There was an uncertainty of sorts within the man whom sat across from him and yet, unlike so many, Andras hid it well. He was, Matteo suspected, a skilled conversationalist when the mood should strike him and yet, in those situations in which he felt insecure the other Fae was wisely more inclined to silence and a falsified look of security. He was a clever boy and yet he found himself so hardly taken by surprise in any sense at that very notion as it passed within his thoughts. His Mother had been a shrewd woman. Amity so extraordinarily gifted when it came to dealing with others. They were drawn to her. They always had been. She one of the few beings in this world whom had exuded a life and passion so rarely seen. How far she could have gone. How unfortunate her path was so fated to combine with the man whom had become Andras' own Father. For all she had been, he had surely been the opposite. If Amity had been joy her husband had been disdain. Matteo taken entirely by those memories of a past long forgotten. Memories he had not cared to look upon in so many centuries and- like a wound still healing- some part of him was almost inclined to hurt over it. Even after all this time. How utterly foolish such an emotion was. How very human it made him feel and yet, as always, his features remained little more than vaguely amused. Presenting Andras with a look that hardly seemed more then contemplative as his fingers continued to run along that silver chain and to the crucifix at the end. That pattern repeated over and over. His gaze drawn momentarily away from the other Fae and towards that bookshelf before Andras' softly offered agreement saw the return of that silvered gaze so alike Dorian's own.

He had not anticipated such boldness on the part of the other man and yet he enjoyed that very thing. That simper upon his lips increasing in that moment to present a genuine amusement then. How rare it was for a boy to seek those more intimate details of a Mother's life and yet the Frenchman suspected it was more an effort to understand that woman then any true interest in the nature off her affairs. Had Amity truly not spoken to her children of whom she had been before she had become a wife and mother? How unfortunate to deny them such tales and yet- they were not his own to tell. Even if she no longer lived to tell them. Matteo allowing his shoulders to lift in a near non-committal shrug as he lent further back into that comfortable chair, one leg folded over the other as he regarded the man across from him before once more abruptly offering that answer. Matteo choosing to indulge that curiosity, this time, rather than toy with the man as had become a favoured game over the centuries- one that drove poor Dorian mad and seemed to stress Sebastian no end. "I was her friend, her companion and confidante on several trips across the country- but I was never more than that." . How easy it was to lie about that small detail of those times they had shared his bed- or hers- Matteo merely protecting Andras emotions in that moment. At least until he knew that man better as to gauge how he might react. Perhaps he would keep that secret for just a little longer to surprise him with another time. "I was ill inclined to settle down, I would not meet Dorian's mother for several centuries and your Mother was much the same then. Free-spirited. Yet I had already seen your Father coming. I knew what would be though she refused to believe me as she always did." She had been so like Alexander, a being who refused to believe Fate was predetermined. Amity assured it could be changed if one willed it enough. Matteo continuing then if only to offer Andras some indication perhaps, of the very woman his Mother had been. "Amity took great delight in coming into my room in the morning to see which poor girl I'd managed to lure into my bed the night before. She would, sometimes, pretend to be my wife or lover and proceed to make a scene unlike you have ever heard until my guest became so distressed she would flee. Wherein your Mother would take up her place beneath the blankets and beset me with her cold feet until I was forced to get up."

That simper found his lips once more at that very memory, those words holding a true and distinct fondness and yet within them lay so much of the truth of her nature- of the being so full of life she had been, especially in her younger days. Matteo so attempting, in his own way, to afford her son that knowledge. Andras seeming near surprised at the idea his mother had once belonged to another court and yet Matteo afforded no further words upon it. The man rarely inclined to offer further information unless directly queried for it, the fingers off his free hand tracing the patterned leather of that chair before that simple assurance she had gotten that daughter she desired prompted that soft dip of his own head. "I am pleased to hear it." His fingers continued to trace along that silvered chain at his neck, that questioning look reflected within the other Fae's features and yet Andras hardly dares to voice it. The other man choosing instead to query off his Father. A soft snort of sorts leaving the Frenchman in that moment. His fingers halted on that chain, twisting it about in place now as if the very thought of that long-dead man was displeasing to him. Your Father and I did not see eye to eye on many things. I disliked him, frankly. I underestimated the resentment he held for my friendship with your mother. He underestimated my ability to meet him in the skies even without wings of my own. He broke my left wrist. I gave him two matching black eyes, four fractured ribs and a broken right wing for his troubles. Amity stopped us. It was the last time I ever saw him. He issued orders that very day that I was forbidden to set foot on any lands his court owned. I broke his order only once- to visit Amity a month later when you were born. That was the last time I saw her."

After all this time he could still hardly bring himself to regret that altercation that had occurred. He had been younger than, more hot-headed perhaps and yet even so that sight of that man with two black eyes had been entirely worth that altercation. Matteo hardly caring to shield Andras from any sort of truth as to the nature of his Father and himself in any sense. That conversation shifted near abruptly then to the mention of that human. That sudden outburst entirely surprising and yet perhaps it should not have been. This human whom danced within his vision, whose path intertwined with Andras' own was entirely surprising in turn. How little Andras knew of just whom she would be to him. That red taking over the Frenchman's silver gaze then, eclipsing that silver as that future presented itself. His words, as always, holding some cryptic note he hardly cared to divulge as his chin rested within his hand, his elbow leaning upon that chair in a manner decidedly casual. Andras seeming to fight with that curiosity in a fashion Matteo found curious in every sense before he seemed to gain composure. Those firm words of assurance he was presented with inspiring little more then that soft chuckle from him. That rich sound falling freely from his throat. How Andras lied to himself. How little he knew of how close he was to defying each other of those very things for that human girl. Matteo merely allowing one eye to lift upward. "Very well." He uttered simply, coyly, so allowing Andras to believe his own lies while affording them decided hollowness with those two simple words all the same.

It is only the rest of that vision that prompts further words from the Frenchman then. Affording Andras some indication of just what would be, in some sense, of the future that had been set and would not be changed. Not now. Though Andras' choice would change a great deal for her- for himself. That very choice so set to change Andras' world as he knew it and yet Matteo afforded only the outlines of that very design as was his way. The Frenchman long ago having accepted his role as guide within this world- not one designed to afford others with the knowledge to change those futures. For that only ended in disaster. His words, this time, holding a more genuine sincerity before Andras so declared him a conundrum. Matteo allowing that simper to find him once more. "Simply remember what I said. Everything will work out. It will be clear to you when it happens just what I meant- but no- I will give you no more."

Andras, it seems, is content enough to accept his own cryptic words. The man sinking in to that chair as Matteo returns to toying with that crucifix, his gaze wandering from the other man to eye that bookshelf once more- even as Andras speaks again. That potent question finally asked. Matteo's attention lingering elsewhere for several long moments before turning back to him. That silver gaze, this time, so squarely meeting his own. "Yes". It is that singular answer he offers. That lack of red to his gaze so assuring that this was an answer he had known for some time- one he need hardly search for. The death of an entire Fae court known amongest near all of their kind and yet he was reluctant to offer that information, that answer. He was reluctant to place Andras upon that path when it held only two outcomes and only one was favourable. A path that readily saw his own son become intertwined. How he loathed his own gifts at times, how those morals might chew at his insides and threaten to fracture that illusion of despondency he offered the world. He had known for days that Andras would seek this answer and yet he unwilling he was to give it- if only for how uncertain the future of what Andras might do with it. That finger halted upon that chain once more. "There is much of your Mother in you- but your Father is not without representation. I can see who you are and I can see who you will be but I cannot see what path you choose in this until you choose it. I dislike one of them."

Just what the man was talking about perhaps remained to be seen. A soft sigh drawn from him, Matteo offering no further words of explanation before both hands came to rest on the arms of that chair. "If I told you that your choice in this could destroy you, would you still care to know? If I told you your choice could bring about the deaths of others, would you still want to hear it?" He affords him a moment, just one, to consider those things and the very idea that a single choice might place into action a chain of events unanticipated."Your Court was destroyed by your own kind, our kind, every single one was slaughtered by another Fae."



m a t t e o
it's tough to be a god