Fourteen

            Elethor and I stared at one another for long moments after he closed the door behind Evensong and Haji.  So many unspoken words and questions hung between us, so many things I dare not say aloud trickled through my mind as I sat in silence in his bed.  He sighed and came towards me, but stopped mid-way to the bed and went to the shelves of books behind his desk.  He selected a very old, slim volume and walked to me, indicating I should make room with a negligent wave of his hand.  I obediently moved over, cautious of my body’s protesting groans.  He handed me the book and I felt the heat rise in my face as he stripped off his vestments to just his cloth pants before settling himself beside me.

            He took the book from my numb fingers and pulled me gently to his side.  It felt so natural and wonderful to lay my head on his shoulder, which is what I did as he opened the slim tome and began to read, his voice low, deep and soft to my ear.

            “It wasn’t always like this. The world, Atreia, had one side, not two, and we were all brothers. We looked the same, we had the same ideals, and we shared a common purpose: to protect the Tower of Eternity…” He began, I had no notion of what it was that he read to me, though I dare not interrupt him to ask, instead I simply listened the tone of his voice and the warmth from him lulling me into a relaxed state.

            I listened to him read to me the history we both knew and had lived a thousand years ago from the perspective of a man that was much like Zenton had been.  His voice was low and lovely to listen to, soothing as the lamps burned low and the fire dampened to mere embers in the hearth.  He seemed to be able to read clearly, despite the dark being too much for my eyes to make out much more than faint outlines of the chamber’s furniture.  I lay there comfortably, warm and safe in his arms, listening to the velvet of his voice and the tale of Asmodae’s beginning to the tempo of his heart beat and I did not wish to leave him.  As much as I missed my beloved Aalairius, I knew with a terrible certainty, that when I was returned to his arms, I would miss Elethor’s just as much.

            I tried to push the turmoil from my mind and be still, soaking in this moment I knew I would never have again in all my years remaining as a Daeva.  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly and allowed myself to love Elethor, to rest in his arms safely, and quietly if not wholly contentedly.  I would never get back the time the cataclysm had stolen from us, but this was so very close to what could have been and I would not deny the gift that Aion had given to me, nor would I begrudge the torturous price I’d had to pay to be here.

            I was so lost in the swirling miasma that was my own thoughts I did not hear when he stopped reading. I noticed the silence too late when he shifted a bit beneath me, the soft press of his lips against my hair a gentle surprise.  I remained still as he shifted more lifting me gently and bringing the blankets over the both of us, pulling the thick cloth to my chin as he settled me more comfortably for him.  I smiled a little, and did not dispel the illusion that I slept, for I was tired and sleep would claim me very soon.

            I did not recognize this as a memory, I stood in the temple of my youth, before the tower’s fall, before Atreia was sundered and it was quiet. So still and silent that I whole heartedly believed I was the only living being there. I looked down at my self and marveled at the white lace dress I had never seen before and how rich the red carpet felt beneath my feet.  I lifted the hem of the dress, my feet rested on the crimson carpet whole and perfect, the flesh and skin intact and un marred and I knew then that I must be dreaming a dream. 

            “Yes, you are dreaming daughter.” A rich male voice said from the temples alter, and I whirled crouching into a naturally defensive stance.  The rich voice chuckled at me, a living thing, the sound rubbed along the inside of my head like thick sable fur. It felt good, soothing in a way but my fear grew.

            A white light began to coalesce on the dais where the solid stone alter rested, the twelve steps down to the aisle awash in pale light.  My heart hammered in my chest, and I could taste my fear as it flooded my mouth with bitter copper. The light swirled until standing there, robes infused with light, a being stood.  His cowl covered all but his mouth and chin and the elaborate stitchery of his robes shone softly in a constant shifting myriad of color.  I stood dumbfounded before falling to my knees.

            I could not see his face, obscured by his cowl as it was, but he laughed, the sound rich and vibrant and I swear I could hear the hounds as they belled on the hunt in it. He sat down on the stairs before me as I knelt, bowed to the floor and prostrate.

            “Rise my daughter and speak with me. You are troubled and I wish to put your heart at ease.” I raised my eyes slowly and kept them at the hem of his robe.

            “Father…  Aion… what is it you wish of me?” my voice trembled uncontrollably and twin tears slipped from my eyes, the grace of His presence almost too much to bear.

            “I wish what any father wishes for his child Sirona.  I wish for you all to choose your own path and I wish for you to be happy.” He folded his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. “Tell me what troubles your heart so?”

            I swallowed hard. “I love them Father, I love them both so much and I fear that my love for them alone is a betrayal to each of them and I cannot bear it.” I sobbed, hugging myself, rocking as the shards of my shattered resolve ground together like so much bitter broken glass.

            “To love is not to betray. You are a Cleric of my order and very special child. There is much love in your heart despite your pain, Sirona I am telling you now to love them both. For both will need you for what lies ahead. You are all my children and it is because I love you that I have allowed you free will. Choose your path Sirona guide as many as you can in my light, but do not fret so over the love you have for these two men, simply love them both and be at peace within yourself.” He cupped my chin in his hand and raised my face to look at him, though I still could not see beneath his hood save for his mouth as he smiled at me.

            “Please Father, how am I to do it? Help me understand.” I did not know how I was to love them both, neither would understand the other, nor would it be proper for me to ask them to.

            “You will find your path daughter, my time with you has come to a close and I leave you now with this, though this memory will be… unpleasant for you it is one I wish for you to see. Learn something new from it daughter.”

And with that he bent and placed his lips against my forehead and suddenly I was filthy, blood and sweat covered my breath heaving in choking gasps as the assassin, Switchkin came towards me, my memory raw and fresh with the horror of that basement…

Kuraia spoke, stopping Switchkin’s advance and he returned to her, they conversed in the rough Asmodian tongue in velvet undertones out of my hearing’s range.  No doubt they were devising what to do now.  The assassin, Switchkin’s calm had begun to fray under my steel resolve to say nothing. He was a man that was used to getting results; it vexed him that I provided him none.

            So sudden, it startled even my captors, the heavy wooden door crashed open to its fullest, slamming loudly into the workbench behind its’ swing and rebounding halfway before being stopped by a silk clad arm. 

            Elethor… for I knew it was he now was awe inspiring; his skin was the soft blue of the clouds when they threaten rain, and he was broad of shoulder.  His hair was somewhere between regulation short and wildly unkempt, and kept in check and out from his eyes by a circlet on his brow.  His expression was hard, and his eyes threatening as his gaze swept over Kuraia and Switchkin.  His voice when it emanated from his broad chest was deep and rolled like thunder.  I could not understand any of the words, but the question in them was clear.  Kuraia’s expression went wintery and her intense gaze icy with defiance as she responded cold and clear.

            Switchkin looked bored as he leaned a hip against the workbench, watching the two.  The Elethor ignored him completely.  I remember I prayed he would not look at me, that he would leave… he looked at me then and something flashed in his eyes as he took me in and his look went at once from aristocratic and cold to one that I mistook as sheer revulsion.  I saw it now, I recognized it… Was this what Aion had wished me to see?

He barked out what could have been orders and both Kuraia and Switchkin snapped to attention.  He uttered something low and threatening and Kuraia blanched. Elethor had whirled, long coat snapping around his legs, his legion cloak with the stylized ‘P’ done in flame as its crest swirling about his shoulders and he departed.

            The moment Elethor had looked at me, what I had mistaken as revulsion, what I had seen as horror, was indeed shock, amazement a little pity and before his mask closed down over his face, locking his expression away, I glimpsed it… hope and something else… something more solid. I closed my eyes and the memory shattered.  I shouted not wanting it to be over, unsure if I had seen what I was meant to see…

            I sat up with an inarticulate cry reaching into the black as if to grab the dream-memory and draw it to me, firm hands gripped my shoulders and drew me back into the solid warmth of Elethor’s chest, his arms went around me and held me to him and his voice broke through the cascade of rushing thoughts in my head.

            “Shhhh shhh shhh it’s all right now.  Shhhhh.” He rocked me and my mind spilled back as receding as the sea from the shore to what Aion had told me to do and I obeyed Him, I loved Elethor, I loved him and Aalairius both, and I turned in Elethor’s arms, and I looked into the twin points of glowing red light that were his eyes my voice emanating from my throat in a breathless choked rush and I told him.

            “I love you.  I never stopped loving you, even after The Fall, I prayed for you and held you in my heart and though I never dreamed that you had survived I never stopped loving you Elethor and I never will, even though I may never see you again I never will. I promise you I will love you always.” The oil lamps and the wood in the hearth furiously flamed to life and I stared into his face. 

He had no time to hide behind his mask, my words startled him so and in his eyes, and carved into the lines of his face I saw wonderment and pleasant shock and he held me tighter and simply stared into my face and I knew in that moment though we were soon to be separated that he had loved me too and despite his loyalties to his Legion and to Asmodae his love for me had spanned a thousand years and had trumped it all and he had saved me from a fate worse than death.

            “Sirona…” he started voice thick with emotions he had never expressed, then closed his eyes and swallowed hard.  I placed gentle finger tips on his lips to silence him and tucked my ear to his chest listening to his heart.  He rested his chin on the top of my head and held me tightly, and for the first time since my capture I felt no guilt, and no sorrow and no weight upon me, I simply felt content, and loved and as I fell back asleep I was happy.