This was the fourth place he'd tried, and the end of the list of places that seemed safe and clean. At least this barkeep seemed to be both telling the truth, and genuinely regretful. The last two had listened to his heavily accented voice make the request and turned him down in clear disgust - one had even sold a room to the person beside him just seconds later. The gnawing, empty feeling in his stomach makes him painfully aware of the fact that he hasn't eaten all day; temporarily putting aside the issue of night lodging, he orders a bowl of whatever this particular establishment is serving for dinner and slides onto a stool to wait.
It will be far from the first time he's been forced to sleep under the stars, but with the blatant xenophobia he's been getting from the townspeople, he was hoping to put a locking door between himself and the rest of the world while he was vulnerable. It seems he should have taken the captain's advice and waited until the next port to disembark, but he'd just been so sick and tired of being sick and queasy aboard that blasted ship.
"You can share my room," startled, he shifts on his seat to find the owner of the deep, quiet voice. "I mean, if you don't mind sharing a bed, or sleeping on the floor."
The man is taller than him, even sitting down, and sturdy with muscle. Taskin imagines that if they stood up, the bear of a man would be more than a head taller than he is - but the expression on his face is earnest and kind, with none of the seething suspicion that he had encountered in so many here. The silence has stretched long enough that he isn't sure what to say; what an odd thing, to offer to share a private room with a stranger out of the blue!
"I'm Kevian," the big man offers. When Taskin just continues to stare at him, he goes on, "Sorry, I guess that was weird. I just couldn't help but notice your predicament, and it seemed the right thing to do. Normally, I would recommend the local Temple for safe and cheap lodging, but, well, Nightpoint doesn't have one."
"That is…very kind of you," Taskin says slowly, "but…" he can't finish the sentence because he doesn't really have a good reason.
"I'm not going to murder you in your sleep. I'm Shadim." Taskin isn't sure what he expected the clergy of the structured Eschien religion to look like, but this isn't it. This young man - and he is not much more than a boy, Taskin has realized, he has to be almost ten years younger than Taskin - is wearing well-worn black travel clothes, with a blue and purple tunic over the top. All of it good quality, but nothing new or fancy, and nothing overtly religious.
It's this, or sleeping alone somewhere and hoping he doesn't get robbed. Or killed. "I can pay half," he says stiffly, as the barkeep delivers his evening meal.
"No need," the other man says cheerfully, "I'm sure we can work something else out."
Taskin freezes, spoonful of stew to his mouth. Shadim - priest of Shadi, the Senarian god of passion. And sex. Amongst other things. He slowly lowers the spoon back into the bowl. He feels nauseous. It's not that the man isn't handsome, he supposes, in the way of the Eschen, but… "On second thought, I'm sure I can find someplace else to sleep."
The priest looks startled and confused by the sudden stiffness and coldness of Taskin's response, and then alarmed when he slides off his stool and begins to gather his things. "What? Where are you going?" He stands up, towering over Taskin, his broad frame seeming to fill the space between them.
"I'm not interested in paying my way with…" he searches for the right word in Common, fails to find it, and settles on, "sexual favor." His stomach protests loudly as he fumbles with his heavy bags, and the looming of the strange man makes his heart race.
"Excuse me?" The man looks offended now, in addition to confused. "What in the name of the Six did I say to give you that idea?"
Taskin pauses, confused himself. "You're Shadim," he retorts, but he's no longer certain of his conclusion as he adds, "You said we could work something out…"
Kevian's face darkens, frustration etched in the lines of his forehead. "Oh for…" he muttered, shaking his head. "Not all Shadim are courtesans, you know. Not even most of us are."
Taskin's grip on his bags tightens, his eyes darting towards the door, judging his escape route. He feels a flush rise to his cheeks, embarrassment warring with the lingering suspicion.
"I am interested in hearing about Mare'n, not...whatever it is you thought I was implying." Kevian's expression softens, and he slowly sits back down. "Look, I think we've gotten off on the wrong foot. At least sit down and finish your dinner. You're clearly starving. We can talk, and then you can decide about tonight."
Taskin hesitates, glancing at the still-steaming bowl of stew, his mouth watering at the savory smell. Kevian's words, even laced with a hint of exasperation, seem genuine. Maybe his extreme caution is not warranted here.
With a slow nod, Taskin sets his bags down and returns to his stool, his eyes locked on Kevian's. The priest's face relaxes, and he smiles. The expression makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Good. Now, eat, and let's start over."
As Taskin picks up his spoon and takes a bite, Kevian leans on the counter beside him, his movements economical. "I'm Kevian Spelloyal, Cleric of Shadi, and not a courtesan. I'm a scholar," he says.
"I'm Taskin," he introduces himself after he swallows.
"Pleased to meet you, Taskin," Kevian sits quietly while he takes a few more bites of stew, breaking off chunks of the warm bread and savoring that as well. "So, how did you end up in Nightpoint?"
"By ship," Taskin watches the priest out of the corner of his eye, ostensibly keeping his gaze on his food, thoughts racing almost as fast as his pulse. He's not entirely sure how much he wants to share. Kevian could still be a murderer, after all. His instincts say that isn't the truth, but his brain keeps repeating the many times the Elders had cautioned him to trust no one in this country, which was rumored to swallow up foreigners and never spit them back up. "I'm on my way to Ostar."
"And your captain dropped you here?" Kevian sounds scandalized. Taskin looks up at him, and he feels compelled to defend the captain who had brought him all the way from the Marches to the shores of the Empire, because the big man sitting next to him looks like he'd like to do something rather unfortunate to the captain.
"Only because I insisted. I was sick and tired of…well, of being sick and tired." At least he hadn't been vomiting up every meal he ate, like the first couple of days, but it was still extraordinarily unpleasant.
"Did they warn you that this town isn't exactly a haven for non-citizens?"
What a polite way to put it, Taskin thinks, but shrugs as he takes another bite. "Yeah, he did," he admits, "but I was paying leg-by-leg, and he said he wouldn't keep me on the ship if I didn't want to be there."
"That was stupid," Kevian is frowning at him, his blonde brows furrowed deeply. "It's not safe here; you could get hurt." It's not a threat, and not even as intimidating as when the man was looming over him, but Taskin finds himself wishing Kevian wasn't looking at him like that, and then annoyed by the feeling. "What if I had been someone who wanted to assault you? Use you?"
"I can take care of myself," he says firmly.
Kevian tilts his head and just looks at him for an uncomfortably long moment before his frown eases, and he gives a forced smile. "Sure. As you say." Taskin takes another couple of bites in the heavy silence. "So, I'm a scholar, like I said. I'm studying dreams, divination, and prophesies. And magic in general, I guess you could say. I'd like to pick your brain about some of those things in Mare'n."
Taskin soaks up the last of the stew broth with what remains of his bread and considers. "I could just pay you for half," he suggests again.
"I don't need or want your money. The Temple pays for my lodgings," Kevian taps a pin on the collar of his tunic that Taskin hadn't noticed before, a winged heart set against a background of waves. "I'm traveling on official business, so my costs are covered. Your stories and knowledge are a more valuable currency to me."
"If I don't have enough information for you, are you going to send me on my way?" If he has to find a safe place to hole up for the night, he'd rather do it now, not later when he is even more exhausted.
"No. You could tell me now you never want to speak another word, and I would still offer you shelter for the night," Kevian says, and then smiles again. "Come on, Taskin, take the leap. Trust me."
Liril help him, Taskin does trust him, this man he's just met. Offering a quick prayer to the Lady that his judgment of people is as good here in the Empire as it always was at home, he sighs and says, "What do you want to know?"
-------------------------
A couple of hours later, it doesn't seem like Kevian's curiosity will ever expire. Actually, it seems like each time Taskin answers a question, Kevian thinks of a dozen more related ones. He's pulled out a notebook and is frantically recording his thoughts and Taskin's answers. They've moved to a small table by the hearth, which has freed up the bar for other patrons of the tavern and inn, and Taskin has long since switched from ale to tea. The barkeep had even graciously loaned him a kettle to steep his own, though whether it was really generous or just convenient so he didn't have to come over and refill their mugs was debatable.
"So, would your full name would be Taskin Treesong? Or would it be Taskin of the Treesong?"
Taskin has just finished explaining Tribal structure to his companion, or well, tribal structure at its most basic. They've long since discovered that he can't answer many of Kevian's questions about stories and magic without explaining things about Mare'n…it seems foreign lands aren't part of the basic Eschen education at all, or at least not the one Kevian had received.
Still, the question makes him pause, lowering his mug. He considers not answering, or not telling the truth, but now that he's here, he has a decision to make, anyway. His first option is to tell a half-truth. It would make him more interesting to mostly sheltered Eschiens, which might pave the way in some places and circles who are curious about the exotic Tribesman, but would likely also put a target on his back in other places. His second choice is to shelter under his father's name, taking the route of hiding his foreignness as much as possible until he knows each situation is safe or revealing himself is necessary to achieve his goals.
His pause is long enough that Kevian notices. His pen stills on the paper, and he glances up. "Sorry, did I get that wrong?"
"No," Taskin makes a choice, staring down into the dregs of his tea. "Amongst my people, I would be Taskin Treesong. Here I am traveling as simply Taskin Dal."
"What does that stand for?" Kevian is consulting his notes and coming up empty.
"Nothing. It's my father's name." Taskin tries to sound casual, not defensive or hesitant about sharing any of this. Of course, it is no secret at home either, but had he not left Mare'n in part to escape the constant judgment that came with his inner battles with his identity? "The Treesong tribe are my mother's people."
"Not your people?" Kevian has straightened in his chair, no longer hunched over his journal, and now he's looking straight at Taskin.
"They are my people," he says quietly. "But not in the same way they are my mother's. She is the wild child with a strange attachment to the foreign man, but she is all tribeswoman. I am the strange hybrid creature. Born and raised in the tribe, yes, and given grudging membership, but never wholly a tribesman. Never free from the outsider's influence." He looks up into Kevian's face, not sure what he will find there.
Compassion, but shadowed. At least it's not pity or disgust. "Not all tribes are the same," he adds, not wanting to give the scholar the wrong idea…good or bad. "Amongst the jungle tribes, Treesong is fairly progressive in thought. Other jungle tribes might have shunned my mother for having a relationship with an outsider at all or refused me membership for my mixed blood. Most plains tribes, on the other hand, would likely have allowed my father to become a member himself and would have accepted me with no reservations."
"Your father just stays, despite never being accepted?"
"He did. For a long time." He can feel the urge to get up, to leave, but something about Kevian inspires brutal honesty. "He loved my mother more than he resented the way her family treated him. Treated us." It wasn't the tribe's treatment of Tamas Dal that had driven the wedge between his parents. He had accepted that loving Kahya Treesong came at a steep price. No, it was their rejection of Taskin that Tamas had been unable to stomach. "They're both dead."
Kevian doesn't say 'I'm sorry', like so many others. He doesn't say any useless platitudes. It's refreshing when he opens his mouth and says, "I never knew my parents. I don't know if they're dead or not, but they gave me to the temple and never looked back." Taskin just nods, accepting the common ground, and a comfortable silence falls between them.
"Last call, lads. I'm closing down." The barkeep interrupts them, and Taskin is startled to realize the inn is empty when he looks around. "Go on up to your room, priest, and you be on your way, but I'll be banking this fire until morn, and I want to clean up and be on to bed myself."
"He's staying with me," Kevian says, standing and grabbing one of Taskin's bags. The non-judgmental but slyly knowing look the barkeep gives them makes Taskin flush, freezing in the act of laying a few coins' tip on the table for his night's work and the loan of the kettle, and he no longer feels guilty for assuming what he did about Kevian - clearly this man believes they will be adjourning to the upstairs room for the same reason! - but he can't protest because the grizzled old man is already walking away, laughing softly to himself and whistling parts of a lewd song Taskin had heard sung by the sailors on the ship.
The priest pauses at the base of the staircase, rolling his eyes. "Assumptions do not the truth make," he says firmly. When Taskin doesn't move, he adds, "Your virtue is safe with me, Taskin Dal. Come upstairs and sleep in a bed, or don't, and find a place to sleep on the street. It makes no matter to me." There's just enough bite in his tone that Taskin doesn't think that's true - and he's gone upstairs with half of Taskin's meager worldly possessions besides. The choice is as little a true choice as it was a few hours ago. He grabs the rest of his things and climbs the stairs himself, and when he reaches the top and looks down the hallway, only one of the doors is propped open, light spilling softly into the hallway.
He walks down and, after glancing inside to make sure he is right, closes the door behind himself. Kevian is sitting on one side of the bed, unlacing his boots, looking annoyed. He's placed Taskin's bags down near the door and taken the far side of the bed. The gestures aren't lost on him - that Kevian has made it easy for him to grab his things and flee if he wants, and also that the Cleric has made sure not to put himself between Taskin and the door.
"Sorry," he says, back still to the door, and not sure what he's apologizing for. Making assumptions? Being nervous? Imposing on Kevian's room and space?
"Don't apologize." Kevian's voice is gruff and clipped, but then he sighs and looks over, and his frown has eased. He strips off his outer layers and shirt, leaving him in just his trousers as he settles further onto the bed. "You have every right to be nervous. I keep forgetting we don't know each other, and you're brand new to the Empire. It feels like we've known each other longer."
Taskin nods, hesitant, turning away just long enough to slide the lock on the door before taking a few steps towards the bed.
"You can take the blanket, if you want to sleep on the floor," the priest says. "I'll be okay with my cloak."
"Don't be silly," Taskin says, striding forward to cross the last few feet all at once, and climbing onto the bed beside him. "You said we could share, so we can share. No need for anyone to be uncomfortable."
"Good choice." Kevian's approving tone warms him from the inside out, and he can't help but smile at him as he takes off his own outer layers and shoes, and stretches out. He's asleep before he can analyze why he feels that way.
-------------------------
Taskin wakes to the sound of Kevian stirring, the soft creak of the bed as his companion sits up and swings his legs over the side. With a yawn, he rubs the sleep from his eyes, slowly rolling over to watch the cleric moving around. He feels like he got a good night's sleep for the first time since leaving his homeland, with the solid door locked and a safe person sleeping beside him. For the first time in a long time, he felt a sense of belonging.
As Kevian stands, stretching his tall frame, Taskin can't help but notice the way the morning light from the room's small window dances across his features, highlighting the sharp planes of his face. He feels a flutter in his chest, which he quickly suppresses. They are parting ways today, after all.
"Are you a caffah drinker?" Kevian's voice is low and rough from sleep still. Taskin realizes with a start that Kevian knows he's awake and sits up quickly, embarrassed at having been caught watching.
"I…no, it's not my preference," he says honestly. Though the beans that are used to make the bitter, invigorating drink are one of the biggest exports of the jungle tribes, he's never developed a real taste for it, especially how he's discovered outsiders drink it. "I usually stick with tea."
"Fair enough. I'll go down and see if the barkeep is up, and if not, I'll get the kettle going." He's made quick work of repacking his bags, which Taskin notices this morning are saddle bags - he must have a mount stabled somewhere in town. "I'm sure we can scrounge up a quick breakfast."
Taskin nods, and the other man disappears downstairs before he can do anything else.
By the time he's put his own clothes back on and made his way down to the common room of the inn, Kevian has coaxed flames back from the embers of the previous day's banked fire, started a kettle of water, and is behind the counter putting together a cold but filling-looking breakfast of bread, meat, and cheese. He's even managed boiled eggs. It's clear by the economical and efficient way he is moving through his morning that he's used to both traveling and taking care of himself, but there is something endearing about the way he's simply made space for Taskin - he's preparing two packets of food which are more than enough for breakfast as well as a midday meal, and he doesn't seem at all inclined to complain about tea instead of caffah.
The proprietor, however, is nowhere to be seen. "Are we stealing breakfast?" Taskin can't help but ask, sliding onto a stool at the bar.
"I wasn't intending to," Kevian glances up at him, "do you want to?"
"No?" he frowns, wondering if he's missed something, culturally or…
"I was kidding," Kevian says drily, though there's just enough edge to his tone that Taskin thinks he might not be, completely. "I told you, I'm traveling on temple orders. I'll leave a token and a list of what I used, and he'll be able to take it to the bursar at his local temple, and they'll take care of it."
The blonde slides one of the packets of food across the bar to Taskin, and goes to retrieve the kettle, which is whistling softly.
"How much is my share?" Taskin reaches for his coin pouch, trying not to think about how he probably would have forgone breakfast entirely, and hoped to find berries or something else edible on the road.
"There's no need." Kevian doesn't even glance his direction as he carefully pours tea into two homely mugs he pulled from behind the bar, putting one of those in front of Taskin along with his share of food.
"I can pay," shifting in his seat so he keeps his body facing towards the other man, he tries not to sound defensive, but he's feeling that way - does the cleric assume he can't pay because he's Tribal? Is he assuming he's poor?
"No." Taskin bristles at the man's cheerfully blunt denial, but before he can say anything else, he's stalled by Kevian looking directly into his eyes; his breath catches in his throat. He's not used to the sort of intensity the cleric is studying him with. "A few extra coins for a second breakfast won't be any sort of burden on the temple finances, I promise. Consider it payment for all of the information you gave me last night."
"I thought that was what the free lodging was," he counters, still frowning. He doesn't want to be anyone's charity case.
"That didn't cost me anything," the taller man shrugs. "Your company was no hardship; I already had the room rented, and there was plenty of space."
"But-"
"Taskin," Kevian interrupts him, and his voice is hard for the first time since they met the evening before, which is enough to stop him mid-sentence again. "Do you really want to argue about this?"
He doesn't, he realizes. He lets out the breath he took in suddenly when he was interrupted, and then slowly takes another, shaking his head. "Thank you."
"Glad to be of service," his companion grins at him, "and not altogether in an official capacity. I like you, Taskin Dal."
That startles a laugh from him, and finally takes a bit of the breakfast Kevian has prepared for the two of them. "I like you, too," he admits. "I'm headed West, towards Ostar. Perhaps our paths will cross again." Or, a little part of him dares to hope, they can walk the same path for a while.
"I have to go East," the cleric says, but Taskin can hear the regret in his voice. As he chews and swallows, his expression turns serious. "You could come with me. I don't like the idea of you traveling alone," he says, his brow furrowed. "The roads can be treacherous, especially for a foreigner."
Taskin feels a spark of irritation, but he tries to smother it when he sees the honest concern in Kevian's eyes. No one has worried about him in a long time, and it is...nice. "I'll be fine," he says, trying to reassure him. "I've traveled alone before."
Kevian's frown deepens. "That may be, but not in the Empire. You're not in your homeland now, or even in tolerant Delryn. You don't know the customs or the people. It's not safe."
Taskin takes a drink of his tea, buying a moment so he doesn't snap at his new friend as the frustration bubbles up. He isn't used to being bossed around, to having someone question his capability, but there is something about Kevian's fussing that touches him, warming a part of him that has been numb a long time. Maybe it is the genuine concern in his eyes, or the way he seems to care about Taskin's well-being, though they've known each other for a mere few hours. Whatever it was, Taskin finds himself wanting to reassure him, to make him feel better, rather than to just tell him to mind his own business. "Studying cultures and customs is what I do. I learn fast."
Kevian looks concerned and doubtful still, so he adds, "I'll be careful. I promise."
