"Salmalin's Declaration" Log Date: 1/3, 1/13/02 Log Cast: Faanshi, Salmalin Log Intro: Things have changed greatly within Atesh-Gah in Haven. Khalid Atar and His Maharani, Thalia Tritonides Khalida, have pulled permanently out of Haven to reign on high in Masada, the heart of the Varati kingdom; they have appointed a Pasha to speak with their voices for the Varati in Haven. And for one young shudra halfbreed, it has meant as well that she has finally received what she thought would be her fondest wish, permission to seek out the Ushasti and see if they will still accept her into their ranks... just as she was finally growing accustomed to the notion of functioning as the Varati Voice to the Sylvans, even if unofficially. It makes sense to her that Thalia would not wish to take her to Masada; after all, she is a halfbreed of dubious birth, inclined to heal Mongrels and kafir and candala. In Haven, on the fringes of Varati society, she can just barely manage to get away with it. Faanshi does not consider herself a wise or experienced young woman, but even to her, it is apparent that her existence would be radically different in Masada. Moreover, the part of her that is Sylvan shies away from the thought of living deep within the earth, away from the sky... even if it were among the fabulous riches of the God-King Himself. Still, though... it means she has lost a mistress. And Faanshi does not yet know how the new Pasha in Haven will react to her, or whether the tenuous status she had gained as Thalia's shudra will be as dust and air and she will find herself ordered to wash floors in Atesh-Gah once again. It does not help, either, that Salmalin has disappeared. She has been told that the young kshatri who had been conscripted to work with her to speak for the Varati to the Sylvans is free of _his_ obligation... but he is not in Atesh-Gah for her to tell, and Faanshi is troubled indeed by his absence, for absent friends of hers tend to become dead friends. Death, too, seems to come all too frequently to those who say what words Salmalin has for her, when he abruptly returns.... *===========================< In Character Time >==========================* Time of day: Afternoon Date on Aether: Wednesday, June 21, 3909. Year on Earth: 1509 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Waxing Crescent Season: Summer Weather: Partly Cloudy Temperature: Warm *==========================================================================* Fountain - Courtyard - Atesh-Gah - Haven Concealed within the ring of tall, carefully groomed bushes and the oddly comforting sight of droop-branched willows, is the merry and gurgling presence of a marble fountain. As meticulously cleaned as the rest of Atesh-Gah seems to be, the intricate stonework deceptively simple in appearance. Perhaps ten feet across, the fountain itself is filled with clear, cool water that bubbles forth from a raised pedestal in the centre of the great circle. Carefully tended gardens of bright flowers provide a colourful trim to the circle of trees, their combined scent filling the air with a subtle and sweet fragrance. The temptation to linger here and bask in the soothing feast of the senses is only increased by the presence of the four stone benches that are placed around the fountain. You notice, through the thick greenery of bushes and ferns, a small clearing to the north. Contents: Salmalin Kosha Obvious exits: Courtyard Her mornings have been rather agitated as of late, but this particular afternoon finds Faanshi in a well of calm and quiet. And occupied with the simple, prosaic task of mending. Kosha has sprawled himself lazily in a sizeable patch of sunlight by the fountain, indulging in the doggish bliss of warmth, while his mistress sits with legs tucked under her upon one of the nearby benches. Green eyes focus intently upon the dance she is making with the needle through the garments of Clan Khalida shudra she has been given to mend: thread in, thread out, stitch stitch stitch. And with nothing more than a whisper Salmalin walks toward the fountain, shirt in hand along with a small pack of some kind. He does not notice the shudra, nor the dog as he dips a hand into the water. A sigh escapes him and the leans against the fountain's cool, stone edge as if he could not stand up any longer without help. Salmalin If you have seen one, you have seen them all. A Varati male, young by his looks, with the rough edges of stone for a face. Eyes like midnight, untrusting and wary, peer out from dark hair that has been cut jagged. Like a wolf he is lean, his movements loping and never in a straight line. He wears no shirt, instead preferring to go bare to the waist. Dark skin covers his body as well as scars that seem to have been made from some animal scratching their claws at him. On his back is a tattoo done in color; the full form of an Empyrean woman. She wears nothing but a snake that winds itself around her and covers nothing. Beautiful and angelic, a vision sent from the heavens itself. The curves of her body, the firmness of her stomach and the delicate smile that plays along her lips, how golden tresses frame the line of her jaw. Wings that should be pure as snow are instead black as night and are spread in flight, or rapture, the length of them going across his shoulders and the tips ending at his elbows. Eyes of brilliant blue gaze with love as she looks out across at something beyond time and space. Behind her is a scene of fire, blue flames of rising up from a lake to lick at her flesh. The rest of the scene, along with her feet, disappear below the waist of his pants held tight by a cord. As he moves, so do the muscles on his back; she moves with a life of her own, the goddess he worships responding to his motion. Another tattoo rests upon the top of his arm in the form of a dagger. The blade has been inked to look as though it were piercing his flesh where the word 'khabar' has been done in red on the top of his wrist. There is a pouch at his belt, alongside a dagger similar to the tattoo. Kosha, for once, is happily oblivious; even alert dogs such as he must sleep. But Faanshi glimpses the newly arrived figure once he reaches the fountain; her head comes up, just enough to glance in his direction, to ascertain whether this arrival may be someone who might command her service... And it is then that she recognizes him. A small gasp escapes her, and she slowly rises from the bench, the haik she is stitching still borne within her slender hands. Salmalin's gaze does not move from the random space in which it searches. He only tightens his hand around the shirt as he starts to speak. "Whatever it is that offends you I apologize for, but there is nothing I can do. I have no desire to move any further." The corners of his mouth lift in a small smile before lowering back to where they started from. "If you would have a quarrel perhaps you could wait until after I have a small rest?" Faanshi blinks at this, as she'd blinked at the sight of the kshatri man to begin with. Carefully, she sets the haik down within the basket of mending, and moves the needle back to the tiny pincushion where it belongs when she is not using it. And then she straightens up again, saying softly, "You have never given me offense, Salmalin, either now, or at any time of our acquaintance. I was only surprised to see you." Salmalin moves with a start, his head snapping up to look at the owner of the familiar voice. Relief washes visibly over the man before he smiles, "Then it seems that I have lost my touch. Perhaps I will have time enough to try later." Setting aside his things he moves a little closer toward the shudra, eyes narrowing as if he could not see her clearly from a distance. "It does not seem that long since I left. I did not think anyone would miss me. You seem to be doing well enough." He vanishes without a word of explanation, for weeks on end, and does not expect that he will be missed? Faanshi's sungolden brow crinkles beneath the hem of her leyang, even as her gaze searches the face and frame of Salmalin; perhaps _she_ is not entirely convinced he is truly here. The halfbreed _does_ seem well enough, at least physically. She stands straight and tall, and there is no sign of strain or exhaustion about her eyes... though that liquid gaze of hers has turned concerned. She is silent for a few moments. And then Faanshi says, simply, "I missed you." Salmalin turns away at the words, his face dipping away as he tries to hide his flinching reaction. "Well.. I am back and you are doing well. That is good, very good indeed. I am sure you were able to take care of things. You always were very capable." Leaning back against the fountain once more he avoids the shudra's gaze and just starts to rub at the back of his neck. Not exactly experienced with being praised, much less with men in general, Faanshi just stares for a few moments at the kshatri; her features crumple uncertainly, behind her veil, as relief to see him here and _alive_ wars with indecision about his behavior. Her glance drops away to the basket, and after another moment she then murmurs, "I... endure. And there is not much for me to take care of, besides the mending, not right now. The Imphada Maharani has gone to Masada to reign on high with the Amir-al, and the new Pasha has not said whether he wishes to hear what the Sylvans might have to say." Salmalin nods, letting his hand fall to his side and then to find its way back into the water behind him. "Still only enduring?" He inquires with a note of amusement carried within his voice. The shudra is watched and then looked upon with greater scrutiny. The Pasha, whoever it may be, and the Sylvans are pushed aside for now. "It is the way of things with me," is the maiden's reply, without bitterness, without even much dismay. It _is_ simply the way of things with her. As Salmalin takes his turn to study her as she had studied him, her gaze comes up again; far too old is that stare of hers, for her comparative youth. She goes on gravely, "The Imphada Maharani left no commands regarding you, but I expect that you are free of your obligation to her. If you desire it I will send a message to Masada and request her wishes on the matter, though I do not expect I will be answered quickly." Salmalin takes his time in examining the shudra before he looks away once more. He turns to walk toward a bench as though he had not heard anything that Faanshi had said. When he is seated there he nods ever so slowly. "It is as it will be. With all that has happened I am sure that the Sylvans are far from anyone's mind. To be safe, however, a formal request should be sent. The answer will not matter as I am sure my time here is done." The thought brings a smile to his lips and he pauses to take a look around, reaching out to touch the leaf of a nearby bush. "You are still playing the lyre?" The maiden remains standing, as the man takes the bench she had just occupied, though she does turn to keep facing him as he sits. "I shall ask the khansamah if I may include a letter in the next delivery of messages to Atesh-Gah, then." A beat. Two. Then she adds quietly, "I do still play. I am trying to make more songs." And she pauses again, profoundly unsure. Relief to see a friend _alive_ -- a thing that has brought her all too keen a relief each time it has happened these past many weeks -- now collides with something she recognizes within herself as disappointment at the likelihood that she and this man will no longer be required to speak to the Sylvans in and around Haven on behalf of the Varati. Tentatively, then, she asks, "You will... go out into the city, to dwell?" Salmalin looks down at the pin cushion and then gently picks it up. He seems unable to do something for more than a few moments before he is distracted by something else. Setting it aside he returns to the conversation, "Perhaps one day you will permit me the pleasure of hearing your songs. They are almost as beautiful as yourself." There is a shrug as he considers her question. "My stay here was a tentative one.. and we both know that I have no true place here anymore. Besides, the city is my true home." Faanshi may have found a measure of inner peace -- but she's still not used to compliments by any stretch of the imagination. Blushing deeply and ducking her head, though somehow still managing not to stammer, she breathes, "You honor me. Thank you... I would gladly play for you." Then she stops again, gaze still down, and it stays down for the moment as she considers what to say next. What she finally settles upon is, "You should be where your heart calls home." Salmalin smiles at the response, having thought to make the shudra stammber. "It is I who am honored. Thank you, Faanshi." He stands in the small pause between her words, arms stretching over his head. "Then I will never truly be home.. but at least the city is closer than here. I do not have the discipline to be so confined." The shudra's soul has been through fire. She would not willingly do it again -- but at least it can be said that she has come out of it much more difficult to make falter over her words. Up comes her attention, then, once more, to meet that of Salmalin. "I will be content," says she quietly, "to know that you are happier." And alive. Alive is good. "And what must I do to make you feel more?" Salmalin asks quietly as his gaze is found by her own. After a moment, though, he blinks with a bit of confusion. He had not meant to ask that outloud, but now that it hangs there before him he holds his breath... afraid of the answer. It has become more difficult to make Faanshi stammer -- but not to make her gasp. It's not a long gasp, or a loud one, just a brief, soft, sharp intake of breath behind the new, lighter veil she has taken to wearing, a light enough gauze that the surprise in her features might even be seen through its curtain. Can she have heard him aright? "You..." she begins, and a few more seconds of consternation elapse before she finally finds the voice to conclude her thought. "You wish me to be... more than content?" Salmalin blames his fatigue for the fact that he had spoken his thoughts aloud and yet he does not regret them. Drawing closer with small, measured steps, he nods slowly in reply to Faanshi's question. "I have wished it since I first met you. It has grown with every day that I spent with you and now.. seeing you after so long.." He only shrugs. What he could say has already been spoken. He stops a few feet from the shudra, his head tilted in anticipation of her answer. Faanshi's eyes, already large, have grown progressively wider with each syllable the erstwhile Voice has uttered; now, they remain utterly thunderstruck, the shock at what has been told her as clear in their green depths as the summer sunshine in which the dog still happily sleeps. How in the name of Ushas, she asks herself, can she answer this? With that expectant regard upon her she must assuredly try, but the halfbreed finds herself floundering now, abruptly reminded of a forest pool where this young kshatri had once striven to teach her to swim. Here and now, she feels as out of place as she had within the water. "I... do not know if it is possible for me to be more than content, Salmalin," she says at last, her old shyness threatening to creep back into her voice... and yet not offsetting the stark, premature air of age that has taken over her very being. "I have but five years in the world of men, since the Amir-al and the Imphada Kiera delivered me into freedom... so I... am not wise in such things. The times I have come close to being happy... have all gone wrong. Almost everyone who has made me happy is dead." Salmalin's features become uncertain as he listens to Faanshi. He should not have asked or at least not like this. And yet the shock, the tint of her voice, the smallest changes are enough to shore up his confidence as he finds himself drawn to her. One step. Almost everyone who has made me happy is dead. Her words echo in his thoughts as he seeks to reply. "Then I will not die.. not until you give me leave.." If _she_ gives _him_ leave...? What has happened to the world as she understands it, that such things might be said to _her_? Halfbreed and shudra and woman, what power can she have gained over this kshatri man? Modest is Faanshi, maidenly, but she has looked into the eyes of two men now dead who once loved her... and, now meeting the dark eyes of Salmalin al'Sar, she must begin to wonder. Wondering, she begins to tremble. One hand lifts unthinkingly up to her breast, as if to try to ease a heart whose beating has grown uncomfortably swift. "Do not say that," she implores. "My power is strong... but I-I cannot command death...!" Salmalin smiles with an amused air and tries not to laugh. Is it not obvious? Another step is taken, as though Faanshi were drawing invisible lines in the ground before him. Dark eyes sparkle as he contemplates his next words, a chess game coming to mind. "Yet it is the truth..." he whispers. "You say that you cannot command death, though women have done so throughout history. Men have died at the whim of woman and her very frown or smile. Wars have been waged, great men lost to broken hearts. You can only take away from someone something that you can give them." The scale of history, the greatness of men... such things are above and beyond the scope of existence of mere shudra. And yet, she has aided Warlords. She has spoken with Sachems and elders and shamans. She has ridden in the company of one who would found a nation, for all that that fledgling nation did not stand. Contradictions between the humbleness of her station and the places she has been and the people whose lives have intersected with her own swirl through Faanshi's recollections... and so do the contradictions inherent in this perplexing man who in the time she has known him has bent her understanding of his caste in every way she could possibly conceive. Except that she had never conceived that he would be looking upon her now, thus. She does not move or flinch away from him as he steps to her, and at close range, her trembling grows more apparent. So does the way she twines both her hands at her breast now, as her palms seem to her to shudder at the very thought of death. And so does the deepening liquid sheen of her eyes, implying incipient tears. Feeling abruptly very small, very fragile, she admits, "Sometimes I... wish I... could command death. But the life in my hands... it is all I have to give, and it was not enough to save the ones I have lost...!" And she was right. She had not saved them. They were gone, transformed into painful memories that Salmalin could not compete with. He had no right to speak to Faanshi of life and death or promise things he could not offer. Still, he could not just leave it at that. Closing the gap between them he tries to reach for her, to wrap his arms about the trembling shudra as though that would change everything. He would hold her and everything would be alright. A childish wish and one that causes Salmalin to draw back. She deserves more he thinks to himself. "It will be as it must, Faanshi. We are no more in control of our lives than a river is of the wind. It was just their time." "I know," murmurs the maiden. And it is more than just a reflexive reply. Understanding is in those too-old eyes, even as her tears begin, without strain, without fanfare, just a few silvery drops trickling from her dark lashes. Her features crumple again momentarily behind the veil, as Salmalin's dark hands come up... and retreat; is that a flicker of disappointment in her face, again? If it is, she strives now to supplant it with the stoicism to which she's clung since the first day he laid eyes upon her. "It... is just that... you speak of wishing me to be happy. The things that I have seen make people happy... home, family, children... they do not come to me. But I am blessed among shudra." Crookedly, tinily, her mouth quavers into something akin to a smile behind her veil. "The Imphada Kiera was kind to me, and the Imphada Maharani was generosity itself. I have never been beaten since I was taken from the Warlord, and I can freely heal those who need my aid. I have Kosha" -- and her wet gaze shifts for a moment to the dog, still slumbering away, one paw twitching as if he dreams of chasing rabbits -- "and my lyre. For these things, I will praise the Hawk of Heaven and His Holy Mother each day, with a ready heart...!" "Then I have been mistaken," replies Salmalin. His gaze shifts along with Faanshi's as she looks at Kosha. But it is her features and her form before him that he is drawn back to. Her disappointment he does not see. It is the strength, the shadowed innocence that clings lightly to the edges of what he can see of her face. The tears only seem to add to the image as though they were the swords or armor of a warrior. "You are content and I seek to only bring you down. You have everything and I seek to offer you something I do not have." He smiles gently before reaching out to touch Faanshi upon the cheek for a brief moment. The touch to her face draws her moist gaze back up again, and once again she must tremble a little. For she sees the smile -- and it, like many of the words spoken to her now, makes her wonder. But she does not dare to ask about it, for not entirely certain even now is the shudra of what she thinks she sees in the face of the kshatri. "I... have what seems to be everything I can expect," she clarifies in hesitant tones. That much is for the acknowledgement of caste, and the difficulty of the humble station she occupies, and the halfbreed blood that put her there. But because this is also _Salmalin_ before her, and a friend, she goes on more steadily, "And -- you have never brought me down. You have always uplifted me...!" "You are truly perfect... but do not take it the wrong way. I know there is nothing as perfect and every bone in your body with tremble at the thought," Salmalin says with a quiet laugh. "I just mean in the sense that you are what is expected of you. The exact definition of shudra, of loyal, of whatever it is others strive for." It is her last words that catch him by surprise and he laughs even more. A shake of his head and he is scratch the back of his head. "If I am so uplifting.. then why is it there are tears upon your cheek?" That last question strikes her speechless for a few heartbeats. The Faanshi Salmalin first met would probably have lapsed into stammers upon hearing it; this new one, with a soul behind her eyes that belongs in the body of a woman twice her age, just stares up searchingly at the young man. Thoughtfully. And because he _is_ Salmalin, she tells herself, she must honor that question with nothing less than the truth. "Because I fear what may lie behind what you say to me," she whispers. And then her gaze drops slantwise, not so far down as it would before any other kshatri man, and yet, down it drops regardless as she begins to blush. "I do not presume to interpret your meaning... but when I have heard words such as yours before, they have led to death. And I do not want you to die. I could not bear the death of another friend." Salmalin tilts his head sideways to catch Faanshi's downward gaze. "And what is it that you believe you will find in my words? You presume much and you are probably correct. I have felt something for you since our first meeting. I thought it something trivial.. something induced by wine. Yet even now I cannot help but think I could lose myself just watching you... the way you blush.. the way you try to hide what you are feeling.. every little thing is like a breath of fresh air." And again there is a laugh. Salmalin cannot help but laugh at himself and in case she feels he laughs at her he adds, "Do not mind me. I am thinking only of how foolish I sound. The point is that you do not have to worry about me dying. I have done many things I should regret, but I would never wish to cause you any more pain than you have already suffered." "You do not sound foolish," murmurs the maiden, then. She peeks up, memories darkening her eyes. No, indeed, Salmalin does not sound foolish. He sounds, she tells herself, like Lyre. Like Mehul. Two very different men, as different from each other as they'd both been from the man before her, but she names neither one of them now. As she looks up again, she swallows, draws in a breath, and tries to find the courage to answer that last question that's been asked of her. "I am... not wise in the ways of these things, either, Salmalin, but... are you trying to tell me that you love me?" Salmalin opens his mouth only to have it close. A fish out of water, gasping for breath. He feels foolish and at the same time he cannot help himself. "Yes.. Love.. it has been so long that I have almost forgotten what it feels like." And with a sudden burst of some unknown energy he drops down to one knee, clasping his hands over his chest. "I.. Salmalin.. with all my shortcomings have fallen in love with you Faanshi. And no matter how you take it.. whether it be with open arms or only to throw it away.. my feelings will not change. Nor will I expire from anything less than natural causes, unless you ask me to." He grins a little and then looks up at Faanshi with his dark eyes, breathless. To be _kneeled_ to, on top of everything else in this conversation that has turned her world upsidedown, strikes Faanshi like an arrow to the breast. Her tears begin again in force, while her hands flutter futilely between her and Salmalin in desperate indecision about what she should do: is it right to touch him, even if only to try to pull him back to his feet? "Sweet merciful Mother," she mumbles, and that's all she's able to say for several small eternities of seconds with those ebon eyes upon her, until at last her fingertips settle upon his shoulders. "D-d-do not kneel to me," she begs tinily, as she cries. "I have done it again.." Salmalin murmurs to himself with a look of defeat. He had wanted to make her laugh... something other than cry. Now it seems to be all a mess. As her fingers touch him he blinks and rises without question . His eyes scan the small area and finds only an emptiness that echoes in his chest at seeing the tears falling from her eyes. "I did not mean.. I did.. but.." Ridiculous. "Faanshi. This is not about position. This has nothing to do with caste or breeding. I want only to know one thing... Have you any feeling for me at all... save for the tears that always fall from your eyes? I know that I have no right to ask, but I do so anyway because I must know. I will be consumed if I do not." Tears. She _is_ crying, isn't she? Chagrined, Faanshi sniffles and then reaches up to those flooded eyes of hers, trying to rub the tears away with the knuckles of her dainty sungolden hand. "I... I... you..." stammers she; indeed, it is apparently still possible to make her stammer if the cause is great enough. What she has just been told seems to qualify. But even as her soul recoils from death, so too does her heart recoil from the notion that she might cause damage to the heart of another if she does not answer readily and true. And so though it takes an effort of will, she pulls herself together. Straightens, looks up, and whispers in utmost honesty, "I do not know if I love you... I do not know if I have enough heart left to do so..." Not after it was ripped asunder by the passing of her first love, and the pieces slashed anew at the execution of her second. "But you are dear to me...!" Relief. She does not smile yet, so he does, hoping she will follow suit. Being so serious.. there should be some respite. "Then that is enough. I could not ask for anything more. I dare not do so. I will content myself with that and hope you will forgive me as best you can for my actions. Perhaps it will be best for me to take my leave into the city. I fear that if I stay you will cry yourself dry and become like an empty well." "Oh, Salmalin... you do not need to apologize--!" Faanshi blurts this out all unthinking, one of her hands stretched forth now, fingertips out as though she warms them before a fire. Her gaze meets his; this new smile is seen, and it does gain a reply. It isn't much of a smile, just a tremulous twitch of her lips behind their veil, and it does not reach her eyes. But it's as close as she can come, right now. Serious, ever serious, this halfbreed maiden; so has Faanshi been ever since she came back from the Ettowealona. And, truth be told, even longer. And she admits ruefully, shyly, "I _was_ as an empty well, when I came back from the Ettowealona... to cry is better, it means I can feel again...!" It is better than nothing. Salmalin takes it as a good sign, even if he does not yet fully understand everything. She cries and is glad for it. With a shake of his head he reaches out to take her hand in his. "Then cry, or dance or shout... If it means you can feel again, then I am glad.. even if it does seem a little depressing with all your tears." He gives a squeeze of her hand and another smile, hoping she will take his joke better than she did his kneeling. No, she is not oblivious to humor. Her uncertain smile broadens, ever so slightly; more telling, perhaps, is the fact that her hand willingly and firmly clasps the larger, darker one that takes it. "I cry a lot, I know," Faanshi answers, sheepishly. "I... suppose that it is because there is still much healing that I must do, and it is the only way I have had to let it happen, besides Kosha, or making songs with the lyre...!" Salmalin finds it odd, or at least in his mind and says, "The healer healing herself. It seems a more daunting task than what you normally do. But I am glad that it is happening. You are, by far, more interesting to talk with when you are not brooding and hiding." The healer must heal herself; she has no one else to do it for her, and for all that the kshatri before her has declared the warmth of his feelings, still there is a look about her eloquent eyes that suggests she cannot entirely place credence in it. Love has been declared to her before, and she has lost it both times. And still... there's her delicate hand, indulging in that clasping of hands as long as Ushas' mercy grants that she may. Any sign of connection, any evidence of friendship that she can imprint into her memory, is a healing she accepts and gladly. And now... a strange little noise escapes her, at this assertion of the new nature of her character. Even if her eyes are still doleful, even if her expression does not change... that little noise sounds suspiciously like a repressed giggle. "I am relieved to hear it. I am as much a child in the art of interesting conversation as I am the ways of being an ambassador...!" Salmalin raises a brow at the sound. His smile broadens and he leans in closer to take a better look. Did he miss something? "You are as far from being a child as I am from being kshatri. You merely lack the confidence in which to do your job as an ambassador. And so far as conversation goes, I have yet to be bored by anything you have had to say." "That confidence is only useful if I continue to have a job," Faanshi murmurs. She does not shy away as Salmalin leans closer, though her gaze does dip a little; very conscious is she, still, of when a man is so close to her. "It is not my place to protest, but I do not think that the new Pasha is very interested in having me be an ambassador." A pause. And then she adds earnestly, "I am glad that I do not bore you." Salmalin cannot say as he knows what the new Pasha will or will not do and so he only shrugs. "Confidence is useful in everything you do. Devotion, life, love.. The Maharani gave you the position of Ambassador if you wish to keep it then you will have to try and keep it. And if it was not meant to be, then so be it." He smiles ever so slightly, "I have learned much since I came here, though some of it against my will. I have you to thank for that." "What I want..." Now that is the question, isn't it? Faanshi draws in a quiet breath, and though her expression does not overtly grow more troubled, there still lingers that shadow behind her eyes. Then she looks up again, her delicate mouth curling at one end into something that comes close to being a smile. "Has never been relevant," she finishes. "I am shudra, Salmalin, and I am halfbreed, and I am female. I spoke to the Sylvans... well, what little I have spoken to them, so far... because the Imphada Maharani commanded it of me. She was a kind and generous mistress, but those who command do not ask the desires of those who serve." "Your conviction is so strong," Salmalin states quietly. "They may not ask about their desires and yet those desires exist. You will not follow them or seek them, will you? You are content with your life. Perhaps even desireless in your willingness to give yourself completely to your beliefs. It is both beautiful and sad at the same time." With a shake of his head he laughs a little. "I wish I had your strength." To this, Faanshi's eyes close, and she draws in another long breath behind that dainty veil of hers. "I wish... I had the strength you seem to believe me to have," she answers, soft, wistful, sad. "I do what I must... because when I seek what I want, I lose it. Always. So has it been ever since I was brought forth out of Sarazen. The Maharani has said that I may go to the Ushasti now, for having served her well, but I am almost afraid to ask the Imphada Kerani about it again, lest I be told that the women of Ushas do not want me... because I am too old. Or halfbreed. Or shudra. Or because I have healed the candala and the kafir and will not stop healing them." "And if they do not want you?" Salmalin looks away and stares down into the fountain. He reaches out a hand to play with the water. "What will you do then? You have lived a life of pain Faanshi, but perhaps that is how your life must be. You have dicided to just give in, to take what has been given to you or taken away. If you will not fight for it.. then you cannot have it.." He turns back around to look at Faanshi, his eyes focused on her and carefully judging. "You have strength because you endure. Because in some way you ask for it, punishing yourself every time you come close to achieving happiness. Maybe it is fate or your lot in life, but that seems too easy. The blame is placed on someone else then. Where is your responsibility in all this?" [That was a very good question, but unfortunately, we never got to finish the scene before Aether went down. It may be assumed that Salmalin's query lingered on the mind of Faanshi... and helped lead at last to her decision to leave Haven. End log.]