The Tears of Kas̆dael

Tēmānu paused outside the steps to House Barbāru's manor and took a moment to compose himself. He'd let his anger get away from him after Akītu's attack, and while he didn't exactly regret gelding the man, now that his wrath had had time to cool, he realized that it might have the opposite effect he'd intended.

He'd wanted to protect Damqa from further humiliation from her ne'er-do-well husband, both from the endless stream of mistresses he paraded in broad view, or if he ever decided to actually take her to bed himself. But he had a feeling the noble's father would not take kindly to Tēmānu's actions; sure, Lord Akkû could no doubt bribe the king's healer to undo the deed, but not without news of his son's humiliation spreading through the court. I hope Damqa didn't pay for my deeds.

Nervously, he took out the summons he'd received and reread it, vainly searching for any hints in the brief communication that they were upset with him. There was nothing, though, and he decided there was no point in delaying the inevitable any longer.

His presence outside had clearly been noted as the gates swung open to meet him. He stepped inside, noting absentmindedly that the manor grounds looked a little unkempt, though it was hard to judge whether that was due to a lack of staff or done on purpose.

It had taken him a while to see beauty in Strythani architecture; their predilection for burying their homes beneath mounds of dirt was quite unlike anything Tēmānu was familiar with, and while they were experts at finding ways to bring light into the house, he found it difficult to adjust to living mostly underground.

But while initially he'd written off the underground homes as crude concessions to the harsh winters that plagued their lands, he could not deny that they had a certain whimsical charm to them. The homes were filled with exquisitely carved wooden panels, painted in bright, vibrant colors that brought scenes of the forest and the sea to life, while the manor grounds were covered with both carefully tended flower gardens and more natural forestlands bursting with life. Despite its population, Kār-Apum felt more likely a carefully manicured forest than a city.

Tēman̄u's musings were interrupted, though, as he reached the manor doors. He handed the guard his summons and followed him inside. He was a bit surprised when they passed the usual reception, the guard guiding him through the empty ballroom and up two flights of stairs as he took him deeper into the manor than he'd ever been before. Eventually, they stopped outside a copper-plated door, adorned with an intricately carved copy of the House's emblem, and the guard cocked his head. "Lord Barbaru is waiting for you inside," he said, before departing the hall.

The nervousness he'd exorcised outside returned full-force as Tēmānu wrapped his hand around the knob and pulled it open. While he'd tried to get a meeting with the head of the family, he'd never managed to land one, speaking instead with Damqa, her brothers, and even her mother once, but never the older men of the family. Something had clearly changed, and he had a sinking feeling it was the result of his fight with Akîtu.

As he stepped inside the study, he found himself blinking at the sudden light. The room, like the rest of the manor, was buried beneath the hill, but House Barbaru had clearly spared no expense on its construction. Three faux skylights of the fashion the Strythani were fond of - some sort of mechanical wizardry along long shafts and carefully placed mirrors - flooded the room with sunlight. The bright light danced off the study's four walls, each one covered in fields of carefully carved sunflowers, painted with a mixture of true-to-life colors and copper and gold gilding that sparkled in the sun, while the ceiling was painted like a warm sunny day with delicate, wispy clouds.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

As his eyes adjusted to the sunlight, Tēmānu realized there was a man seated beneath the skylights, at a golden desk bathed in sunlight and covered in mounds of paper.

"Aye," Tēmānu agreed breathlessly, craning his head around to catch every corner of the lavishly decorated room. "This is as beautiful as any room I've seen in the palace; a true craftsman must have done this."

The patriarch was an intimidating man, with his long, grey hair pulled back in tight rows and a fulsome beard that could not hide the deep lines on his face, or the gnarly scar cutting across his cheek, but as he allowed himself a small smile at the compliment, years dropped off his face.

"My aunt would have been most pleased to hear you say that. After her husband died prematurely, she threw herself into her arts. Personally, I think this room was her crowning achievement, but there are many in the family who would disagree with me. Perhaps one of these days, I can show you her other rooms, but, for now, we have other business." The Strythani gestured to the seat in front of him imperiously. "Sit."

Tēmānu plastered a look of unconcern as he eased into the chair, but, internally, his heart began to race.

"Do you know what you have done?" The man asked harshly.

He considered feigning ignorance, but discarded the idea promptly; now was not the time to play the fool. "If you're referring to my fight with Lord Akîtu, then I'm afraid there was not much else I could do in the situation. The fool tried to kill me - me, an ambassador of the Empire. Wars have been fought for less," he replied coldly.

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The man sighed and subconsciously rubbed the scar on his cheek. "Aye, there's some truth to what you say," he admitted. "But did you really have to geld him? Wars have been fought for that, too," he added wryly.

"Would you have preferred I killed him?"

"Yes," the man replied bluntly. "Perhaps things are different in the Empire, but here the humiliation you've heaped on Lord Akkû was worse than killing his son outright would have been. That could have been spun as a death in an honorable duel-"

"That was no duel," Tēmānu replied angrily, but the lord waved his objection enough.

"Perhaps not, but perception, not truth, is what matters here. Given Akîtu's hot-headed reputation, it was a story people would have believed, and while the loss of his son would have been unfortunate, Lord Akkû's reputation would not have suffered too severely.

"The story of your 'mercy,' however, has spread far and wide. Not only did you easily defeat Akîtu and his men without apparent harm, but you, quite literally, emasculated him. The damage to his body may be healable - once King Ḫaḫḫuru's anger cools down enough to actually lend Lord Akkû his healer," the man allowed himself another small smile, "but the rumors will haunt Akîtu and his house for the rest of his life. You've dealt a blow to their honor that they will never forget, and never forgive."

As much as Tēmānu wanted to angrily object to the lord's words, he bit his tongue. He'd thought he was doing the right thing but letting Akîtu live, but perhaps it was a blunder; at this point, though, it wasn't a blunder he could fix. "It seems there are still facets of your people's culture I have yet to learn," he admitted begrudgingly. "But somehow, I doubt you called me up here to discuss Lord Akkû's humiliation."

"I have not," the man repeated grimly, before lapsing into an uncomfortable silence. The man's gaze quickly focused on his weathered arm, and his lips twisted with distaste, but he didn't remark on it. "Tell me, ambassador," he finally spoke, "do you love my daughter?"

Of all the possible questions Tēmānu had been expecting, that hadn't even made the list. "Pardon?" He squeaked out ineloquently.

"Because I think you do," the man continued placidly. "There was no reason for you to geld Akîtu, not for your own sake, but for my daughter's…" he trailed off briefly, before continuing. "But I do not think you realized the repercussions of your actions. Do you know what Akîtu tried to do to her?"

It was all he could do to maintain some semblance of composure as a sudden cold chill washed over him. "Surely, he wouldn't hurt her?"

"He would," Lord Barbaru replied bluntly. "No sooner had Lord Akîtu recovered enough from your…encounter to get out of bed, then he marched into my daughter's room prepared to take his revenge - her breasts, her face in exchange for his…manhood."

Tēmānu bolted to his feet, his face wreathed with anger as his composure shattered. "I'll kill him, him and his father-" he spat out, but Lord Barbaru raised an imperious hand again.

"Sit down - I wasn't finished."

With some effort, Tēmānu forced himself back into the chair, though his mind was already churning with thoughts of revenge. Damqa didn't deserve this, didn't deserve to be saddled to a monster like-

"Are you listening?" Lord Barbaru interrupted him. "As I was saying, fortunately, Lord Akkû had better sense than his son. He was restrained before any serious harm was done to my daughter, but, obviously, the marriage cannot continue in such circumstances."

That broke through his anger. "So Damqa's…free?" he asked hesitantly, almost afraid to let himself believe it.

"Of a sort," the man replied drily. "King Ḫaḫḫuru is understandably quite upset at the marriage's failure, but even he understood it must be annulled. Unfortunately, while Lord Akkû may draw the line at disfiguring noble daughters, he has no qualms about sullying her reputation."

"I have no doubt he is behind the many rumors swirling about my daughter. Some say she's barren, or that she came into the marriage already sullied. Others that she refused Akita's advances and took you as a lover, preferring a crippled Corsyth to a warm-blooded Strythani man. Of course, most know these rumors have little truth to them, but House Akkû is considerably more powerful than our own, and as I said before, the truth doesn't matter."

"My daughter's marriage prospects have shrunk to nearly nothing. Few houses will deem it worth risking House Akkû's anger for the sake of a mere woman, and those few that will are…unsuitable," Lord Barbaru scowled. "While I have no great love of our new lord, I have no wish to be dragged into their plots."

"You, ironically enough, are now one of Damqa's best prospects. Granted, it will only fuel the fire of certain rumors, but…" the man sighed, "I wish to see her happy. So I'll ask you again, do you love my daughter?"

His mouth was as dry as the Rabedēn, but somehow he managed to respond. "I do care for her, my lord, but I know I'm not worthy of her hand."

The lord's gaze flickered to his crippled arm and nodded. "You're not," he agreed bluntly. "As much shame as these rumors have brought me, allowing my daughter to marry a cripple will be even worse. Our people respect power above all; prove that you are powerful, even with that withered arm, and I will consider allowing the marriage."

All they ever see is this kruvas̆-cursed arm. While anger sparked in the pit of his stomach at the lord's barely-disguised contempt, it was tempered by the blossoming of a different type of poison. "And do you have some task in mind to prove myself?" he asked even-temperedly.

"Not yet," Lord Barbaru, "but I am certain something will come up soon. You've seen the situation at court; things cannot continue this way for long."

"Then I look forward to the opportunity," Tēmānu bowed his head.

"As do I," the man sighed, and gestured for him to stand. "That's all for now, but before you go, you should see Damqa. I'd rather not listen to her complaining if she found out you were here and I didn't let her see you."

With a polite goodbye, Tēmānu kept his composure until he exited the study and had closed the door. Then he collapsed against the wall, closing his eyes as hope and anger battled for dominance. He's kind of an ass, but…he's softer than he looks. He actually cares about her happiness. Suddenly feeling more optimistic for his chances, he straightened up and headed down the hall, whistling merrily as he headed toward his friend.