Destrian x Ari x Cyra x Caspian x Roman

Ari was fine with the silence that bound them as they travelled- it was calming to her. On her missions, she was always alone, and quiet was a companion so familiar that the weight of it felt like an embrace. But she was wound tightly, ever muscle ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. She couldn't even begin to truly understand what Destrian was going through, nor Cyra. Ari was very aware of the fact that she was outside of the terrible tether that tied them to one another, but it didn't feel isolating. It felt like perspective. As they walked, she offered a half smile when Destrian looked over his shoulder at her, trying to convey her reassurance. Before him, Ari had been drifting like dust in the wind. Sure, she'd offered her allegiance and skillset to Raevaryn. She'd taken pride in being a soldier, an assassin, slipping in and out of the shadows she manipulated. Her upbringing in the gypsy caravans had taught her to be free-wheeling, to attach herself to no one, and to go where the wind blew her. But Destrian was her anchor now, and wherever he went, she would follow. He had given her a purpose, a focused path rather than a tangled web of missions to fulfill for minor purposes she cared nothing for. She cared a lot. And that was frightening. Ari had not feared loss since the death of her family at a young age. But she felt it now and it crept up her spine and slithered into her veins like a poison. She was afraid to lose him, to lose Jynx and Luna and yes, even Cyra. She didn't want to go back to living halfway out the door and into the breeze.

She felt Luna's cold nose bump her hand, as if her wolf companion was sensing her thoughts, and Ari gently ruffled Luna's ears, as much to comfort the beast as she did for herself. As the farmhouse came into view and Destrian took the lead, she hung back with Cyra. It was smart to leave the two of them further back on the hill, to be able to rush to aid if things went wrong. The silence breaking felt like having the breath slammed back into her chest and she gripped the hilt of her sword as she watched the scene unfold. Roman. Her eyes narrowed and she began to slowly approach the group of men, not trusting Roman to even hear Destrian out. He had deserted, but she'd continued to do missions now and then for the kingdom to keep herself safe while they came up with a plan. Would her falsified allegiance hold up?

This was like a bad nightmare that Roman couldn't wake up from. He had been taught to live and die by reason and principle, but neither of those policies offered a plausible explanation as to why Destrian was here at Caspian's farmhouse. As each second passed and his mind was unable to piece together a likely rationale, the likelihood that this impromptu visit was related to his origins became grievously probable. All other scenarios collapsed under the weight of logic, leaving him to face the reality that his past had finally caught up to him. The reality of the situation effectively detonated, blowing his idealistic dream of a simple life with Caspian to pieces. Dread tore through Roman like shrapnel, taking root deep inside of him and spreading like a sickness. The world became muted as his mind conjured up visions of the future, a prophecy of devastation and ruination, narrated by a distinct ringing sound.

As he had slowly withdrawn himself from the fragile political scene of Raevaryn government, struggling amidst public unrest and a rise of uncontrolled anarchy of mutants, he had convinced himself there wasn't much he could do. Nadia hated him and even with his abilities, it would have been a full-time job just to win Nadia over and he couldn't seem to find the motivation necessary for that level of commitment. If anything, Nadia was pleased that he was slowly pulling away, giving her free reign to wreak havoc down upon her people. Without his influence among Raevaryn royalty, he had nothing else to do besides spend his time with Caspian. Over the years, messages from the shadow organization that raised him grew increasingly rare; Roman had been trained to the point where the group's ideals were ingrained deep within him, and he didn't need a written order to know what they wanted him to do. He had taken their absence in his life for granted and allowed himself the luxury of feeling free. He was a fool; they were watching him, they always had been.

It was alarming to realize that Destrian was caught up in the same organization that had raised him. It was different to know that there were countless other operatives, all protected by strict anonymity, but he had never considered that one of his own men was one of them. Their influence stretched across every level of hierarchy, securing a degree of control amongst all demographics. Ghosts that usually only haunted his nightmares flashed across his mind, reopening wounds that never healed. Questions assaulted him, but the most important one wondered just how Destrian knew.

Destrian's appearance at Caspian's farmhouse wasn't just convenient; it was a direct threat. It was a sign that they knew exactly where Roman was and who he was spending his time with and a promise that they wouldn't just come after him, they would go after Caspian as well. Caspian's farmhouse had turned into a sanctuary, a place pure of the intrinsic darkness tainted the rest of Roman's life, and now Destrian had encroached on his oasis, bringing all of Roman's darkness with him. Rationality took over, cleansing the panic away, and without even hearing whatever Destrian had to say, Roman committed himself to whatever cause he preached. In the end, there wasn't much a choice because no matter what, Roman wouldn't risk Caspian or the farmhouse.

It took Roman almost a full minute before the ringing quieted and the shock wore off, and another ten or so seconds before he thoroughly absorbed what Caspian had offered their unwelcome guests. "No, no," Roman immediately snapped, shooting Destrian a look that dared him not to take one more step towards the farmhouse. He swung around to face Caspian, grabbing Caspian before he got too far away. His grip wrapped around Caspian like a python, constricting until his knuckles were white. With his back to Destrian, Roman let desperation crack through his exterior.

"They are not coming inside and we are not cooking them breakfast," He admonished quietly but his tone leaked with anxiety that ran deeper than the anger that attempted to conceal it, "Please, you have to trust me. We both need to go inside and get dressed, and then I will come outside and talk to Destrian. Alone." There was no time to adequately explain the connection between him and Destrian, and now with Destrian's unanticipated visit, Roman was beginning to question if they shared more things in common than he had originally thought. Roman knew Caspian wouldn't accept this; "I'll explain everything after, I promise," Roman promised, holding a hand up defensively before the other man could argue. Their relationship had evolved past the point of Roman ordering Caspian around and he was desperate for Caspian to cooperate. If Roman let his past and his darkness plague Caspian and his farmhouse, Roman would never forgive himself.

Roman didn't give Caspian much of a chance to respond. His grip on Caspian's arm tightened as he turned back towards Destrian with renewed composure, "I will be right back. I need to get dressed and then we can talk. You can wait right there," The command wasn't subtle; it was a clear rejection of Caspian's invitation and a warning not to disobey. Things were tense but so far peaceful, but they both knew how quickly things could turn hostile. Without waiting for confirmation, Roman turned practically ran into the house and pulled Caspian inside along with him. As soon as both men were through the threshold, he turned around and slammed the door shut. For a long moment, he didn't do anything but breathe and stare at the closer door, painfully aware of how it was the only barrier between him and an unwelcome reunion with his past.

The look of realization on Roman’s face was enough to confirm Destrian’s growing suspicions. His esteemed commander was just as much of a pawn as he was, raised feeding on the lies of extreme zealots, and sent out into the world to spread the great word of their people in anonymity. He watched with mercilessly unblinking eyes as the man was forced to swallow the unwelcome truth and make a decision in a matter of a few tense moments. Destrian knew the feeling, but he didn’t have sympathy for Roman. Rather, he was relieved by the idea of encountering someone who knew exactly where he was coming from.

Caspian’s invitation was unexpected. Destrian didn’t associate with many hospitable people- or many people at all- but he knew an opportunity when he saw one. He advanced a step toward the front gate, but Roman’s objection stopped him in his tracks. Now that, Destrian expected, and he begrudgingly remained on the other side of the fence, watching the exchange between the men. He didn’t know much about Roman’s social life, but the strangeness of these circumstances was not lost on him. When Roman finally did make his decision, Destrian offered only the slightest of nods to signal his agreement. However, he did step forward and lean his forearms against the fence as a warning- both to hurry up and to not try anything funny.

Once the men disappeared into the farmhouse, Destrian turned to look at Ari, “I’m going to talk to Roman,” he replied simply. He tapped his fingers against the wood fence, thinking, “I don’t think he’s going to be a threat,” he added decidedly, though it sounded like he was still trying to convince himself, “Yet.” After a second of thought, he turned and jerked his chin at Jynx, signaling for the panther to scope out the surroundings, “Go.” The big cat hesitated for only a moment before following the directive and slinking off. If there was anyone lurking in the surrounding area, they would find out soon enough.

Destrian’s gaze drifted toward the hill where Cyra lingered as a poignant reminder that whatever conversation they were about to have wasn’t going to be pretty. Roman- the man known for his denouncement of and hypocrisy toward those with dangerous abilities- was about to find out that the worst offender of all had showed up on his doorstep. Well, someone’s doorstep.

Destrian forced his eyes back to the house, “See if you can get a read on the other one,” he told Ari, still suspicious of the man that Roman was apparently living with. The whole scenario felt off to him, and the pieces weren’t clicking to fit into the anxiety induced narrative that he had conjured up in his mind. As a textbook pessimist, Destrian generally expected the worst-case scenario in all aspects of life, which in this case was that Roman himself was a trap set by the Paragon. The letter that guided them here remained in his pocket- a burning question that had yet to be answer. No matter how hard he tried, it was difficult to come up with a positive outcome to all of this when he knew who was pulling the strings.

---

Between the ferocity of Roman’s grip on his arm, the panic in his eyes, and the desperation in his voice, Caspian had no other choice than to comply as he was dragged inside. He flinched as his front door was slammed shut and studied Roman in silence as the tension lingered, infiltrating the once peaceful atmosphere. Eventually, he reached for Roman, curling his fingers around the man’s arm. Where Roman’s grip had been punishing, Caspian’s was meant to soothe, as he gently guided him away from the door and nudged him down the hallway.

When they reached the bedroom, Caspian released Roman and went to his dresser, pulling a drawer open, “Help yourself,” he offered, stepping back to study Roman cautiously. As his fingers worked to button up his own shirt, he wondered if Roman ever planned on bringing his belongings here. The thought seemed so mundane and unimportant, overshadowed by the constant stream of predicaments that they were faced with, but he wanted so badly for Roman to feel at home here. Their bouts of domestic bliss were becoming shorter and shorter, and he worried that they would never achieve the pretty picture they’d painted the night before.

As he waited for Roman to get dressed, Caspian studied himself in the old mirror that hung above the dresser. He arched his neck to one side, not surprised by the array of marks on his skin left behind by Roman’s persistent mouth, and absentmindedly notched an extra button. As he continued to fidget with his hair, it was obvious that he was trying to distract himself from whatever was happening outside. Being in the dark about everything was starting to eat away at him, but he tried to give Roman space as he gathered his boots and yanked them on. Once he was fully dressed, he finally allowed Roman’s words to drift back to him, begging to be addressed.

I'll explain everything after, I promise. Caspian highly doubted that Roman would tell him everything, and he wished the man would be more careful with his words. Everything was a big promise, and so far, Roman had practically told him nothing. He chewed his lower lip, clearly debating whether or not to bring it up, when it inevitably spilled from his lips, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Roman.” He met Roman’s eyes, standing firm in his warning. He desperately wanted to know everything and had pushed Roman for details every step of the way, but it felt wrong for the truth to be forced out of him just because some stranger showed up out of the blue, “You’ll tell me when you’re ready,” he added softly.

Having said his peace, Caspian leaned up against the wall by the bedroom door and pushed his hands into his pockets, waiting, “Be careful, okay?” he urged, not wanting to see Roman lose control, like he had with Lennox. He anticipated that whatever conversation was about to happen would be triggering, but he had faith that Roman could maintain the peace, if only for his sake. After a pause, Caspian sniffed and glanced to the side stubbornly, “And I’m going to feed everyone whether you like it or not.”

Ari nodded, taking in Destrian's assurances. If he felt that things would be okay, then she trusted his judgment. Roman would have to hear them out. At least, she hoped. Roman didn't have to do anything, but the presence of the humble farmer seemed to control him in some way. In other circumstances, Ari would have felt pleased for the withdrawn and frigid advisor. But these were not ordinary times, and there was a lot riding on the outcome of Roman's conversation with Destrian. She looked to her man, taking in his face, covered in the markings of those who had brutalized him. She wanted to press her lips to them, but now was not the time. Instead, she looked towards the house with resolve. She would do as he had asked and get a read on Caspian. She lightly brushed her knuckles against Destrian's as she turned, letting him speak with Roman in private as she made her way towards the house.

"May I come in?" she called inside, feeling the tension in the air so thick she could have cut it with her sword. Whatever had been spoken between the two men before Roman emerged looking like a commoner had been heavy. But Ari didn't shy away from that- she was capable of making friends and she was keenly capable of picking up on someone's intentions upon a first meeting. By the time Destrian and Roman came to a conclusion, she would know what Caspian stood for.

Ari was hardly waiting before Caspian ripped the door open and she felt that with a little more force, he may have lifted it right off it's hinges. But she didn't take it as a sign of anger towards her- it was clear that Roman had put his big foot in his mouth and had caused the heaviness following Caspian like a cloud. She took a step back, taking Caspian in from his tussled hair to his worn in farm boots. It was oddly soothing to Ari, and reminded her of growing up with the gypsy caravans. Ari had chosen a different path, but she was not a stranger to the hard labor of farm life. Something about a person who took care of land and animals made her find him trustworthy.

When the chicken feed landed at her feet, Ari relaxed. Despite their undeniable ties to the two men locked in hushed discussion up the road, she and Caspian were both just peripheral lovers of two collapsing stars. She could relate to that in Caspian. She picked up the heavy bag with ease as Caspian explained his request, and she had to admit she was surprised. He didn't seem like the type to get into knife fights. "Her name is Luna," She responded instead to his statement about her being good with animals. Ari fondly remembered rescuing her as a pup. It was somewhat of a right of passage in the group who'd raised her- each member was taught as a child that when they were ready, their familiar would come to them in the form of an animal that they would tame. The pair would then grow together, forging an incredible bond. "And mine is Ari." She offered him a smile, glad for the tasks to occupy the time. Working alongside someone had the tendency to make them open up, and allow the conversation to flow. Her time in the barracks had proven that over and over.

Ari rounded the corner where he had indicated and approached the coop, opening the door to allow the chickens to free range as she spread the feed on the ground. "So did Roman stab you or was that unrelated to that sour puss?" Ari called to Caspian as he worked on what he could with his injured arm, and when she had finished feeding the chickens, she came back to Caspian for more tasks. This was by far the most pleasant interaction she'd had in awhile, barring her private moments with Destrian.

The muscles in Caspian’s arm were screaming by the time he lugged the watering bucket to it’s destination. Forcing his injured arm to remain limp and useless, he instead used his knee to tip the bucket, pouring the fresh water into a trough. On the other side of the fence, an old horse emerged from a small shelter on the other side of the pen, striding toward Caspian with his ears pricked forward. He reached out to stroke his hand down the horse’s nose, tracing a deep scar that was telling of the creature’s troubled past. What seemed like a lifetime ago, the horse had been purchased for him by another unlikely visitor to his farm- a man by the name of Monroe. As the stallion dipped it’s head for a drink, Caspian leaned against the fence for a break, finding it hard to focus on his usually mindless work while his thoughts were dominated with countless unanswered questions.

Caspian’s ears perked at the sound of Roman’s name falling from Ari’s lips. He turned to look at the woman as she approached, backdropped by the chickens pecking happily at the seeds she had provided. Despite being intimidated by her and her companion upon first impression, he found Ari refreshingly approachable. He absorbed her question after a brief pause and laughed, the sound warm and contagious, “No,” he assured her, “He actually stitched me up, believe it or not,” he added, suddenly aware that she had heard Roman yelling at him moments ago. His face heated with embarrassment and he subconsciously brushed his fingers over his wounded shoulder. Now that it was on the mind, the tenderness returned with a vengeance. He supposed Roman was at least somewhat responsible for the stabbing, though he had been the one stupid enough to throw himself in front of an angry teenager with a blade to defend a man who was fully capable of evading such an obvious attack. Caspian had certainly learned something new about himself in that moment.

His eyes flickered to Ari’s feet, but before he could warn her, a plump raccoon snatched the empty bag of chicken feed that was dangling from her hands. The creature chittered at her in warning and dragged the sack a few feet away before diving inside of it in search of scraps, “Don’t mind Pip. He’s hungry, but harmless,” Caspian assured her, though he seemed very distracted- and for good reason.

Caspian’s attention was distinctly divided; one half focused on Ari, and the other zoned in on the two men speaking down the road. His sentinel raven was perched on a fence post near them, acting as an incognito second set of eyes to make sure things were going smoothly. Through the lens of his animals, Roman and Destrian were perceived as two walking storm clouds, harboring a deluge of bad energy just waiting to be released in the form of a super hurricane. But, to Caspian’s surprise, they appeared to be talking it out like a couple of well adjusted individuals. He was tempted to swoop closer and listen in, but his ever present conscience immediately shut the inclination down. It was bad enough that he was snooping where he didn’t belong, but actually hearing words not meant for him didn’t sit right in his stomach. Especially after the speech that Roman had just berated him with.

Instead of pursuing his worst impulses, Caspian blinked and returned his full attention to Ari, deciding to leave Roman to his personal business, “Apple?” He blurted out as a lame attempt to redirect from his aloof behavior. He lifted his chin in the direction of an impressive apple tree that occupied a corner of his backyard. Glistening, red fruit dangled from the limbs of the tree, just begging to be plucked before gravity took over and dropped them to the earth. He pushed off the fence and led the way, reaching up to collect a couple of the ripe apples. Tossing one to Ari, he leaned back against the trunk of the tree and dusted one off on his shirt before sinking his teeth into the delicious fruit.

Caspian took his time to chew, enjoying the sweet flavor as he studied Ari with an obvious sense of curiosity. All around them, the farm stirred to life as the various animals started their morning routines, having lost interest in the new arrivals. It was clear that Caspian had put the chores on hiatus in favor of spelunking for details that Ari potentially held. He’d finally encountered someone who perhaps knew a different side of the man he loved, and he wasn’t about to let that opportunity go to waste. Spying didn’t sit right with him, but he had no qualms about partaking in a bit of harmless gossip, “So…” he swallowed his bite and raised a brow, “How do you know Roman?”

---

As Destrian reluctantly returned the note to its place in his pocket, he felt something stir inside of him in response to Roman’s curse. Bastards. It was the first time he’d ever heard an insider refer to them with such malice, and he couldn’t deny that it ignited a flicker of hope within the vast pit of despair he’d been drowning in lately. If Roman was turning his back on the organization, then that meant there had to be others out there willing to do the same. For so long, he’d felt entirely alone in the battle against the Paragon. Feeling the resentment flowing off of Roman in waves was inspiring to Destrian. He wasn’t alone; he just needed to find the right allies.

That flicker of hope was abruptly doused when Roman’s voice took on an accusatory tone, and the air became tense between them all over again. His eyes shot back to Roman, endlessly dark and full of mystery. It was understandable that Roman would feel threatened by the shadowy figure of Cyra who remained on the hillside, but what the man had no way of knowing was that he had been working alongside a so-called escaped mutant for many years- Destrian himself. Although he was a normal man by most standards, his link to Cyra made him perhaps the most dangerous mutant in the realm. If he felt so inclined, he could release Cyra upon the world and watch it burn. But Destrian didn’t want that, and Roman was just going to have to trust him, “She’s none of your concern,” he replied dismissively.

Destrian winced in response to Roman’s laugh, not anticipating the reaction, even if the sound was wraught with sarcasm. He merely pressed his lips together in response, neither confirming nor denying his rocky standing with the Paragon. Not being in their good graces was a bit of an understatement, but it was reassuring to know that Roman seemed to be in a similar predicament. Nevertheless, he braced himself for some kind of interrogation from Roman, well aware that there was plenty of reason for suspicion regarding himself and his past. But Roman instead turned the tables and opened himself up for questioning, catching Destrian off guard.

Destrian’s ever present paranoia reared its head- a warning to remember who he was dealing with. Roman had a reputation and, although it included an impressive array of accomplishments, he was notorious for being a master manipulator. There were rumors amongst the soldiers barracks that Roman’s silver tongue was more than just a talent- that he was gifted with an ability of the supernatural variety. Many were so convinced by this idea that they’d labled Roman as the ultimate hypocrite for his political views, and Destrian tended to agree. Even so, Roman was careful and secretive, and rumors would have to remain rumors until proven otherwise.

“Well,” Destrian looked downward for the first time during their interaction- a subconscious display of vulnerability, “Considering I have no memory of half of my existence…It’s safe to assume that you have more answers than I do.” It wasn’t easy for Destrian to admit such a personal defect, especially to someone like Roman. He felt intense shame over the fact that his mind had fractured under all of the trauma he’d endured in his youth, leaving him with only hazy fragments of the past. Of course, it was his brain’s way of protecting him from the pain and giving him the strength to forge on, but he couldn’t help but interpret it as a great weakness.

Discomfort was etched into the hard lines of Destrian’s face as his gaze returned to Roman’s. He was incredibly out of his league when it came to diplomacy, and he still wasn’t entirely sure how he expected things to play out with Roman. He’d followed the Paragon’s instructions like a good little soldier, and here they were at a remote farm like a couple of gypsies on a weekend getaway. He saw no other choice than to wait for further instruction from their mysterious messenger, and to see if Roman was a viable ally in the meantime.

If Roman wanted questions, Destrian had plenty of them. “They haven’t communicated with you?” It was clear that Roman was distancing himself from Raevaryn and, respectively, the Paragon. What wasn’t clear was to what extent and why? “They sent me here for a reason…care to enlighten me about anything? Or are they just rounding all the defectors up for the slaughter?” As harsh as the suggestion was, it was a reasonable possibility. He scowled, frustrated with constantly being in the dark and under someone’s thumb. He’d always assumed that someone of Roman’s status could never understand the feeling, but anyone with connections to the shadow organization knew exactly what it was like, “Why are you even here?” he asked finally, his gaze returning to the farmhouse as he wondered what Ari was learning about the curious individual that Roman seemed to be spending his time with.