Marital Advice from Sidereals is the leading cause of divorce in Creation

Marital Advice from Sidereals is the Leading Cause of Divorce in Creation
Disclaimer: Due to difficulty in representing an ongoing conversation with multiple concurrent threads, I'm just going to be reproducing this as-was via PM.

Shrike retires from the bustle of activity triggered by Mari's initiation of repairs on the Factory-Cathedral. Her mate gives her an affectionate, longing kiss on the forehead before she goes. The inn is quiet, the staff primarily occupied with Wrath's meeting or a thousand other chores generated from the victory in Lookshy.

She finds a tired looking aide, a man of non-descript professionalism, waiting for her once she heads toward her room. He bows slightly, his head inclined in respect. He is not standing outside her room, but rather seems to be guarding another.

"Am I still welcome in your presence Veil Winged Shrike?"

Frowning, the Solar tries hard to place him. She usually has an impeccable memory for names and faces -- all part of the trade, after all -- but the man's incredible blandness defeats even her usual perspicacity. "You are most certainly welcome, as I cannot seem to recall any offence you might have committed against me, but you will by the same token forgive me if I cannot quite remember who you are. This is a lame excuse, but the past few days have been... taxing."

The man looks puzzled for a moment before looking down, frowning softly. "Ah yes. Forgive me."

A moment later, in between blinks, the man is replaced with a figure in crimson powered armor, marred and battered from the day's fight.

Clamping her fingers tightly into the extraneous length of her trailing sleeves, Shrike tries very hard -- and succeeds -- not to jump out of her skin at the sudden change. "Ah, Wind. I'm sorry I didn't recognise you. Would you care to come in?" Without waiting for his reply, she brushes past him and enters her quarters, her brusqueness not so much coldness as an attempt to work off her frayed nerves. She bustles about for a bit finding things to pour and other things to pour them into, but is soon presenting Wind with a sturdy pewter mug -- she'd gauged the augmented strength of the armour to be far too much to be trusted with some of the fine crystal she'd bullied out of the innkeeper -- of cool beer. For a moment, she contemplates something stronger, but then decides that she feels surprisingly partial towards chilled beer, and helps herself to one too.

That done, she seats herself on a divan, tucking her bare feet beneath the hem of her robe. "Thank you for helping Mari deal with the situation with Blossom. I don't think I could have handled that with much delicacy at the time. I'm sure Mari is grateful as well."

As professionally polite as if she were granting an interview.

The Sidereal follows her in, once more placing his starmetal helm carefully on a shelf.

"Your tone suggests otherwise Shrike. I would ask you speak your mind - once my kind were advisors, and our advice cannot be well formed if your thoughts are locked away."

He smiles slightly. "Besides, I once laid my fears bare before you..."

"More than just your fears, unless my memory fails me." The Solar smiles as well: the memory is a pleasant one. "But very well. I have... my concerns. Largely about what is to come.

The Sidereal actually blushes. "Indeed."

"We've chosen to tackle this threat of the Deathlords openly, making us potentially the most high-profile Celestial Exalts currently active in Creation, perhaps with the exception of the Bull of the North, although I would assume that our current achievement trumps his. He thrashed a bunch of Dragon-Blooded; we drove off two Deathlords. But with it comes risk.

"If you weren't aware, I am planning to lead a mission to Great Forks. That is where the Deathlords have positioned their servants, who are already no doubt gathering intelligence, laying the foundation for yet another Blood Monsoon, and poisoning minds against us, and that is where the next blow of theirs is likely to fall. My intention is to have the city of the gods join Lookshy as the first new member of a federation of states overseen by Solar guidance. We are now moving openly, politically, establishing ourselves as an institution as much as individuals. Even now, some poor damn-fool mortals out in the city are praying to me. Praying! To me! As if I could somehow wave my hands and make everything better!"

The Sidereal nods. "You almost certainly have Creation's attention. As for your burgeoning cult...I will admit a certain degree of discomfort with it. It was one of the many compounding crimes that turned Heaven's favor from the Lawgivers in the First Age. If you would like, I can do my best to...discourage it."

Shrike squirms. "Well... I'm not sure about that. I'm not going to encourage them, that's for sure, but if it gives them a bit of hope, I certainly won't turn them down. It's not like their prayers don't help, or anything. The only Sidereal method for the suppression of Solar cults I'm aware of rhymes with 'Ejaculate Phimosity', and it's not something either Mari or I have any truck with."

The Sidereal sits, the servos of his armor supporting his weight as much as her delicate couch.

"The Immaculate Philosophy is only the most visible approach. And one I find distasteful for reasons beyond its treatment of your kind - it is an over-eligant solution, and these things tend to go badly. Regardless, I urge you to resolve it - as it grows larger, it is not inconceivable that it will draw Heaven's ire, or the attention of one of the Five-Score Fellowship. And while I might speak with you before drawing a sword, there are others who will not."

"Perhaps," Shrike drawls idly, "it is past time I made my debut in Yu-Shan. Still, you have a point. As a courtesy to Tien-Yu, if nothing else, I should send some sort of message to those who would worship me. Perhaps Tien Yu will be magnanimous enough to cede me some sort of sainthood beneath her aegis." The last is, again, half-teasing, half-serious: the constant influx of power from prayers is completely new to Shrike, but is also pleasant, exciting.

"I know you've done a lot to avert the eyes of Heaven from what we've been up to, and I'm grateful. But I don't think you'll be able to any more. Not when we're this blatant. And that means we'll have to deal with a lot more than just fistfights with Abyssals from now on. We've staked our claim to this city, and that makes it ours, its people ours, their lives ours to defend, their happiness ours to safeguard... their future ours to build. When the Deathlords rained blood on Lookshy, thousands of innocents who were counting on us were torn to pieces. They died with their own blood in their throats, all the while trusting that we would save them.

"You are correct Shrike, I am afraid my part in keeping Heaven's gaze from you is over. But do not underestimate what you have done here. Yes, innocent people died with blood in their throats and fear in their eyes - and their lives weigh on my soul as well." The Sidereal's expression grows distant for a long moment. "They and a thousand other souls. But Lookshy stands. Her people will go on. Young people will fall in love, children will be born, and parents will grow proud. Scholars and soldiers and artists will rebuild their city because of you."

His expression is one of profound respect. "It is not everything, Daughter of Thorns, but it is enough."

"Is it, though? I feel that this is only a beginning of something much greater, something that when it has achieved its full momentum and impetus will be unstoppable, even by me." She turns luminous eyes on him. "It feels like... well, like marriage, in a way. That if I don't stop it now, while I can, that I never will, and when faced with something like that, I can't help feeling that I want to get out, just to avoid having my hand forced.

"I've always taught Mari about responsibility, but that was our responsibility as individuals, not as... institutional figureheads.

"Before this, I could have shrugged off anything they can throw at me. I have the Sun-granted power to brush aside attacks with my bare hands. But I can't parry armies, and I can't help a city dodge spells that taint the very earth beneath our feet!

"And I can't just defeat treachery with sheer force." She sighs and sets her mug down. It is empty, and for a moment she wonders where all that beer went. "I told you before I envied the first Sidereal I met. Sometimes, I still do. Oh, I'm stronger than she was, possibly stronger than she's become... maybe even stronger than you are. But this isn't a matter of strength, and sometimes that strength becomes a liability. The more potent I get, the closer I feel my Essence refining itself towards some distant perfection, the more I start to feel like I'm living in a world made of paper. I can barely do anything without breaking something. If I'm not careful, asking the innkeeper to bring me water will end up in the entire neighbourhood forming a bucket chain and flooding the inn. Telling a coward to man up and fight will lead to his entire clan taking up arms and turning into suicidal berserkers.

"And in this world of infinitely breakable mortals are people like Blossom, with knives aimed at our backs. I can't jump at shadows because every time I do, something breaks, but if I don't, I might find myself wearing soulsteel chains walking down the aisle with that loathsome Resplendent Servant of Dust and Ash." She sets her second mug down with little less dexterity than her first. "And with the new additions, and that girl and her dreams of grandeur and conquest, and deathknights on our side of all things... it's becoming a lot harder to find people I feel safe putting my back to."

The Solar stands and walks over to where Wind sits, cupping his chin in one hand. "You asked for the truth, and you shall have it. When you stood on the deck of Frost's ship and spoke for Blossom after she had taken the precious gift of Mari's help and our trust and thrown it back in our faces, for a moment, I wondered if you would turn on us, too. You are not so old that you would have had a hand in it yourself, but once upon a time, very possibly these hands of yours that have held me could have handled the person I was much more roughly. Could have held the knife that severed the thread of that life.

"For a moment I was afraid that those hands might again. I don't begrudge you your duty, Star-born, although I know it must be hard. I hope you can find it in you not to begrudge me my... weakness." Her fingers trace the line of his jaw from his chin to the nape of his neck. "I want to trust you. And Second Thoughts, and hell, even that damned deathknight. But sometimes I wonder if I can afford to.

"And the thing that scares me the most is in that instant when I wondered if I would ever have to fight you, I knew without a moment of doubt that I could. That rather than lay down and die, even if the forces of Heaven or Malfeas or the Underworld or all three come for me with you at their head, I will meet them and you and anyone else and do my utmost best to crush you all beneath my feet. And I knew that I was capable of going that far. And that terrifies me."

There is a hint of sadness in his eyes as she speaks, and he nods gently. "Such power is the burden of the Lawgivers to bear. As ours is knowledge. And the Lunar's devotion."

He closes his eyes for a moment, savoring the woman's touch. "I will not lie to you Shrike. My hand may very well have held that knife, and may in the future as well. Perhaps it will be different for Second Thoughts but..." He gently takes her hand, easing it away from his face.

"Do not trust me." It clearly hurts him to say it, but never the less, it needs to be said. "I will do what is necessary to protect Creation, and my duty. If I must take the field against you, I will. I pray sincerely that day never comes, and if it does, it may very well be that I die at your hands."

Shrike's smile matches his for sadness. "Perhaps that is what makes me trust you after all. Because I know you'll do what you think is best, and not act out of desire for profit, or advancement, or glory. It is not... discomfiting to know that there are those who stand ready to keep me in check should I... repeat the mistakes of the past.

"But I trust that you'll honour me with many such talks to put me back on the straight and narrow, before deciding on the knife and the garotte as the instruments of my correction.

"I've told Killing Frost the same thing. I'm afraid of what this sequence of events, what more betrayals like Blossom's, might make me become. I don't know if the rest feel the same doubts. Perhaps the very nature of my Exaltation as a Sun's Eclipse makes me more prone to such... contemplation."

She sits back down, stealing away from him. "Is that what you came for, Sidereal? Or did you just want to ask me about Killing Frost?" At his expression, she allows herself a chuckle. "Or did you think that I would not notice? A little bit of jealousy is flattering, but more than that needs addressing."

He pauses, considering his hands for a moment. "On the subject of you and your mate..." he shrugs softly. "I cannot even pretend to give you advice. Perhaps Night's Endless Promise, or Second Thoughts, but not I..." there is a form of finality to the statement, and a deep...it is either pain or longing, Shrike can't quite tell.

"You can occasionally allow yourself to be friend as well as Vizier, if you so choose, you know. There are times when I will cherish your opinion more than your advice. What do you think? A truth from you, as roundly unvarnished as any I have ever granted you."

"The first is not to underestimate the draw you have to Frost. I have seen how he looks at you - I saw him in the restaurant with the Security Director. I see his pride when you are near and he is commanding his vessel."

Despite her attempts to bury her flustered face between her hands, her blush is brilliant and obvious. "I-- I suppose that's... nice --"

"The second is not to estimate the symbolism of your bond. You two have found each other, and triumphed as a pair. That is a rare thing in this Age. As for what you have to do with the rehabilitation of Blossom...a single wedding can singlehandedly restore her portfolio."

"-- and that's another thing entirely!" She springs off his lap, her legs suddenly straight-kneed as she paces frenetically. The volume of her voice soars. "Marriage?! That never even crossed my mind! I mean, what's marriage anyway? We're Exalted! We live for millennia! Frost can -- and certainly intends to -- breed with as wide a selection of eligible young things as possible, and his offspring won't even be human!"

It doesn't take a shrewd socialite to realise that the thing that has set Shrike off is not so much the thought of marrying Frost as the thought of marriage per se.

He sighs softly. "As for Blossom, I believe you underestimate the damage done to the goddess to leave her in such a state." He bows his head, pondering his words.

"You may define yourself by your power, or your goals, or your past. But to a God...their portfolio is their being. Their passion, their drive, their livelihood - all of it was taken from her in a single moment when the Solars fell. She was the Goddess of Solar and Lunar unions - her charges murdered or exiled. But she did not lose herself in the Wyld, or die. She persisted, lingered, a impoverished, exiled shell of herself, homeless, purposeless and without hope. For an entire Age. Perhaps it was betrayal, but when it comes down to it, she was given a chance to turn back to Creation, and she did so."

He closes his eyes for a moment. "Which is what I actually came to speak to you about. You and Killing Frost are likely the most visible Solar-Lunar pair in Creation. You may think it was Mari who had to forgive her, but the key to her redemption...it lies with you two."

Her eyes narrow. "I fail to see what my relationship with Frost has to do with Blossom's rehabilitation. Our relationship is nascent, and hardly representative of Solar/Lunar relationships across Creation, where they even exist."

The Sidereal quietly lets the question of his opinion on Shrike and Frost's relationship fade beneath her rather more profound reaction to the concept of marriage.

"It would be a powerful message to Creation and Yu Shan, and a recognition of your bond. Not all Solar-Lunar pairings, even the strongest, manifested as a pair of...shall we say mutually compatible lovers. But it was not uncommon - nor, if you worry on it, was frequent dalliances with mortal harems and favored Dragon Blooded. As I said, it depends on you - Blossom can be forgiven by Mari, but it is beyond the girl to heal her. At least for now."

He eyes her evenly. "But its not just the idea of Frost taking a few young women to bed that bothers you, is it?"

"A few? I don't think you're quite aware of the scale of his... plans." Levity aside, Shrike is sombre. "It's... actually not about Frost. I mean, it obviously is about him, but ordinarily I suppose I wouldn't really... mind or anything. But marriage...

"Let me tell you a story, Chosen of the Stars. It is not a particularly creative one, but its strength lies in truth, not art.

"Once there was a maiden, young, naïve, but beautiful, whose talent and whose joy was the dance of her people. She was poor, and had no kin left in the world but her aged mother, but she was glad as long as she make ends meet by dancing.

"One day, she catches the eye of a young militia officer. Back then, he must have seemed to her impossibly dashing and suave, even though in hindsight, after all that she has seen, he might have been as artless as a beardless youth." Shrike smiles, very slightly, at the memory. "He paid court to her, to which she was accustomed, but there was a... a sincerity, an earnestness, an intensity about him that was wholly different from the lusts she had become used to arousing.

"Moved, and delighted by the opportunity to improve her situation and that of her mother through marriage, the girl battened on to the idea, seizing it as if she were drowning and that marriage her only avenue for survival. She planned her dress and her bouquet, and her mother pawned an old bracelet the girl's father had given her in order to purchase meat for the meagre feast. The girl, who had always been happy and blithe, seemed to almost glow with joy, and her groom was no less ecstatic. They would have been very happy together.

"Then the Mask of Winters came, and Thorns burned, and somewhere, riven through with soulsteel or torn asunder by the claws of hungry ghosts, her love lies unmourned and unremembered, one of many tens of thousands.

"And these days, the girl who wanted nothing but to be married to him finds it difficult to remember his face." Shrike closes her eyes, but it does not sharpen her memory. "And I have so little of that earlier life left to me. I know it sounds silly, but I have never thought of marriage since the day my intended died. It would have seemed... like betrayal, somehow.

"I suppose you're right about me and Frost, and our relationship, but I cannot reconcile what that marriage would mean with the only kind of marriage I ever really wanted. Something simple, something pure. I have no doubt that Frost has... strong feelings for me, but simplicity and purity do not adhere to the things that the Exalted touch."

The Sidereal cups her chin for a long moment, holding her face gently.

"I understand some of your pain Veil Winged Shrike. Although your young soldier is not unmourned." He looks at her for a tender moment.

"If I may tell you another story? One preserved in the archives of Heaven itself, and sung by the tongues of remorseful Dragons."

He speaks as if reciting a long, sad poem.

"There was once a maiden," he quirks a smile, as if enjoying some private joke "who loved nothing as much as her simple life by the sea - mending nets, weaving sails, and watching the coast for her father's boat to return."

"She would not say what great trial she endured to earn Luna's blessing, what tragedy she had survived. She never spoke of it, but the sea was taken from her. She was taken to the great city of Meru, a simple country girl, scared and alone despite her great power. There she met a man - older than she, but kind and just, who took her under his wing and showed her the wider world. In time, she came to love him, and grew strong under his watchful gaze, her heart swelling with pride at his admiration, his approval, even from across the spans of Creation."

"And when the Dragon Blooded...and my brethren...orchestrated their great betrayal, when he took his own life to spare them the shame of doing so, she turned. Her kind fled to live out another day, but she knew she could not - her heart had burned atop a funeral pyre in Meru. And so she turned, striking at those who had stolen her love, enraged that she could not have perished beside him, held him one last time. And so she died, her body broken on the alter of her grief."

He regards the Solar woman evenly. "Perhaps it is not simple with the Exalted. But do not casually discard it's purity."

The story moves her emotionally, but there is a deeper response to it that stirs from a part of her more mysterious and potent yet than her woman's heart. Even as she sympathises with the legendary Lunar, her heart going out to a woman whose love was fierce and uncomplicated and utterly, utterly undivided, she remembers her, that ancient hero of Creation.

In her mind's eye rises the image, sharper and clearer than ever her betrothed's face had ever been, of a woman she has never met, resplendent in a gleaming moonsilver cuirass she's seen before, with her foot on the prow of an airship manoeuvring to deliver a devastating broadside, her daiklave pointing even as she gives the soundless order to fire. Her expression is brightened by a ferocious joy, that of a hunter on the trail, but she then turns to give a warm glance and a surprisingly shy smile, one filled with unquestioning affection.

What catches the Solar completely off-guard is the sudden surge of phantom emotion that blasts outwards from the very core of her soul, an eruption of unrivalled intensity all directed at that face, that smile, a reciprocation of a love every bit as fierce and devoted. A love that defies the Ages, that has withstood Usurpation and the Wyld, that will scorn death and Oblivion itself. A love that both dwarfs and inspires whatever nascent emotion she harbours, that reveals its pettiness even as it demonstrates the heights to which it might one day aspire.

Shrike blinks rapidly to clear the image, her face in her hands, and when she returns to full awareness of herself she finds that her hands are covered with tears, that her eyes are streaming freely, and that she has the woman's name of her lips. "Hundred Headed Viper. The woman whose story you just told me. Her name was... Hundred Headed Viper.

"Oh gods. I never... I never thought... Wind, I loved her so much. That memory hurts. As if... I really knew her. As if I was with her, just yesterday. It hurts so badly, and yet... that's reassuring. I know that whatever I... whatever he... did to her then, that whatever she did for him... it was all for love. A love that was never forced upon them, that didn't spring full-grown from some Celestial geas, but that grew from patience and commitment, like a mighty oak from an acorn.

"I loved her so much."

The grief is new, sharp-edged with surprise. Her First Age incarnation had never had the opportunity to mourn his beloved, perishing as he did in the comfort of knowing that she was far, far away from the danger that claimed him. And so she mourns for a love that she never had, that she has always had, shaking helplessly in the Sidereal's arms, wracked by sobs so violent that the spasms set her teeth chattering. Frost, wherever he is, feels as though someone has laid a warm hand on his heart, touched to the very core by an outpouring of emotion through a channel long unopened.

"I... I will marry him. If he'll have me. If he will ask me. I... I won't ask him, because I know he won't refuse me, but it's another thing entirely if he decides on it himself. I will do it, not for Blossom, but for us. It... it might be the only thing that I will ever do that's just for the two of us. I will, I will, I do. Oh, Wind of Lament, how is it that even in friendship you prove so apt an advisor?" She kisses him without shame but also without desire, a familiar gesture between friends. "Thank you."

Wind of Lament holds the sobbing woman tenderly, despite his armor, letting her tangle with the flood of emotions that comes from his less than gentle prodding of her First Age self.

He smiles softly at the tender kiss, knowing its meaning and intent. "I am not a leader of men, or a builder of nations. What I do is reveal the truths Creation needs to go on." He shakes his head softly. "This has been a pleasant change." There is a certainty in that statement, and his warm tone is tempered by a touch of sadness.

"As for the the other matter..." he shakes his head, and for a moment looks as if, despite his powered armor, and the strong, lean muscles underneath, he carries a considerable weight. "There are memories I shall cherish, but I hold nothing more than envy for your mate. On that account, you need not worry yourself."

There is a moment of silence, and then another of breathless laughter. "I suppose it is good that you feel that way. I would perceive myself... slighted... if there was not some little longing behind that starmetal mask." Her smile is bright and vicious. "Frost might at times put a premium on his own independence than my jealousy.

"At such times, perhaps it will behoove him to remember that I am not the only party in this relationship prone to possessive envy." She bites her lip. "I would not... use you... unkindly. But my Lunar mate and I hardly have an exclusive relationship. Part of me wishes that it be so, but another recognises the folly in that sentiment. Should our miraculous luck continue to hold, we will wait out centuries together, and in that time I think we will grow past petty possession and obsession.

"If I can feel trapped in a situation, how much less the free-wheeling Admiral Killing Frost, who calls all the skies of Creation home? If the feeling of having my back against the wall makes me want to cut and run, I can't imagine how much more that applies to him, Chosen of Luna? If I am to have any hope of retaining any warmth in whatever it is that we have, I cannot hope to bind him past his bearing.

"And if I am to have a semblance of that coquetry and mystique that grants women their allure, I suppose I must not allow him to bind me past mine."