Big Brother Little Sister

Big Brother, Little Sister
Summary: Finally, after his years of roaming the North as a sell-sword (and when priestly duties finally permit), Destrian has a chance to properly talk with his friend — his sister, in more ways than one — Tylon, in the Dining Hall of the Temple. After all this time, it is still as if they had never been apart…
Date: 23/07/2013
Related: None
Destrian Tylon 

Temple Chambers, Temple of the Four, Laketown Chapterhouse
Slightly vaulted ceilings continue into the common room of the Temple of Four. The common room begins the area of the Temple that serves as living quarters for the Covenant and Chosen of the Four. Before the hearth that usually has a fire within it, a small collection of tables and benches for the residents of the temple to share meals, give and take lessons, or simply take a break from the day.

Along the far wall to the west are several alcoves that serve as kitchen and several pantries. And to the east a doorway to a long hallway can be spotted. Off of the hallway are the individual quarters for the Priests and Priestess and their Chosen along with the group rooms for the orphans and Acolytes.

23rd July 1329

Days did start early about the temple, though this morning it seemed that the Mother Superior had gotten to a slightly later start than normal. Only now returning from her morning prayers, though perhaps she'd merely been detained by the influx of newly 'devoted' followers who can many a question about prayers and offerings. There was some whisper that a few brave and cheeky sailors had actually asked the Mother Superior out for a drink! Offers that were turned down, for it had sounded like Tylon had turned in early after the long day. And there was something about having to deal with a certain Chosen who's gone storming into her office once he'd returned from Brivey and learned about….her swim.

A quieter day to start, even with the added folk to interrupt and elongate morning reflection, Tylon's bare feet making nary a sound as she moves back into the main chambers in search of a roll or to for breakfast. A quiet little tune of cheer being hummed softly.

"Hello, old friend," remarks a voice from behind and to the side of Tylon. Destrian is standing there — rather, he leans against one of the pillars in the large chamber — his arms folded across his chest, and a grin on his face. He has a piece of a bread-roll in his hand, and chews idly on a small mouthful.

"Two sailors asked me, 'What is the Mother Superior wearing?' — I was confused. I told them, 'Clothes,' — and then they were confused. They asked me to ask — so I ask…"

He trails off, frowning again and swallowing a mouthful of bread.

"I heard 'the storm' came to find you," he suddenly adds a moment later. "From Brivey. He was angry — I could hear the… white from another room. It hurt." The tall man frowns again, a returns to chewing more bread, his eyes focused on a spot on the floor as his mind tries to solve a puzzle of some kind.

"Does he not like water, Tylie?"

The humming does fade when that voice speaks, Tylon's head turning towards the familiar tones. "Hello there," an easy smile having formed in seeing the man who was friend and more.

Green eye blink at the train of thought that comes next. Giving a calm shake of her head, "They….wish to not so much about what I am wearing, even if that is what they ask. They want to have information to dream and think things that some do about women. A mental indulgence into what passions Ravas can stir between two people. Some might find it flattering, others insulting. Though, the next time they ask, Des, it is perhaps better to simply tell them it is not their business and to sate themselves otherwise."

Fingers snag a roll from one of the baskets before Tylon comes to stand near his chosen pillar. A quiet little "Ahhhh" slipping at what he adds. "That was Thomas.. He does not have an issue with water. His issue is that I may have been harmed, that I was not thinking and being foolish." Tylon gives a faint smile, "But I did calm the storm and the white quietened, yes? He worries for me, not just as a Chosen, but…because he cares for me as something more. I think if it were up to him, or Aly, they would both keep me wrapped in soft swaddling and keep me tucked away in a closet to keep me from any chance of harm."

Throughout the Mother Superior's explanations — of both the sailors, and the two Chosen — Destrian nods at regular intervals, occasionally tearing off more pieces of bread from the roll in his hand and chewing on them. When Tylon is silent once more, he nods one final time.

Then, a moment later, he shakes his head.

"No. I still do not understand."

Then he smirks. "I understand Aly, of course. She is the grip of Bornas in Altheara's glove — if Altheara could wear gloves… But I do not know Thomas. You were safe — I was with you. You saved the empty girl. Thomas should — oh. OH…"

A blush creeps into Destrian's cheeks.

"Thomas burns." No sooner is the word spoken, than the tall Chosen steps away from the pillar, unfolds his arms and points with his left arm as if there were still a hand on the end of it, complete with a pointing finger.

"You burn too, Tylie," he challenges her with a lopsided grin. "I can hear it."

Then he laughs.

"Yes, she was saved, and you were there, I was safe…All things I did inform him of, he just does not like that these things happen when he is not around to protect me himself." Trying to explain a bit further but then there is that blush creeping into his cheeks as understanding seems to finally come to him. And when he speaks as he does, it is Tylon's turn to have color rising in her cheeks.

And oh that color depends when he speaks of her burning as well, Tylon murmuring softly, "Yes, Des, I burn too…I…We…he and I….we are becoming close…more than close, he is my Chosen…but more. " Giving her own sheepish and yet slightly impish smile, "He would not like to hear that the sailors ask such things about me and would send them swimming."

Destrian grins.

He does not grin at Tylon, so much as with Tylon; it is the grin of one who is happy for his friend… and one who is enjoying her mild embarrassment. Lowering his arms to his sides, the tall Chosen gives a shrug of his shoulders and folds his arms once more, across his chest.

A thought occurs to him, and slowly his grin fades into the background as realisation takes its place. Realisation then turns to disapproval — reproach — and Destrian finds himself scowling.

"The sailors… they think they burn, too… but they did not sound like you, Tylie — Mother, I apologise. They do not smell like you. They spoke, and I thought to have — "

He stops speaking to peer down at his boots, and he lifts one off the ground to stare at the sole of it — expecting to see something foul there. " — stepped in something soft, warm… and foul. It is not the same. I walked on their words — I dance in yours. Will you marry Thomas?"

He asks the question and pops the last of the bread-roll into his mouth, and starts chewing. Then he leans comfortably back against the pillar, watching Tylon.

The changes in his expression are taken in, Tylon new it sometimes just took Destrian awhile to process what he already knew and had seen. A different path to the same destination, sometimes longer, sometimes shorter. "Yes, Des, they think they burn but then they think this of many. And for them, I am perhaps something different, an impossibility they had not considered before. I am sure their interest will fade soon enough." Tylon gives a shake of her head, "There is no need to apologize, Brother."

Taking a few bites of the roll she snagged as she watches him lift the boot and look at it. A smile blossoming again on her lips as the comparison that comes between their words and hers. Murmuring lightly, "It is a dance…that which Thomas and I do. "

His question brings a soft look, a brief sadness to her eyes, "He would have me, if I could marry. We have spoken of it….But I am priestess and my Oath….I am not permitted to marry, Des. " A small breathe is drawn before she continues, "Though it means not that we will not be like we are, for even if I cannot marry…I am permitted companion. Even if not the oaths of marriage to bind…it can be much the same."

Destrian frowns again — even more confused.

Then he shrugs.

"I think I made the right choice — Chosen." A rueful smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he speaks. "I learned the doctrines and Oaths well… 'tis a good thing obedience does not require understanding."

His eyes narrow, and he unfolds his right arm just enough to motion toward his friend. "I took my Oath in Rhaedan — that was when I heard you were Mother Superior. The Oath brightens you, Tylie — you wear it like a… dress." He flounders, chuckles, and shrugs again as he crosses his arms. "A nice dress. With colors — "

The Chosen is interrupted when an Acolyte carrying a basin of hot water across the dining hall to the infirmary stumbles, and slops the water from the basin over his hands. Both the Chosen and the Acolyte wince at the same time — although the younger male, a youth barely out of his teens, yelps and nearly tips the rest of the water over the floor.

Destrian, meanwhile, rubs his left wrist with his right hand, staring hard at them for just a moment — then he marches across the intervening distance between himself and the young Acolyte, bending to pick up the basin.

A soft smile slips, "True obedience does not require understanding, though to teach and guide, it…ah there are those who are Covenant, I am sure do not understand either. But it helps to understand in order to teach and guide."

Tylon dips her head humbly at his words, "You honor me with you words, what you see of me, Des. Thomas…he sees Them in me…not as you do..but in his own way. And yet…I do only as They call me to do. " Her green eyes flicker with a bit of concern to see the wince, but then Tylon's head is turning with the yelp sounding.

Watching a moment at the interplay, the absorption and echo that occurs with Destrian, it had been so long. And yet it was like yesterday, well technically it was, when she'd last witnessed such things. Only a few moments before she follows after to check upon the yelping Acolytes hands.

"I — I'm sorry," the young Acolyte stammers as he stands back up — a puddle of cooling water around his feet. "Chosen, oh! — Mother Superior!" The youth blinks at Tylon, who is not far away, and turns bright red whilst still nursing his hands. He looks back at Destrian, and seeing the deep frown on the older man's face, the Acolyte starts apologising all over again, and in greater distress. "I was in a hurry, Chosen, and — and…"

Destrian is frowning, but not at the Acolyte. The urge to rub his own hands together is distracting. "Too much white…" he murmurs to himself before he looks more closely at the younger man. "It is alright," he tells the boy. "Another can clean this up; you should go to the infirmary — for your hands, lad."

He looks back at Tylon and half-chuckles. "The younglings still think I am angry at them all the time — nothing changes." He puts the basin down on the edge of a nearby table. "You have to tell me of Aly," he exclaims a moment later. "Mother." He grins, then he looks meaningfully at the boy's scalded hands.

A calming smile is offered to the young Acolyte, "It is alright, we all get in a bit of a hurry now and again and then the Guardians give us a reminder to slow down." Her own toes eventually hitting the puddle of water, the edges of her robes as she bends her knees a touch to lift and give a look to his hands in order to assess the extent of the injury.

"Remember, Brother Destrian, that taking the long breathe, a brief closing of the eyes helps the focus, and sometimes to simply lesson what has become too much for a few moments." Addressing the Chosen even as she does give the lad's hands a look before addressing the Acolyte," Quite so, we'll get this cleaned up and you get to the infirmary. See Mother Nyra and tell her I said a cool water bath and then the cool cream. Alright?" Making sure he has absorbed the words as she rises back up before placing her hand upon his back and giving him that bit of gentle guidance to see to it.

"I imagine they are not the only ones, things rarely change. " A rise of her hand occurring to one of the Acolytes serving in the kitchen today, indicating the need for a towel brought for the puddle. Least what of it her robe didn't soak up. "Ahhh, Aly….She has not been long returned herself. Showed up on the door step with half an arrow bolt still in her shoulder. I think the poor Acolyte who greeted her was nearly frightened to death." Tylon frowns for a moment before shaking her head, "There have been many things lately….they are troubling to me, us. Aly has been insistent upon a great deal of security measure concerning me, so I rewarded her and made her the Lt." A thing he would know certainly would not have pleased Aly. "So you should have chance to see her soon."

"I want to see her," Destrian replies as though the obvious required exposition. He watches the Acolyte leave the hall for the infirmary, and finally lowers his hands to his sides. Then he looks directly at Tylon.

"It does not bother me in battle — it never has. All of it: the pain, the steel, the blood — the noiseall of it… fits." His voice goes quiet, and his expression becomes distant, reflective. "Even the screams of the dying… It all fits."

He shifts his stance and gives Tylon a head-nod. "I pray for them, all of them, I do. I never stopped — but I have been waiting years to ask: is it wrong — does it displease Them — that it should feel… that, in battle, it should… I do not have the words, Tylie. Pain — death — is as much 'music' as life. Only once — in battle, I mean — did it become… noise…"

He frowns again, and finds himself massaging the stump of his left wrist, sometime after he has already begun.

"It fits because that is the song of battle, not a pleasant or happy song, but it is yet the proper song for the time." Tylon's word coming softly and calmly as she looks back to Destrian. Shaking her head a touch, "No, it is not wrong. Death is a part of life. Many do not see it as so, they live in fear of a thing they cannot avoid. Without pain and death we would not know life and joy. We cannot know of one truly without knowing of the others. It is much like the Guardians Themselves, each has a place and time, a moment when we turn to them most. There are days I need the strength of Bornas, others where I must have the clam of Stilltha to keep me." There is a flicker of a smile, "Or the fire of Ravas to ensure I burn enough for Thomas."

Des, to feel that in battle, to see and know that the death and pain is as it would be, the expectedness of it, it is not wrong. It only becomes wrong if you are seeking that song withing this world, wishing to be an endless part of it. " Tylon hesitates a moment at the mention of the noise, asking softly, "The noise, if that when your hand was lost?" She had certainly noticed, but many of the Chosen have injuries, even if not so extreme. And some aren't entirely wanting to speak about them.

Destrian nods.

And that is all he does — at least, at first. He stands there, in front of Tylon, his head bowed slightly forward while his eyes focus upon his hands — rather, his hand — for in his mind, the other is still there. The memory of 'noise', as he calls it, is not something he likes to entertain — if the expression on his bearded face is anything to go by. "I had to give up the bow," he murmurs quietly, only to snort a brief chuckle a moment later. "I never cared for the bow, anyway. Aly always won our tournaments… except for the sword." The man adds that last line with a slight garnish of pride. And mirth.

"I should look in upon River — my horse — she has already bitten two Acolytes and trodden on another one. Aye, on purpose. I do not understand it; she is fine with me — does no one here know how to talk to a horse? I heard one of them say she was touched by Kharnas, but that could have been the white talking."

Calmly, quietly does Tylon wait, standing there with him. Silence falling in that simple fashion, a lack of awkwardness, more reflective. Eyes watching him, his reactions, there was always much to see and learn in the watching, things words could never express. A quiet smile comes at the mention of the tournaments, Tylon lightly commenting, "Another reason it is good you have come, Aly has insisted that I have defensive lessons. Thomas is helping as well, but perhaps once you have settled, you can help them shoulder this burden." Simply allowing the matter of 'noise' and battles to fade along.

"Most think they know how to talk to people, not horses. They rarely try. Though it could also be that she simply only likes you and shall give any a difficult time. Some are like that you know, people as well, they like what they do and no amount of talk will change that." Offering a quiet smile as her hand reaches and gives a squeeze to his arm, "Go see to her and send any bitten Acolytes to the infirmary. And perhaps later we can see what you make of Thomas, and if you approve of your little sister's choice."

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