BlackRoses2YoungLion

When she finally dared to confront him, it was almost laughable. He was not angry at her, not at first. Not at all. Her small bit of betrayal, a liaison with a lovely but foolish member of a minor house during the days of his absence----

She wasn't sure, even now, if he had noticed. Though he was the one at first who'd clamored for more commitment as men always did, she had managed to teach him better. Why would she wish formal ties with a mere boy, however powerful the House he came from? He must learn to have a lighter touch, with his loving!

He had learned, as she wished. He no longer smothered her with affection. And if rumors held true, he had other thoughts to occupy his mind now anyway.

She meant to be distant, truly she did! Not only from her own anger at being ignored, which she admitted was perverse on her part after she had ordered him to cling to her less. The rumors frightened her. Her father had spoken to her, more sternly than was his usual way.

He was on the balcony. Staring out to sea, over the bright and turbulent water that foamed at the edge of the world to beat against the bottom of the tower like a gathered army. He had been silent for too long.

She went to him. A tall, dark-haired woman in a cloak of peacock feathers. Her hair black as night, not less long than the cloak if less colorful. "Beloved. Will you come inside? The ocean air grows cold."

She was stammering, and it annoyed her. There was no reason to stammer! "It-it is good, that they killed him, before he could destroy the world and all that it contained. You suffer too much, and for the wrong being. We should be celebrating!"

"Should we? Do I?" He turned swiftly, staring at her as if she was a stranger. The cold smile on the lips that had once inflamed her didn't seem to fit his relative youth. "And was it truly a good thing, the sacrifice they made of this boy not even seventeen? Permit me to doubt it." He turned back to the window. She was exasperated.

She chose to misunderstand. Came closer, stroked the rigid, muscular arm. "You are right, it's difficult. Yet in time it will be forgotten. Come to bed, lovely one. Be at ease. Let me comfort you."

"Thank you, but no. I don't wish to be at ease, or be comforted. Or to forget. Or even to stop suffering. You imbecile! Don't you understand? I don't suffer enough, for this!" He had turned from the window to shout at her, and she saw at last he had been drinking. Something he rarely did. His face was flushed with it, his eyes ready to spill over. And yet, she felt no contempt. Only a horrible sorrow.

"If I stop suffering for thisif I shrug and accept this, as something that must bewhat am I? What the hell can I call myself? Nowon't do it. He was painting. Beautiful stuff. They shattered it, and took him. All their excuses, leading only to hurt and destruction. I won't believe it was for the future betterment of our world. What kind of self-serving crap is that? I could strangle you here and now and claim it was for our future good! Are you a dangerous witch, loved one?" He was facing her now, his hands heavy on her shoulders. His golden eyes were blazing. She had no doubt if she said the wrong word he would raise those hands and strangle her. He was very, very drunk.

It took a moment, before he relaxed, let her coax him into bed. And once there, he was as ardent and sweet as ever. Her young and beautiful lover, a falcon barely fledged. Yet already learning to fly so beautifully.

He was so much himself, so different. Perhaps it was because immortality had taken so long, to accept him. She thought about it, as he finally slept in her arms.

He had nearly died, in passing over. Was thought to have died, as many had. The sickness had consumed him. He had been buried at nineteen, mourned, soon to be forgotten.

And then he returned. Bursting into a family feast, startling everyone. Startling? No, be honest. Totally stunning the entire group. A ragged, bloody, yelling creature, tall and lean and somehow beautiful despite the grave-dirt. The flaming golden eyes, the hair like a mane of bronze around his outraged, handsome face.

"You absolute BASTARDS! I'm ALIVE, gods curse you! And I'm hungry as hell, thirsty as sin! Give me food and drink or ELSE, you morons!!"

And now he had chosen to champion a dead and evil god-child? Well. She would be his solace, in the months to come when he learned to understand that some deaths were necessary.

For her part, she could only be thankful that the menace was quelled. She herself believed in the Prophecy. And it had frightened her more than anything in her long and strange lifetime.

Rhion, too, would learn to be thankful. And she would ask her father tomorrow, if perhaps she could take the young man as an official Chosen Companion. That would please Rhion greatly, distract him from this foolish guilt.

And she must admit it, she had come to wish for the attentiveness she had scorned earlier. Her tamer, more conventional companions had been pleasing her less and less, by contrast.

Her joy would have dimmed considerably if she had felt him stir later in the night. After tossing and turning fitfully for some time, the young man arose and dressed. Gave her untroubled forehead a gentle kiss that spoke "goodbye" as clearly as words, and stepped out into the darkness leaving no further explanation.

She had taught him well, to feign a fashionable detachment. And convinced him far too well, that she wouldn't be at all concerned even if he disappeared from her life entirely.



	Young Lion When she finally dared to confront him, it was almost laughable. He was not angry at her, not at first. Not at all. Her small bit of betrayal, a liaison with a lovely but foolish member of a minor house during the days of his absence---- She wasn't sure, even now, if he had noticed. Though he was the one at first who'd clamored for more commitment as men always did, she had managed to teach him better. Why would she wish formal ties with a mere boy, however powerful the House he came from? He must learn to have a lighter touch, with his loving! He had learned, as she wished. He no longer smothered her with affection. And if rumors held true, he had other thoughts to occupy his mind now anyway. She meant to be distant, truly she did! Not only from her own anger at being ignored, which she admitted was perverse on her part after she had ordered him to cling to her less. The rumors frightened her. Her father had spoken to her, more sternly than was his usual way. Usually, she could love whom she pleased. She was a grown woman and beyond that. Immortal, a princess in her own right. Yet her father had warned her against this man. Not at the beginning of her relationship with him. Only now. He was on the balcony. Staring out to sea, over the bright and turbulent water that foamed at the edge of the world to beat against the bottom of the tower like a gathered army. He had been silent for too long. So, in fact, had she. She went to him. A tall, dark-haired woman in a cloak of peacock feathers. Her hair black as night, not less long than the cloak if less colorful. "Beloved. Will you come inside? The ocean air grows cold." He didn't turn. "Cold? No more than this world grows, woman. I advise you to leave me alone. Cut your losses." "Foolish one." Her voice was soft. "They have told me, what you've done." "Have they?" He did not turn. "That you held him, touched him. Cried for him. Cried for the Evil One. You are truly mad." "Am I?" His voice was as distant as if he were on a different planet. She was stammering, and it annoyed her. There was no reason to stammer! "It-it is good, that they killed him, before he could destroy the world and all that it contained. You suffer too much, and for the wrong being. We should be celebrating!" "Should we? Do I?" He turned swiftly, staring at her as if she was a stranger. The cold smile on the lips that had once inflamed her didn't seem to fit his relative youth. "And was it truly a good thing, the sacrifice they made of this boy not even seventeen? Permit me to doubt it." He turned back to the window. She was exasperated. "You don't even care that half the world is discussing your foolishness!" "I care only for one thing. That I will never forget this." She chose to misunderstand. Came closer, stroked the rigid, muscular arm. "You are right, it's difficult. Yet in time it will be forgotten. Come to bed, lovely one. Be at ease. Let me comfort you." "Thank you, but no. I don't wish to be at ease, or be comforted. Or to forget. Or even to stop suffering. You imbecile! Don't you understand? I don't suffer enough, for this!" He had turned from the window to shout at her, and she saw at last he had been drinking. Something he rarely did. His face was flushed with it, his eyes ready to spill over. And yet, she felt no contempt. Only a horrible sorrow. "If I stop suffering for thisif I shrug and accept this, as something that must bewhat am I? What the hell can I call myself? Nowon't do it. He was painting. Beautiful stuff. They shattered it, and took him. All their excuses, leading only to hurt and destruction. I won't believe it was for the future betterment of our world. What kind of self-serving crap is that? I could strangle you here and now and claim it was for our future good! Are you a dangerous witch, loved one?" He was facing her now, his hands heavy on her shoulders. His golden eyes were blazing. She had no doubt if she said the wrong word he would raise those hands and strangle her. He was very, very drunk. It was somewhat exciting. "Rhion." She spoke his name with the utmost softness. It took a moment, before he relaxed, let her coax him into bed. And once there, he was as ardent and sweet as ever. Her young and beautiful lover, a falcon barely fledged. Yet already learning to fly so beautifully. He truly did care for her. As he cared for many things. And strangely enough, she found it enchanting, rather than a thing to be used. He was so much himself, so different. Perhaps it was because immortality had taken so long, to accept him. She thought about it, as he finally slept in her arms. He had nearly died, in passing over. Was thought to have died, as many had. The sickness had consumed him. He had been buried at nineteen, mourned, soon to be forgotten. And then he returned. Bursting into a family feast, startling everyone. Startling? No, be honest. Totally stunning the entire group. A ragged, bloody, yelling creature, tall and lean and somehow beautiful despite the grave-dirt. The flaming golden eyes, the hair like a mane of bronze around his outraged, handsome face. The voice like a pealing copper gong. And oh, the mouth on him. "You absolute BASTARDS! I'm ALIVE, gods curse you! And I'm hungry as hell, thirsty as sin! Give me food and drink or ELSE, you morons!!" She had loved him from that moment in time. Struggling against it all the while, she loved the foolish loud boy. And now he had chosen to champion a dead and evil god-child? Well. She would be his solace, in the months to come when he learned to understand that some deaths were necessary. For her part, she could only be thankful that the menace was quelled. She herself believed in the Prophecy. And it had frightened her more than anything in her long and strange lifetime. Thank the Elder Gods that the Chosen One was dead. Rhion, too, would learn to be thankful. And she would ask her father tomorrow, if perhaps she could take the young man as an official Chosen Companion. That would please Rhion greatly, distract him from this foolish guilt. And she must admit it, she had come to wish for the attentiveness she had scorned earlier. Her tamer, more conventional companions had been pleasing her less and less, by contrast. It would be such a wonderful surprise for him! The thought of his pleasure comforted her, and she slept. Her joy would have dimmed considerably if she had felt him stir later in the night. After tossing and turning fitfully for some time, the young man arose and dressed. Gave her untroubled forehead a gentle kiss that spoke "goodbye" as clearly as words, and stepped out into the darkness leaving no further explanation. She had taught him well, to feign a fashionable detachment. And convinced him far too well, that she wouldn't be at all concerned even if he disappeared from her life entirely.