Chopping Wood for Food

Aulus trudged into the cheap inn with a haversack of his dented and scratched armor over his shoulder. His beaten, holed tunic was covered in mud and sweat, though his black leather pants were more intact. Still, he looked and smelled something fierce as he passed an infuriated, pained look around. He hadn't even a coin purse on him because Octavia carried all the money. When his eyes finally came to a rest, they settled on the bubbling cauldron, probably filled with whatever was near spoiled at the local market. Riffraff peered at him over their mugs of stale ale.

He caught the eye of the man in charge, who wiped has hands off with a towel on his shoulder. [color=#2ecc40]"What can I get for you?"[/color] he asked huskily, glancing at Lus's empty belt. At this point, Aulus noticed the hungry stare of another traveler, one who was still young as he was, broke-looking, and scrawny, and he figured why not? Maybe his company would share a story and take his mind off of Octavia--Soulmate said something squirming in his drained head. He always felt better away from her, like he finally had control over himself, and he relished it, but he knew he would have to go back eventually. 

[color=orange]"Two bowls o' that - one for me, and one him - and some bread, and I can chop your wood for the week,"[/color] he said, exhaustion rimming his grumble.

[color=#2ecc40]"Axe out back,"[/color] said the tavernkeeper as he spit in the bucket. 

Aulus tossed his heavy sack of soldier's gear to the hungry-looking man he bought dinner for. [color=orange]"You're welcome,"[/color] he said dryly, his own stomach growling as he offered a pained look. Aulus hoped this would be a new friend, a man like the soldiers he grew up with who would make life easier for him, he for them. From the mudslide, to the earthquakes, to losing the damn woman, the last thing he needed was another obstacle on the long road he travelled from Dragon's Peak to get here.

(A/N: If anything happens at dragons peak that make's Aulus weird, which can happen at Ivy's events, we can figure out how it might have impacted this thread later, lol)

Ever catch yourself in that awkward gaze limbo? You know, when you're staring at someone, but not really? It's like your eyes have a mind of their own, and they're on a journey through a stream of contemplation. And the person before you becomes a canvas on which your introspections are painted. Jareth, rests deep in the trenches of his own labyrinth of thoughts, caught in a web of questions, emotions, and possibilities.

Hunched over in a dimly lit inn, a rustic board carried his weight. The clatter of some guy in clanky armor and the thud of a heavy sack rudely interrupted his mental stroll. Fingers tap-dancing absentmindedly on the tabletop revealed the nervous energy that came with his unpredictable life. His face, etched with the wear and tear of adventures, softened as he scanned the room.

In this alien place, Jareth wasn't just craving a meal; he was seeking a timeout from his perpetual tango with destiny. A brief moment to catch his breath in the chaotic whirlwind that seemed to have a crush on him. Leaving the Circle Tower years ago might have granted him freedom, but he still felt like a bird in a gilded cage. Escape was on his mind.

And then, out of the blue, the newcomer ordered him a meal. Wha-? Jareth starts, confusion written all over his face. But oh no, this guy wasn't done. The man dumps a whole sack of soldier's gear on him, Oh, don't mind me. Lovely gear you've got here. By the way, do you always throw your problems at strangers, or am I just lucky? Jareth shoots the man a look and raises an eyebrow, and you can practically hear the sarcasm dripping. Lucky indeed.

Aulus looked back at the fellow while hefting the axe. His eyes narrowed to slits. 

[color=orange]"Oh, don't sound like such a wife about it. Just carry it out back for me would you? What's your name, anyway?"[/color]

As he gestured out back, he patted the man roughly on the shoulder, half in a manner of showing his gratitude, half to see how much he swayed. An old recruit test, just out of curiosity. But Aulus didn't mind chopping all the wood, and he hadn't savored good company in months. [color=orange]"You look like you've read a few books."[/color]

The mage sighed, accepting the reality of his situation. Jareth, he replied, a hint of reluctance in his voice. The weight of the soldier's gear was an unexpected burden, both physically and metaphorically. However, the mention of books caught his attention, and for a moment, the weariness in his eyes lifted.

Yeah, I've read a few, he admitted, adjusting the sack on his shoulder.

Books are good company when the road gets lonely. His mind effortlessly retraces his steps to the tower, where towering bookcases stand sentinel, adorned with tomes of diverse shapes and sizes. The walls of his mind,  lined with the wisdom and stories found within those pages.

Aulus listens while he hefts the axe onto his shoulder, finds the logpile sidled up to the back of the establishments, and starts lining up fat cyclinders to chop small. He's listening to Jareth while he does this. He senses a timidity towards manual labor and a crackling light in his eye for stories, but he doesn't reveal these thoughts - just accepts them. He makes two chops before he hesitates, amd lowers the axe.

Where I'm from, books hardly ever tell stories, he confides, glancing curiously at Jareth. I can listen. he addes resolutely and returns to his task.

Jareth paused, perching on a hewn log, and glanced over at Aulus with a thoughtful expression.

Well... he began after a brief pause, you know, there's a tale, a rather famous one by Willy Shake-a-Spear, called 'The Taming of the Termagant.' It's a story about love, wit, and, well, a bit of unconventional courtship.

As he spoke, he shifted the weight of the soldier's gear on his shoulders, the clinking of metal and the rustle of fabric loud enough to scare the nearby critters away. A subtle grimace of effort played across his face, his brow furrowing with strain.

One of the critters cried out loud, [color=#c19e00]"Run!"[/color] However, only Jareth could hear and understand, as far as he knew. He replied to this with a small chuckle that escaped him.

Ever heard of it? he asked, the question hanging in the air.

Aulus fell into an easy rhythm of chopping wood, halving and then quartering the pile set against the side of the establishment. Between thunks, he listened to Jareth, lips pursing at his feelings towards his own unconventional love life trickled into his mood. He really didn't know what to do about it all, knowing if he confided the voices in his head and the weakness in his body whenever he was close to Octavia, people would think him a lunatic. Especially, she. Maybe even Jareth. But Jareth hardly knew him so maybe he could figure out what to do about it all from this story about love, wit, and unconventionality.

Haven't heard of it, Aulus said, trying to seem nonchalant and easy-going, leaning the axe on his shoulder for a moment. He didn't realize he was narrowing his eyes with speculation, nor looking Jareth up and down, as if to size up his slant. Fellow seemed like a willowy intellectual, they type who's head was always in the clouds, but maybe he had some insights that could be brought back down to the ground and put into practice.

Love, though? I don't know... he sneered, a touch of defensiveness sneaking into his wry grin. His eyes flashed back to the log pile nervously, and he went back to thunking the axe into wood.

I'm not about those mushy-gushy yarns, but I'll give it a chance, he shrugged, his ears perking up and his blows to the wood more measured and careful, so he could hear Jareth better over the work.

Ah, love, he said with a knowing smile, as if he’s seen it all before.

It’s a tricky business, isn’t it? he began leaving little no room for reply before continuing, People are often entangled in its web without even realizing it. The forest seemed to hold its breath, hanging onto every word.

He pauses, looking at Aulus with a twinkle in his eye. Petruchio's methods are unorthodox, to say the least, but there's a subtlety to his approach. Love isn't always a straightforward path; it twists and turns, he said, twirling around the trees with the passionate soul of a bard. His movements were both enchanting and mad.

As he paused, a strange tune lingered in the air, and he conjured an illusion with a wave of his hands. And sometimes, he continued, it takes a bit of enchantment to reveal its true nature. Just like Petruchio, who saw beyond the surface and discovered the layers of Katherina's the termagant.

So you're saying this Petruchio - he had some sort of magic spell to make her - you know the way women are. Be less fickle about everything? This one I know.... and here, Aulus cleared his throat to attempt to hit a bit of a higher octave.

You - go trade for a another horse with the bay one, but it must be black to match my vestment. No white spots. Black black. Not gray black.' And then the next day, it will be for a white one. Why are they like this?  Aulus sighed as if the words brought him back to her, and a pained look stole into his eye. The look he gave Jareth was that of a beggar to a nobleman.

Jareth couldn't help but chuckle at Aulus's mimicry, though there was a hint of sympathy in his smile. It's not- who hurt you? he then paused, considering his words carefully before continuing, Love, in its essence, isn't about control. It's about understanding, acceptance, and perhaps, a bit of compromise.

As he spoke, the illusion he conjured morphed into a delicate image of two figures, intertwined in an eternal dance, their movements fluid and harmonious. is all about seeing beyond the surface, beyond the masks we wear, and embracing the beauty within.

You see, Jareth began, his voice taking on a storyteller's cadence, Petruchio employs unconventional methods to woo Katharine, the termagant, such as praising her when she behaves shrewishly and remaining calm and humorous in the face of her anger. He then forms a fist and the illusion scatters into nothing.

His methods are morally questionable, but they both grew even closer from it

Aulus returned to hitting the axe on the wood, letting the advice settle with the usual rhythm he worked in. He pictured giving Octavia compliments and niceties. His brow furrowed - even in the safety of his mind, where he did not feel weak beside her, he hesitated over the words. For years, he'd averted his eyes, replied with a soldier's brevity, and curled within himself at her glance. Jokes about the trenches were the longest lines he'd strung together. He could not speak of such things since he returned to the society of the Tevint capital.

Finding his thoughts slick with double-edged barbs, Aulus tried again to think of the kind words Jareth suggested.

Octavia was… selfish. But… not the word. Her selfishness, or whatever it was, thrilled him like a challenge. It made him feel like he bled out. His heart throbbed over it. He felt drawn to it the more he looked away. He bent towards her, slowly. She strutted and he followed with the horse, and when he watched how others looked at her, he felt proud? When her dress matched her horse, the beauty of it held a sinister power, as if the control of color could extend itself forth and swallow all around her. But how to put all that into but a word? The only word for it Aulus knew was ‘Octavia.’

Aulus turned to Jareth, You are good with words to put it so well, he paused, already ashamed at the simplicity of his dialogue. How do you find the right words? Particularly, for these compliments? I may need to practice. I am used to rougher ways of speaking. I am ugly with my words, but it always felt good to be ugly when we were fighting.

He placed his thumb and index fingers on his chin and frowned as he considered the right words, Hm- well compliments, like any form of speech, requires a certain finesse, Jareth began, his voice carrying a peaceful tune.

You don’t need to use decorated language or grandiose phrases, with each word he took purposeful steps across the arid field with no specific aim. Simple, genuine words often carry more weight.

Think of it like this, Jareth said, his voice soft yet firm. When you're swinging that axe, you're not just hacking away randomly, right? You have a target, a purpose. With each word, his gestures became more animated, hands tracing invisible lines in the air, as if outlining the path to understanding. It's the same with words, he continued, his eyes locking with Aulus's, Identify what you admire about Octavia—her strength, her grace, her presence—and then find the simplest, most direct way to convey that admiration. As he spoke, Jareth took a step closer to Aulus, bridging the gap between them with an aura of empathy and understanding.

And don't worry about sounding too polished or refined, Jareth said before reaching out to place a reassuring hand on Aulus's chest, a gentle reminder to speak from the heart.

Your authenticity is what matters most.

Aulus looked inward as he absent-mindedly patted Jareth's hand. He was no poet, but neither was he thoughtless. Still, he would eat his foot before he chose to sound like the sycophants of the Tevinter Court. Dignity, the last crumbs of it, he held onto dearly. Octavia had taken away his future, all his mother's hopes for him, when she surpassed him in the Magister's competition. Because of her, he was driven like a wet rat into the harrowing ranks of the infantry just to get by. And now, he served her - the woman was a self-absorbed, conniving, spoiled brat. He had a plan originally - for revenge - but now the little voice in his head assured him he loved her.

And, to be honest with himself, she had a few qualities he respected, bitterly.

For one, she always had a plan. (Even if he would have to execute it, they were more than he could put together.) Secondly, she didn't need anyone - not for help or for love - impenetrable. Lastly, she was brave. Nothing seemed to scare her - or was that but naivette? Aulus rubbed his chin as he considered wine-tasting-in-Antiva Octavia, Arlathan-hot-spring-lounging Octavia, and sleeping-all-day Octavia, and he asked himself why he bothered to remember the way her hair curled right at the top of her head, the way her lips barely parted when she was concocting a strategy, and the odd hop she made while dismounting a horse. Such silly details, he chose to remember. He shook his head and looked back at Jareth.

She has good ideas, sometimes. Ideas like Plan As and Plan Bs I'd never consider. To get what she wants, like clothing or jewelry or a laugh at another's expense. Nothing any useful, though. I have been all the useful she needs, he huffed. How is that? he asked, lifting an eyebrow hopefully.

He placed a finger on his chin and gazed upward, trying to organize his thoughts. After all that was said, one word popped into his mind, one that would describe this woman. "She seems self-centered," he considered worriedly. He was genuinely concerned that Aulus might be involved with someone who didn't deserve him. However, he had gotten in trouble for prying too far before. With both hands wrapped around each other, he rested against the nearby oak. A narrowed gaze avoided Aulus’s sight.

It sounds like you don't value or appreciate her contributions. This might reflect a lack of respect for her capabilities or opinions, he lowered his shoulders and exhaled.

Not sure you should say that... he paused a bit letting his words rest.

Is this how you truly feel? he asked gazing back at him with a bit of a sad face.