The wagon bumped noisily along the mountain trail, and Varin looked queasily over the side of the cliff before retreating back to his perch. He couldn't make out too much around him, he had had to stow the finely ornate glasses he normally wore for fear of them jostling off of his face, but even in the blur he was certain that that ledge was not something he wanted to deal with. He wedged himself further in between the various sacks, crates, and chests that made up this wagon's cargo.
This whole trip had been quite a departure from his normal existence: born into luxury and privilege, any travel he had ever deigned to enjoy was little more than a pleasure cruise. But this trip he didn't want his family to know about. So, he'd arranged it himself with funding too small for them to notice being gone. He had made up some story of going a few towns over to enjoy the countryside on his own, and then boarded a ship to go a few countries away.
It was the farthest he'd gone from home in all his 300 years.
As the wind started to blow, crisp even in the summer, he heard voices from further up the caravan. Daring to peek, he saw some sort of blurry gatehouse perched across the road, and guards yelling back and forth with the lead wagon. He couldn't understand the language, it was rougher than the smooth Elvish he was used to, but he caught a few words that sounded familiar. He took to flipping through the small notebook he kept in his cloak pocket.
Flipping through page after page of little scribbles of names, places, agreements- ah, yes, Braecval. Pretty sure he'd heard that word. That's where he wanted to go at the end of all this.
By the time he looked up from double-checking himself and the timetables he had laid out, he could see the dots of buildings off down the slope. He took a moment to fish out his glasses, holding them firm against his temple: a smallish sort of village, cairns leading the way down to it.
Even in the sun he noted the ever-present, soupy fog that covered the place. It was even thicker down in the craggy valleys, such that he couldn't make out the bottoms of them. To keep himself from shaking he kept his gaze up higher: The sky was blue, the birds were singing, the sun was high. It was, for all intents, very pretty.
Which wasn't what his mother had said about the place.
"If a devil like that could live there I can only imagine what it must be like," she'd said.
He had been somewhat afraid of what he would find. In his worst nightmares he had imagined some sort of infernal nest, settled in the stone of the mountains. But in his more grounded moments, he considered it would be something like this. He'd grown doubtful of the viciousness with which his mother spoke, and this trip was to give him what he needed to decide one way or another.
The wagons pulled to a stop along one of the wider village roads, and with some belabored back-and-forth Varin was directed to a large building he was told was the local inn. He really had no idea where to go for who he was looking for, but agreed this would be a good place to start. Better than trying to ask a random local in shaky common.
The inside felt too large for nervous Varin. It was obviously meant to accommodate more than the paltry few who were inside in the early noon, and quiet conversation got even quieter as he entered. One or two stared, an elf here in Braecval, and he tried to ignore it as best he could. Which wasn't well at all, swallowing hard and awkwardly smiling before trying to find someone who looked like they might be in the business of assisting travelers.
"Need help lad?"
A tall man with a bushy nest of facial hair had walked up beside him as he was worrying over the inn patrons, and it took the remaining reserves of Varin's resolve to not jump out of his skin as he turned around. The travel had been rough but nice, a pointed journey with direct actions and planned routes, but now that he was here he was afraid. He wasn't sure how to go about what he wanted, and he was second-guessing what he even came here to do.
"I- yes. I do. Thank you."
The man cocked an eyebrow, "And what would you be needin' help on?"
"I'm looking for someone named Tris?"
That got a blank look in response, and Varin hopefully waited a moment before realizing that wasn't going to get him anywhere. He messily apologized and started going through his bag, fishing out his notebook and flipping a few pages in.
"Ah- sorry. I should have checked what they go by, uh- um, Glee? I'm looking for Glee?"
The blank look immediately brightened in recognition, accompanied by a loud laugh. "Oh I shoulda known! Yeah, sure lad. You're just gonna follow this road out here down until you find the big white house with the porch all the way around. You can't miss it, got roses out front."
"Oh, thank you! Thank you!"
The road wound its way through the town, the spaces between houses getting larger and larger until one was out of sight before another rolled into view. He was getting nervous, again, wondering if he had somehow managed to miss it. Surely they didn't mean this far out? But he thought back to how far his home was from Har, and the tension in his shoulders eased a bit. Perhaps this was similar, though he hoped it wasn't a walk that long. He did not want to be caught in unfamiliar mountain wilds in the dark.
He shouldered his bag and kept walking.
It was getting towards evening when his careful, slow walking brought him into sight of the first building he had to take a closer look at. From afar the orange dusk light painted the white walls a light gold, and he could make out patterns of darker paneling along the exterior as he got closer. The lower floor was shaded by a large veranda. As he got closer the familiar smell of a rose garden drifted down the road, and his heart leapt into his throat.
Again, he was faced with the fact that he wasn't entirely sure what exactly he came here to accomplish. He just wanted to know, he wanted to know if his mother's tirades had any truth to them, but he didn't know what he was going to do with the answer once he got it. And if they were true, what was he going to do? It was too late in the day to make it back to the village before dark. Even if they weren't true, would they accept him? He'd been able to piece together that there was very bad blood between his mother and her sibling even beyond what his mother said, and he wouldn't blame Tris if they were nervous about sheltering her son.
He slowed his pace as he got closer to the small wrought iron gate that lead off the main road. It was a finely made thing, an arch over and through which little flowers and hardy ivy curled. It took him a moment to see amidst it, but engraved in a small nameplate along the side was a single Elvish word. It caught him off guard.
His family's name, Daointhiel, roughly translated to common became "Stars' Wandering." He was used to the Daointhiel estate, resolutely proclaiming the name of its family in carved stone, bold and proud. This little nameplate, old and delicate, whispering from behind a cloak of ivy, was so different.
"Daoindath" it said. "Stars' Rest."
Looking back at the house, he thought again about what his mother had said.
"A devil's den," she called it.
He pushed open the gate, letting it swing shut behind him with a small sort of metallic creak. The grounds were quiet excepting some insects and birds, but the lit windows betrayed activity inside. Varin didn't let himself stop along the path to reconsider, and only had to reconcile with what he was doing after knocking on the door, waiting for an answer.
He felt like a rabbit standing in front of a fox, but knew better than to bolt. It was difficult, though, when he heard the latch on the door start to be undone.
Fully expecting some horned tiefling to be behind that door, the surprised elven man staring at him from the doorway made him drop what little script he had had in place.
The man was tall, heavier, a bit older, with the same sort of warm, brown skin tone and black hair common in southern Wehna. The green tunic he was wearing showed the solid tattooed bands around his neck and wrists, which also marked him as being from that region. Varin stammered in his surprise, wondering if somehow he'd found the wrong house, before remembering something mother had said about her sibling remarrying within the past few years. She hadn't been kind.
"Can I help you?" the man asked in a more familiar style of common.
"I'm sorry. M- my name is Varin Daointhiel," Varin started in Elvish, "I'm looking for Tr- I mean, I'm looking for Glee?"
The elf's expression grew subtly more surprised at the introduction. Subtly more suspicious for a brief moment. Varin was about to say more, but the man stepped aside and pulled the door further open, answering in polite enough Elvish, "Glee is out at the moment, unfortunately, but you're welcome to stay until they return shortly."
Varin wasn't sure whether the fact that he would have to wait to have a conversation with his aunt was comforting or daunting. He stepped inside regardless, bowing his head to his host as he went.
The interior was cozy, familiar but alien. The furniture felt close enough to the furniture back home, but the walls weren't so elegantly paneled and most open surfaces were covered with small paintings of people he didn't recognize, maps of places he didn't know, mounted trinkets and old weapons whose sentimentality he didn't understand. He felt unsure, but was quickly led to a small sitting area. Varin faintly noted he wasn't offered anything to eat or drink before the man started talking.
"My name is Thero Daointhiel," he said while settling into a chair across from Varin. His expression was politely neutral, but Varin's training had taught him how to detect that faint note of nervous distrust.
There was a bit of a pause, almost as if to see if the introduction got any reaction of Varin. It didn't.
"I must admit I don't know as much as I should of my spouse's family," he continued, leaning forward. Varin noticed a small, twitching tremor in his hand as he did so. "So you'll have to forgive me for asking why you've come calling."
Varin immediately fell into a timid explanation, understanding the guarded distrust but desperately wanting to distance himself from it.
"I want to- I mean, my name is Varin, and I'm Glee's nephew. I've never met... er, them. But I want to, I want to meet them." He paused, unsure how to get across that he was far more scared of them than they should be of him. "My mother has said some absolutely awful things about them, and I want to know the truth. I don't want to live thinking those things if they're not true, and I- I don't trust her anymore. Not after...
"I mean, I think I should know what happened to my family, and I don't think I'm going to be told what happened if I never talk to them. And I wanted to do it in person, because I think we both deserve that. I think- I mean, I think- I hope that you can understand."
"Does your mother know you're here?"
"No! No, she thinks I'm in our house in Qsenja, for a while."
"When she finds out that you're not?"
Varin stared, he had worked under the assumption that she just wouldn't. He would spend a few days here figuring out whatever it is that he wanted to figure out, and then head back. It was a long journey, sure, but he had told his family he wanted to be alone with his studies for quite a while. To not bother him. He wasn't sure what he'd do if he were ever confronted with the lie. He supposed that depended on what he was told here.
"Right," Thero continued in the absence of an answer. "Well, please make yourself comfortable while you're here." Varin expected him to make accommodations for that, but instead he leaned back, picked up a book, and started reading.
So Varin sat awkwardly, listening to the occasional snaps of the hearth fire, the clicking of clocks, and the intermittent turning of pages. He folded his hands in his lap, trying to gauge just how much of this offense was intentional. Whether it was meant to put him on edge or to get a reaction out of him. Well, he had no intention of causing offense in return, if that's what they were expecting. He was fine with little tests.
He looked over the cover of the book Thero was reading and remembered something he had overheard mother say. "We must inquire as to how Esandoral's college is getting along, if her professors are making mistakes as great as marrying pit fiends."
"You're a professor, then?" Varin ventured.
"Was, yes," the reply was cautious.
"What did you study?"
"History, mostly."
"If I may ask, what made you quit?"
"I found something better," Thero's stare was a little harder, and Varin thought it best to drop the conversation before his well-intentioned probing made things worse. He had a talent for reading people, but that talent didn't extend to knowing what to do with that information. Time to wait.
Varin was close to getting a bit of a Trance in when the front door opened, and all his forgotten anxiety came back in force. A tiefling ducked through the door, some seven feet tall, absentmindedly humming to themselves. A finely crafted musket was slung over their shoulder, glinting gold against a deep, dark blue dress. They hadn't seemed to notice the pair sitting off to the side yet.
"How are my babies!" they called into the house in Elvish as they fiddled with locking the door behind them.
"With company!" Thero cleared his throat from where he sat.
"Oh lovely, I- Oh, who's this?"
Varin shrank, now looking his aunt in the eye. They weren't some nebulous, villainous idea. They weren't some faceless roadblock in his mother's way, and he remembered the whisperings of what she'd done to them. Their face was kindly if confused, youthful despite their 400th birthday having recently passed. Long black hair was tied behind golden horns and goat-like ears and, looking at their pitch-black eyes, he realized how much he relied on being able to see where people were looking when gauging them.
"This is your nephew, Varin Daointhiel." Thero said, though Varin just barely noticed the hint of warning in the tone.
Glee's ears fell back, but they quickly composed themselves.
"It is very good to see you, though I admit I am surprised," they said, having put away their firearm, now standing next to Thero's chair with a clawed hand on his shoulder. "Dear, I see our guest hasn't anything to drink, could you make that up for us?"
They shared a look for a little bit too long, before Thero acquiesced with a tight smile. "Of course."
Thanking him, Glee took his seat. Varin noted that they were intent on getting their husband out of the conversation, and quickly. He wasn't sure whether that boded well or not. Glee's body language was open enough, casual but maybe not comfortable. They leaned back, waving with one hand at the room around them.
"You'll have to forgive our accommodations, I had no idea we were to be expecting company."
A soft admonishment for not announcing his coming, an unspoken question of why he was here.
"I would not have stayed at the workshop had I known, I could have been here to greet you."
Varin wasn't sure whether to take that as a mild threat for entering the home without them present. Instead, he swallowed, trying to figure out how to respond.
"I apologize," he figured that was a good enough start. "I would have been more forthcoming, but I couldn't have taken any correspondence without my mother catching wind of what I was doing."
Their eyebrows raised a bit, but Varin continued.