apostatised | [log] both your friend and your enemy think you will never die

The crisp cold air in Arum gives way to the more temperate nexus, and Martel loosens his cloak as he walks further away from the portal - habitually, as if this is something that he does quite often, because it is. The nexus has become a routine the way he knows just about anything can become routine, and he uses it for recreation and for business and for self-indulgence and for all sorts of things that are alternately useful or logically pointless. His opinion of the place changes daily, but tends to baseline at 'tolerant'; today he's not really thinking about it, going about his business unremarkable and unremarked on.

In the nexus there are any number of places he could be found, for any number of reasons. As he makes his way through the semi-Elene market that he's been frequenting for months without bothering to mention this slice of his homeland to anyone else (even the precious few Elenes who pass through, who have enough without taking this from him, too), he knows that if he's needed at the castle he's not impossible to find. Unfortunately, he's not impossible to find for anyone else, either, unconcerned as he is.

He's probably not anticipating being interrupted as he disagrees with a vendor about the worth of these pieces, and where they came from in the first place.

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"I don't know," is Sparhawk's considered answer. "Before I came here, I would have said that you would have returned, that you would have come seeking revenge and retaliation. My mind still held the image of you as my arch-enemy, and painted you demonic. I thought that nothing was beyond or beneath you. Now, there are no reasons for you to return. You don't want revenge, you have a wife and a life here, there is nothing for you in Eosia. Would you return, just because you could? I don't think so."

Sparhawk really shouldn't be as surprised as he is about the revelation that Martel met another Sparhawk. Actually, it gives him hope that if that Sparhawk can agree, then so can he. "And it was a promise you intended to keep," there is no question, it's a bald statement. "And what if you and I come to terms. What if I don't want to banish you from our homeland as a condition of leaving you alive? God knows, I know what it's like to be exiled."

"Before I died," Martel clarifies himself, any proper sort of a motivation veiled behind his eyes, "perhaps before I knowingly allied with Azash. Back to Demos." Penitent, he means, but he's not going to spell it out any further than that - he isn't sure he wants to hear the answer. It'd be a cold comfort now to know that he was damned the instant he stepped across the first line, as he'd thought then, and a twist of the knife to think it could've gone any other way.

(He met Sera, once, Maryani's daughter, and that's how he has to think of her for his own sanity. The implications, otherwise, are too much.)

Martel exhales and interrupts himself before Sparhawk could even have time to respond to that, regardless. "What if you don't? What if I wanted to - visit." (He twists the word like the worst kind of joke.)

Sparhawk thinks he understands, at least a little. "With time, all wounds heal, or so I'm told. You killed friends of mine that day. You betrayed the teachings of Sephrenia, and broke Vanion's trust in you. Time, though, still passes."

That's not an answer, but Sparhawk is chary of giving a proper one, not sure how Martel would react.

"Now that I've talked to you, Martel, and realised that mostly I was being pig-headed, I would not object to you visiting. I can't speak for the others, but I wouldn't be chasing you down for your head."

"I had other enemies," he notes, managing to refrain from actually naming Vanion aloud, "and the reasons were sound. Things have changed, yes, but I don't ...expect more than what I earned."

The difference between redemption and reform is that one is passive; to be redeemed you must be forgiven. To reform you must change from the inside out. Martel, viewing the first option a fool's errand at best and hubris beyond anything he'd tried before at worse, opted for the second. There's nothing really wrong with that decision - one might even call it admirable, in some ways, to work to change without the expectation or hope of being rewarded for it.

On the other hand, he coupled it with the steadfast belief that there would be no reward because there could be no reward; that the history is too bloody and his viciousness too genuine. He was misguided, certainly, but not ignorant of his immediate actions. He was cruel. And he is, inexplicably, alive to cope with the fallout.

Badly, is the problem.

"Perhaps the sheer fact that you and I are getting on might be enough to make them think twice. At least, if I tell them that you're under my protection, they'll be too busy berating me to worry about you wandering off."

Sparhawk seems quite happy with his reasoning, at least until the significance of what Martel said penetrates his brain. "You don't expect more than you earned? You mean you expected me to want you dead if I ever came here? What would you have done if I greeted you with an embrace?"

"I think the drink has gone to your head," Martel says, dryly, and then there is a contemplative silence while he considers Sparhawk's words.

"...well, I'd have had to check you for some sort of possession."

"That was the whole point of drinking," Sparhawk returns, turning to look back over the lake. "I thought it would help."

He can't help but laugh quietly at the idea of Martel checking him for possession.

"It's certainly done something." Martel exhales.

Sparhawk is still chuckling faintly. "I think that we could be friends again, brother, now that I've worked out that I'm not going insane for thinking of it in the first place."

He's happy, and pleasantly muzzy still, and quite interested to find out what Martel thinks of his statement.

"You know it won't be so easy as that," Martel opts for, feeling slightly peculiar to be the voice of reason in this situation. It's not that he's never the voice of reason, just...not this one, as it were. He takes a cautioning tone, instead of a wary one - but it boils down to the same thing. "There's been too much to trust each other simply because we want to."

Sparhawk sighs, and sounds slightly grumpy when he speaks. "I know. And I'm sure that when this wine wears off, I'll have a hangover worthy of a Troll, and will be asking myself what I was thinking for making myself vulnerable."

He knows that even by admitting that, he's letting Martel know more than he probably should.

The wry look on Martel's face has a certain bitter edge to it. "Well," he says, blandly, "if you still think it was a good idea after the hangover's worn off, then we'll talk."

Sparhawk nods as he turns away from the lake, and away from his brother. He can already feel the start of a headache pounding at his temples, and wants to find somewhere dark to sit down, probably with some water.

"Till then, brother," are his final parting words.

[log] both your friend and your enemy think you will never die

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