Thyravon knew Athanora would find out eventually. He was, actually, a little surprised it had taken her so long. She had found out very fast when he'd discovered he knew enough of the language to flirt, and proved it to himself and a number of lovely human ladies, and even a Sharian-- who'd seemed flattered by the attention, even though he was shorter than she was. Though she didn't lecture him, insult him, or threaten him with anything uncomfortable, the look on her face the next time she saw him was black. He wasn't entirely certain why she was so angry; it wasn't as if he'd acted on the flirtation. And he could have.

However, since both she and his father seemed to find something wrong with it-- not that Aavayl was around to make a point of it, this time, but he had expressed displeasure in the past-- Thyravon did his best to keep his appreciation of the human-- or otherwise-- form to himself. The biggest problem, at the time, had been that there simply wasn't much else to do, besides help out around Kenist Miana, which he did willingly, and attempt to win himself into his fiance's good graces.

Most important word in that thought being attempt. Apparently he wasn't succeeding. He didn't even seem to know how to succeed, because nothing he knew to do was working.

When the idea hit him, though, there was suddenly quite a bit more to do, and it wasn't quite as difficult to keep out of potentially dangerous conversations with the opposite sex of any species. He still admired, of course, and still wondered, but he didn't really have the chance to say or do anything about either.

When Athanora found out, as he'd expected, she came to find him immediately rather than waiting until the next time she saw him. Or, rather, as immediately as she could, given she didn't want Kiralraes witness to the probably verbal slaughter she surely expected. Athanora could be positively ruthless with her words, and since Thyravon had started caring about what she thought of him-- sort of, anyway-- she probably could cause him quite a bit of consternation, and possibly even capitulation, if he gave her the chance.

So he didn't intend to give her that chance.

He was in his room, that afternoon, with the door locked, so she couldn't barge right in-- which she certainly would have done, given the chance. But she could bang on the wood demandingly, and shout through it at him. "Thyravon! I know you're in there! Open up!"

Thyravon, who had been just finishing a particularly complex blade-form workout, and was slightly out of breath as a result, lowered the weapon to blink at the door. For a moment, he couldn't imagine what she would be so angry about.

Then he remembered, sighed, and went to let her in, picking up a ready and waiting damp towel on the way to tuck under his hair and cool his neck, before she could break the door down. Not that she really could, but he could imagine her trying.

"Hello, Athanora," he greeted her calmly, putting the towel to the side of his face and rubbing at it in the hopes of cooling his face down, as well.

"What were you thinking?" she demanded, without preamble.

"Would you like to come in?" he asked, somewhere between amused at her righteous fury and tired of her righteous fury, already, and held the door open wider for her. She came in.

"Do you really want to know what I was thinking, or do you just want to yell at me?" he then asked, before she could get started on the latter. For a second she blinked at him, mouth open to begin the yelling part, then she shut it and sat herself down on his couch when she motioned for him to. Thyravon sat down on the chair opposite her. He knew better, by now, than to try to sit next to her, especially not when she was angry.

For a moment, under the guise of gathering his thoughts-- he didn't really need to, as he'd worked out what he would say ahead of time, when he first realized that this moment would have to come-- he just looked at her. It was ironic, but he still thought she looked her best when she was angry or defensive. There was actual presence about her, flashing in her eyes and strength in that chubby body of hers. If she actually chose to dress properly, find some way to off-set her general colorlessness with cloth and jewelry, she could even be attractive. When she was angry. Every other time, she just looked sour.

With, of course, the exception being when she was feeling motherly, such as with Kiralraes.

Which brought him back to the topic at hand.

"You want to know why I signed up to bond an enkeyn," he stated simply, making sure the argument was actually about what he thought it was about.

She nodded stiffly. It was.

Thyravon took a deep breath, then began with his opener: "I'm learning how to be responsible."

For a moment she just frowned at him in perfect confusion, then she said with acid in her tone, "And you're going to learn how to be responsible by adopting, bonding, and then probably neglecting an enkeyn child?"

"I will not neglect anything," he sniffed back. "For one thing, I'd no pretty quickly if I was even coming close, and for another-- 'Nora, I am not cold-hearted."

She was so far past "unamused" that she didn't even comment on his use of her nickname. "Oh, no, definitely not cold-hearted. In fact, you're far too hot for your own good," Athanora shot back. "The first time a pretty girl gives you come-hither eyes, that pup will be completely forgotten." 

"Well, there is the truth that anything cute and furry is as good as gold with the ladies-- kidding!" he interrupted himself hurriedly, holding up his hands to forestall Athanora's furious pre-scalding-speech swelling. "Seriously. I've thought about this. At the very least, it'll keep me out of the village pub, or winehouse, or whatever they call it down here. I haven't been to the village in a week, and I haven't even bonded yet."

"The interviewing council will never let you bond," Athanora swore.

"Why don't we let them decide that," Thyravon suggested.

"What did you tell them?"

"The truth. That my father and fiance both think I need to grow up-- duVaa, my mother thought I needed to grow up before I was weaned-- and that I think this is one way of getting me on the right track. And that I have the stability to look after a kid, in every way they'd want. They know I've been working around this place, to earn my keep, and I'm reliable there, even if you don't think so. And I told them that I like kids, even enkeyn kids. Because I do, and they have a tendency to like me, back." Her arched brows were eloquently disbelieving, and he grinned at her. "I've been visiting that creche, too, you know, when you're not around to give me black looks. And you know what, if Kiralraes weren't terrified of anything and everything, I bet she'd say she likes me, too."

That was the wrong thing to do, bringing her bond into the discussion. Thyravon, if he'd been standing, would have kicked himself. As it was, Athanora stood up, back ramrod straight, and looked down at him from her superior-- at the time-- height. He stood up quickly, not wanting to be glared down upon. She didn't like that much, either, having to give up her sole moment of height advantage.

"No one," she said tightly, "will let someone like you bond an enkeyn child. Just you watch."

He didn't bother answering her as she let herself out, and flopped back into the chair he'd so briefly vacated when she slammed the door behind her, putting his chin into his hands. "She's going to gloat if I don't, and hate me if I do," he muttered to the sword he'd left sitting on the floor beside him, "and I'm probably no better off either way. I just hope the enkeyn is."

And with that, he pushed himself to his feet and went back to his exercise, since, just then, he didn't really have anything better to do.

Chapter Ten

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