Either Side Of Disagreement

"And, of course, Xetesk is at the heart of things as usual."

The Raven were enjoying a rare moment of peace in the long barroom of the Rookery, a brief respite from the work that awaited them on Herendeneth. Erienne had chosen to retire early, still sore that she had been coerced from the grave of her daughter and weary from the strain of the One magic pulling at her mind. Denser had offered to accompany her to their shared room but was turned down with a dismissive shake of the head and a tired sigh. He'd watched her slowly climb the stairs to the upper floor lodgings, the goblet of wine in his hand all but forgotten and the night's levity already diminished. Erienne's grief was understandable, a grief he too keenly felt, but how he hated to see her distance herself from his affections. His mood had soured immediately after her withdrawal and he soon sought comfort in the Unknown's fine wines, passing the hours one drink at a time.

He was now settled in front of the roaring fire at the far end of the bar, Ilkar was sat opposite, swirling wine in a goblet, and sharing his views on the rumours of Dordovan unease. Denser had listened to the elf's summary of the weakening alliance between Erienne's college and that of his own without a word. Xetesk was always an uncomfortable topic of conversation for the dark mage, especially when caught in a discussion with the Julatsan. The air seemed to grow thick with the tension and the fragile alliance between the two Raven mages seemed flounder as the night drew on. Denser's mood only served to exacerbate things and, sure enough, it didn't take long for Ilkar to point the finger of blame.

Despite himself, Denser bridled and regarded the elven mage coolly.

"Something to say, Ilkar?"

"Nothing that hasn't been said already, Denser, no. You know where I stand."

Denser leapt from his seat, threw up his hands and swung round to face the elf fully.

"Gods drowning, Ilkar," the mage exclaimed, the frustration in his voice practically tangible. "Why must it always be the same with you?"

Hirad, on the opposite side of the bar, started at the sudden noise. Denser caught his eye for the briefest of moments before he turned his back on the rest of the barroom, his next words for the elven mage only. Dissatisfied, Hirad rose from his seat, nodding to the Unknown, and started over towards the fire.

"I understand your allegiance to your college," Ilkar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he continued to stare into the flames. "But I must say it's really remarkable given all of the times they've tried to kill us, the Raven. That includes you too, you know."

Denser's eyes narrowed. "I haven't forgotten where my loyalties lie, Ilkar, if that's what you're implying. And the actions of Dystran and the Circle Seven do not define the entire college, do they? It amazes me how bigoted you can be sometimes."

"Bigoted?" Ilkar was out of his seat in an instant. "Realistic, Denser, that's all. Perhaps you've forgotten Dawnthief? How about the Kaan and the Protectors? How can you stand by so casually and make excuses for all they've done?"

"I'm not making excuses," Denser snapped. He took half a step forward and it was enough to put him nose to nose with the elf. "You know something, Ilkar-"

A hand clapped the dark mage on the shoulder and turned him roughly, cutting off the insult that burned at the tip of Denser's tongue.

"Another fascinating discussion, I'm sure," a voice sounded close to his ear. "But, if you'll be so kind, your disturbing the other patrons."

Denser scowled and shook the hand off, opening his mouth to object. The Unknown looked between the two mages and his expression brokered no argument. The eyes of the bar were on them, Ilkar noted, and his ears reddened and pricked as he turned his gaze back to the fire.

"Always the same, isn't it?" Denser sneered, gesturing to the Unknown and Hirad who, unconsciously, had stepped in between the mages. "Defend him, won't you?"

Hirad scoffed, eying the Xeteskian curiously. "It's not about that. You're ruining my nice night off."

He turned to fix Ilkar with a pointed stare. "Both of you."

"Indeed," Unknown agreed. "Now, whatever trivial thing it is you two have chosen to argue about this time, let it go and finish your drinks. If you can't do that I suggest you retire to your rooms."

"I'm sorry Unknown, but he," Denser jabbed a finger in Ilkar's direction. "Needs to hear this. I'm not just going to stand by and let him accuse me of things I've never done. We aren't all alike, Ilkar. We're not all-"

"Enough, Denser."

The Unknown gestured to the vacant armchair beside the fire. Two untouched goblets of wine rested on the low table and Denser's pipe lay beside them.

"Sit down."

The dark mage glowered and ignored him. "Not so quick to talk now, are you, eh, Ilkar? You know your problem? You're just too fucking old."

Ilkar tensed, eyes flashing darkly. Hirad sensed the danger and held his palms up in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

"Alright, come on now. You've had your say, Denser. Let's leave it at that before someone gets a black eye."

Again, the Xeteskian chose not to respond. Alcohol coursed through his body and heat rose in his cheeks. His attention was fixed solely on his fellow mage before him, the tall, lithe body tensed and colour flooding to his face.

"So stuck in your ways, aren't you? Not easy to change your mind after a hundred years of mistrust, is it?"

"You wouldn't know anything about it." Ilkar snapped. "It's nothing to do with-"

"Yes it is, Ilkar! Yes it is."

"Denser," Hirad warned. The Unknown closed the gap between them.

"You may look young but up here," The dark mage tapped his head at the base of his skullcap. "You're just a cold, prejudiced old man."

Chaos erupted.

Ilkar threw himself forward, snapping out a stream of curses that were lost in the sudden tumult. Hirad caught him around the waist and pushed him back even as Denser pressed closer. The Unknown pushed hard against Denser's chest, sending him a pace backwards but the dark mage kept on coming, shouting over the shoulders of both warriors.

"Admit it, Ilkar," he yelled. "Admit it!"

"That's e-fucking-nough, Xetesk-man!"

"Don't you start with me, Coldheart."

"ENOUGH!"

The Unknown stood between them all, taking in the lot of them with a tangible sense of authority. Silence descended and the anger seemed to diminish enough for Ilkar to stop struggling against Hirad, letting his body go slack in the warrior's hold.

Denser's uneven breathing sounded loud in the sudden quiet, ragged and angry. His face still bore a sneer and his cheeks were sucked in as though he was trying to swallow his next words. The Unknown's cold stare was on him though his words were directed at the mage pair.

"I won't have this disruption in my bar," His voice was calm and level, dropped to a quiet that only the Raven, such as they were, could hear. "Denser, I strongly suggest you return to your room. Now. Go see to Erienne."

The Xeteskian opened his mouth, eyes narrowing, paused and closed it again. He looked long at hard at the Unknown, looked past him to the elf who was shrugging out of Hirad's hold, then turned smartly on his heel and stalked away without another word.

"Hirad, follow him, if you don't mind. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

"A bit late for that, don't you think?"

He shrugged and patted Ilkar on the shoulder, taking off after the dark mage anyway. The elf sighed and turned to offer his thanks to the Unknown, however the warrior's level stare in his direction silenced him immediately.

"Ilkar, with me. I think we need a chat."

The Rookery's kitchen was warm and the smell of soups and bread filled the air though its current occupants found they had no appetite. A bottle of Blackthorne red had been uncorked and glasses filled though neither the Unknown nor Ilkar touched them.

"So, what was that all about then?"

Ilkar lifted his gaze from the goblet set before him and shot the warrior beside him a wounded look.

"You know very well, Unknown."

The large warrior shook his head. "Not that. What started it? Xetesk again, I presume?"

Ilkar bristled, sharp eyes narrowing. "You think the same as him then?"

"I just know it's a sore point for you," the Unknown replied calmly, watching as Ilkar tensed. "And the usual source of arguments between you and Denser. It would help if you didn't antagonise him."

The elf glared at the Unknown and opened his mouth to object.

"It's still his college," the warrior added before Ilkar could speak. "You'd do the same if it was Julatsa under question."

"That's different."

"Is it?"

"Julatsa hasn't yet tried to kill us."

The Unknown simply looked at him, his expression blank.

"I just thought…" Ilkar trailed off, frowned, and started again. "After all Xetesk has done, after all the Raven have suffered at their hands, I rather thought Denser might be a little more sympathetic to my concerns."

The Unknown shrugged and took a drink. "Like I said, it's still his college."

Ilkar, though frustrated, found he couldn't argue. He blew air out of his cheeks and leaned back, resting against the warmth of the fireplace behind him.

"What's worse is that he's right, isn't he?"

The Unknown frowned and Ilkar waved a hand to still his question, answering for him anyway.

"About me, I mean."

"Ilkar…"

"I have harboured this hatred for a long time, Unknown." He allowed himself a smile, ignoring the warrior's questioning gaze. "More than three times longer than any of you have been alive."

He ran a hand through his hair, collecting his thoughts.

"People nowadays hear the rumours of Xetesk's experiments and disregard for the sanctity of human life and dismiss them out of hand. They're told like scary stories to children. That's all they are to people."

"But not for you, eh?"

The Unknown regarded the elf curiously, watching as those dark, oval eyes narrowed and then closed. It was something they never really talked about. Even after more than ten years together, none of them, not even Hirad, truly understood everything that made Ilkar who he was. He was an elf, a mage, their friend. He was Raven, that's all there was too it. They didn't need any more than that. The hundreds of years he'd walked the earth before any of the were even born were almost inconsequential. Even Ilkar himself would say that the only time that mattered were his years spent with the Raven.

But in the quiet of the kitchen, with the air still so thick and unsettled around them, the Unknown couldn't help but wonder if that was right.

"I've seen things, Unknown, unspeakable things," Ilkar's voice harboured an unwanted quiver. "And I've suffered badly at their hands. My fears are just but Denser seems to forget that, in spite of it all, I consider him my friend, regardless of his college."

At this, the Unknown nodded. "And me, Ilkar. Or did you forget I'm Xeteskian too."

Ilkar blinked and met the warrior's stare, a wounded look on his face.

"By birth only," he amended. "And you're no mage. Besides, you've been wronged by them more than any of us."

The Unknown's face hardened.

"I'm sorry, Unknown, but it's true. And I make no apologies for despising Xetesk for what was done to you."

"And I thank you for that, Ilkar but, be that as it may, it's not what I wanted to discuss with you."

Ilkar knew from the tone of the warrior's voice that the conversation, as far as the protectors were concerned, was over.

"No?"

"No. We all know where you stand regarding Xetesk, and we all, Denser excepted apparently, understand why. It's just unfortunate that you two can't seem to discuss such things without it resorting to groundless accusations and name calling."

The elf sighed, a frustrated acknowledgement that he had erred.

"Denser was still wrong to say what he did."

"Yes, he was," the Unknown agreed. "That's why we're here. I wanted to see you all right."

The Raven mage did not answer immediately, instead turning his face up to stare at the dark beams stretched across the ceilings. He followed the line of a deep scar through one of the wooden supports, took in the knots and the notches and sighed again into the quiet.

"I've had a long time to get used to it." He paused, again running a hand across his face. "It's hard to describe how lonely it feels sometimes, Unknown. I'm an elf in a land that is not my own, there's always going to be the sense, however faint, that I don't belong."

"A feeling I can assure you I empathise with."

Ilkar reached across and patted the big man's knee. "Yes, Unknown, and I am sorry for that."

"But you're forgetting one thing."

"Oh?"

"You're Raven," the Unknown offered with a shrug. "And you're never alone."

Ilkar smiled and faced his old friend fully, reaching out to squeeze the Unknown's shoulder in thanks.

"And you'll never know how much that means to me."

"Oh," the warrior answered with a smile. "I have an idea. Now, come on. Drink up. I'm worried Hirad might have made a mess of Denser all over my nice clean bar."

"Feel better now, do you?" Hirad was demanding from behind him, his considerable bulk thumping up the wooden stairs and following along like a shadow. "Always was a talent of yours to alienate your friends, wasn't it?"

Denser growled low in his throat and looked back over his shoulder. "At least I don't persecute them. My college doesn't define me, Hirad, and it doesn't dictate my actions but I won't stand by and let him, a Julatsan, preach to me about our history. We're not all alike and I'll thank him to stop shoving his misgiving about us down my throat every opportunity he gets."

The mage stopped at the top of the stairs and turned, his face dark and angry in the low lamplight. He regarded the barbarian silently, teeth clamped together and eyes narrowed to slits. He was about to say more, indeed opened his mouth to do so, before he cut himself off with a resigned sigh and gestured loosely at Hirad.

"Come on then," he muttered. "Let's hear it."

"What?"

"The speech, Hirad," Denser answered, the corners of his mouth tugging up a fraction. "Let's get it over with so I can hurry up and see to my wife."

Immediately, the tension seemed to drain from the air. Denser folded his arms over the leather of his dark jerkin and waited patiently for Hirad's reprimand, looking oddly amused given the situation.

The barbarian stared at him a moment, his face blank. Slowly, he lifted his brows.

"Well, you did act like a bit of a prat."

Denser laughed despite himself. "Not what I was expecting but not entirely inaccurate, I fear."

Hirad nodded into the gloom, the smirk on his face falling away to nothing as he stared hard at the mage.

"It's a sore point with him," he continued, resting one arm against the handrail and leaning forward towards Denser. Even on the step below, the barbarian still towered over the mage. "With us all. He doesn't need you bringing it up in your petty arguments. It's personal."

The ambiguous 'it' being Ilkar's unusual longevity, Denser noted. He'd always found it incongruous that the elf rarely spoke of his life before he left Calaius, before he met the Raven, even. Any mention he had heard was all but silenced before it began, a tense silence and slightly strained smile all that remained. He didn't stop to give it much thought why. Although, as he mulled over it now, he found he could easily understand the heartache of watching the people you loved grow old and die around you. And as long as Ilkar remained on Balaia, finding friends and kinship in non-elves, it was always going to be the same.

"So why does he do it?" Denser sighed, massaging his forehead as the first twinges of guilt sent a chill through him. "Why not just return to Calaius and be done with it? Surely, in the long run, that's going to be easier on him."

Hirad shrugged and scuffed at his stubble. "Because he's a stubborn elf, that one. I figure he's just hoping to get killed in battle before the rest of us go down. He'd probably be happy with that."

He grinned again though Denser found himself unable to reciprocate it.

"What a life, eh?"

"He'll live," Hirad answered. Denser frowned, unsure whether that was supposed to be a joke or not. "And he doesn't need you shoving that down his throat every opportunity you get either, all right?"

A wry smile found its way on to his lips.

"I must have done something terribly wrong because this isn't right, is it?"

"What's not?"

"Me, getting a lecture on sensitively from Hirad Coldheart."

"Bugger off."

Denser sighed. "I suppose I should apologise."

The barbarian clapped him on the shoulder and nodded, his sudden grin bright against dark stubble.

"Yes, you'd better. The Unknown wouldn't be happy if I had to spill your blood all over the Rookery."

Denser raised an eyebrow. "Sure of yourself, aren't you?"

That damn smile grew wider and Denser found his own unfolding. He scrubbed a hand across his face, feeling suddenly tired as his anger left him.

"Look, I know I overreacted but, whether he likes it or not, I'm still Xeteskian and his accusations and insults will always strike a nerve."

Hirad gave him an odd look. "But it's not personal, is it? He's never accused you, has he?"

Denser responded with an amused glance.

"Not recently, I mean," Hirad added. "Not since before Dawnthief."

"No," Denser admitted. "No, he hasn't."

"Exactly. To him, your college is irrelevant. You're Raven. That's all that matters."

The mage found he had to laugh at that. "It had better be. After all, as you keep reminding us, that's all we've got, isn't it?"

Hirad smiled, feeling at once amused and proud. "I think you'll find, Xetesk-man, that it's enough."