One potato, two potato

The repository was vast and filled with the wisdom of ages long past, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and dust. Kellam moved slowly through the dimly lit aisles, his fingers brushing over the spines of ancient tomes, each one a reminder of the knowledge and power that had been lost to time. But despite the grandeur of the place, his thoughts were far from the texts that surrounded him.

He was brooding, his mind churning with the bitterness and resentment that had taken root in his heart. The day had been long and grueling, filled with the usual challenges of leadership, but it was Megara's words that echoed most loudly in his mind. She wanted him to reconcile with his son, to mend the fractured relationship that had plagued him for years. But the very thought of it made his blood boil.

He paused before one of the shelves, pulling down a heavy, leather-bound book, not really seeing the faded title. His jaw clenched as he remembered her insistence, her gentle yet firm voice as she urged him to take the first step. *For the good of your people, for the good of your soul,* she had said. But all Kellam could feel was the weight of obligation pressing down on him, suffocating him.

*She has no idea what she’s asking,* he thought bitterly, flipping through the pages without really reading them. His son had chosen to defy him, to walk away from everything Kellam had tried to build, and now Megara expected him to just forget all of that? To open his heart again, as if the past didn’t still burn like a fresh wound?

His people, the proud Clan Ghilain, had found a new home in Arlathan, and under Megara's rule, they were flourishing. But her request felt like a command, one he could not easily refuse. If he did, he risked not only his own standing but the well-being of his clan. They looked to him for guidance, and he couldn’t let them down—not after everything they had endured.

Kellam snapped the book shut with a force that echoed through the silent repository, the sound startling even to his own ears. *How can I be expected to forgive when I’ve been wronged so deeply?* he thought, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. His son had chosen a different path, one that had led them to this bitter estrangement. And now, after all this time, why should he be the one to extend an olive branch?

He began to pace the narrow aisle, his boots thudding softly on the stone floor, the dim light casting long shadows that danced with each step. Part of him knew that Megara was right—that reconciliation would bring some measure of peace, not just for him, but for the entire clan. But the other part of him, the part that had been hardened by years of disappointment and betrayal, railed against the idea. He wasn’t sure he could find it within himself to reach out, to try and rebuild what had been broken.

The thought of his son twisted like a knife in his gut. *Does he even want to reconcile?* Kellam wondered, pausing before a particularly old text, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns on its cover. *Or would it just be another source of pain, another wound to carry?*

He let out a heavy sigh, the weight of his decision bearing down on him like a storm cloud. *Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.* He was caught between his duty to his people and the bitterness that had festered within him for too long. The repository, with all its ancient knowledge, offered no answers—only more questions.

Kellam leaned against the shelf, his gaze distant as he stared into the shadows, lost in thought. The path ahead was unclear, and he felt more trapped than ever, stuck between the expectations of his people and the wounds of his past. The repository was a place of reflection, of learning, but today, it offered him little solace. He could only brood over the choices that lay before him, uncertain of which path he would take, or if he had the strength to take it at all.

Whispers, fear and rumors ran amok throughout Arlathan, following his wedding to his beloved. Her People whispered that he was a criminal, a killer— and he couldn't refute the truth. This caused many, who did not know him, to avoid him. The People were not so kind, when faced with something they feared; and they feared he might ruin their city with his ways. He knew, they feared he'd alter their Keeper's mind, force her to change her stance on things.

But where the People fretted, Nairn simply pretended he didn't see the glances, or notice when someone left his presence, at times even going so far as to cross the street if they saw him on the same side as them. It was isolating, ostracization.

He pretended he didn't see how they trembled, when she was with him and her presence demanded theirs. They couldn't always avoid him, like prey caught in a trap...

Nairn pretended it didn't bother him, and kept his stays in Arlathan extremely short. The Coterie mingled unseen amongst the Elves, as long as Nairn was not around. Once seen associating with Nairn, someone was deemed stupid, a threat, and iced out of the majority.

She promised they'd come around, eventually. He promised it didn't bother him. But they rarely stayed nights together in Arlathan. Often he'd take her to work in the mornings, through the network of mirrors, from Kirkwall. Or she might stay in her home in the forest, and he'd come visit for lunch.

Not ideal, but it worked.

Every-so-often, like today, he refused to let the People run him out of what should be his home, too. And he'd go out of his way to make as many of them as uncomfortable as possible. Typically by being overly nice, to those who snubbed him. Pretending that he hadn't noticed the snub, and was simply treating them with kindness.

The Repository was quiet, usually empty, though the few people who were in it had scattered earlier due to the man fighting with his own demons towards the back. He was searching for a cookbook, and while he could have easily sent Danny, it felt a little demeaning to send his Right Hand down to the library so he could make his Missus something special for dinner.

Or well... attempt to cook. She might come home to another smoldering house, if he wasn't careful. He was heading towards the back of the library, after glancing to the little piece of paper that gave him directions to the book he needed. Only to find someone leaning against the bookshelf. Can you hand me that book? He didn't know the man, not by sight at least.

@Kellam Yoesif

Kellam’s musings were interrupted by a voice behind him, calm yet unfamiliar. Wait, no maybe mildly familiar, someone he’d seen or heard around Megara possibly, not that he cared either way. He straightened, his gaze sliding over to the young man who now stood a few paces away. Kellam hadn’t expected company in the repository, it had seemed most who had entered were avoiding him, and the idea of a stranger wandering into his private corner of contemplation brought a frown to his face. He scrutinized the man with the cold, assessing stare.

Kellam gave the slightest, measured nod, pulling the requested book from the shelf. His gaze flicked over the cover, lips curling with faint amusement when he saw the title—a rather domestic cookbook, more suited to a homestead than a repository. Curious choice, he thought, holding it up for a beat.

So, Kellam began, his tone both low and piercing, as though he were addressing not only the stranger but the empty air itself. A cookbook eh, I don’t mean offence, Well, perhaps he did mean at least a tiny bit. But, you don’t strike me as the domesticated type, though I could be entirely wrong, what do I know.

@Nairn Neirdre

Nairn was an awful judge of character; he disliked nearly everyone upon first glance. Hell, if you weren't Coterie you were a threat until deemed otherwise. But the moment this stranger spoke to him, open disgust flickered across his face. If you have to say 'I don't mean offence', you almost always mean offence. He stated, taking the cookbook with a glare. He'd been in such a good mood.

He could have left. Should have left. He'd promised his wife he'd do nothing inside the treeline of Arlathan to warrant more worry for the People over his status as a criminal.

But he didn't know this man, and he made it his business to know everyone within the treeline. If they were going to be around his Megara when he wasn't here, he wanted names. And if anything happened to her, well. He knew everyone.

Dunno you. New to the area? He asked, opening the cookbook. The lower half of his face was masked, today's scarf was black, making him seem paler than he was, especially with how bright his hair was, nearly white in the low light of the repository.

Every-so-often, his gaze would flicker up to study the stranger. Like predator, watching its prey. Make it my business to know everyone. Neighbor-like, and such. A lie, but one he told easily, even knowing the other man likely wouldn't believe it. He certainly wasn't being neighborly at the moment.

@Kellam Yoesif

Kellam's eyes narrowed at the sharpness in the man's tone, and a cold smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He wasn’t unused to people pushing back. It didn’t bother Kellam in the slightest. Men like Nairn were often more predictable than they realized, and Kellam had no intention of backing down from someone who fancied himself intimidating.

He regarded Nairn with a calm, almost detached air, as if the venomous response had barely registered. Well spotted. It’s a phrase people use when they’re being condescending. His voice was steady, the slightest hint of mockery woven into his words. But you didn’t strike me as the type to care much for politeness anyway, so I assumed you’d appreciate honesty. Looks like I was right.

He folded his arms across his chest, his posture relaxed but unyielding, his gaze locked onto Nairn’s with the kind of intensity that came from years of command and authority. Kellam wasn’t interested in playing games, but he wasn’t one to shy away from confrontation either. The fact that Nairn made it *his business* to know everyone in Arlathan was something Kellam noted with mild amusement.

No, not new to the area. His voice was low, smooth, but carried the weight of something far older, something that had endured. Though I suppose we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting, have we? Name’s Kellam.

@Nairn Neirdre

Nairn maintained eye contact with Kellam, his features drifting into the appearance of neutrality. He hated scum like this; who thought they were better than everyone around them. And as Kellam explained the phrase, like he was five, he couldn't help but wonder if the old man could hold his own in a fight.

But he was here with his fiancee's people watching his every step; looking for any reason to beg their keeper not to marry the crim from Kirkwall. So he'd be good.

I thought my fiancee would vet the people she let into Arlathan better than this, he mused, letting his gaze drift over the older man. His nose wrinkled, and he shrugged a shoulder. The name didn't ring any bells, not immediately, but Nairn could tell from these last few minutes that this was a man he'd rather kill than deal with.

Nairn.

@Kellam Yoesif

So, Kellam said slowly, drawing out the word as if testing its weight. Your fiancée. Keeper, I take it? I suppose congratulations are in order. His tone carried a faint bite, like a blade sheathed but ready. His eyes swept over the cookbook, his fingers brushing absently against the edge of the shelf beside him.

Ah, so this is why you need the book, Kellam said, gesturing lazily to the cookbook in Nairn’s hands, his voice cool and sharp-edged. To cook for your fiancée. How charming. Nothing like a nice roast to win someone over.

He leaned back against the shelf, arms folded casually across his chest, but there was nothing relaxed about his presence. The weight of his gaze lingered on Nairn, sharp and unyielding. Though I have to wonder… is this some romantic gesture, or are you in the proverbial dog house? The demon stirred inside of him, causing his voice to be even edgier and dripping with ulterior motives behind it.

@Nairn Neirdre