Chapter 90: 90
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"The reason I do not want you to go, to hand you over to… to Soren," Ithuriel gulps, squeezing his eyes shut now as he brings his hand up to encompass my own softly, pressing it further against his face. "Is because I... I want you, and," he says, visibly taking another breath to steady the unhinged warble that resides in his voice.
"I have wanted you for a very long time," he says, voice dropping to a fragile whisper as he averts his eyes, as if now that the statement is out in the open, he only just realised the futility of it. But the desperate pleading in his voice is hard to ignore, the faint catches of hope that suggest that maybe I could want him back, that maybe, just maybe, he still had a chance. Once upon a time, perhaps I would have- but if Ithuriel were to know that fact, it surely would destroy him. I shake my head sadly. Love is a cruel tragedy.
"Ithuriel, I have been bonded with him. This is not something that I could go back on, even if I wanted to. You know this," I say, bring up a free hand to stroke his head, running my fingers through his silky locks in a way I can only hope is comforting to him.
"I'm sorry, my Queen, I have failed you. What's more, I have been awful to you," he sobs silently, head bowed as though in mourning. "All these weeks I have been so consumed by Soren, by not wanting to lose you that I... I..." he breaks off, biting down on his lip to prevent the rest of the sentence from spilling out.
"Oh Ithuriel," I lament, stoking his hair as I bring my eyes level with his. "I will always be here for you, no matter what. You know that, don't you?"
Lights flicker above our heads, dipping in and out of existence and sullying the already distraught mood as I try in vain futility to soothe Ithuriel's worries, bringing up a thumb to delicately wipe away a tear that is welling on the peak of his cheek.
"I know," he whispers, his voice cracking once again in agony. "I know."
I'm sorry, I find myself wanting to cry, as if those words alone could mend the rift that has fallen between us- a rift that I so stupidly let myself create. But despite the sheer fruitlessness of those actions, those words continue to resound through my head like a carousel, as if I repeated it enough they suddenly might become something more than simple words.
I'm sorry.
Above our heads, Fangorn clears his throat to catch our attention. He peaks his head warily from out the opposite room.
"Queen Serena, I will be in the next room when you are ready. After all, the flame will not find itself."
I can barely find it in myself to offer up my understanding with a slight nod. Just as I make to turn back to Ithuriel, to rest my hand on his shoulder, offer him words of comfort, to say anything, do anything, to spare him the pain that lingers in the depths of his eyes and plays in the sallow look on his face, he takes my hand in his, curling his fingers tightly over my own, trapping my in place. Gently, he brings his lips flush with the back of my hand, his lips brushing softly against my skin.
"You go to Fangorn, I will wait here. Kal will entertain me, right?" he says, lifting his head up with a half smile, flashing a brave look across the room to where Kal lingers in the shadows, pretending not to notice the two apparitions knelt down in the middle of the dining room floor. He jerks his head up, flicking two hasty thumbs up in our direction.
"Your knight will be safe in my hands, trust me little Queen," he assures, meandering his way round the dining table with unusually springy steps- as though it is not hard wooden floor boards he is walking upon, but the pillowy tops of late morning clouds. Kal bends down, graciously extending a hand down to Ithuriel in a way that is almost reminiscent of the way Soren had held out his hand to me the first time we met- bowing low, body lithe and elegantly poised. Despite myself, I almost- almost- smile.
"Now I would say ladies first," Kal chuckles as he heaves Ithuriel to his feet, holding onto his hand perhaps a little longer than what would be deemed necessary. "But I have always been much more inclined to serve the... other direction," he adds with a not so subtle wink, lifting Ithuriel upright- a surprising act really considering the size difference between the two. Kal is all lean, whereas Ithuriel is packed with well chiselled muscle- the outcome of many decades of training and pushing his body to the brink of its limits. Yet in spite of their differences, I muse to myself silently, rising to my feet with an unsteady wobble, I think they must look good together. At the very least, the two of them could kick some serious ass.
An unexpected flush arises on Ithuriel's face for a second, and only a second, before he shakes himself, straightening his posture and wiping his dampened eyes with the hem of his embroidered sleeve. I lean back against the table quietly, folding my arms across myself to survey Kal with a tone of curious disinterest. Kal continues to grin giddily, somewhat pleased with himself, stealing a look at Ithuriel for perhaps just a fraction longer than would be considered necessary, before bounding to the centre of the carpeted room to stretch himself out under the candlelight, wings splaying neatly behind him as he sprawls his thin body out on a couch, tapping an empty spot beside him suggestively. I raise my eyebrow. With that pose, and the smugness of his grin, he looks like a very bold, very relaxed cat.
"Come sit, Ithuriel. We can wait while Serena has a nice little chat about vampires and bo-ring flames," he grins, patting the spot next to him again to emphasise his point. Ithuriel hesitates for a moment, the reluctance in him now quite obvious, and it doesn't take a genius to tell with the flush of red that streaks his hair that he now very much regrets the words he so quickly uttered. In fact, he looks as though he wishes nothing greater than to be left alone.
"Are you sure you have only wondered in the palace a few times? From the way you speak it sounds like you live there! You speak like a vampire," I tease, snickering, pushing myself off the table as I start to walk my way towards the door Fangorn had indicated, slow enough that I can still catch Kal's sharp toothed grin and jet black eyes gleaming at me from his spot on the couch. He hunches his shoulders in a makeshift shrug, running a hand back past his silky locks.
"Well who is to say Ithuriel here is not into that?" he grins wickedly, but I can tell he is only messing with me instantly from the secondary wink he adds to punctuate his words. It is something that I do not think, nor expect, Ithurirel to react to at all, so I am quite taken aback when he ambles over to the free place on the coach, setting himself down gracefully, his face stiff and tight from the suppression of emotion, save for the little upturn of his lip at the side of his mouth.
"I'm not," he mutters in assurance, but stays seated anyway. I think he must do it for my sake- I see no other reason why he would stand such a forward move after his dutiful confession.
It is clear Ithuriel is putting on a brave face as I leave the room, his expression stoic as Kal sidles up closer to him, looking with unbridled eagerness over the spread of Ithuriel's fine wings that are draped out behind him, fingers outstretched as if he would like nothing more than to touch them- an awful idea really. Especially with all things considered. Despite everything, I smirk a little to myself, shutting the door behind me as I enter Fangorn's office. No doubt Kal was about to find out the extent ot just how cold and unresponsive Ithuriel can be- nevertheless, that does not quell the unbridled urge for me to run back out there and fling my arms around the white haired angel. If only things could be more simple.
"Hey Fangorn," I ask, letting the door click closed behind me, pressing my back against its wooden panel and sinking down against it slightly, relieving the pent up tension in my shoulders.
"Has Kal ever loved anyone before?"
Fangorn turns from his bookshelves that span the entire wall on one side of the room, stacked full to overflowing with a variety of different genres and journals and widths of book- hundreds of years of writings condensed into one small room. It must have taken him years- and likely cost a small fortune. But that said, even vampires who live in the end are never short of money- or their ability to glamour.
"You know, I don't think he has," Fangorns admits, bringing himself to sit on the side of the desk facing away from the bookshelves as he brings a flickering candle close to the papers on the desk to illuminate his face, highlighting the age lines of stress that have begun to settle in the depths of his face. "That said," he muses, waving a hand in the chair opposite him for me to take a seat. "I do not exactly follow his life at the palace. Why do you ask?" He queries, leaning forward on his elbows now, crimson eyes glowering from a vivid curiosity. I pull up my seat with a grinding scratch and wave him off, smiling inwardly to myself.
"It is no matter. Now, you said you wanted to discuss the matter of the flame?"
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"The reason I do not want you to go, to hand you over to… to Soren," Ithuriel gulps, squeezing his eyes shut now as he brings his hand up to encompass my own softly, pressing it further against his face. "Is because I... I want you, and," he says, visibly taking another breath to steady the unhinged warble that resides in his voice.
"I have wanted you for a very long time," he says, voice dropping to a fragile whisper as he averts his eyes, as if now that the statement is out in the open, he only just realised the futility of it. But the desperate pleading in his voice is hard to ignore, the faint catches of hope that suggest that maybe I could want him back, that maybe, just maybe, he still had a chance. Once upon a time, perhaps I would have- but if Ithuriel were to know that fact, it surely would destroy him. I shake my head sadly. Love is a cruel tragedy.
"Ithuriel, I have been bonded with him. This is not something that I could go back on, even if I wanted to. You know this," I say, bring up a free hand to stroke his head, running my fingers through his silky locks in a way I can only hope is comforting to him.
"I'm sorry, my Queen, I have failed you. What's more, I have been awful to you," he sobs silently, head bowed as though in mourning. "All these weeks I have been so consumed by Soren, by not wanting to lose you that I... I..." he breaks off, biting down on his lip to prevent the rest of the sentence from spilling out.
"Oh Ithuriel," I lament, stoking his hair as I bring my eyes level with his. "I will always be here for you, no matter what. You know that, don't you?"
Lights flicker above our heads, dipping in and out of existence and sullying the already distraught mood as I try in vain futility to soothe Ithuriel's worries, bringing up a thumb to delicately wipe away a tear that is welling on the peak of his cheek.
"I know," he whispers, his voice cracking once again in agony. "I know."
I'm sorry, I find myself wanting to cry, as if those words alone could mend the rift that has fallen between us- a rift that I so stupidly let myself create. But despite the sheer fruitlessness of those actions, those words continue to resound through my head like a carousel, as if I repeated it enough they suddenly might become something more than simple words.
I'm sorry.
Above our heads, Fangorn clears his throat to catch our attention. He peaks his head warily from out the opposite room.
"Queen Serena, I will be in the next room when you are ready. After all, the flame will not find itself."
I can barely find it in myself to offer up my understanding with a slight nod. Just as I make to turn back to Ithuriel, to rest my hand on his shoulder, offer him words of comfort, to say anything, do anything, to spare him the pain that lingers in the depths of his eyes and plays in the sallow look on his face, he takes my hand in his, curling his fingers tightly over my own, trapping my in place. Gently, he brings his lips flush with the back of my hand, his lips brushing softly against my skin.
"You go to Fangorn, I will wait here. Kal will entertain me, right?" he says, lifting his head up with a half smile, flashing a brave look across the room to where Kal lingers in the shadows, pretending not to notice the two apparitions knelt down in the middle of the dining room floor. He jerks his head up, flicking two hasty thumbs up in our direction.
"Your knight will be safe in my hands, trust me little Queen," he assures, meandering his way round the dining table with unusually springy steps- as though it is not hard wooden floor boards he is walking upon, but the pillowy tops of late morning clouds. Kal bends down, graciously extending a hand down to Ithuriel in a way that is almost reminiscent of the way Soren had held out his hand to me the first time we met- bowing low, body lithe and elegantly poised. Despite myself, I almost- almost- smile.
"Now I would say ladies first," Kal chuckles as he heaves Ithuriel to his feet, holding onto his hand perhaps a little longer than what would be deemed necessary. "But I have always been much more inclined to serve the... other direction," he adds with a not so subtle wink, lifting Ithuriel upright- a surprising act really considering the size difference between the two. Kal is all lean, whereas Ithuriel is packed with well chiselled muscle- the outcome of many decades of training and pushing his body to the brink of its limits. Yet in spite of their differences, I muse to myself silently, rising to my feet with an unsteady wobble, I think they must look good together. At the very least, the two of them could kick some serious ass.
An unexpected flush arises on Ithuriel's face for a second, and only a second, before he shakes himself, straightening his posture and wiping his dampened eyes with the hem of his embroidered sleeve. I lean back against the table quietly, folding my arms across myself to survey Kal with a tone of curious disinterest. Kal continues to grin giddily, somewhat pleased with himself, stealing a look at Ithuriel for perhaps just a fraction longer than would be considered necessary, before bounding to the centre of the carpeted room to stretch himself out under the candlelight, wings splaying neatly behind him as he sprawls his thin body out on a couch, tapping an empty spot beside him suggestively. I raise my eyebrow. With that pose, and the smugness of his grin, he looks like a very bold, very relaxed cat.
"Come sit, Ithuriel. We can wait while Serena has a nice little chat about vampires and bo-ring flames," he grins, patting the spot next to him again to emphasise his point. Ithuriel hesitates for a moment, the reluctance in him now quite obvious, and it doesn't take a genius to tell with the flush of red that streaks his hair that he now very much regrets the words he so quickly uttered. In fact, he looks as though he wishes nothing greater than to be left alone.
"Are you sure you have only wondered in the palace a few times? From the way you speak it sounds like you live there! You speak like a vampire," I tease, snickering, pushing myself off the table as I start to walk my way towards the door Fangorn had indicated, slow enough that I can still catch Kal's sharp toothed grin and jet black eyes gleaming at me from his spot on the couch. He hunches his shoulders in a makeshift shrug, running a hand back past his silky locks.
"Well who is to say Ithuriel here is not into that?" he grins wickedly, but I can tell he is only messing with me instantly from the secondary wink he adds to punctuate his words. It is something that I do not think, nor expect, Ithurirel to react to at all, so I am quite taken aback when he ambles over to the free place on the coach, setting himself down gracefully, his face stiff and tight from the suppression of emotion, save for the little upturn of his lip at the side of his mouth.
"I'm not," he mutters in assurance, but stays seated anyway. I think he must do it for my sake- I see no other reason why he would stand such a forward move after his dutiful confession.
It is clear Ithuriel is putting on a brave face as I leave the room, his expression stoic as Kal sidles up closer to him, looking with unbridled eagerness over the spread of Ithuriel's fine wings that are draped out behind him, fingers outstretched as if he would like nothing more than to touch them- an awful idea really. Especially with all things considered. Despite everything, I smirk a little to myself, shutting the door behind me as I enter Fangorn's office. No doubt Kal was about to find out the extent ot just how cold and unresponsive Ithuriel can be- nevertheless, that does not quell the unbridled urge for me to run back out there and fling my arms around the white haired angel. If only things could be more simple.
"Hey Fangorn," I ask, letting the door click closed behind me, pressing my back against its wooden panel and sinking down against it slightly, relieving the pent up tension in my shoulders.
"Has Kal ever loved anyone before?"
Fangorn turns from his bookshelves that span the entire wall on one side of the room, stacked full to overflowing with a variety of different genres and journals and widths of book- hundreds of years of writings condensed into one small room. It must have taken him years- and likely cost a small fortune. But that said, even vampires who live in the end are never short of money- or their ability to glamour.
"You know, I don't think he has," Fangorns admits, bringing himself to sit on the side of the desk facing away from the bookshelves as he brings a flickering candle close to the papers on the desk to illuminate his face, highlighting the age lines of stress that have begun to settle in the depths of his face. "That said," he muses, waving a hand in the chair opposite him for me to take a seat. "I do not exactly follow his life at the palace. Why do you ask?" He queries, leaning forward on his elbows now, crimson eyes glowering from a vivid curiosity. I pull up my seat with a grinding scratch and wave him off, smiling inwardly to myself.
"It is no matter. Now, you said you wanted to discuss the matter of the flame?"
"The reason I do not want you to go, to hand you over to to Soren," Ithuriel gulps, squeezing his eyes shut now as he brings his hand up to encompass my own softly, pressing it further against his face. "Is because I... I want you, and," he says, visibly taking another breath to steady the unhinged warble that resides in his voice."I have wanted you for a very long time," he says, voice dropping to a fragile whisper as he averts his eyes, as if now that the statement is out in the open, he only just realised the futility of it. But the desperate pleading in his voice is hard to ignore, the faint catches of hope that suggest that maybe I could want him back, that maybe, just maybe, he still had a chance. Once upon a time, perhaps I would have- but if Ithuriel were to know that fact, it surely would destroy him. I shake my head sadly. Love is a cruel tragedy."Ithuriel, I have been bonded with him. This is not something that I could go back on, even if I wanted to. You know this," I say, bring up a free hand to stroke his head, running my fingers through his silky locks in a way I can only hope is comforting to him."I'm sorry, my Queen, I have failed you. What's more, I have been awful to you," he sobs silently, head bowed as though in mourning. "All these weeks I have been so consumed by Soren, by not wanting to lose you that I... I..." he breaks off, biting down on his lip to prevent the rest of the sentence from spilling out."Oh Ithuriel," I lament, stoking his hair as I bring my eyes level with his. "I will always be here for you, no matter what. You know that, don't you?"Lights flicker above our heads, dipping in and out of existence and sullying the already distraught mood as I try in vain futility to soothe Ithuriel's worries, bringing up a thumb to delicately wipe away a tear that is welling on the peak of his cheek."I know," he whispers, his voice cracking once again in agony. "I know."I'm sorry, I find myself wanting to cry, as if those words alone could mend the rift that has fallen between us- a rift that I so stupidly let myself create. But despite the sheer fruitlessness of those actions, those words continue to resound through my head like a carousel, as if I repeated it enough they suddenly might become something more than simple words.I'm sorry.Above our heads, Fangorn clears his throat to catch our attention. He peaks his head warily from out the opposite room."Queen Serena, I will be in the next room when you are ready. After all, the flame will not find itself."I can barely find it in myself to offer up my understanding with a slight nod. Just as I make to turn back to Ithuriel, to rest my hand on his shoulder, offer him words of comfort, to say anything, do anything, to spare him the pain that lingers in the depths of his eyes and plays in the sallow look on his face, he takes my hand in his, curling his fingers tightly over my own, trapping my in place. Gently, he brings his lips flush with the back of my hand, his lips brushing softly against my skin."You go to Fangorn, I will wait here. Kal will entertain me, right?" he says, lifting his head up with a half smile, flashing a brave look across the room to where Kal lingers in the shadows, pretending not to notice the two apparitions knelt down in the middle of the dining room floor. He jerks his head up, flicking two hasty thumbs up in our direction."Your knight will be safe in my hands, trust me little Queen," he assures, meandering his way round the dining table with unusually springy steps- as though it is not hard wooden floor boards he is walking upon, but the pillowy tops of late morning clouds. Kal bends down, graciously extending a hand down to Ithuriel in a way that is almost reminiscent of the way Soren had held out his hand to me the first time we met- bowing low, body lithe and elegantly poised. Despite myself, I almost- almost- smile."Now I would say ladies first," Kal chuckles as he heaves Ithuriel to his feet, holding onto his hand perhaps a little longer than what would be deemed necessary. "But Ihave always been much more inclined to serve the... other direction," he adds with a not so subtle wink, lifting Ithuriel upright- a surprising act really considering the size difference between the two. Kal is all lean, whereas Ithuriel is packed with well chiselled muscle- the outcome of many decades of training and pushing his body to the brink of its limits. Yet in spite of their differences, I muse to myself silently, rising to my feet with an unsteady wobble, I think they must look good together. At the very least, the two of them could kick some serious ass.An unexpected flush arises on Ithuriel's face for a second, and only a second, before he shakes himself, straightening his posture and wiping his dampened eyes with the hem of his embroidered sleeve. I lean back against the table quietly, folding my arms across myself to survey Kal with a tone of curious disinterest. Kal continues to grin giddily, somewhat pleased with himself, stealing a look at Ithuriel for perhaps just a fraction longer than would be considered necessary, before bounding to the centre of the carpeted room to stretch himself out under the candlelight, wings splaying neatly behind him as he sprawls his thin body out on a couch, tapping an empty spot beside him suggestively. I raise my eyebrow. With that pose, and the smugness of his grin, he looks like a very bold, very relaxed cat."Come sit, Ithuriel. We can wait while Serena has a nice little chat about vampires and bo-ring flames," he grins, patting the spot next to him again to emphasise his point. Ithuriel hesitates for a moment, the reluctance in him now quite obvious, and it doesn't take a genius to tell with the flush of red that streaks his hair that he now very much regrets the words he so quickly uttered. In fact, he looks as though he wishes nothing greater than to be left alone."Are you sure you have only wondered in the palace a few times? From the way you speak it sounds like you live there! You speak like a vampire," I tease, snickering, pushing myself off the table as I start to walk my way towards the door Fangorn had indicated, slow enough that I can still catch Kal's sharp toothed grin and jet black eyes gleaming at me from his spot on the couch. He hunches his shoulders in a makeshift shrug, running a hand back past his silky locks."Well who is to say Ithuriel here is not into that?" he grins wickedly, but I can tell he is only messing with me instantly from the secondary wink he adds to punctuate his words. It is something that I do not think, nor expect, Ithurirel to react to at all, so I am quite taken aback when he ambles over to the free place on the coach, setting himself down gracefully, his face stiff and tight from the suppression of emotion, save for the little upturn of his lip at the side of his mouth."I'm not," he mutters in assurance, but stays seated anyway. I think he must do it for my sake- I see no other reason why he would stand such a forward move after his dutiful confession.It is clear Ithuriel is putting on a brave face as I leave the room, his expression stoic as Kal sidles up closer to him, looking with unbridled eagerness over the spread of Ithuriel's fine wings that are draped out behind him, fingers outstretched as if he would like nothing more than to touch them- an awful idea really. Especially with all things considered. Despite everything, I smirk a little to myself, shutting the door behind me as I enter Fangorn's office. No doubt Kal was about to find out the extent ot just how cold and unresponsive Ithuriel can be- nevertheless, that does not quell the unbridled urge for me to run back out there and fling my arms around the white haired angel. If only things could be more simple."Hey Fangorn," I ask, letting the door click closed behind me, pressing my back against its wooden panel and sinking down against it slightly, relieving the pent up tension in my shoulders."Has Kal ever loved anyone before?"Fangorn turns from his bookshelves that span the entire wall on one side of the room, stacked full to overflowing with a variety of different genres and journals and widths of book- hundreds of years of writings condensed into one small room. It must have taken him years- and likely cost a small fortune. But that said, even vampires who live in the end are never short of money- or their ability to glamour."You know, I don't think he has," Fangorns admits, bringing himself to sit on the side of the desk facing away from the bookshelves as he brings a flickering candle close to the papers on the desk to illuminate his face, highlighting the age lines of stress that have begun to settle in the depths of his face. "That said," he muses, waving a hand in the chair opposite him for me to take a seat. "I do not exactly follow his life at the palace. Why do you ask?" He queries, leaning forward on his elbows now, crimson eyes glowering from a vivid curiosity. I pull up my seat with a grinding scratch and wave him off, smiling inwardly to myself."It is no matter. Now, you said you wanted to discuss the matter of the flame?"
