Who: Peony & Pyr What: Serious Conversation (over breakfast) Where: The Min house in Commoners' When: This morning Rating: Tame Status: Complete
Her days had settled into an easy and pleasant rhythm of cooking and writing, with regular visits to the Cathedral and to the markets. Their neighbors no longer looked at her with quite such intense vitriol as they had when she had first taken up residence -- perhaps they were reassured by her quietly unobtrusive behavior -- but be that as it may, she knew she would have to depart soon.
Soon, but not yet.
This morning, she was in the kitchen, a familiar sight by now with her hair pulled back with a simple ribbon and an apron over her dress, preparing breakfast as she waited for the boys to make their appearance. Pyr would be first, she thought, bound for training, for his mentor seemed determined to have him running before the sun had fully crested the horizon. Sure enough, she heard footfalls down the stairs right on time and began to set the table.
Seeing her there so early no longer surprised Pyr. That morning in particular, he anticipated her presence, after going over the things he needed to say to her over and over inside his head. The subject of Jareth's class had not been brought up since Aries, and Pyr had worried that discussing it would create unwanted tension between himself and Peony. Their relationship was still too fragile, and he did not want to argue, but the conversation with Councilor Cassul had convinced him he could no longer pretend nothing was wrong.
He sat at the kitchen table and smiled at Peony. "Morning. Were you," he yawned, barely remembering in time to bring up a hand to cover his mouth, "up working?"
“Good morning,” she replied, finishing laying out the food and setting a teapot on the table, then a pair of cups. Quiz wound between her legs, meowing insistently, and she went to prepare his breakfast now that Pyr’s was assured. “I went to the fishermen’s market at the docks,” she said. She could not deny that she had indeed spent a great deal of time working (even if she had never had to specify on what, exactly), but she felt well-rested. The respite from guild business had done her good.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked, setting Quiz’s bowl on the floor before taking a kitchen chair for herself and pouring herself a cup of tea.
Pyr nodded absently, stifling another yawn. "Yeah."
He hesitated, hovering on the edge of taking Peony's mention of the docks market and running with it for casual conversation, to pave the way for what he wanted to say, but a glance at the clock told him he did not have the luxury of time; he had to be at training in less than an hour.
"I've thought about what you said, about Jareth," he blurted out. "I want to talk about it. I'm not going to write home about it."
Her hands did not hesitate as she brought the cup to her lips and sipped at the warm liquid within. No change of expression would accompany the declaration, either -- whatever her thoughts on the matter, it was clear that she did not intend to let them show. “All right,” she said. She had suspected as much, when weeks had gone by with no word from him on the subject, but she was glad he felt comfortable enough to come to her with confirmation. “That choice is yours to make. As I recall I asked only that you think about it; I never insisted.”
“I know you didn’t. Thanks. But I want you to hear why.” He paused, resisting the temptation to stall for time by pouncing on his breakfast (no matter how good it smelled). “I’m not writing because Jareth is no different from Felicity. I didn’t write to tell Dad that Fel was a monk, when I was assigned to her, and I’m not going to write to tell him Jareth is a Fell Knight. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Maybe―probably―she wouldn’t agree. But he would probably be squired to Jareth until he made class, and didn’t intend to cut ties afterward; if Peony had an issue with Jareth, there would be time enough for it to come up again. The sooner it was aired out, the better―or so he hoped.
“I see,” she said. “I can admire your dedication to justice; it will serve you well in your chosen profession.” And idealism was the purview of the very young, after all. “I cannot agree with you on the lack of difference, if that is what you are asking, but I can respect why you feel the way you do.”
She paused before adding, “I do not believe that Jareth will harm you; if I did, I would involve myself further than by offering advice. He is, at his core, a good man.” A good man who had made bad choices -- such were all too common in this world.
“He is good,” Pyr replied at once. “And I don’t think you should judge him because he’s Fell. Especially you, Peony, with all the people,” he jabbed a thumb over his back, in the general direction of their next-door neighbor, “who are being jerks to mages and judging them just because they’re mages.”
“I am not judging him,” Peony replied. “As I said, he is a good man. But the Dark is not the same as the chi utilized by Sister Felicity and others who claim the monk class -- it is a corruptive and addictive force that often begins to rule those who call it. There are reasons why those who choose it are regarded with wariness, and they are not tied up in the words of priests standing at pulpits.” Whatever young idealists thought -- and she could understand them, even if she did not agree. “No more than I approve of the use of narcotics can I approve of the use of the Dark as an expedient means to an end. But we are all humes, all flawed and fallible. I can no more judge him than I can judge anyone else; we are all the same. Lest you misunderstand, I am not opposed to you continuing your training with him,” she added after a moment. “He has done you a great benefit already. You should do what you feel in your heart is good and right. I would counsel you against taking his path -- I have seen it end in ruin for people I have cared about in the past -- but ultimately, that, too will be your choice. That is part of being an adult.”
Halfway through Peony’s reply, Pyr had crossed his arms, and he was frowning as he said, “Right. I’m not going to ask for a new mentor. I like him. And I don’t want to go through mentors like Conan.” He regretted his words for the briefest instant, remembering what had happened to Zach, but pushed on. “I think Jareth is a good mentor and a good person. He’s a little grumpy sometimes, but he cares a lot. So you shouldn’t treat him differently now you know.” He had no confirmation of this, of course, but he had seen them talking while he’d been sifting through folders at the EKP offices, and they had not looked like two people who had worked together for a long time. “He’s still the same person he was before you found out.”
“I strive to treat all people with the same respect and kindness, unless they have committed grave injustice,” she responded. She might have left it there, but if Pyr was broaching adult subjects, perhaps she ought to say just a little more. “If we are somewhat wary around each other, it is something which goes both directions, and an unfortunate consequence of the fact that we are both human, with similar aims but somewhat conflicting ideologies.” And they had never really been friends; mutual suspicion had melted eventually into mutual respect, and they had been tied together further by a mutual loss, but there had been no time for friendship to form. Jareth did not volunteer his thoughts and Peony was not the sort to ask them, and they were likely to go on coexisting, working in tandem, but never fully integrating into the sort of seamless unit she and Siana had been.
“I will be particularly mindful of my actions, if it will put your mind at ease,” she said at last. She did not think she had been disrespectful or unkind, but sometimes, children saw things adults missed. It would have been wrong to simply dismiss his concerns as though they were founded in nothing but his idealism.
He considered her words for a moment; then, deciding it was a good place to start, uncrossed his arms and nodded, “Okay. That’s good. He’s good, so. Thanks.”
Maybe this conversation would need a repeat performance in the future but, for now, there was no time to dedicate any more time to it. A glance at the kitchen clock told Pyr his training would be starting in a half-hour and, more importantly, his breakfast was growing cold―and that, more than anything, was a cardinal sin in Pyr Min’s books.