a second pair of sleeves, which were entirely superfluous for a human. Meren felt more regal than she had any right to in the soft, flowing fabric.
"I don't know why you're being so stubborn," she commented as she cinched the second pair of sleeves around her waist. They made for a handy belt of sorts, she'd found.
"Tea should not be taken abed," Variks griped.
Despite his protest, he'd made no effort to move from his seated position. He might even have slouched back down a bit. Meren cocked a brow at him.
"Is this another old Eliksni superstition?"
"No," he answered flatly. "It is a practical precaution. Tea stains."
Already halfway to the kitchen, Meren didn't spare him a glance. "Then don't spill any."
She didn't need to turn to know the look he was giving her was decidedly unimpressed. Thankfully, he didn't put up any more resistance, instead lapsing into a resigned silence.
Variks' kitchen was more of a repurposed corner of the common area than anything else. There, he kept various supplies - tea leaves, spices, dried fruit - tucked away in a recess above a narrow countertop. A hotplate and a kettle were the only amenities he bothered with. Everything else needed for meal preparation was presumably housed in the Prison's commissary...or wherever he disappeared to in the evenings before returning with dinner in hand.
Once Meren reached the counter, setting the kettle to boil was simple enough. Choosing a blend of tea, however, proved a bit more challenging.
Variks' assortment of loose tea was extensive and enigmatically-labeled at best. He'd hand scrawled descriptors in Eliksni on each vial and tin, no doubt a handy reference to the contents. But to her, the labeling system came across as near gibberish. Ember-blossom leaf, Ether-sharp, and Baryon Blend were among the least mystifying choices. Pine-apple Spice baffled her to no end.
Eventually, Meren settled on a tin labeled Warmth in elegant script. She had no idea what was inside, but the contents had a pleasantly spicy aroma. Variks always seemed to favor more bitter, earthy teas. Hopefully, the blend would be to his liking.
"Honey?" she called over her shoulder, fingers working the tin open.
"No, thank you."
"Ether?"
A chirrup, equating to "Please."
With the tin unsealed, Meren reached for the kettle. "Maybe once we get some of this tea in you, we could finally have that rematch," she said offhand. "If you're up for it."
Variks chuffed. "So eager to extend your streak of defeats? I have never met one so fond of losing as you, Meren."
His jab drew a laugh. Not because it was particularly funny, but because it was so predictable. Just like the result of every Go game they'd played thus far. Variks stood at four wins to her none. Most of the matches hadn't even been close.
"Have some faith in me," she said.
"Faith will not win a match. Strategy will. And that is where you lack."
Meren scooped some of the aromatic blend into the kettle as she'd seen Variks do. The scent of spice grew stronger as the leaves submerged, their deep red color blooming through the water.
"We can't all think fifteen moves ahead," she pointed out, closing the lid and allowing the brew to steep.
"That is the root of your shortcomings," came Variks' response. "You fail to consider the current state of the board before taking action. A stone placed blindly is no better than a stone captured."
Meren turned to lean against the counter, crossing her arms and regarding Variks. He had indeed relaxed back into the nest, the blanket still tucked around his midsection.
"What else am I doing wrong, o wise Scribe?"
She was half joking. But the glint in Variks' eyes told her he was about to take the question very seriously.
"Many things," he said. "But above all, you are short-sighted and set on your course. Too confident in the path you choose. You forget that every move made alters the flow of the match. This is why you lose. To win, your strategy must be fluid, shifting with the field of play." He paused, scrutinizing her reaction. "Often, the path on which we begin does not coincide with the one which leads to success."
His words hung cryptically between them. It was frustrating, sometimes, his habit of couching his advice in such vague terms. Meren suspected he enjoyed her exasperation.
"So what you're saying is, don't make my plan my whole plan?" said Meren.
"A crude summary."
Meren hummed, pushing off the counter and turning her attention to the kettle.
"But not wholly incorrect," Variks continued. "A plan, well-crafted, puts one at an advantage, yes. But the willingness to open oneself to the unexpected? To adapt? This strength will take you much further."
Reaching for the shelf above the hotplate, Meren grabbed two earthenware mugs and set them on the counter. Variks' choice in drinking vessels was as unremarkable as the rest of his kitchen supplies. Function over form, as was typical of most Eliksni wares this side of Sol.
"Well, maybe you could talk me through a match later, then," she suggested, removing the kettle's lid. "Show me how the mind of a master strategist works."
There was a smile in his voice as he replied, "Nothing would please me more."
Swirling a spoon through the reddish brew, Meren watched the tea leaves twirl and eddy, the water turning a deeper shade. "Maybe after I'm done with your back," she added. "I want you relaxed and not thinking about work or the Prison whatsoever."
She expected Variks to object again. But, to her surprise, he didn't.
"Yes, yes," he conceded simply.
With a quieting Variks finally on board, Meren strained the tea into the mugs, filling them just over halfway. To Variks' she added a liberal spoonful of powdered Etheric Spiral - a once-native fungus that had reacted to Eliksni Ether and had mutated its way across the Tangled Shore, taking root on every inhospitable surface it could find. The plant itself was relatively flavorless, and the residual Ether readily diffused into warm liquid. The resulting brew wouldn't be potent enough to sustain an Eliksni, but it would tide Variks' aches over until he could imbibe a proper ration.
For her own cup, Meren left the powder out, choosing instead to sweeten the drink with a healthy dollop of honey. Or maybe it wasn't actually honey, now that she thought about it. Still, the stuff tasted as good as the locally sourced varieties back in the City, so Meren didn't question its origin.
Tea prepared, there was just one thing left to grab. She'd saved it for last intentionally…for her stomach's sake.
As expected, the dreaded jar sat innocently beneath the countertop where Variks had left it the evening before. To his credit, he'd had the decency to drape a cloth over the top, obscuring the sight of the contents within. Even still, the courtesy did little to wipe away the mental image of what passed for Variks' idea of a snack.
With her nose scrunched, Meren dragged the jar from its cubby, pinching the edge of the cloth and lifting it with the lightest touch possible. The sight beneath nearly made her gag.
There, floating in the neon yellow-green brine, were dozens of translucent, gelatinous creatures packed tightly together, each no bigger than her thumb. From what she'd gathered, they were some kind of larval amphibian the Awoken had cultured in aquaponics labs. When fully grown, the diminutive creatures produced a copious mucus, coveted by the Reefborn for its medicinal properties. In their larval state, however, the amphibians were far less desirable. Unless one happened to be an Eliksni, that was. Then, they were apparently a delicacy.
Variks had yet to persuade her to sample one.
It wasn't that she wasn't open-minded. To fully immerse herself in Eliksni culture, Meren knew she'd have to at least try a few new foods. She welcomed it, in fact. But the line had to be drawn somewhere, and it was right there, staring her in the face, trapped in that damned jar.
Turning her nose up, Meren unscrewed the lid. Blessedly, the preserved creatures had little odor to the human sense of smell. Still, it was difficult to ignore the sight of them, with their six beady, black eyes and their stark purple vascular systems scintillating beneath the thin membrane of translucent flesh. They reminded her a bit of tadpoles - horrible nightmare tadpoles that popped and oozed when punctured by Eliksni teeth. If only for Variks, Meren tipped the jar, letting a generous helping of the tadpoles squelch into a waiting bowl.
With that, the excess brine was drained back into the jar, the lid resealed, and the jar quickly pushed aside, the cloth thrown back over the top. Her task complete, Meren grabbed Variks' mug and the bowl and made her way back to the nest, pausing beside the makeshift dresser long enough to grab his datapad and tuck it under her arm.
Variks looked marginally more awake as she approached, his eyes tracking her path around the nest. He'd wedged a couple of pillows behind himself, leaning back into a semi-reclined position. Seeing him relaxed and comfortable eased some of the worry from Meren's mind.
"Here," she said, kneeling against the edge of the nest, offering the mug first. "Ether tea. No honey."
One of Variks' primary hands accepted the beverage. "Thank you, my dear."
"Datapad."
"Ah."
When extended, he took that, too.
"No work," she reminded him.
Variks clucked at her but agreed, "No work."
"And here." At last, she produced the bowl of tadpoles. "Your favorite."
Meren knew better than to think he hadn't smelled them the moment she'd opened the jar. Still, the soft trill and the way his eyes lit up as the bowl was revealed made the affront to her stomach worth it.
"How gracious," he purred, a third hand extending to receive the offering. "You spoil Variks."
"I'm wearing a priceless Star-silk robe," Meren laughed. "If anyone's being spoiled here, it's me."
Variks returned her laugh with a chuckle, his eyes roaming appreciatively over her form. "The robe would be nothing without the one who wears it. And you wear it well."
"Oh, stop-"
Before she could finish, his free arm hooked her around the waist and tugged her towards him. A surprised squeak escaped her as her balance teetered, and she tumbled forward, hands landing against his chest. Somehow, all of Variks' other arms managed to keep hold of their respective items - an impressive feat, given the force of the sudden pull.
"Awoken silk becomes you." Variks' voice was a low, playful rumble as his muzzle found the crook of her neck, nuzzling the sensitive skin there. "Perhaps I should have another garment woven. Tailored to your conformation."
"Don't you dare," Meren scolded. The last thing she needed was an heirloom-quality Awoken dressing gown in her personal wardrobe. She'd never feel comfortable wearing something so valuable back home.
A teasing warble answered her, followed by the briefest prick of teeth. It earned Variks a gasp.
That was all the incentive he needed. The arm looped around her pulled tighter, drawing her half into his lap. The whole of his attention shifted to her neck, his teeth and tongue working in tandem to leave a trail of alien kisses along her throat. The feeling was electrifying, but-
"The tea!" she cried, her warning dissolving into another laugh as he nipped the skin just below her ear. "Variks! I swear, if you spill anything, I'll..." The rest of her would-be threat was lost in a fresh burst of breathless laughter.
"You'll what, hm?"
"If tea or any of those things end up in the bed, Variks, you're going to be sleeping alone tonight," she managed. "I mean it!"
Variks' attention flicked to the precariously-tilted bowl of tadpoles for an instant, as if only now remembering he was holding them.
"Empty threats," he countered.
Yet his hold loosened, allowing her to slip from his grasp and right herself. The ghost of his touch lingered, a faint throb along the trail his teeth had traced.
"You're supposed to be resting and drinking your tea, not gnawing on me," Meren said, fingering her robe's lapel. The garment had slid partway off her shoulders during Variks' affectionate display. She adjusted the robe, ensuring her modesty, but not before catching the way Variks' gaze fixed on her bared shoulder and the stubborn mark he'd left there.
It struck her to ask. But with how exhausted Variks seemed, perhaps it was best not to. Later, maybe.
"Hmm" was Variks' belated reply, his mandibles flaring briefly before his eyes darted away and he finally took a sip of his tea.
Satisfied he wouldn't be a further nuisance, Meren freed herself from the tangle of furs and blankets that had captured her feet. "I need to grab my cup. Be right back." She crawled from the nest, adding, "Don't save any of those tadpoles for me."
His soft chuckle followed her across the common area.
On the counter, her mug was still steaming, a cloud of spiced vapor rising from the surface. The heat warmed her hands as she brought the drink to her lips for a preliminary taste. As always, Variks had crafted a flavorful, well-balanced brew. It had a hint of smokiness that nicely complimented the spice, the honey serving to round out the earthy undertones. It was good. Very good.
Hopefully, he thought so, too.
A glance over her shoulder revealed an already multitasking Variks, one hand preoccupied with his tea, another cradling the bowl. His third hand held the datapad while the fourth alternated between tapping the datapad's display and plucking tadpoles from the bowl one by one and popping them into his mouth. The bowl would be empty within a few minutes at the rate he was going.
"Enjoying yourself?"
The question was unnecessary. He obviously was.
Still, Variks hummed his approval, holding a particularly large specimen aloft for inspection before dropping it into his open maw. The sound it made as his teeth pierced the thin skin was, frankly, disgusting.
"You do not understand the delicacy you deny yourself," he finally replied, reaching for another.
"And I'm okay with that."
"A pity. These are quite young, too." The observation was punctuated with another nauseating, wet crunch.
Meren shuddered. "Is that a good thing?"
"Young are tender," he elaborated. "Most flavorful, when they have not yet begun their metamorphoses."
"Right."
Fortunately, Variks could take a hint and contented himself with returning to eating in silence. Or, as close to silence as he could manage, given the nature of his breakfast.
Meren tried her best to block the sounds out as she slowly returned to the nest with her tea, stopping momentarily beside the dresser again. The datapad Variks had lent her sat atop it, a small stack of books beside. The titles were written in a mix of old Awoken Speech, City Common, and some dead Golden Age human language she didn't recognize. An eclectic collection, but not of much interest to her.
Still, if they were planning to enjoy a lazy morning in, she might as well have something to read.
In addition to the books laid out, Variks maintained a substantial literary collection. Most of the books had been tucked away in various places throughout his quarters. Some in his private chest, others stashed in drawers and on shelves, still more squirreled away in various cubbies and niches. Who knew how many more prized volumes had been secreted away throughout the Prison. It was a wonder she hadn't stumbled upon any during her nightly treks to the lavatory.
Not wanting to go rummaging through all of his things, Meren opted to start her search with the two cubbyholes beside the dresser. That's where Variks had stashed the Go board, and she was pretty sure she'd seen a few books stuffed in alongside it.
The leftmost compartment proved a bust, housing nothing more than a dismantled data recorder, a set of what looked to be dice, and a small bundle of leather and twine. The other contained what she was looking for - the cloth-wrapped game board and a trio of books tucked discreetly beneath.
The first book, bound in cracked, red leather and worn along the spine, looked promising. A title in faded gold script read, English for Eliksni: Third Edition. Directly under that one was a smaller volume, also weathered and time-worn. It had a few words penned in simple, flowing handwriting on the binding: To Sup on Pain. The last, a thicker, newer book, unremarkable at first glance, she almost overlooked. Only the blocky text stamped on the spine stopped her short.
The Fallen | M.E. Hale
In a heartbeat, she'd pulled it from the cubby.
Staring down at it, Meren could scarcely believe what she was looking at. A copy of her book - her book. It felt like a lifetime ago that she'd presented Variks with her handbound copy. Back when they'd barely met, when they'd both been so wary. Back before a spark of understanding had kindled. Before a dinner had been shared. Before an evening had ended with a flurry of impulsive caresses. Before a fateful night together had led to several more...
Except, the copy in her hands wasn't the one she'd given him.
It was an older commercial edition, part of a limited production run intended for public distribution. It had sold in shops around the City for a few years, predictably garnering minimal interest beyond a niche crowd of fellow academics and xenobiology enthusiasts. Ultimately, it had been pulled in favor of new, more accessible - and negatively biased, in her opinion - publications. Now, copies only graced the dusty shelves of secondhand shops and specialty book dealers.
A high-security prison facility in the middle of the Reef was the last place she'd expect to find one.
Opening the front cover, Meren paged through a bit of it. The whole text appeared to be intact. A few pages had even been dog-eared for what looked to be reference purposes.
"Where did you get this?" she murmured.
It took a second for the pop of masticated tadpoles to cease, Variks swallowing his mouthful before answering. "Hm?"
"This book."
A rustle of blankets now, Variks no doubt turning to regard her.
"Ah, a gift from a Guardian," he explained. "Very...thoughtful, yes?"
"A Guardian," Meren echoed, her eyes still trained on the book. That couldn't be right. The Vanguard had recalled all personnel weeks ago. Or...most, anyway.
As it turned out, the total exodus from the Reef wasn't nearly as universal as Meren had been led to believe. From what she'd managed to get out of Cayde since her disbarment, exceptions had apparently been made for those Guardians still actively engaged in select Reef field operations. Special authorization was required, of course. And even then, those authorized didn't have free rein to do as they pleased. Travel to the Tangled Shore had been banned outright, and activities like recreational visits to the Prison of Elders had been expressly prohibited.
Yet it was always possible a determined Guardian might find a way around the rules. Unless...
"Recently?" she asked, looking up.
What she found was a very still, very neutral-looking Eliksni. He'd lowered the datapad, along with his empty bowl, into his lap. The hand holding the mug had dropped, too. His eyes were fixed on her, watching her raptly.
"What Eliksni consider recent and what you may consider such would be at odds, I fear," he replied.
Meren ran her tongue along the backs of her teeth, her fingers closing more tightly around the book. "Let me narrow it down," she offered. "Did you get it at some point after I'd already given you a copy?"
For the space of a few breaths, Variks simply stared. He didn't even blink. Then, ever so slightly, his eyes narrowed.
"No."
The word felt like a slap across the face.
"How long?" she pressed, hating the faint tremor in her voice.
"Months."
Meren's mouth worked wordlessly for a moment. In the next, Variks was speaking again.
"Before House Wolves' Rebellion, your Vanguard once sought assistance from the Reef," he began. "One Guardian, newly born into their second-life, was sent before the Queen to beg aid. Regarding a situation on Mars, I believe." He brushed it off as if inconsequential. "Granted audience, the Guardian's request was heard, but not honored. The Queen presented the Guardian with a task instead. An odd, impossible task. Yet the Guardian agreed."
The tale was delivered matter-of-factly, like he was recounting the plot of an uninteresting holo-vid he'd happened across. Still, he had her full attention.
He continued, "In the wake of success, the Guardian returned, bearing the Queen's prize. With it, came a gift. A…political contribution, at the Vanguard's behest." He paused, a clawtip tapping the datapad he held. "Perhaps they had heard of the Prince's love of stories. His…fascination with Eliksni. Or perhaps it was happenstance - impossible to say. All that is certain is that the Vanguard's gift was bestowed and…well-received. The Guardian, well-remembered."
"Hold on," Meren interjected, trying to parse Variks' story. "Are you trying to say that some random Guardian gave my book to Prince Uldren?"
"Your book was one of the many given - a wealth of the City's knowledge," said Variks. "But as diplomatic trinkets often are, it was passed off to a lesser member of the Queen's court for...safe-keeping. It came into my possession not long after."
"And you read it?"
For the first time since they'd broached the topic, Variks' gaze deflected. Just a fraction, as if the intensity of her stare hurt his eyes.
"The very same day."
His admission staggered her.
For months before she'd come to the Reef, he'd been sitting on the book in her hands. The book with her name there on the spine, repeated in the front matter over and over. The book with her smiling author's portrait inside the cover. A full page of acknowledgements, penned in her own hand. A foreword spelling out the story of her academic career, her fascination with the Eliksni (the long, sterile editor-approved version), and the veiled admission of hope that humanity might one day see the Eliksni in the same light as she did. No serious reader could come away without learning a thing or two about the author.
"So you're telling me," Meren slowly began, "that you knew exactly who I was from the moment I walked into your Prison. Months ago." It took everything she had to keep her tone level. "You knew. And you played dumb. Put on an act. And then baited me into going to the Tangled Shore and walking straight into Spider's den, knowing full well how he operates." Her voice was rising, her words coming faster. "And now, thanks to you, I have to deal with that asshole breathing down my neck for the rest of my life! Oh, unless the Hive god of Wiping Out Entire Systems shows up and obliterates us all! Which honestly would be a fucking step up at this point because at least then I wouldn't be indebted to the goddamn Spider anymore!"
As inexpressive as Eliksni faces could be, the wince in Variks' features was clear as day.
"Meren," he tried, all his eyes blinking slowly, his hands turning up in placation. It only served to infuriate her further.
"No!" she snapped. "Why?! Why the hell would you do that?"
Variks' expression went flat, his arms drawing in, defensive. The change was so abrupt it took her a beat to process it.
"A test." The pacifying softness had left his voice. What remained was cold and blunt. "Words on a page are no measure of a person's merit. I needed to see your actions. The truth of you. For myself."
The words barely registered. All Meren could think about was the fact that the one person she'd trusted most in the Reef had been lying to her face. Or at least omitting a pretty significant chunk of the truth.
She shook her head, the book suddenly a leaden weight in her hands. "And you never told me."
The words came out so hollow it was as if someone else were speaking.
Variks shifted, pushing himself up straighter, putting aside the items Meren had brought him. "I saw no need," he replied. "Just as you did not see the need to disclose the cruel acts your Vanguard has perpetrated against my people."
"That's completely different," Meren shot back. "Failing to disclose the actions of a military organization is one thing. Failing to disclose that you've known almost everything about the person you've been spending all your free time with for over a month is something else entirely!"
Variks' mandibles clicked, his upper hands bracing on the edge of the nest. It looked like he was readying himself to rise. "It would have changed nothing."
"That's not the point, Variks! It's a matter of honesty! Of trust!"
He didn't try to refute it, only fixing her with a hard stare. "Before you arrived, you knew nothing of me, yes? Is this what you would claim? That you did not consult records. Speak with your sources. Pry information from your Vanguard?" He let his words hang, giving her an instant to retort. When she didn't: "How strange that you knew much of Scribes and Judgement from the beginning. My service to the Queen. And…if I recall, so too did you have the knowledge of who cut off my arms."
Those last four words were spoken with such venom that Meren flinched.
Her eyes fell away momentarily before conceding, "I may have checked some notes I had."
"And what I did was no different," clipped Variks. "Do not act as though your actions were innocent and mine were not."
The accusation struck hard. "The amount of information we had on each other was worlds apart! You had months to dig through my book and whatever other sources you had at your disposal. I had, what? A day before I showed up here? Two, maybe?"
Variks was undeterred. "Not by design," he pointed out. "Only by unfortunate chance did the Wolves' actions interfere with the timeliness of your arrival. The offer was meant to be extended much sooner."
The words brought Meren's brain to a screeching halt.
She blinked. "I don't follow."
In her confusion, she nearly missed the mortified flash that crossed Variks eyes. It was gone as quickly as it had come, his eyes fluttering shut. A weary, drawn-out sigh followed. Then, a very bare Variks rose from the nest, the furs slipping from his waist.
Nothing about his state seemed to phase him. And why would it? Eliksni didn't view nudity the same way humans did. Or at all, really. In their culture, no shame was attached to the body. To them, nudity was simply a natural, unremarkable part of life.
Nevertheless, Variks reached for a plain, threadbare robe draped beside the nest, shrugging the garment on as he answered, "Has it never occurred to question why a sovereign people would extend an invitation…to you?" Pulling the robe closed, Variks secured the sash at his waist. "By this, no offense is meant, but what could a human scholar offer the Awoken that their own people could not?"
Dumbfounded, all Meren could do was stare, his words ringing in her ears. The Speaker's proposition all those months ago had been so tantalizing that she hadn't given it a second thought. And once she'd arrived, she'd allowed herself to be caught up in Variks' orbit and swept along by the momentum of everything unfolding around her. Never once had she stopped to wonder why Mara Sov herself would personally open the Reef to a lowly human civilian.
Only now, in hindsight, did it occur to her how ludicrous the entire thing had been.
"I..." she started, struggling to make sense of what Variks was saying. "I-I didn't... I don't-"
"As I thought."
She'd expected him to sound triumphant. Or smug. Instead, his words were tinged with apathy.
"I don't understand," Meren managed. "How did- I mean, if the Awoken didn't..." The words trailed off, her mind floundering.
Variks took a step towards her, then another. "All the pieces lay before you," he said. "You have only to assemble them."
Meren's gaze fell to the book still clutched in her hands, her brow pinching. It didn't take much to put the puzzle together.
The realization came with chilling clarity.
"You," she breathed. Saying it aloud made her stomach twist uncomfortably.
The Queen's trusted, most loyal advisor. One whose privileged position afforded the proximity, the means, and the influence to pull the strings. All it would have required were a few well-placed words in the right ears, and the rest would have fallen into place.
"You read my book and- why? Why would you-"
He was closer now, a picture of indifference as he answered, "Simple curiosity." An absurdly light response for what amounted to admitting guilt in manipulating the course of her life. What came next was just as flippant: "Our first meeting did not impress me, my dear."
"Don't call me that."
At the pathetic-sounding rebuke, Variks' expression morphed into one of distaste, his lower hands folding over his middle. It drove her back a step, her hip catching the dresser's edge.
All of a sudden, the rational part of her brain was screaming at her to put the book down and get out. It was clear now how severely she'd misjudged the Eliksni before her. He'd been playing her since the start. Stringing her along like a fool, a fucking smile in his eyes all the while. And yet, the other part of her had to know.
"What do you want from me?"
There was a pause. Variks stopped.
"Nothing more than your company, now," he answered, the cold edge in his eyes thawing. "Your wit, your curiosity, your laughter. An old Scribe could not wish for better."
It was an infuriating response. Not because it wasn't sincere, but because despite everything, Meren still believed him.
"And what about before? Before we... Before this." She gestured weakly between them standing there in nothing but their morning robes.
"Before, my desire was simple," he replied. "You presented a curiosity. A human, who had taken such pains to learn of Eliksni. Had written so passionately about us. A Scribe's duty is to seek understanding in all things, yes? So I did." His head cocked. "Should you have shown promise for ulterior uses, well..." His hands opened as if the rest were self-explanatory.
Meren could only shake her head. The opportunist in him was as impressive as it was disconcerting.
"So I failed, I take it?" The fact that he hadn't tried to rope her into becoming a double agent or something equally silly seemed to support her hypothesis.
"That remains to be seen."
Pressing a finger to her temple, Meren rubbed. His brand of humor had never been less welcome. She brushed it off, instead asking, "What else are you keeping from me?"
Variks was silent a beat, his eyes roaming over her features, no doubt noting the strain etched there. When he finally answered, his words once again took on a serious edge.
"A great deal, I assure you."
"Oh, for Traveler's sake..."
He chittered at her, making his disapproval known. "Would you have me lie, Meren? Tell you there is nothing I withhold? Would it please you, to pretend it were so?"
"No, but-"
"That which is pertinent, I have disclosed," he interjected in a stern tone. "All else remains mine. In this resolve, I will not be swayed."
Meren's frown deepened. Of course she didn't actually expect him to stand there and divulge centuries upon centuries of personal history and closely guarded secrets. That would be ridiculous. But, given what had just come to light, she didn't particularly appreciate being left in the dark about anything.
"So much for trust," she grumbled.
Variks' eyes narrowed, a nerve clearly struck. "Secrets weigh heavy on their keeper. Mine, more than most. But...perhaps, in time..."
He left the thought unfinished.
"So we're just supposed to pretend you haven't been deceiving me from the start and go on like nothing's changed?" Meren forced a humorless smile. "Is that the plan? I mean, you're apparently the one calling the shots here, so..."
In an uncharacteristic display, Variks fully averted his eyes like a scolded child. He was quiet a moment, then his gaze returned to her, his posture straightening.
"What happens next is up to you," he said, sounding oddly resigned. "I would…understand if you wished to leave and not return."
It took a second for the words to sink in. When they did, Meren found herself torn. On the one hand, Variks fully deserved to reap the consequences of his actions. But on the other, the idea of simply walking out and never seeing him again...
"If this is how it's always going to be, I-" She stopped. Recentered. "I won't be your plaything, Variks."
His hands came up. "No, no." Was that shame on his face? He took a step towards her. "Never." It looked like he was about to add something else, but then evidently thought better of it, his mouth closing.
Meren eyed him. There was a lot she wanted to say. To yell, really. But those words didn't come. They remained lodged in her throat, along with the frustration and disappointment she was trying her damnedest to swallow.
"This is the last big secret, right?" she asked instead. "Nothing else you've been holding back?"
"Not in regard to our acquaintance, no."
Meren blew out a long breath, her eyes finding the ceiling. The whole situation felt absurd. How had they gone from nuzzling and laughing and bantering about strategic board games to this?
"You have every right to be upset." Variks' voice was softer now. "But understand my intent was never to harm. Only to learn."
"Well, congratulations. Mission accomplished."
She looked at him then, standing there, head canted. The noble Scribe she'd come to admire was still there. But the veil of reverence she'd unwittingly draped over him had been torn.
The tilt to Variks' head leveled off, and he drew closer still. "Meren, if I may," he began. Caution laced his words. "Not often does one find such...compelling companionship. To lose it now would be a shame." He stopped, close enough that if he were to reach out, he could touch her. "Would you find it in yourself to forgive an old Scribe's folly? Perhaps grant him another chance, yes?"
For an instant, the urge to throw the book in his face and walk away flared bright, only to fade just as quickly. She couldn't bring herself to do it.
"We're not done talking about the Spider thing," Meren stipulated irritably.
"Of course not."
"Or the book."
"I would not expect otherwise."
She took a second, exhaling through her teeth. "And don't think I'll just stop being upset with you anytime soon."
"That is fair," agreed Variks.
To round it all out, Meren muttered, "You're a real piece of work, you know that?"
"So I have been told."
For a long moment, Meren was quiet. She'd been a fool, placing her trust in one the Eliksni had branded Betrayer. And yet, here she was, on the verge of doing just that all over again.
"Variks, all of this, it's...a lot," she said at last. "You understand that, right? And you want me to just- just forgive you and sweep it under the rug?"
It took a second for Variks to offer a response. When it came, it was spoken with the gravity she'd come to expect from his counsel.
"The past cannot be changed, only learned from." A tentative hand rose. He didn't touch her but instead gingerly plucked the book from her hands, laying it atop the dresser alongside her now-cool mug of tea. "Your pain, your anger, cannot be wished away - this I know. It can only be endured." The pause he took then was weighted. "So allow me to make amends, or do not. But do not let your present hurt blind you to the possibility of tomorrow. This is all I ask...my dear."
This time, the endearment didn't grate as it had before. It stirred a flicker of familiarity in her, however faint.
"Where would I be without your boundless, cryptic wisdom?" Meren came back. Her tone was dry, but a hint of something lighter played beneath.
Variks chuffed. "And I, without your ceaseless wit?"
The distance between them had diminished while they spoke, and Meren craned her neck to look up at him. Behind those kind eyes lurked unfathomable cunning. What would happen, she wondered, when the whole of his facade finally fell away? Would she still recognize the person behind it?
"No more tricks," stated Meren. "No more schemes." She hesitated. Curbing his nature would likely be impossible. Precluding herself from being the subject of his machinations would be the best she could hope for. "Well...you know what I mean. If we're going to keep doing...whatever this is, we do it as equals. Or not at all. Understand?"
Variks offered a slow, deliberate nod of contrition. "You have my word."
Meren considered the sincerity in his gaze. The word of a Scribe was a bond not made lightly. Her distrust lingered even so.
Then, an Ether and blood hand was reaching out to her, palm upturned. An invitation.
"Come back to the nest," urged Variks. "Let us speak further there."
"Is your back…?" Her own concern surprised her, the words out of her mouth before she could think.
At that, Variks' mask of composure slipped. His teeth gritted, mandibles drawing tightly against his jaw. "Agonizing," he hissed.
Looking up at him, his face pinched with discomfort, Meren found herself softening against her will. She wanted nothing more than to go to him. To hold him and soothe him and let him sleep the rest of the morning away in her arms. But then, the image of his cold, impassive face as he admitted to manipulating her swam before her eyes. The memory of that duplicity, still so fresh, twisted like a shock dagger in her chest.
She swallowed hard, her eyes drifting back down.
In spite of his discomfort, Variks' hand remained outstretched, waiting.
In Go, he'd told her a single stone placed could alter the flow of the game. To blindly continue along a predestined path was to resign oneself to defeat. The wise player would consider the field of play, ever in flux. They would learn from their mistakes. Cut their losses. Shift their strategy and forge a new way.
Meren drew a breath.
She took his hand.
