A Mirror Stares from Two Sides (Iollan, Cassair)

He was not an errand boy, yet Iollan never liked telling his brother “no”. At least regular customers no longer gave him odd looks when he showed up on their doorsteps with flowers and medicines, the years having dulled most of the more interesting rumors of him. The ones he still heard were either ones that has and always will follow his family name, or he simply couldn't refute - nor could he change to avoid them.

(Iollan gave up on trying to regulate his trips into the Wispwood for decades ago - trying to convince people that he wasn't courting a forest demon only seemed to make people more suspicious as to why he stopped vanishing for weeks. Gossip-mongers were never satisfied.)

The scent of herbs still followed him down the road, his morning deliveries only just being completed. All he had to do now was check back in with his brother before starting on his own work, if there was nothing else to be done.

But Ailín would have to wait a few minutes longer, when there came the sound of tumbling tomes behind him. Iollan turned, spotting a human child on the cobblestones as he hastily retrieved them. Other citizens always took issue with his sympathetic nature, but any worries about that were oceans away from Iollan's mind as he approached the boy, kneeling to help his efforts.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Blue met violet, but the other broke eye contact quickly, staring down at his books. Iollan blinked, though was neither surprised nor offended. Dark elves weren't known for friendly interactions with other races; he guessed that this may have been the issue, even in a place like Iadlain. And, well, the boy was just a child, anyways - he could understand why he was nervous.

He was saying something, just loud enough for elven ears to catch, just soft enough to be incomprehensible. Iollan tilted his head slightly though made no sound, reaching to the side for another book as he waited for the boy to collect himself.

“It’s alright.” He kept his voice gentle, trying not to stress the already skittish child. “I’m in no hurry.” As he dusted the book’s cover, Iollan studied the human in his peripheral vision. He had the feeling that he should know who he was - getting the short side of the rumor mill didn't mean he wouldn't listen in when the topic moved to other people. He just had to place a name to a description…

...ah. Well, that made things interesting. Interesting, among other things. Iollan wasn't familiar with the lives of political leaders - by Atros, his interest in Iadlain's leadership resumed for the first time in decades only recently, and mostly because of the Count's lack of magic. But, surely the Count’s heir should be...accompanied? By someone, even if not a guard?

“Are you - ” He cut himself off, thinking of a way to word his questions without seeming suspicious, or just seeming plain weird. Seeing how shy the ó Faoláin child was, he didn't want to scare him more. “Would you like some help carrying these?”

Iollan nodded slowly. “Alright, if you’re sure. And you’re welcome.” He smiled as the ó Faoláin boy looked up, even though he didn't meet his gaze. “I’m always glad to help out.”

He waited a few moments as the child carefully picked up the stack, just in case he did need some assistance. At the sight of the bandages, however, his breath caught in his throat. Just briefly - a reflex he failed to contain. But despite the twist in his gut, he glanced away, pretending as though his attention had been caught by something else.

Iollan couldn't just keep asking him if he was okay. He was the Count’s son, and the boy didn't need an unknown dark elf to needle his way into his personal life - certainly, Iollan didn't think the Count would like it if he heard of an attempt to meddle in his affairs. And, in any case, the boy had to have someone back home looking after him. Again with the Count and rumors, he’s heard otherwise, but then again Iadlain's rumor mill weren't always...trustworthy. There had to be some servants, or a tutor, or anyone.

(The thought stirred up memories of the bittersweet variety, rarely touched upon intentionally. But he’s lived with them for so long, that pushing them back was almost a mindless task.

Maybe he should say something, but he doesn't know what would help. Maybe it was nothing to worry about.)

The boy was standing, now. Iollan rose to his feet as well, smiling softly again. He couldn't help the hint of concern that slipped into his voice. “Take care, and be safe, okay?”

As they parted ways down opposite directions, Iollan glanced briefly over his shoulder at the boy. He couldn't shake the feeling that he should've done something more, despite rational thought telling him that he couldn't, not now. Humans were a tenacious, persevering lot - the child would be fine.

“May Atros bless and protect you,” he murmured, so quietly that even the light breeze pulled them apart to nothingness. His walk back to the Silver Branch had no more interruptions and Ailín, though always sensitive to Iollan's moods, said nothing about his distant smile.



--- Year 8286

He’d missed his usual path back to Iadlain by just half an hour, and out of resignation (and definitely not moping, Iollan told himself) he’d sat at the base of a tree, his bag on the foliage-covered ground besides him. In his lap lay a smaller satchel, tied to his belt and filled with Wispwood essentials, including iron-silver scissors he gingerly wrapped in cloth.

It would be quicker, and less work overall, just to head back to his cabin and come back the next day. Either way, he was going to miss the family dinner. If he sent his sister a whisper tree message, maybe she wouldn't be as annoyed.

Sighing quietly, Iollan slowly got to his feet. At the very least, he could look for some herbs or familiar-worthy meals while he was out here.


((//thumbs up and puts a random date for the time skip, 7 years later--))

His ears caught the sound of something moving nearby on the forest floor, but without any more information it was a coin flip between ‘relatively harmless woodland creature’ and ‘certain death’. Iollan would take those chances, and had been doing so every time he was in Wispwood. Still, he paused in slinging his bag over his shoulder, glancing around as his free hand reached half-way for his survival kit, fingers curled in preparation for a summons instead.

But even though he was already alert, Iollan jumped at the sound of a voice; no sane person ever ventured so far, as few people could survive a night in the woods, nor did they want to try. He recovered quickly, spinning to face the stranger --

-- only to find that he wasn’t a stranger at all. Not in the sense that Iollan didn’t already know who he was. Cassair ó Faoláin, the Count of Iadlain, stood a short distance from him. Short, seeing as one generally wanted to be several seconds of running from all other freely-moving creatures in Wispwood, yet still far enough to be considered comfortably polite, had they been in the city.

Iollan stared, speechless for a few moments. But why was he surprised? Given the rumors since Cassair’s return from Reluir, this shouldn’t have been so shocking - especially since he’d followed them closely, mouth dry. The shy boy he had once met was gone, replaced by a smiling Count who wandered the woods.

Smiling, and dangerous, as dark power always was. Part of him could respect that, and did so greatly. Iollan gave him his own smile, cautious yet polite, once he recollected himself. “Hello, there.” A brief pause, before he offered more. “It’s not often that one runs into another out here.”

Iollan managed to not recoil as the Count drew closer, instead straightening up and folding his hands in front of himself, relaxed while his pulse raced on. The boy - if it was still appropriate to refer to Cassair as such - was an Enchanter, he told himself. Possessed or doppelgänger, whatever rumor was more popular today, his magic was still trickery over substance.

Funnily enough, that thought did little to ease his nerves. Iollan had his fair share of powerful Enchanters in his life - substantial magic or not, they were not people to be trifled with.

“I suppose I misspoke, then,” he replied, his voice characterized by a deliberate calmness. So Cassair knew who he was. This, too, was not surprising, for several possible reasons arranged from annoying to distressing. “My apologies, Cassair. Prior to several moments ago, I had never met anyone in this part of Wispwood.”

Taken generally, that wasn’t exactly true - he’d stumbled across a very small handful of dark elves total, and even fewer humans. Lost ones who’d taken the wrong turn at the wrong place, when the stars were just so aligned and the wind blew north-east, and found themselves past the line of safety. Iollan did not lead them home, and Iadlain was used to losing people to the forest. It was never anyone important, and almost never one who travelled with purpose. But, no, never in this specific part of Wispwood.

“There’s a first time for everything, though. Life would be fairly dull, otherwise, don’t you think?”

Cassair continued to stare at him, and Iollan couldn’t help but stare back. With any other person it was often a useful intimidation tactic – a gaze on the edge of politeness with a hint of foreboding, so subtle that the other couldn’t tell if the threat was real. With the Count, it was…well, it was uneasy, having the dynamic shifted against him.

Taking his eyes off the young man would be foolish, his gut told him. Dangerous? That remained to be seen. But definitely foolish.

But then Cassair responded with yet another question, and still in that odd way of addressing him, as though ‘Iollan’ was another entity entirely. He didn’t know how to feel about that. If anything, he felt nothing about it – as detached from the idea of ‘Iollan’ as the Count’s wording was. An unusual sensation, at least in recent years.

By Atros. Things already felt surreal, and they were just having a conversation, no illusions yet. Right?

But Cassair’s question. That was not one Iollan was familiar with, and he grasped it as an anchor, turning it over in his mind for a few moments. “It depends,” he started, mulling over his words. “Dullness is welcome when one’s life moves too quickly to keep up with. Sameness can be a respite, giving time to readjust and prepare for the future. But dullness, when one has been alive for many years, becomes as tiring as chaos. Time slips away too easily when all the days look the same.”