Episode 164: Festival (Weston)

Something inside Weston stirred at the idea of meeting someone. He hadn’t met someone, aside from Zakili that had given him a feeling of meaning in his entire life. For most of Bentley’s life, they had been alone together. It had forged their bond, the jokes about magic wanting them alone, the tireless lines about reality being a good enough feeling to know they would never need more than their own hand.

It was a lonely reality, one that he had filled his time with fishing and advising and general useless activities because centuries after losing Zakili he still was in the same place.

Today, he walked around the festival scanning faces for the woman Bentley believed to be his next love, and if all went well his last love.

It was long overdue, wholly dissetling, and entirely unwelcome. He would look into it, for Bentley, and for his luck which told him someone was here. He followed it through the various booths and trees and tables set up for various activities. It led him to a maypole. The pole was tall and pine, to represent the rift, with ribbons in blues, whites, reds, and grey-browns to represent the elements and their magics. The Dells were  known for their fire and air magics, which led to its volatile history. Their west was home to a high concentration of water, with others living along the waterways. The east and below them hosted earth magic, though Dragon’s back, within their own borders (some would say) was the home of most.

As he walked, he could sense Konrad had important things to attend to. He was prone to giving Weston his time, and so Weston turned to him. “Aadya has done an excellent job as always,” he commented to Konrad. “Don’t mind me, go ahead and work.”

“Alright,” Konrad said, “Enjoy.”

He walked off, into the crowd.

Weston continued strolling through the festival.

The Dells had been one of his favorite projects because it had seen Konrad settled. Konrad, his dad. It felt more important than ever that he remember he had been raised for thousands of years with Konrad as his father and caretaker.

He pushed the thought aside and watched the various children dancing along the maypole.

He sighed, as the luck magic found one of Aadya’s daughters: Ariadne. He watched her moving around the maypole, exuberant with dreads that hit her mid-back. He’d never had short hair himself, but he didn’t understand the desire to have long tangly hair. Dreads seemed tangly. They seemed to be a more common choice within Aadya’s family: three of her children had them.

He let his mind stretch toward the girl, toward why she had drawn his attention. His first instinct was to follow the dreads line of thought: the other two children with them were Nim and Terren, a twin set. Nim enjoyed travel the most, but Terren did too, and Terren was missing.

Terren was somewhere, alive, he knew that much. He felt safe enough for the time being. His mind moved on to Nim.

Ah, he settled on a thought: Ariadne enjoyed travel too, aspired to be like her sister.

Somewhere in that thought was a way he was supposed to help her.

He looked around for any other sign of drawing toward someone. Nothing, except Ariadne.

Travel. He travelled often. She was twelve, and her schooling was about to become more focused. She was a good student, skilled in her more artistic classes because of attention, and competent in the other subjects. She excelled with swordplay because of her twin.

He looked for her twin, and found her in a moment: Amoret.

The name choices Aadya went with amused him. Before she had choice, they all had plant names. Since freedom each set felt distinct, named together but not as part of a larger theme. Talise and Acheron for water, Nim and Terren for creativity and earth, which she suspected were named chosen during her dwarven exhibition or at least inspired by. Endymion and Dreya for Drey, Ariadne because of her attachment to astronomy.

All of Aadya’s names were chosen with deliberate representation of where she was in life, what she was going through, and who she was with. Her Konrad children had names that ended in yn.

That was irrelevant.

He focused on the festival again. He had never considered becoming a professor, but teaching a travel course or some sort of realm studies course might serve Ariadne’s needs.

No, that wasn’t it either. Travel was related, but not teaching.

There was a peculiar purple punch he recalled enjoying and he searched for it. It wasn’t hard to spot, despite the copious amounts of food and drink available. The festival was more alive than his past month of life in total. South Chatka had gone through a coup and North Chatka was not in a better place. At some point, they would need the princess delivered from the South to the North. She was unattainable thus far.

Weston had been fishing, waiting for the moment to come. Whenever it felt close it slipped away from him for some reason or another.

He could never know when his luck would fail him, or why the South Chakra princess evaded him and his luck. She would be a delight to help and speak to once the time came.

He paused, and turned to see Bentley standing a dozen feet away with two cups. He was watching the dancing. Weston walked towards him.

“Benny.” He hugged his grandson. “How are you?”

“Good. Shea’s around here somewhere.

“Enjoying herself, I hope.”

Bentley nodded. It was rare to see them apart, so whatever she had entangled herself in he knew it was something Bentley couldn’t stomach. It must have involved wallpaper. He denied his luck the opportunity to come up with a more valid explanation.

“Konrad delivered your message,” he said.

“Did you see her?” he asked.

He’d seen plenty of hers, but not her.

“I haven’t had a feeling,” he confessed. Maybe she wasn’t here and Bentley would be able to tell and confirm.

He felt deficient in luck, but it wasn’t a new feeling so he let it go.

“Maybe I’m wrong, then,” Bentley said.

Weston shrugged. So she was here, but she wasn’t eliciting any feeling from him. Maybe time had calloused his ability to see potential mates. He hadn’t cared for about 99% of his life, plus a few years.

“How long are you staying? He asked Bentley.

“All night.”

Bentley nodded toward the maypole. “She’s over there.”

Weston glanced in that direction and searching for something, anything that indicated Bentley wasn’t hooking him up with a ghost.

Ariadne was still there. He hadn’t resolved the travel situation yet.

Ariadne was there.

“Her?” he asked. “I’m pretty sure that feeling is about a book report.”

It was well enough, he didn’t need a wife to encumber his life. He had a princess to deliver from South Chatka

Bentley laughed. “Shea was like two.”

Weston shook his head, as though the agitation to the air would prevent the feeling from settling over him.

The girl was still a child.

He still had to resolve the issues with the Chatkas, find Malechor, aid the Dells for the time being, and above all advise his grandson.

“You weren’t doing anything with your life at the time,” he added to his head shake.

“I gave up twenty years of helping in villages.”

Let’s argue luck, he decided. “You helped villages. And storms are constant. You just ascended. She’s a girl.”

She was twelve, far too young to entertain the idea of, even if he deaged like Bentley had.

He realized Konrad already knew, and had suggested the deaging.

“Okay,” Bentley said, echoing his thoughts.

He watched Ariadne dancing. He felt the luck, the prospect of her.

Luck was obnoxious. She was too young. Even if he reduced his age he held no attraction to her. Just a draw to her and the promise that he may someday.

May… he knew he would. If they were better matched in age it would someday cease to be a disagreeable concept. She would be an adult in under four years. He wouldn’t have been opposed to someone who was only fifteen hundred today, though fourteen hundred and ninety years ago he would have been. It was almost no different.

He had been silent too long. “How is your mom?” He hadn’t seen her, his daughter, in over a day.

“Obnoxious, as usual,” Bentley joked. At least he was using his abilities. plucking his thoughts, waiting for him to consent. “You did a great job raising her.”

“What sort of comment is that?” he asked. “Anxious about your sons?”

Weston hadn’t raised any children while he was king of Nivern, both of his were born long before he took the throne. He had done other projects, though. He had his own set of pressures.

It further promoted his desire to be a support figure for Bentley, and to not be a twelve year old boy chasing after a girl who was too far outside of his generation to be a reasonable choice.

Luck aside.

Bentley brushed his hair back, “I was thinking more about the Maelchor treasure hunt.”

This was more the topic he wanted to talk about. Finding Maelchor may be his greatest adventure yet. He could feel the prospect brewing like confetti beneath the surface.

“It would be a lot more fun in ten years, to do, if we both had someone,” Bentley added.

Weston laughed. “I’m sure it would be. You don’t like me single?”

“Not like I’m actively looking, but it’s been a long time and I’ve never thought, ‘Gee, Grandpa should marry her.’”

No, he hadn’t; the words had found him, when he was least expecting them, and grown from a small idea into something that demanded attention.

“She’s too young,” he reiterated. “Who’s going to handle the coup in South Chatka?”

“I mean, I could have said that about the next tornado.”

From what he knew, Bentley hadn’t given much thought to anything once he knew Shea was there. He’d also spent his entire life alone. Weston had someone before, he’d had a wife and children. He’d been through the rollercoaster of having a wife.

At least Ariadne could bond. If she bonded, like Shea, she would have his luck. It was something he had never been able to offer Zakili.

Bentley smiled, knowing he had gotten to Weston, knowing his own path was about to be repeated with the Alandrials. He would have to ask Bentley someday if he understood why this family was so important.

It would have to wait, for their trip to find Maelchor.

“Your call,” Bentley said. He took a sip of his drink and returned to watching the crowds.

He had a few more points to make before he gave in. “And you would you like a twelve year old on your panel of advisors? Or am I being fired?”

Further, who would handle South Chatka. Someone would. It was why the timing never felt right. Perhaps it was something Konrad would take on, or Khale.

“I didn’t lose my memories,” Bentley reminded him.

Ari wrapped herself in one of the ribbons and then unwound herself in a spin. To see whatever might change about her, with or without him, was something his luck could only offer a glimpse of.

It would be more fun to go on a trip, the four of them. Ari’s fixation with Nim may never go anywhere but her passion for travel could take her everywhere.

“And you found it confusing to be in a body much younger than your mind,” he pointed out.

“Yeah,” Bentley scoffed, “It basically ruined my life.”

So it would be difficult, but not impossible, not pointless.

But, he didn’t want Bentley to be too smug. “And lead your mom to death,” he reminded him. Bentley’s face turned into a scowl.

“How is Wyvern?” Weston said.

“I’m tackling them once this attack is over. They may need me, and it’s only a day or two more.”

“And you may need me. I don’t need to waste my time building forts.”

Bentley laughed, sure of himself and his use of luck to change Weston’s life.

He would never live their conversation down: use your magic, Bentley

Become a twelve year old for a girl, Grandpa.

“I made a treehouse, not a fort,” Bentley stated.

And he had. One of his first acts of childhood – at four – was to get a saw and get to work. Because Shea thought it was a good idea.

Weston tried not to laugh, and tried harder not to invision himself in his own fort.

Bentley had given up many things for Shea. He’d never once seemed to regret any of it. Somewhere in his mind was the motivation Weston needed, the understanding of the importance of doing this and not continuing to search for someone more naturally suitable. Older.

“Enjoy the festival,” he said, instead of indulging Bentley in the potential of the change.

He didn’t need more advice. He knew himself and his intuition enough.

“You too,” Bentley said. “And I will deal with Wyvern.”

It was a load of crap. He would deal with Wyvern when he had to, not because he felt like it.

It would work out.

Weston left Bentley’s side and headed toward back into the festival. He talked with some of the locals for no reason at all. He focused on his life and what it would be without Ariadne in it. It was much the same.

Then he thought of what it would be with her. There would be years of travel, of adventures and exploration through her eyes. There would be another kingdom to rule in their future.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

He would be as young as he was when he met Konrad, younger even. Konrad had been deaged; it would be a reset. Khale would be home, things would start anew.

He found Ariadne again, sitting beside her twin, Amoret, at the ceramics table. She was admiring her vase, which was dark green. She made each stroke with care, to ensure the paint was even. Beside her, Amoret had a lumpier vase that was painted a dozen colors – pastels, black, and some minty blue.

What Ariadne needed was a smaller brush to make an intricate design. She wanted something else. His eyes wandered for what. He found the trellis, running along one of the covered dining areas. She wanted part of it to look like that, he guessed.

He moved away from the crowd and toward the supply area, where he hoped to find some smaller brushes. He knew he would.

Sure enough, there were a dozen small brushes and some flat disks to place underneath the vase, to contain any water that spilled out of the base. He picked both up and returned to the festival. He was helping her, it was nothing more than helping her, and he did this sort of thing all the time.

His body felt a strange mix of curiosity and disdain for this. There had to be someone else, someone his age, out there.

But that was the point – she would be his age soon. It wasn’t the same, but it was something.

He went to her and sat in an empty space beside her. “Having fun?”

Her pot was drying, the base layer complete. Amoret’s looked complete.

She looked up at him, “Yeah.”

He was too tall for this, too old. He should have deaged before seeing her, except he wasn’t sure he was going to yet.

He was, he wasn’t ready yet. It would require a great deal of change, sacrifice in some ways, to do this. He wanted to meet her before he went through with it.

“What did you make?” he asked.

“A vase for flowers, but the brushes were really thick. I wanted to paint a design.”

She didn’t seem upset, just disappointed.

He smiled, “Lucky for you, I found a few.” He pulled the brushes out and handed her one, then scattered the others onto the table for other children to paint with.

“Thank you!” she exclaimed. She began scanning the table and assembling the colors she wanted, to paint her design. He pulled out the saucer and began making a trellis pattern on it, using one of the thinner brushes himself.

While he did, Amoret leaned her pot back and closed one eye. She set it back down and turned to Ariadne. “I bet these would be fun to shoot as targets.”

Ari shifted away from her twin, toward him, her pot in hand.

Deaging was becoming necessary, before the difference felt any more off putting. She was supposed to be his wife, someday, if she chose it. He didn’t plan to tell her. He could befriend her and someday it would come from her.
“Why are you painting vines though?” Amoret asked.

“Because I want to remember when Konrad was on the trellis. I’ll add butterflies next, and the little flowers.”

“Yeah, but why not a trellis?”

Weston looked down at his saucer, the trellis taking shape.

He held up his saucer. “Why not make a small trellis like stand for it, to hold a cup for water drainage?”

Ari’s eyes got wide. “How did you do that?”

He loved the ability to fascinate people with magic, as long as he didn’t flaunt it too much. He added another line, “I thought the pattern would be nice. Would you like me to finish it?”

She studied the saucer for a whole moment and shifted her teeth from side to side for a moment. “If you don’t mind, please?”

Weston continued working while she talked to her sister about how they wouldn’t be shooting her pot. Ariadne was patient and calm where her sister was bored and energized.

“Would you like me to bring your vases to glaze?”

“Yeah!” Amoret exclaimed. She shoved her vase toward him.

“I can take them, too,” Ari said. She reached for Amoret’s vase and set it in a box. “There are lots of things to do here. Did you see the mosaic table?”

“I’ll have a look,” he replied.

Ari stared at the box, with the trellis painted saucer inside it, then she looked to him. “Thanks for your help,” she replied.

He had a choice. He could walk away, be himself and not put any pressure on her. He could talk to Aadya and Meldrick and send her down the path of whatever the realms wanted from them. It was impossible, standing where he was, to see one as better than the other. It was impossible, but necessary.

He wondered to the mosaic table and began looking at the various designs setting on the completed table. He wondered if she hoped to be over here making her own, instead of with her twin doing something less artistic and more destructive.

Perhaps he could make her something. It wouldn’t cross any lines. He needed lines if he was going to do this. Bentley had, and things with Shea had gone well. When he was about twelve Shea had bonded to him, and their friendship had taken a new turn into romance. Neither had ever looked back.

If he became twelve, things wouldn’t be instant. He didn’t want instant. He wanted the friendship phase, the promise that whatever grew between them existed outside of the feeling that it should exist.

He would have to be respectful of her, and who she was. He had more life experience by far. He would need to find a way to start his life over, to abandon parts of his current life, but still use the lessons he had learned.

It would be a challenge.

There was something about her though; if he understood it he may not feel as uncomfortable. He revisited the idea that in a thousand years neither would care.

A thousand years wasn’t today.

He picked up a dozen glass pieces and began sorting them in the order he wanted. The design would be a waterfall, toppling over a mountainside. Blue pieces formed the water with white pieces forming some froth at the base. Greens and browns and small grey shards formed the sides.

Then he made a second one, a mountain topped with snow.

When he was done with both, and his mind had been given the chance to wander across many thoughts and possibilities, he had settled on one likely scenario: He could still advise his grandson, and he could allocate other duties out, but she needed someone now, she needed adventure and to see the world before she gave up on her dreams.

It would open her horizons. Aadya and Meldrick relied on others to help their children see the world, and in this way he would.

He stood, his mosaics now fastened to strings to be hung. He tucked them into his pocket and transported home, to explain to his daughter what he was doing before he faced Ariadne’s parents.

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