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Taliar in Evil Arda
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Hugs. I think I might wish that too. I don't know. I don't even know if I know what you mean by it exactly.

Taliar's thoughts on this subject are kind of a mess, because of course he wants his soul to acknowledge Maitimo, it would be amazing, and of course he wishes things weren't so complicated, but he doesn't, he can't want Maitimo to be made to change, or made to want to change.

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Thank you.

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I love you and I care about you and that means I care about your autonomy. If someone tried to change you against your will into the kind of person my soul can accept, I'd stop them, and if they succeeded, I'd do my best to fix it. I'd feel pretty bad for altered-you if it got that far but you are the person I fell in love with and you get to decide who you want to be.

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Hugs. 

 

I just wish your soul picked different things to feel strongly about.

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I wouldn't be me if it did, he says, sighing and cuddling closer. 'S complicated.

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You wouldn't be you but the war'd be over. See how I feel about the idea?

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Well, yeah, exactly.

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Hugs. I want you here and less clothed.

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That can be arranged. Love you forever.

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It is good and important that Maitimo knows this! Taliar loves him so much and will love him forever and is so very delighted to remind him of these things.

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He is delightfully reminded. 

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And everything is just as it should be.

 

The next day, he stumbles on an interesting engineering problem and it's all he thinks about all afternoon. His head is still full of math when he comes to dinner, although he shakes it loose long enough to give Maitimo a brilliant smile and a hug and a burst of deep affection and admiration.

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"What're you trying to figure out?"

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"So I heard about this obscure attempt to make indestructibility more efficient to enchant into things, and if the math worked out it could save huge amounts of time for people who aren't me, and all afternoon I've been trying to get the math to work out. Not much to show for it so far, but it's fascinating—can I spend all dinner babbling delightedly at you about it—"

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"I did grow up in a house with two of my father."

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Taliar grins. And spends all dinner babbling delightedly about engineering. The problem he's working on is a thorny mess that touches on some pretty advanced concepts, but he has a gift for making his thoughts more accessible, figuring out what analogies he needs to draw or what background information he needs to include in order to successfully communicate what's on his mind.

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And he's no engineer at all but content to indulge one awhile. And after dinner, "alright, more tomorrow, come to bed. Your head might not overheat but mine will."

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"Aww," he says, but he goes to bed and successfully switches mental tracks from math to Maitimo.

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Good. (Taliar can correspond with Curufin about the math; he'll suggest it in the morning.)

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Taliar is definitely pleased to correspond with Curufin about the math. All his idle moments the next day go into composing a letter about it, and then he sends that and at dinner he hardly thinks about engineering at all and instead would like to hear all about Maitimo's day while snuggled up in his lap.

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He's not particularly invested in Taliar's progress in strategic terms anyway, the point of all this is to get his soul more powerful. He will still be indulgent when he's excited about something.

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He has a delightful few days of working on this new engineering problem on and off in spare moments; it brightens his soul noticeably.

 

Then he sleeps badly one night, and dreams of Atialemain. The dream's imagery is exaggerated, but the emotional tone feels very resonant, very real - a sense that nothing is quite right, that everyone is a little afraid. He chases Tekhesin Zierni Seofar through the impossible halls of a dream-twisted castle past rows of citizens lined up with bowed heads and grey nervous faces, and when he catches up at last, Seofar laughs in his face and lunges for his soul—

He wakes up abruptly and for a moment can't tell where he is, can't see, can't hear, can't move, can't feel anything but roaring panic.

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"Nightmare," he says. Squeeze.

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He reacts to the contact with a brief flash of more fear, still too disoriented to notice anything except that he's being touched constrainingly; then he catches up to the fact that there was a noise just now, and the noise was a word, in Maitimo's voice, and the context clicks and he goes limp with relief.

Love you, he says, trying to steady his breathing and focus on the comfort of being held by Maitimo. Yeah. Happens. Haven't had one in a few months - guess I thought I was all done - not that lucky apparently.

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