Learn how to exercise? What a positively ridiculous notion! How was it one might learn to exercise? Were people no longer born with an innate knowledge on how to move? The look the Fae provides the woman with is surely enough to indicate his disbelief in this notion. Any further interest in such a subject however, is ended by the woman's own evident intrigue in his education, Dorian failing, truly, to perceive anything unordinary in it and yet he found himself unwilling to disengage the girl all the same. It was a decidedly rare thing- to find a woman engaging for conversation. After all, women, at least to his knowledge, were often seen and not heard and yet the Fae found a distinct pleasure, if not open curiosity, in that which she had to offer him. Her desire to know more languages is met with that faintest of simpers, the man half wishing Samantha had shown such willingness, the Fae Queen seemingly decidedly unwilling every time he tried. Perhaps he merely required a new student.

"I have tried, several times, to instruct the woman I live with in several languages and yet she holds little interest. It pleases me that at least some women still desire this talent. As for Latin, if what you say is true, it is discouraging to hear. It is a pleasing language to the ear."

He bemoans the loss of it and yet he had perhaps come to expect it. After all, ever since his arrival here he had failed to hear any true latin sentence let alone find anything written within the text and like so much of his past it seemed that this too- had faded without him. It is a dejecting thought and yet one that occurs more and more often. He had missed so very much of the world. More than he truly cared to consider if only for the enormity of it. This talk of books is decidedly welcome, if only for the distraction it brings him. The woman before him, it seems, holds a decidedly good knowledge of the book he speaks off, her opinions a rich decoration of carefully placed thought. She is...intelligent for a woman. A truly curious thing, more so that he is given to notice it and yet he hardly finds he minds. The visibility of her scars however, sees his gaze draw to them once more. To mark a woman's beauty was a terrible thing and he wonders of it truly. Yet to ask would be entirely unbecoming. He listens instead with intrigue at her arguments, unable to prevent the smile that traces his features once more at her polite disagreement.

"It is an unfortunate thing, but perhaps no less true, that sin for a man and sin for a woman are measured differently. I do not suggest it is correct, I merely suggest it is the truth."

He finishes easily, his words most assuredly true. He had lived it after all, seen it with his own eyes. For himself or his brothers to sneak out of the castle, to take or engage with lovers, even his eldest brother, Alphonso- heir to all of Naples received little more than a stern word from their Mother. Yet for a sister to take a lover, to sneak out, to even be suspect of tarnishing her purity was the gravest of slights and source of dishonour for the family. It simply was as it was. The rules were different for women and always had been. To be born female, he is sure, is a misfortune. The conversation progresses then to a topic far more elusive. Love. Ah but the things to talk of over such a word! He listens politely, quietly as she speaks, the woman perhaps having misunderstood his own words- his tone perhaps having held a note of disbelief in the existence of love and yet such was perhaps far from the truth. Love existed, surely, it was simply far, far more difficult to find then any surely believed. This woman however- seemed more convinced. Perhaps the modern world was more convinced then the ancient, especially if it was so arranged marriages no longer occurred.

"Ah, perhaps this is why so few people are married anymore. If we are waiting for love some may be waiting a very long time indeed."

He muses the words softly, though there is no taint of sadness or bitterness within them, he simply states that which he knows. Arranged marriages held far more then one purpose. In a time and age where few lived beyond thirty years of age to marry and reproduce had been of paramount importance- love less so. Such a blessing time is. It is hardly a displeasing thought though.

"I believe most assuredly in love. I am pleased too, you have found yours."

His silvery gaze moves to follow her own out to the field before them, the blush that blossomed across her features at this mention of her husband hardly missed and yet as custom dictated he moved to turn his gaze politely away. It is only when she gestures to this apparent husband that his attention returns to her before resting upon the tall, rangy, dark-haired man that appeared to be gambolling about with the children. For a moment Dorian's gaze widens.

"Are they all your children?! My goodness, you have been...very blessed. Several sons too- you must be pleased."

He finishes at last, his words wholeheartedly meant, before the girl beside him speaks a final time. This mention of his scent seeing one eye lift slightly. In all his years....he has never before been told he smells like a fairy. That seemed....decidedly impolite and yet the modern way of things was forever elusive to him- something it would seem had become apparent to the woman as he waves off her concern for impoliteness.

"I....have been apart from this world for a terribly long time. I have only just returned to it. I was born in- a much earlier time."

He is loath to mention his actual age, after all such a thing was surely impolite, his gaze resting upon the woman still before he moves to softly extend his hand- waiting for her to place hers within his own (perhaps expecting he might be inclined to shake it) before he brings it smoothly to his lips, allowing them to brush softly across her skin in a gesture as old as time itself.

"We are Dorian Aragona- it is a pleasure. Whom might we ask, are you?"

If she knew her history, then she would know his name- at least his last name. A major power within the Italian Renaissance. That an answer in itself to her earlier question of the age from which he had come.

Dorian Aragona