Appassionata: First Movement

The Golden Dragon - 


 * The Golden Dragon isn't, as so many taverns are, a place of refuge. No, this place is meant as a place of socializing, a place of merry laughter and shared troubles, a vision of the companionship and mutual respect that makes life in Crown's Refuge even possible.


 * Finished in warm red wood, the Dragon is simply a long, wide room. Like most taverns, a bar dominates one wall - in this case, the rear one - with the establishment's stores stacked carefully behind whoever happens to be working the bar at any given moment. Two large fireplaces are built into the right-hand wall, both equipped to cook; identical emplacements that offer both warmth and a means to use that warmth to create savory delights, and a place to share tall tales and stories of lamentation and woe.


 * The tavern has no dark corners, and no square tables to be shoved in them. Instead, round tables fill the remaining space, slightly taller than your usual surfaces to meet the few Syladris that take advantage of the Dragon halfway, with enough space between them to give the illusion of privacy for those few that desire it.

Taran is at a table near the wall - so he can lean his chair against it, while both hands are wrapped around a cup of tea.

Zia slips quietly into the tavern from Wildcat Haven, first headed for the bar before she catches sight of Taran out of the corner of her eye. Pause. Pursing her lips, she redirects and lands in an empty chair at the table. Wordless, as of yet.

Taran finishes his tea, first. Setting the empty cup down, a sharp rap of the knuckles on wood summons a barmaid for a refill. As the cup thus disappears, he gives Zia a nod. "Afternoon," he says, quietly pleasant.

"As opposed to morning," Zia agrees, smiling a bit. Leaning back in her chair, she folds her arms to regard the bard a moment. "You have a choice to make," she says. "And you're not going to like it. The phrase 'don't shoot the messenger' comes to mind."

Taran lipquirks. "I see no reason I should. Unless the messenger is going to attempt to put manacles on me."

"She's not," Zia assures. "... Not directly, at any rate." Stop. She purses her lips, considering her wording carefully before she speaks. "Celeste is going to speak with you," she says at length, and there's no 'if' in the statement.

Taran smiles. "Is she, now."

"As an Ordinator," Zia continues. "I think. I spoke to her last night... Blackfox five days ago."

Taran shakes his head. "No. I do not cede her the right. If she has lost faith in me to that extent then she must come to kill me."

Zia sighs. "It is not a matter of her faith. It is a matter of her duty as an Ordinator. Her choices are Naoi, Ailith, or herself. Of those, she has the most faith." She shakes her head. "If you refuse to meet her, Blackfox has agreed to lead her to your tower."

"And then I will kill them," says Taran simply. "I will defend my home. Celeste is not invited." He shakes his head. "She has no sense, and no impartiality. And I will not obey her orders."

"She is not *ordering* you," Zia says. "You are *ordering* her. If you kill them, there are no chances after that. There will be no going back. They will come for you, and for Sandrim too." She lets out a breath. "You have her string right now, not the other way around. She's bound by duty."

Taran shakes his head. "So she will always say. But duty is only her word for that which she wants to do anyway. And it is an order if it cannot be refused. Celeste is not invited to my tower. Blackfox was given the condition at the outset, to bring none there without my invitation. Should I find them there, I will kill them." Very calm; no hint of anger.

"Duty is not the word she gave it," Zia says. "It is the word I gave it. Because it is true. Why do you think she *wants* to come to you?"

"Tying up loose ends," Taran murmurs. "A memory gone and put away, and she will stay with Vhramis."

Zia sighs. "I disagree. But if that's so... I don't think you need to talk to her of that."

Taran shakes his head. "I don't need to talk to her at all. If she thought for five minutes she would know that. She is *not impartial*. Not in my case. Whether she decided I was fallen or not, few would believe it a fair verdict. It is a waste of time."

Zia bows her head, studying her hands folded in her lap a long moment. "A waste of time that could give you your life, and protect Sandrim's. A waste of time that would move all this forward. And even if you don't believe me, you must know that it is a *possibility*. And you'd give it up and pass it away as a waste of time."

Taran blows out a breath. "No. It is not in her power. She simply wants to play the wounded saint at me....and I am tired. If I must be tried and judged, I would rather it be a verdict no one would question."

"Write her a letter then," Zia murmurs, looking up. "If you will not speak to her in person, write her a letter. Ask her to send Naoi. She is hard, and young, and new. Vigilant to a fault, and as fair as she's loyal to the Light. I don't know if you're right. I don't know what Celeste wants, and what is true and what is not. But I do know that if I tell Celeste you will not meet her elsewhere, and that you will kill her if she goes to your tower, then there will be nothing more to do."

Taran shrugs. "There may, already, be nothing more to do," he says quietly. "She could have requested. She could have written. She could have remembered, at least, that once we were friends. If she will remember none of these things, then I will not hold myself bound by them. And I follow no noble's orders without first agreeing with them." He shrugs. "If we are strangers, then I will be judged by a stranger. How shall I find this Naoi?"

"Only because you will not do what you can," Zia says. "Naoi is at Night's Edge, trying to rehabilitate Thayndor. At Celeste's home. You met her once, remember? Hated me for nearly a couple days for telling her your name. I could ask her to meet you here. And hope that she will go, and that if she does, Celeste will listen to her."

Taran sighs. "It is meaningless," he says. "But perhaps meaning is too much to ask for. The wheels turn, the Song plays. But if this is not yet the end, make sure Celeste understands that I will heed no order from her. She will request, and politely." He pauses. "And whether I live or die, the noble that sets foot on the summit Barrow's Height, dies. It is not for them."

"Oh, Light." Zia rubs at her eyes, suddenly very tired. "I will fetch her. Please, try not to do anything rash?" She rises to her feet, takes a couple of steps towards the door. "Tell me first, before I go--and I won't be long--am I wasting *my* time, Taran?"

Taran smiles...just slightly, and very tiredly. "I wish I could say you were not. Some things just must be played through to their end, regardless of whether that end is the one you would prefer to see. Diplomacy in a pinch is no more her strong suit than it is mine."

Zia sighs, "You make things very difficult," and heads for the door.

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