Jahana's mind is spinning. Combat always left her with a bad taste, for all that she had a knack for it. Her father ensure it. And, in fact, she sought it out more often than not, as it filled her coffers as often as it emptied her stomach. Men paid good coin, and lots of it, to have their reputations stroked with liberal amounts of battle prowess for lubricant.

This battle wasn't about ego or reputation. It was about goods ... and good people. Who set the children of Sekolah on this boat in particular. Was it just in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or was there more? She didn't know, nor was she ever likely to find out. It was speculation only, and would have added a dash of spice to an otherwise rudimentary stew. But she wouldn't speculate. To do so may cause interhouse struggles where there aren't any. And that's bad for business. Besides, she knew what dash of spice would liven up this piece, if he were amenable.

She sighed deeply. Yet again, she would have to seek out Vaelion Atianna. She convinced herself that it was for the story only. This is one that people should hear - not that it was about him, per se. Battles fought on land and sea were interesting enough. But under the water? And that she has first hand knowledge of? This is why she was in demand.

Or that's the story she told herself. Gathering her gear and calming her pulse, she heads out. Whether is the devil or the deep blue sea she will be encountering, she's not really sure.

It's not hard to find him; the ship isn't that large after all, and they are sort of stuck out here. She's surprised none-the-less. She half expected him to swim back. His back and shoulders cut the horizon. He's almost more imposing than the figurehead on the bow. *Certainly better to look at,* she thinks. Waves of dark hair dance in the wind.

*He is the sea.* She finds the words that will describe him in this piece. She will work on Jack and Tuk and Adelle when she has the land under her feet once more. But Vaelion? Here is where she will build his part in the story. The sea is mercurial, beautiful, dangerous, alluring, can make all your dreams come true ... and will kill you if you aren't careful. Yes, he is all that. Though she left her aquatic home behind years before vowing never to return, he recalls all that she once loved about it. And that scares her.

She strides easily up to him; her own bright spirit the counterpoint to his darkness. Laying a hand on his shoulder, she asks simply, "Are you alright?"

Morning light fell in soft bands across the White Heron’s deck, the ship rolling languidly on the gentle swell of waves as it cut a path back toward Duirt. Every timber seemed to hum with residual energy, as though the echoes of the recent underwater clash still breathed through the vessel’s bones. A briny tang lingered in the air, mingling with the sweet scent of sun-heated wood. Overhead, gulls wheeled in listless circles, their distant cries swallowed by the endless horizon. Salted spray occasionally misted over the rails, faint droplets catching the golden sunlight in little bursts of color.

Vaelion stood near the bow, broad shoulders slightly tense despite the otherwise tranquil atmosphere as the salt air danced across his skin, leaving the ridges of his muscled torso bared to the warm breeze. Trails of seawater glistened on his skin like silvered rivers, revealing each contour of a body forged by tide and trial. He lifted a hand to brush through his raven colored mane, pushing damp strands away from his face. The gesture revealed faint scars tracing across his forearms—ghosts of old battles that refused to let him forget how close danger had come. Despite the subdued calm of the morning, a flicker of intensity remained in his teal eyes, like lightning ready to spark.

The ship’s gentle sway reminded him of those tense moments submerged in the sea, grappling with foes in dark water. Each roll of the deck underfoot recalled the muted churn of currents and the press of salt against his lungs. Even now, he could almost taste the tang of brine that had filled his mouth as he fought for control below the surface. A light footstep behind him caught his attention. He didn’t turn at first, allowing the silence to stretch a moment longer. Sometimes, the company of another soul was best felt before acknowledged. In that wordless pause, the breeze ruffled his hair again, a gentle caress that hinted at the secrets they both carried. "You, have questions..."

Sunlight caught the faint sheen of salt on her skin, highlighting the shape of her collarbone, the hollow of her throat, and the steady rise and fall of her breath. His expression, when he finally revealed it belied a reserved posture as he drank in the vision. He let his gaze meet hers without the shield of polite distance. Subtle traces of salt clung to her lashes, and a minuscule droplet of water traced its way down the subtle line or her jaw. There was no hostility in him now, only the quiet question of why she had chosen this moment, this place, to speak.

Somewhere in the background, a stray gull broke from its circling to dive toward the waves, leaving the two of them in a pocket of silence broken only by the soft creak of rigging. Vaelion tilted his head, barely perceptible, offering an invitation rather than a demand. The gentle shift of his shoulders spoke of readiness—if not for another fight, then perhaps for something else.

*He deflects,* she thinks, learning something and nothing about him in the same moment. Not uncomfortable, but not willing to come from behind the waves either.

"I do." Her voice is velvet - low and soft. Her palm trickles from his shoulder to his arm, fingertips delicately tracing the scars she finds there. His body tells tales that his words do not, both chiseled and cut by battles he fights inside and out. She wants to know how - how can he do this to himself? What drove him to it? Why he chose it in the first place? For this was, indeed, a choice. It had to be. 'Once is an accident. Twice is on purpose' ... or so the old saying goes. And this was, without question, on purpose.

Those questions would have to wait, if the answers ever came at all. He was not a man who gave up himself easily. Always on the defensive, even though he looked relaxed, it would be a rare moment indeed where he allowed himself to be vulnerable.

She knew that posture well. For all of her ability to overwhelm armies with emotion, she kept her own hidden deeply for they could be used against her. She would never allow that again.

She stepped beside him to look out over the water. He smelled of salt, wind, sun, and the tang of iron. His presence warm after the cold of the deep, though just as dark, just as wild. The sea hid many secrets. It gave life, and took it just as carelessly. So, too, did this man. So, too, did she.

Finding herself moving into uncomfortable territory, she turns to face him. He is, she has to admit to herself, stunning in his element. But, then, weren't all the Atiannas? *I've got to meet the mistress of this House,* she thinks. *The Lady collects living works of art in all it's forms and masteries.* Then again ... what if the Lady set her sights on Jahana? Could she stand being one of the collection?

Aventernus, much to her delight, has conspired to frame this particular piece with all that was good and right with the world, at least in the looks department. His personality could use a touch-up though. Dour, reclusive, and with an ego as large as the skies themselves, he strikes her as the type to leave memories, money and/or bastard sons behind with the women he bedded. But nothing of himself. That's the part she wanted. To bed him, or not, was of little consequence. That part of him that he shared with no one - that was her challenge. It would take all her skills. She just hoped it wouldn't cost her her heart.

Vaelion glanced over at her, the sea breeze brushing against them both as they stood shoulder to shoulder at the railing. The sun glinted off the waves, painting everything in shifting tones of blue and gold. He let the quiet stretch, noticing her introspective mood but not pushing for her thoughts. This companionable silence was just as telling as any hurried conversation could be. Eventually, he spoke, voice low and carrying the same undercurrent of reflection she held. “If you recall,” he began, eyes flicking from the horizon back to her, “I did warn you once when you asked for a story. Told you I can be a monster when I need to be.” His gaze lingered, an open invitation for her to acknowledge or challenge his words.

A faint hint of wry humor touched his lips. He remembered the moment vividly—whispered beneath the din of the Golden Lion, a statement tossed out with the same casual confidence he’d used to fend off barbed questions all evening. But after what she’d seen—what the entire crew had seen—those words likely rang with a different weight now. He exhaled softly, turning his attention back to the undulating sea. “Nothing’s changed,” he added, the breeze tugging at his hair. “I just didn’t expect to show it so soon. Not quite so… passionately.” There was no apology in his tone, just a matter-of-fact acceptance. If he was a monster in the depths, it was only ever in service of surviving the threats that lurked beneath the surface—and he made no excuses for that. "So, now that you know my secret, what will you decide?" straight to the point Vaelion let the moment hang with the weight of all it implied before leaning into her with a bump of his shoulder.

She turns to him. His skin dewy with sea spray, hair tangled with salt and wind. In this moment, he is not what he calls himself, though she has seen that side of him.

"There are all manner of monsters in the deep, Vaelion. Most are both beautiful and terrifying. The gods would have it so, or so the stories say. Stories you know well, if I'm any judge of character."

She lays her hand on his forearm, thumbing his scars once again. "These, I assume, are not the only ones you bear." She runs her hand up his arm, over his shoulder, to his chest. "I would be willing to bet there are some in here as well."

Her touch is light, not pressing for more than he willing to give. Green meets teal in compassion and unspoken understanding, however brief. She knows that now is not the time for such things. Moments, not lifetimes. Glimpses only. But enough to see a safe haven in her, perhaps even a kindred spirit.

She reaches up, tucks a hair behind his hear. Her fingernail grazing his temple, a reminder of evenings past. "I'd say your secret is safe with me, but I gather that all in Urt and beyond know of the great Vaelion Atianna and is incredible ... talents," she says, her voice light.

"I would offer you secrets if I had them," she continues, "as an offering of my self. Sadly, I am as you see me - no more, no less. It's why I'm here, I think - to become more than I was ever destined to be."

She looks up at him, her eyes betraying her for a blink. And in that blink, gone again, the veil dropping once more behind the practiced story.

Vaelion’s gaze flickered down to her hand as it traced the scars along his arm, lingering gently on the spot where her fingers lingered. When she reached to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear, he caught her wrist, just firmly enough to draw her attention before letting go. In a fluid motion, he cupped her cheek, his palm warm against her wind-chilled skin.

His thumb brushed a loose strand of azure hair aside, the dock and the rolling sea fading into a soft blur around them. He took in the expression on her face, that moment of openness hidden behind years of well-crafted walls as a small breath escaped him—something between a sigh and a quiet acceptance—and then he closed the distance, pressing his lips gently to hers. It was neither hurried nor hesitant, more a promise than a demand, as if he was offering her a glimpse of everything he usually kept locked away.

The ship shifted beneath them, and distant gulls cried overhead. For that single heartbeat in time, the salt-stung air and the relentless sea receded, leaving only the two of them. Their worlds collided in that careful, tender kiss, unspoken truths lingering at the edges of it all.

After a moment, Vaelion drew back, letting his forehead rest lightly against hers. His breath, still tasting faintly of the sea, came in a calm exhale. The next words he spoke were quiet, offered to just her and the water that held them both. “Every story needs a secret,” he said softly, “and every monster needs a little mercy.”

Jahana is pulled in two directions at once - knees buckling, heart lifting - as she tastes salt, blood, and man all at once. Everything about this frozen instant is sanguine and, by breath of wind and sea, she will lose her self in it, if only for a single breath.

She meets his tenderness in kind, a silent promise that she would always welcome his monster self in all its parts. His whispered words tickle her ear ... and something lower, deeper. She breathes them in, lets them settle inside her. There is no reply needed, as she curls into him. Her cheek rests on his chest as she feels his arms fall encircle her lighter than the breezes around them.

She lingers long enough to catch his scent, commit it to memory, before she pulls back. "Good thing for you, scary stores are my favorite," she says impishly, trying to pull them both back from an edge that neither is quite ready to tread.