A slight shuffle from the bed agitates the bird suddenly and it takes off in fright, dropping the crumb and dropping a much more undesirable glop of unwanted material on the top of a velvet bound journal.

Ffalenn drags his head out from the covers, trying to adjust his crumpled shirt as his eyes focus just blearily across the room. Morning. His small shoulders droop in a sigh as he pulls out his hands to place on the blankets pulled around his short legs.

Lying on her side, Amalia makes only a small sound at the slight shift on the bed behind her back. The dream she was having was much too pleasant to be awakened now. “Stop moving so much or I’ll shove you off” With another groan, she burrows her head further into the covers, dragging a hand over her head to drown out the sounds behind her.

Falennt snorts softly at what Amalia is muttering. He throws the covers off himself and tries to crawl to the edge of the bed, cursing himself for having the bed built /so/ high. In his attempt to get off the bed, Ffalenn catches his foot in a crumpled knot of bedcovers, and promptly, very promptly, falls off the bed with a low, loud thud.

A wince rises from his throat as the boy hits the ground, all the covers getting dragged off Amalia and the bed as he falls.

Amalia’s eyes snap open in a split second. The sounds of something hitting the ground, the voice of a child and then the sudden draft across her bare skin takes any remains of sleep away. Quickly throwing her hands across herself, she rolls onto her stomach to peer over the edge of the bed. Finding the pint sized version of Falennt on the floor, her eyes narrow at him, her vision blurred by tiredness.

“That wasn’t a hint for you to do it yourself you know. Are you alright?” The question comes out quickly she tries to find a way to retrieve the covers from him without appearing rude.

A very visible sulk comes over Ffalenn’s face as he tries to disentangle the knot of bedcovers from his left foot. Face burning with embarrassment, the boy keeps his head bowed, not even wanting to look at Amalia. Finally, his short fingers undo the knot and he drags off the bedsheets, flinging it back onto the bed next to her.

“I should be.” He scowls, his voice just short of being unpleasant. Placing hands on the cold stone floor, he gets up, rubbing at his spine and wincing again at the tender spot that was bruised in the fall.

Amalia pulls the covers around herself as she sits up on the bed, flinging her legs over the side to watch him sulking. Her bare feet touch on the floor for a moment before lowering down beside him to look him over. “I dreamt about you” she murmurs with a soft smile, attempting to remove the angry scowl upon his face.

Her hair falls across her forehead, tangled against her shoulders and back from her sleep. Her eyes begin to clear as the sleep fades from her vision “Did you rest at all?” she asks, wondering at his already foul mood.

“You dreamt about me?” Almost like candy for a bitter bowl of medicine, Ffalenn’s scowl vanishes to be replaced by childish curiosity. “What did you dream about?” He asks, walking away from the bed to his desk, where the mountains of books lay together with stationery and scrolls.

He glances over his shoulder, watching Amalia out of solemn and expectant dark eyes for her answer while his hand reach upwards to try to grab the first book, a journal, off the pile on the table.

Rising once again as he walks back to his desk, she sits on the edge of the bed still cluthing the blankets around her shoulders. “I dreamed of that night at the river, when we danced. You remember that right?” she pauses to look at him, not entirely requiring an answer to her question. “The lights all around us and…” For a brief moment she seems to return to that place without continuing, catching herself as her thoughts began to wander.

At her reminiscence, Ffalenn seems to fall quiet, his features quickly flattening into a strange mask, his expression odd, not happy, not unpleasant. He nods at her briefly before clamping his fingers right atop the journal “I remember that…”

A growl cuts whatever he is going to say as he pulls his hand off with a jerk from the journal, his fingertips stained with specks of still warm white and gray bird dung. “Lords and tides, what is THIS!” His nose wrinkles up face collapsing in disgust as the pungent scent invades his nose.

Slapping a hand over her mouth, Amalia instantly tries to squelch the laughter that would have followed his actions. The features of his face and the obvious contents on his hand. The moment was priceless, her body visibly shaking as she fails miserably to cover her amusement. “Don’t worry” she murmurs between coughing as she chokes on a laugh. “It’ll wash off” Finally she finishes as her eyes begin to water from holding it in.

Muttering to him, Ffalenn glares at her, putting out his dirtied hand in front of him as far away as possible. “I know it will wash off.” He snaps towards Amalia, features wrapped in irritation, obviously not amused by her laughing at him. A child’s pride after all he had, and it was hurt with that embarrassment. He could not really laugh it off himself.

“Why don’t you ..get dressed instead?” He glares at her over his shoulder, almost stalking over to the small corner where a jug of water and a basin is placed atop a wooden rack. “I don’t think it is funny.” He utters under his breath, trying to use his clean hand to push the heavy jug and nearly topples the container.

“I assure you, it would be quite humorous if you weren’t so intent on being a crab” she retorts, stretching out upon the bed and lifting her toes out before her. She makes no move to dress simply because of his bitter response, reminded of his ordering the night before.

His own foul mood seemed to be inching it way toward her though. Upon awakening, she’d forgotten the flare of her anger previously, She watches him silently try to use the jug to clean himself and grins yet again. “Or perhaps taking a joke as it is instead of a personal insult.”

Her rather subtle chiding seemed to annoy him more, biting at his esteem and rather raised his ire. Sore with that prick at his pride, Ffalenn refuses to reply, only giving her a very cold glare as he gives up on trying to move the water jug.

Snatching the cloth from the hook above the rack, the boy tries to wipe off as much of the stains as possible. Some of it does come off, but his fingers are still coated with a chalky white.

“It would help if you know when to stop making those comments of yours.” He says darkly, rolling the cloth into a ball to be burnt later or thrown away, and walks away from the rack, the tone of his voice rather insolent, and much like a spoilt nobleman’s son.

Silently, she rises from the bed and moves to where Ffalenn departed. Retrieving a clean, dry cloth, she holds it under the jug as she pours water into the basin. Still she says nothing, wringing the water from the cloth before turning to stare at the boy and his temper.

Departing from the table, she calmly places the damp cloth within his hand, not looking at him as she does so and moves to her now dry clothing. “When I am in need of a father, I will heed your words, but not before then” she remarks dryly, sliding into her clothing and tugging her dark locks from inside the material.

The wetness of the damp cloth Amalia placed into his hands made Ffalenn blink slightly, his mouth twitching. Somehow, he does not know how to respond to that, that little act of caring even when he did not show appreciation of her remarks.

Suddenly, the boy feels a tightness around his chest and he wonders where it is from and why it is there. Chewing on his lower lip and not making a sound, Ffalenn slowly cleans his hand, moving from finger to finger till the chalkiness coming off the skin easily. Then he stops at one finger, the one where a raven-dark ring encircles almost protectively around it.

Silly child’s pride again, his inner mind says. But he refuses to apologize or say thank you. Instead the cloth is unceremoniously returned back to the rack quickly and he walks to his desk, pretending to find another book.

Amalia continues in silence as she dresses, smoothing out her gown and disentangling her locks as best she can.. She would not stand for his ordering her about, all he had to do was ask for help she thinks silently. They’d shared enough that she couldn’t fathom his refusal at her presence or the issue of his pride.

The horrible feeling in her stomach didn’t make matters any easier. Placing a hand over her abdomen, she glances at him only briefly over her shoulder before moving with quick steps to the open window, taking deep breaths with her eyes closed.

“Are you going to go home today?” Ffalenn’s small voice breaks the silence, the fey quality of it clear in its childish lilt. He has managed to seat himself on the high backed chair, perching precariously on one arm with a rolled up map in one hand.

He eyes her for a moment before his eyes finally discovers the reason that attracted the culprit that defiled his journal – a plate of half eaten cookies he had brought up the night before while he worked through the night and felt hungry.

Amalia back stiffens as his voice carries to her ears. She’s of half a mind to called a spoiled rotten child, uncaring as he seemed to anything aside from the contents of his desk. “Yes” she snaps at him, still clutching her stomach as she feels a wave of nausea overcome her.

“Perhaps I should ask your permission first?” she comments over her shoulder, a sarcastic arch of her eyebrow the only indication of her annoyance at him. “I have things to attend to before I go anywhere” Speaking slowly, she rests against the sill f the window, still staring outward.

Sucking in a breath, Ffalenn makes a rather derisive snort as he flings the map back onto the desk, the scroll bouncing over the quill stuck in the inkpot and upsetting the entire holder, the dark liquid spilling out onto the desk. “No, you don’t need my permission.” He replies, each word pinched with equal sarcasm, definitely leading to a tantrum that will not be checked.

The boy clenches his jaw together, hands grasping the fallen inkpot and setting it upright, but rather too late to rescue the sheaves of parchment he had worked over last night. “In fact, you can leave whenever you want to. I don’t exactly care.” Ffalenn continues savagely, pulling up the parchment and crushing each and every vellum into a dirty ink blotted ball.

Amalia glances over her shoulder soon enough to notice yet another mishap, the inkpot falling over onto his papers. With a smirk, she turns away from the mirror, “Not quite as graceful at 4 feet tall I see” she begins, her tone cold. It hurt to hear him say he didn’t care.

With narrowed eyes, she pushes off from the sill, holding herself as straight as she possibly could. Frowning, she realizes her cloak had been left elsewhere which only peaks her already growing temper. “Since you seem to be managing so beautifully, I won’t darken your space any longer”

“Go if you want to then.” Ffalenn replies back immediately, not even wanting to bow down to her although the pain in his chest gripes his heart so tight he could hardly get those words out. Yet pride forced them out and he clamps his mouth shut after saying it.

Ignoring her, Ffalenn turns his attention to trying to rescue the rest of the unstained parchments, those with invocations and spells he intended to show to Rowanne upon bringing Amalia to her. He stares at them; is there a need now even for that now, he thinks, starting to feel upset at himself for not holding his tongue back again. Though this time, the whip that would lash his back is not physical.

Fuming visibly, she couldn’t take his obvious disregard toward her. “Oh, I will… but not before I share a few things with you.” she begins, turning eyes blazing with anger at him. “Anyone in their right mind now would spank you right out of your ten year old body! I won’t stand for it Falennt, not your ordering or your obvious brush offs when I’m near you. I can’t bare that from you”

Coming to his desk, she places both palms upon it, “I don’t care if you are 12, 20, or 75! That isn’t why I stay and if you can’t understand my reasons then I’ll leave you to your self inflicted torment in peace!” Stepping back again, she heads for the door.

Ffalenn stares at Amalia as she approaches him, her hands upon the desk and her flaring up at him. His face pales immediately, the fright in his face clear in the widened black eyes and half-open mouth and the slight shudder that ran down his spine at each of her every word stabbing like sharp swords through his ears.

Trembling, the boy ignores his parchment and draws his hands into fists, balling them up and he huddles to himself, the first trickle of tears wetting the too large sleeves that cover his fingers.

Pausing before the doorway, she starts to turn to say something else before departing and stops instantly as she sees him huddled in his chair. “Falennt” she whispers, her temper already feeling like a stone in her stomach filling her with regret.

With a sigh, she lowers her hand from where it would have reached for the door. Moving back to the desk, she kneels before him huddled into his oversized shirt. “This is all horribly my fault, can’t you see that it pains me to see you struggle?”

A choked sucking in of air is her only reply as Ffalenn refuses to look up, his hands moving quickly over his face to wipe away any trace of tears and wetness.

When he finally lifts his head, his cheeks are scrubbed sore and the skin below his large eyes is a little puffed from the sudden crying, and there is a few smudges of ink on his nose. “Not your fault, not anyone’s fault.” He says gruffily, still not apologizing even, though he knew a sorry uttered might just make a whole lot of difference. Yet he still does not do it.

malia slowly lifts her hand to brush away the ink from his face, uncaring if he pulls away from her. If only she could make this easier on him somehow, what that would be however she had no idea. “Why are you shutting me out Falennt, when you can feel so freely this way? I see it now where I couldn’t before” She wanted to tell him more, but couldn’t seem to find the words to say to sooth her hurtful comments. The guilt though at his present state was written across her features.

Ffalenn’s small fingers clutch around Amalia’s own, drawing that hand down to rest on his upturned knees. He opens up her fingers, tracing his over hers and touching the aquamarine ring she wears.

“I don’t know.” He replies in that lackadaisical and usual child’s manner, leveling his eyes with her now, his dark orbs filled with sadness though he is not ready to cry again. “I…” He seems to struggle with what he wants to say before dropping her hand from his.

Reaching just slightly towards the top drawer of his desk, Ffalenn picks out a small key from the mess and assortment inside. “I will show you something.” Perhaps reading it, she might understand. Fitting that key into the lock of the second drawer, he opens it, taking out a small, tattered book.

Amalia bows her head slightly as he takes her hand. His response didn’t surprise her but still she seemed to take some meaning from his own struggle at saying what he meant. Upon his words though, she lifts her head again to watch him. She could only wonder at what he’d possibly want to share with her in spite of the conflict they faced mere moments ago.

Ffalenn holds the book in his hands almost tenderly, like it is something extremely precious to him. He shows it to Amalia – upon the worn velvet cover of it is marked the name in rather gaudy flowing script ‘Ffalenn Auurye Sariene’.

“My journal.” He says thickly, pushing the book into her hands and does not say anything more then just that. He fumbles a little though, a small bookmark falling out of the pages – a rather badly made one with a too colorful drawing of flowers on it, obviously done by a child’s hand.

Upon her outstretched hands, Amalia knew she held something very dear to the boy before her. His life… his past, a place where she had no knowledge or understanding. Her eyes lock upon him, not seeing the vision of a ten year old boy, but the picture of a man she’d come to admire more than she’d ever admit.

Amalia’s angered words previously dissipate at the opportunity he currently presented to her. Holding the book close to her, she can’t even begin to realize what she will find within its pages.

The hand that draws away from hers and that slowly breaks out of the water’s surface is a child’s hand, a sleeve soaking wet and covering it. Ffalenn’s head pokes out of the water, his large, round eyes, black like a petrel’s wings, staring at Amalia, childish mouth open now.

‘Tides…’ The silver haired boy shakes his curls out from his eyes, one small hand pushing away the plastered hair about his forehead. The black sleeve hangs from his hand, as he flounders towards the edge of the pool.

Amalia blinks at the child as he emerges from the water. Her brows furrow in confusion as she turns, looking over the expanse of the pool. She scans also, into the water thinking Falennt may still be beneath. Slowly, her gaze rises and eyes the boy cautiously, her eyes narrowing.

Where is Falennt?” she asks darkly, her eyes following him to the edge of the pool. His clothes hanging from his small form, curling silver hair… what on earth was going on?

Dragging himself up, Ffalenn finally manages to seat himself on the ledge of the pool, the over-large clothing worn by Falennt hanging on his small body. He bows his head, shaking visibly, his boy’s hands curling into tiny fists. His feet are bare, the boots obviously lost to the deep water.

Irately, the boy looks up. ‘Get yourself out of the water, ‘arna. Now.’ He stares at her again, eyes narrowing like Falennt would do, though his voice softens just lightly. ‘Just come out of the water, now.’

Staring blankly at the boy as he calls her ‘arna, Amalia wades to the edge of the pool. Unable to believe she’s following the orders of a child, his words were too like Falennt’s not to comply. “Speaking to me that way, I will assume that you /are/ Falennt” she mutters, yet not entirely willing to believe it. Amalia rises from the side of the pool to sit beside the shivering boy. Her eyes looking over him, unsure if she should grin or be appalled.

Prickled, Ffalenn glares right at her out of one dark eye as the other was covered by a mess of sopping wet silver curls. Escaping this child’s face is a myriad of exposed emotions never seen on Falennt’s own cold, indifferent mask.

The ten year old pulls up his hand, splaying his fingers to show Amalia the ring still tight on one – the dark ebony ring of her raven tresses. ‘And I believe I know why this happened.’ A growl, unchecked, crawls from his throat.

Amalia continues to just stare at the boy. His words sounding odd come from the smaller voice. The ring further proves what she did not want to believe moments ago – that this was the child version of Falennt. Taking the moment to let it sink in, she watches the features of his face change with emotion. “How on earth would something like this happen?” she asks, noting his anger.

‘How on earth. How in Tides…even.’ A smirk slowly tracks its way over Ffalenn’s childish face, his black eyes darkening as his gaze fixes onto her. ‘You wear my ring, a protection against the former curse set upon by the Ice Lords, that if I allow myself to feel too much, I will become this weak, and helpless child I am now.’

He tries to get up, wet clothes and all and he fails, toppling right down again onto the flagstones, making swaths of watery stains on the floor. ‘I have no idea how to reverse this right now.’ The boy mutters, pulling at his sodden sleeves and trying to fold them back.

Amalia moves forward as he falls, the protective gesture that usually overcomes her with children setting in. As he speaks, she helps him roll his clothing over his hands and feet so he may better move around. The ring he refers to shows upon her finger as she moves. “I did this to you then?” she whispers, her features turning dark as she mutters under her breath. “I never want to cause you pain and yet that is all I do”

Ffalenn’s small face upturns, his large eyes watching her now – the alien dragonesque slits of silver and obsidian missing from his black eyes. ‘Just..no, I did it to myself. I do know it will happen.’ He watches her fold up his clothing and he sneezes, silver curls flying violently at the action. ”arna.’ He rises now, grasping tightly onto the wet folds of her gown, his height now barely even reaching her elbow. ‘Let’s go back up, you will get cold.’

Oddly as a child, Ffalenn seemed more affectionate, less controlled, and a shivering smile overcomes his lips, though he snags the large heavy black cloak on the ground, handing its end to her. ‘Put this over yourself.’

Amalia grins slightly and nearly laughs at the situation. Child-lover comes to mind as she looks down at him holding the cloak. She holds in her mirth however, feeling he might not appreciate her amusement. Taking the cloak from his fingers, she wraps it about her own wet torso. Lowering her hand to take his, she notes his continued shivers “I think it may be you that freezes before we get back, let’s go quickly”

Another muffled sneeze from Ffalenn ascertains Amalia’s words and his small hand slips into hers, clutching it tightly. ‘I doubt I have any child’s clothing. We might have to cut some to size.’ He mutters, lifting a hand to attempt to conjure some light, expecting to see none but to his surprise, the firefly orbs flicker out brightly, even brighter then he could invoke as an adult.

Pondering over the strangeness of his magic now, Ffalenn shrugs it aside first. Getting warm and a new set of clothes are the first priority in his child’s mind, and perhaps a warm bowl of soup or a maple candy after it.

On a path heading toward the tower, Amalia’s steps are unrushed as she makes her way past a cluster of trees. Their branches, growing outward, sway and a gentle breeze flows through her locks as her eyes discern the doorway to Falennt’s chambers in the fading light. Pulling the door open, she pauses briefly to listen for the sounds of someone within, her head tilted to one side.

In the candlelit chambers, a small bowl of rose essence is set to warm upon a small flame, filling the room with a faint flowery scent. Books lay piled atop Falennt’s large desk, sheaves stuck in between them to mark out important pages. A dry quill lies next to a silver inkwell, cutting across a half-written scroll.

The Archmage himself is not at the desk, instead he is seated on the sill of a open window, watching the night sky with a cold, detached expression, a book open on his knee and the thin ebony silk curtain fluttering behind him. At the sound of the door creaking, he turns, eyes blinking silver in the half-darkness.

The door is pulled shut behind the Elohai, making as little sound as possible within the chambers should he already be asleep. She doubted it however, the hours he kept were unusual to her at times. The cool air from outside almost makes her wish she’d remembered her robes as the chill clings to her frame. Her steps echo softly on the stairs, her fingers clutching the edge of her gown.

Coming through the second doorway, the arrangement of items across his desk and the sway of the curtain at the window direct her eye to the figure resting there. “I hope I am not disturbing you” she offers, noting that he appeared to be doing something.

Falennt glances up and at her from where he is seated. Tossing the book aside to let it rest on the sill’s ledge, he rises, the tails of his shirt crumpled from too long seating on the sill.

Circling the desk, Falennt takes a barely interested glance at the work he had been doing earlier before lifting that gaze to her. ‘How have you been?’ He stays where he is, leaning just against the desk now to watch her, the dark irises of his eyes rapidly contracting.

Amalia smiles softly at the question. Even in times when they spend the day apart from each other, they inevitably come back together. “I am well of course,” she begins with a smile. “The people here seem to keep me occupied, away from your… guest” she refers to Jhethen.

Moving further within the room, the familiar scent of roses draws her closer toward Falennt. Her eyes fall upon the desk again, the parchment and books seem to take her interest for a moment, “And you? Again, I don’t want to interrupt if you’re busy.”

A soft sound emits from Falennt’s throat on mention of Jhethen. ‘He is well taken care of here – and will be looked after till he’s fit..for his trial.’

At her approach, he stiffens a little before snatching up the quill from where it laid. ‘I am not busy.’ He murmurs, dropping the quill back into its inkwell. ‘Just the night is being spent to finish up the components needed to retrieve your memory.’

Amalia lifts a single eyebrow curiously as her eyes are drawn up to him once again. “Oh?” How long would a tension remain at her nearness she wonders idly. Her gaze seems to hold his for minutes in silence, hands move over her arms to smooth away her chill.

“How is that coming?” she asks, not daring to hope that he’d actually found something to help her. She’d spent quite some time in the dark about her time within Iniquity. Her eyes however, hold a sliver of optimism as she watches Falennt.

As if to ring true her thoughts, for the ache in his heart can’t be denied, Falennt widens his arms towards her – a open embrace, the light of the chamber flickering metallic sheens upon the two rings he wears on his fingers. ”arna, come here, before we talk of anything else.’

The command seems voiced more as a timid request, suddenly laced with a hint of desperation in the slight waver of his timbre, a fear of something that is soon to come. The clench in his jaw is apparent, need and pain and the thorns of the pentagram at his throat, writhing into the muscles beneath it.

Amalia hesitates for a moment, the invite of his arms and the steeling of himself against it brings a moment of doubt to her features. She hated the pain that came to him in her company. To deny his offer however, would be far worse she assumes.

Taking the few steps to approach him, her own arms open as she moves into his arms. “I always miss this during the day” she whispers as she in turn embraces him, her fingers curling into the hair at his neck. The warmth of his frame sends any remaining chill from her body.

Falennt balks slightly at her touch, relief settling in, mingling with the onset of the pain now rushing through every fibre of his body, his heart, his mind. His embrace tightens, just a little careful not to press himself against the growing largeness of her stomach. But he does not kiss yet, and he draws away, watching her visage with eyes contracting to feather-thin dark slits.

‘There is one way, a way where we can travel by water; to have your memory back.’ His fingers curl upon her shoulder, tugging at raven tresses. ‘It will not be easy, we will have to contain the memory somehow once we retrieve it, if not it will slip away.’

Amalia takes a moment to consider the words he speaks to her, the possibility that it could become reality instead of a wish slides slowly over her features – expectant and hopeful. “An object of some sort perhaps?

Brushing away locks from her cheek that strayed with his tugging, she looks up at him curiously. “You also say it will not be easy..” she muses more for herself than him. Her arms cross over her chest as she grows silent, turning away slightly to offer her profile.

Falennt closes his eyes momentarily, options fleeting past his mind and etching the tiniest of frown on his brow as he selects and casts aside options. A soft quirk of his eyebrow signals his making of a decision and his fingers lightly brush at her cheek.

‘A pool of water should do.’ He blinks slowly, glancing away from Amalia now. There is one, right in the chamber below this. An old bath chamber was housed there.’

Amalia takes a moments comfort in his touch again, closing her eyes briefly. She hadn’t taken notice of anything below this room and her eyes open again at his news. Not entirely sure how his method is intended to work out, she simply nods. “I trust you then.”

Pausing for a moment, she considers all that he’s done for her already and what is about to take place as well. Her eyes move over him briefly before planting the slightest kiss to his cheek. “I’m not entirely sure I deserve your help.” Who knows what they may find locked within her memory..

Falennt’s eyes flicker just faintly at the touch of her lips. Then he steps away, not offering a kiss in return, and he pulls up his cloak that he has draped onto the high-backed chair by the desk, throwing it around his shoulders. ‘The chamber has been walled in from the outside; but there’s a way to get in from here.’

Moving towards an open space in the chamber where a few stained flagstones have been arranged and interlocked in an odd manner, the Archmage crouches down, pushing just gently on the surface till it gave way, groaning as the entire slab moves underneath itself to reveal an opening, a stairway into the darkness below.

Amalia gawks slightly at she watches him, wondering why he had not used this area before in her presence. “How very convenient” she utters, attempting to look into the dark expanse revealed there. Stepping back slightly, she shakes her head.

“I have a feeling ‘ladies first’ should not apply here” she speaks softly, nodding toward the entryway and giving no indication that she is going to move toward those steps first. A half grin forms on her lips as she eyes Falennt patiently.

Falennt laughs, finding humor in her words, though it is quick to dissipate. ‘I will light the way.’ He gets to his feet and paces back to his desk, picking up a short dagger, and another dark velvet bag.

‘Come, behind me.’ Orbs of faerie light appear before Falennt with a silent flick of fingers, brightening up the darkness of the newel. ‘It was dug by magic, by that Dhachaigh to enter this place without being seen by his lover’s father.’

That, person being.. the former mage student who used to work here when I was apprentice.’ Falennt grins over his shoulder before descending into the stairway, the soft light showing each worn stone step clearly to her and him.

Amalia laughs softly. “Sounds rather romantic” she responds, a tinge of humor in her voice as she moves behind Falennt. Taking the steps as he departs them in front of her, his story remains in her thoughts. It holds the grin in place, the light softening the features of Archmage and Speaker.

“I suppose this would be an adventure in another situation” she continues to speak in a hushed tone. Her eyes scan over the stairway where light shines upon the stone so as not to stare continuously at Falennt’s back the entire time.

‘Romantic, perhaps.’ Falennt replies, his flat voice floating back to hers as he continues downwards, the chink of the silver buckles on his boots sounding with each thud of his boots on the steps. ‘I thought he was a fool to waste his magic for such menial things. It appears I have to laugh at myself now.’

He steps down the last of the steps, the orbs fleeing before him to light the chamber, surging ahead like frantic fireflies. The interior is bare, the windows formerly shrouded with translucent linen and silk are now closed and boxed shut. The air is stale, reminiscent of old ghosts and hauntings. The orbs of light are just sufficient to show a bath pool built with stone blocks and marble – a sloping depression with a shallow front and a deep end. Once it held water clear and cool, bubbling from the dragon’s mouth fountain in the middle of it. And now, it is empty of course, the dragon’s sapphire eyes brightly reflecting the faerie light.

Amalia seems somewhat taken aback by the response given. She supposed she shouldn’t be, such acts of affection weren’t easily obtained and his demeanor seemed more stand-offish today. She sidesteps Falennt, moving further into the room as she curiously inspects her surroundings.

With fingers holding her gown up from the floor, she turns and with a light grin she fixes her gaze upon him from beside the empty bath. “Perhaps water would have been a good idea.” She teases, though has a feeling it will be supplied regardless.

Dragging off his cloak, Falennt grins, crouching down by the side of the empty pool, the light orbs moving with him. ‘Water, definitely. It will serve to hold your memory when we find it.’ He places a hand onto the edge of the pool, and leaps into the depression’s deep end. Once filled, the level of water will come up to his waist.

‘Wait there at the edge first, ‘arna. Sit down if you like.’ He glances at her, his mouth tilted to a half-crescent. It is easier to shower affection if he’s not that near to her. Though he feared a little the next step to this.

Amalia nods as she complies without question, seating herself beside the pool, her gown settling around her again. Her fingers rest upon the cool surface of the stones, watching him within. Lowering her eyebrows for a moment as she considers the task before them.

“In searching for lost memories will you…be able to see.. other memories?” she asks suddenly. Chewing her lip, her features seem to clear to show an expression of casual conversation.

After he’s satisfied with her being comfortable, the Archmage moves forth across the empty pool towards the mouth of the dragon, his fingers flexing before his hands are placed upon its eyes. At her question, he glances back.

‘Other memories?’ Falennt’s jaw twitches slightly, a muscle jerking. ‘If they are threaded with the ones that are lost – most probably, or those you try to hide consciously while this is going on.’

Falennt returns to his task, twisting his lips inwards as his fingers claw against the sapphire eyes, each individual digit breaking through the jewel’s surface and reaching inside.

Leaning back against her hands, she considers his words. There would be things she’d rather spare him seeing but to openly hide them would defeat that purpose. “Thank you” she utters softly to his response, finding it quite useful.

Pushing away further thoughts of past events, she concentrates on his movements, watching him closely. Without intending to, she finds herself scanning her eyes over the entirety of his frame.

Water gushes suddenly out from the mouth of the dragon, spilling over ancient rock surfaces and staining them wet immediately. The liquid rushes forth, swirling around Falennt’s boots, soaking through his clothing and skin. It continues to rise, and oddly the air in the room becomes staler, perhaps a little harder to breathe even.

The water level ascends until waves finally lap against the edge of the deepest end before the permulations stop and the water surface smoothens briefly to be broken into tiny crests again with the Archmage’s movement through it. ‘Come into the water, ‘arna and stay where you are.’

Amalia moves her legs out from beneath her and swings them over the edge of the pool. Her feet slide into the water first before she lowers the rest of herself into the water.

A small sound is made at the back of Amalia’s throat. Her gown now soaked through up to her waist, she takes care to keep the material from tangling around her legs. The fabric molds against her skin. She ignores it however and looks expectantly toward Falennt, awaiting the rest of his instructions. “Not quite like the bath I’d imagined”

From the ledge where he left the pouch and the small dagger, Falennt picks up the weapon, dragging the scabbard off before brushing it over his fingers, the pressure enough drawing a long, continuous wound across the fingertips. Blood wells immediately, emerald tinged with darker crimson and hints of silver.

‘Not quite a proper bath.’ He replies to her, wading close to face his lover and his arm swings in a fluid arc, flicking the blood in a circle around them, a protective ring. The droplets float upon the water’s shimmering surface quickly before descending downwards, liquid merging with liquid though a faint silver halo gleams immediately around the two of them.

Amalia winces visibly as he drags the blade over his fingertips and he draws near to her. His blood.. she wonders but does not ask right then, the appearance of the circle around them catching her attention before she could voice the question.

Turning her eyes away from it, she glances up to Falennt. “Perhaps telling me what’s happening would help” she murmurs, finding his previous gesture unusual and suddenly feels very unprepared. This was not her way of magic.

‘Go into the water now, and breathe it, do not worry of it, you will not drown. Close your eyes, I will take your hands.’ And promised, he does so. Taking her hands, Falennt’s silvery head vanishes beneath the water’s surface, the protective ethereal gleam hovering around them still.

Appearing apprehensive about the breathing part, she still closes her eyes and, taking a breath, follows his actions. Through the material of her gown floating around her frame, she feels his hands holding hers. In a brief moment of doubting trust , she does as he told her and opens her mouth to breath.

Within the confines of the water that is slowly warming to the temperature of their bodies, the liquid swirls and licks, soaking itself into their bodies. ‘Now dream, ‘arna, from Eldestra’s fires, go back, back to the white drowess we met, and before that.’ Falennt murmurs, his voice like a myriad of soft bubbles floating outwards touch her cheek, the water currents surging to twine around Amalia now, pulling her along their route.

Amalia keeps her eyes closed under the water, his voice still sounding close to her. As he speaks to her of things in her past, the memories come to life within her mind, reliving them for seconds before going further back.

The drowess coming upon her on the bank, her travels before then. Her first meeting with Falennt fills her thoughts and then her stay within the home of her Archmage. Pushing past all of these things as if walking through a dream, she seems to float along a timeline of her life.

Falennt’s voice sound suddenly through towards Amalia now, no more slicing through water, but through air, a chill, cold air, like that in the deepest caverns imaginable. ‘Open your eyes now, ‘arna, now look around.’ The water flees from both Archmage and Speaker and they stand, undrenched, dry, within a chamber an aristocrat would stay. Colorless though, the trappings of finery are still visible in shades of grey, a lavish bed, plates of strong-smelling food upon the ground and a figure of a woman, hooded in shadow, captured in chains near it.

Amalia squeezes the hands grasping her own. She hears his words, but now as the thought of seeing what took place before the riverbank on which she was found, a hesitation overcomes her. This was what she wanted…

Her eyes open, blinking a few times as she takes in where they’ve seemed to pause. This was not her memory, she was sure of it.. yet the woman huddled at the foot of the bed seemed to catch something within her thoughts. She knew the hunger the woman felt, the pain in her own stomach at the smell of the plate, put there to temp her… but where was she? Just as the thought occurs, the room shifts and more figures begin to appear.

Before them, three other figures surround the chained woman. She now stands with one man pushing his cane against her bindings, attempting to force her to bow before the figure of Veltheera, The second man merely watches from behind the woman.

Watching impassively by her side at the figures enrobed in shades of grey and black, Falennt’s lips thins into a grim line. Perhaps it is not what he expected and he sought to keep his expression nonchalant as the scenario continues to unfold – and he is certain he knows the woman who is chained upon the ground. He says nothing, and he just waits as the figures move, mouths opening to talk.

The woman’s head suddenly jerks to one side as she is struck across the face. Amalia lifts her own hand to her cheek, reliving the experience from the outside. As the female rises once again she speaks “The only bowing I will do willingly will be to kneel over your grave before I spit on it.”

Her face is obscured from view but upon hearing the voice, Amalia knows instinctively that it is her own. Veltheera pushes the dark hair out of Amalia’s eyes as she speaks, the red welt now showing upon her cheek.

“If it is a child the Goddess wishes from me, I will grant her that, but perhaps… perhaps you will be the one to carry it for me.. ” the words echo within the room as she is finally forced to her knees by Phalar into a bow.

A slow quirk of silver eyebrows announces Falennt’s seeming displeasure at witnessing this scene – of the humiliation and what is being said to the chained Amalia, the colorless creature of her memory.

Thoughts merged through his mind, piecing the broken puzzle together as each forceful, malevolent word spills from the tiny drow woman’s dark lips. But the Archmage says nothing, speaks nothing, his disapproval already brimming into eyes contracting to obsidian black slits.

Amalia herself begins to grasp the meaning of the drowess’ words. A hand moves over the growing child within her. Her free hand still clutches Falennts, squeezing hard enough to cut off her circulation as she watches Phalar drag her figure across the floor by her chains into his bedchamber.

The events blur as she’s chained to the foot of the bed. The voices mingling together until the picture clears again. The plate of food seen previously is thrown against the bed where Phalar lies, the vision of Amalia furious as she yells at him, tears falling upon her cheeks. “You’re a bastard, a heathen, beat me if you will but I will not be a common whore or a slave!”

Just as the words are out, Amalia closes her eyes again and they are then standing upon a beach, trees lining the shore.

Blinking quickly as the scenes change their focus, Falennt relaxes his hold slightly on Amalia’s hand, not releasing it though, the anger churning within his heart is eminent, the sudden frown on his face evident of it.

The words emitted by her and the face of Phalar, he will remember, but now a slight curiosity overtakes the fury he tried to keep check within himself and he glances about the beach, wondering if it is part of a lost memory too.

Arriving upon the beach is Amalia again, accompanied by a man with dark dreadlocks and showing every appearance of a pirate. His demeanor and grin are already familiar to Amalia, this memory however is not and she watches as they walk toward them at the tree line.

They pause suddenly and the pirate, Rastan, seems to become excited by something. With a whisper and a shake of her head she refuses as he asks her to stay with him. “You know I can’t do that.” More words are exchanged between them. Amalia begins to shift beside Falennt, unsure of what to expect, but knowing this memory must hold some meaning. Just as the thought is out, Rastan is chained to a tree, Amalia’s figure pulling away from what might have been a kiss.

At the sight and scene before him – of Amalia and the pirate and the rather laughable trick she played upon the poor man, Falennt’s frame shudders a little, perhaps taking a choice whether to mirth at the plight of the pirate or accumulate some other feelings regarding this rather …private memory of hers.

A muted snicker is heard from him, a soft one, wordless but meaning wove into it the moment his fingers laced tightly into hers, possessing her hands as the other Amalia in her memory walked away from the chained pirate.

“Well done Amalia, I was worried the Pirate might cause a problem.” Phalar’s voice slides from the shadows of the forest as both pirate and woman in the memory gawk at him coming from the forest.

Confusion and words of repayment issue from the figures here, “..Mr. Myantre is under the impression that I require gold for my services while I am here to collect something priceless.” Upon those words, Amalia begins to depart.

Just as quickly, Amalia watches her figure turn her back upon the drow. Her fingers curl tightly around Falennt’s as Phalar lifts his cane and strikes the woman, knocking her unconscious. Both Amalia and Falennt are left in momentary darkness.

The moment the darkness sweeps in, the water currents return, buoying them upwards from the bottom of the pool, pushing their heads up into the surface. The silvery halo that served to protect winked out, vanishing. The pool’s surface crests at the surface, breaking and wavering.

“Lord Falennt” she calls out as she moves into the gardens, “I come on the behalf of Lady Minna, her presence was needed elsewhere as King of the Castle” there is a hint of teasing laughter lingering upon her words.

‘Minna?’ Falennt’s voice comes floating back to her as he steps away from the wall, pulling down an obstructing leafy bough between him and Amalia. He falls quiet, watching her for a long moment, as if he’s searching for something or evidence she might possibly had taken his words to heart and slayed Jhethen.
He steps onto the path, looking directly at Amalia now, his eyes blinking slowly. ‘Where did you meet her?’

Amalia can’t help but smile at the sight of Falennt. Her mood is much different from the anger she’d barely held in check previously when they were together. Not giving thought to this until now, she pauses before speaking, her eyes searching upward to his own.

“I met her near the infirmary where Jhethen remains, miserable in his current state as he should be.” Amalia chews her lip for a moment, one corner of her mouth turning downward. “Miss Minna however is very fearful of you yelling at her.” she murmurs softly.

Somewhat satisfied there is no stain of blood on herself and the way she’s acting, Falennt’s pensiveness weathers away, though the clench of jaw muscles prove truth to the ever present pain. Yet he moves closer, the edges of his cloak swishing to touch the edges of Amalia’s robes.

‘Why would she be afraid?’ He asks of her, tilting his head now, the question of genuine curiosity.

Well, as it would so happen, the poor child was attacked by a very large rock. Massive in fact” she begins in a very serious manner as if her words were completely true. Lifting her hands into the air to show just how big, she animates her story further.

“A book, that I am sure belongs to you, was damaged however, I had hoped you would have mercy on her.” she ends her story with a hopeful gaze and appears truly sorry for the mishap.

‘A large rock.’ Falennt repeats as Amalia describes the situation to him, nodding as she continues on. He chuckles as she ends her tale, not a bad storyteller she is though as he seems to fall into mock contemplation, pulling his hands behind his

The Archmage dips his head once towards the Speaker. ‘Thank you for informing me, Lady Amalia, I will show utmost mercy on her then.’ And he straightens, eyes falling on her form, and their silvered visage reflecting a faint wistful look.

Amalia lets out an exaggerated breath upon his words. “You’ve saved my good word today” Unable to suppress the grin that had threatened to appear during her tall tale, she moves closer. She can feel the calming warmth of him enfold her as she draws near.

“I also have it on good authority, a promise if you will, that she will take the greatest care from now on.” Rising slightly on her toes, she kisses his cheek in thanks, lingering perhaps longer than necessary.

Falennt allows the kiss upon the cheek, not flinching away though now his eyes wander down Amalia’s form, noting the growth of that strange child within her. His lips twitch and he tears his gaze away from it, a silent preoccupation coming over him.

‘Children are precious, aren’t they?’ He asks abruptly, drawing his eyes to meet hers again, their pupils thinned to draconian slits.

Amalia pulls away from Falennt yet still remains within the warmth emanating from his body. She couldn’t help but note where his gaze faltered briefly. No one but him had the ability to see it’s growth aside from herself and she found this disheartening.

“Most of them are very precious indeed” she responds lightly, seeming to find a great interest in the blooms gathered behind Falennt’s head. Tucking strands of hair behind her ear, she forces an appearance of casual indifference. “You don’t think so?”

Falennt shifts his position, turning to view the blossoms behind as well, inhaling slightly. ‘I have grown to love some of them, admittedly.’ He glances at her, pausing, the words of confession serious in their timbre and expressed in his features.

‘In fact, I have grown close to most of the children who had sought refuge in this place, ‘arna.’ Falennt tilts his glance back to Amalia, the afternoon sun now finally descending upon its course towards the west to set, the rays of light long and deep golden, casting both their faces into a burnished sheen, like ethereal halos wreathing their heads.

‘But the one that you have, what is your decision?’ Relentless, he still pursues the question, knowing perhaps she might had an epiphany prior to their meeting.

Amalia had guessed this question would come up once again during her stay here. Evidence that she was indeed with child was now showing every time she saw her reflection. Chewing her lip for a moment, she considers the question carefully before responding.

“The child had no choice on where it would be carried, nor was there a choice as to its making.” she begins, finding that she mulls out her own thoughts as she speaks. “The child will be born” she states plainly, her own concerns remaining silent within her own thoughts.

A plain answer, but it seems to satisfy Falennt somewhat. Now that at least there’s a decision, another path can be made. ‘Shall I remove the illusion then?’ He asks quietly, eyes searching her face.

Amalia’s eyes widen as she tilts her head up toward Falennt. “Good heavens, no” she responds quickly. “I cannot bring myself to kill what is innocent but the knowledge that this is my child must remain as is it now” Her eyes search his as well, looking for some sign of disapproval.

“Nor will the drow know that a child of theirs was born by me either” she murmurs softly, already having an idea of where the child will be placed to grow without the burden of her heritage for some time to come.

There is no sign of disapproval, only a gentle nod at her words. ‘We will have find a way to let the child be born as soon as possible, to minimize discovery.’ Falennt replies now, his hand reaching to seek Amalia’s. ‘Come to the rose briar, ‘arna.’

Amalia allows Falennt to take her hand, guiding her toward the cascading vines and rose buds still thriving upon the wall. She appears fascinated by his response, this man who had previously agreed with her to get rid of it showed now signs of upset at her words now.

“If that’s possible…” she begins, her eyes narrowing as she thinks on his words for a moment. “Born as soon as possible” she murmurs more to herself than to Falennt. She wonders how that’s even attainable, she does not brush the suggestion off however.

And as they stand before the climbing briar, thick with dark green leaves, tendrils and soft blooms of white, the Archmage’s expression softens as he lifts a hand towards the topmost of the briar – hidden amidst the leaves, a small nest. He does not say anything about it, merely pointing.

To Amalia’s question, he smiles slightly, as a solution dawns upon him. ‘It will be possible, I will bring you to a person who can do it.’ A pause follows before he speaks again. ‘We will go to my mother.’

Amalia barely hears the words uttered beside her, the mention of his mother is the only thing that registers a response. The faintest flicker of her expression before nodding in silence, not having heard much of this relative from Falennt she’s unsure of how to respond.

Her eyes however, follow the movements of his hand and a soft sound of surprise issues from her lips. Catching upon the nest, a slow realization dawns upon her, one that she hadn’t noticed before now. The sparrows had returned.

Blinking for a few moments, Amalia’s eyes adjust once again the bright light of the afternoon sun. Her purpose had not been met from the occupant within the tent. However other tasks check within her mind, reminding her of pressing matters need to be taken care of. Her gaze falls upon the slightly worn path to the docks, she doubt he’d still be there. Lifting her head and smoothing her robes, she makes her way toward the northwest tower.

Children, dressed in rags but apple-cheeked and fed well, run past the Elohai, their worn shoes making splashes in the dank water gathered in the potholes. One girl misses her step, hooking her foot against a loose rock and falls promptly, the book in her hand flying off and dropping into a watery depression. An upset cry erupts from her lips about how the teacher will scold her now.

A smile had played across the woman’s lips at the sight of children running past her. All thoughts of the injured man within the tent fall into the back of her mind as she pauses to watch them momentarily, her features softening.

With a quick step, Amalia reacts instantly as the girl falls. Retrieving the book from the small puddle near to her, she tucks it under her arm and holds out a helpful hand to the girl. “I’m sure it will be alright once it dries” she offers as she kneels before the child, appearing unconcerned with dirtying her own clothing.

The girl wipes tears from her eyes, one hand marking a dirty streak under an eye and on a cheek. “He’s going to yell at me.” She sobs, holding out a scraped hand for the book, wanting to go before all her playmates vanish. “I know he will.” She utters again, trying to grab the book from Amalia. The shouts of the other children grow faint as they rush off to another part of the castle grounds to play.

Already having begun to wipe the murky water from the book cover with the underside of her robes, Amalia lifts a brow at the girls comment. Holding the book still within her grasp, she offers a slight smile. “That’s ridiculous, who is going to yell at you?” she asks, glancing briefly over her shoulder at the vanishing children. As she turns back, her smile tilts slightly into a grin. Her eyes appear wistful for a moment as she lifts a hand slowly to wipe the smudge from the girl’s cheek.

“Mm.Mister La..Ladis..” The rest of the young girl’s words are choked down into a flurry of sobs at the sorry sight of her book, her teardrops falling warm onto Amalia’s hand. “It’s ruined! Mama’s goin’ to scold me too.”
She swallows down another choking cry, before following the woman’s gaze to her playmates, now out of line and sight, probably off to the broken tower to play King of the Castle. Another bawl erupts from the girl now at the thought of missing her favorite game.

Amalia quickly changes her face into one of pretended seriousness. “Yes, this is very serious indeed isn’t it.” She places a hand to her chin, looking thoughtfully at the girl. “I do happen to know a Mister Ladisvale… but that couldn’t possibly be who you meant” she pauses slightly, looking toward the girl and her unchecked tears. “I’m sure if it were though, I could help you somehow.” she offers slowly, an amused sparkle gleaming in her eye.

At the woman’s words, the child brightens slightly beneath her tear-stained face. “You know?” She quickly swipes her hands all over her face, trying to get rid of the wetness. “He’s..he’s um.. got funny hair like emm..” She digs about in her pocket and brings out a tarnished silver coin, probably a lucky coin. “This colour.”

“He’s, he’s got those funny eyes too. Like the other man Melly met in the library.” The girl continues, stuffing her coin back into her pocket, her small hands fisting and her eyes staring straight at Amalia. “You know him?”
Amalia begins to smile once again. “You know, I think that’s exactly the man I know” she responds softly. Having attempted to the dry the book as thoroughly as possible, she holds it out toward the girl once more.

“If you tell me your name, I’m sure I can explain to him it was an accident” As soon as she finds him that is, she remembers suddenly. “You have to promise though that you’ll take good care of this though and let it dry”

The child cheers up considerably, and takes the proffered book; though the pages are ruined and the ink has overrun over the pages, the thought of not being scolded is good enough. “I am Minna.” She replies, smiling widely to show crooked teeth.

“I will take care of my book! Can you tell me your name too?” Now the child asks, curious about the Elohai woman, peering left and right and straight at Amalia’s face. “You have funny ears like Mister Ladisvale and Kara does!”
Amalia can’t help but laugh at the mention of her elven heritage. Lifting a hand tenderly to an ear, her fingers curve over the upward tilt. “My name is Amalia” she offers, a smile still played upon her features as amusement overcomes her.

“You’ll probably need a different book now though.. where may I find Mr. Ladisvale, Minna?” She still remains kneeling to keep eyesight with the girl. “I’m sure you’d like to catch up with your friends.”

“I want those ears too.” Minna looks almost envious of the woman’s ears and pushes back her locks of curly hair to show her small, rounded ones, pouting. “Mine are so ugly.”

Remembering the question Amalia asked, the girl frowns, her curly locks drooping all over her head as she tries to think. “You go to the gardens, Miss Amalia, maybe he is there.”

Minna holds her book close and after her reply, she waves frantically with another big crooked smile before dashing off in the same way her playmates had gone.

Amalia rises from her position, only half heartedly brushing against her robes to loosen clinging bits of dirt. She glances over her shoulder, watching the girl run off until she disappears from sight as well. Still she grins, in return for her help, the girl had considerably brightened her mood.

Watching now for the very same potholes that had been splashed through moments ago, Amalia changes her course and makes her way toward the kitchens. She found her step moving rather quickly at the thought of overlooking the gardens that had bloomed with life recently.

In the Kitchens

The doors to the kitchen and the garden are all left ajar, obviously indicating someone had passed through the two places. The kitchen is warm – a small fire burning in the grate, and a copper pot hung over it, bubbling probably with a family’s dinner for the evening.
An old matron is huddled over the table, paring potatoes, the skins heaped into a brown whitish mess on the ground and a small goat tied to the table’s leg is nibbling at the skins.

Amalia halts slightly as she comes upon the open door. Curiously, she peers inside first before taking the few steps to enter. Her footsteps are soft, making minimal sound. The scene that meets her gaze however is most definitely not one she’d expected.

Amalia appears to gape for a moment, unsure of what to make of a… goat standing in the center of the kitchen. She could only wonder if the animal was a pet or dinner for the evening. She does try though to correct her slack jaw and appear somewhat normal. “Pardon me, I’d thought this area was empty.” she offers, her gaze falling toward the second open door leading to the gardens.
The elderly woman looks up, her leaf-shaped ears giving evidence of her heritage of not entirely human. “Eh?” The bleary eyes seem to recognize her. “I heard them talking about you.”

The goat begins to bleat loudly at the sight of a stranger, its bleating getting louder as it shies away from the Elohai to hide behind the old woman’s chair.

The matron put down her paring knife, asking in amazement. “You are Amalia of the Elohai? The Speaker Amalia?”

Amalia pulls her gaze away from the door as the woman speaks to her. Her eyes crinkle at the corners as she listens over the sounds of the goat. She nods as she moves closer to the woman, her head tilted to the side. “Yes, that is who
I am” she responds, curious as to this woman’s reaction to her.
Her brow furrows slightly, not in disdain but more in confusion. “You said.. people are talking about me?” She’s almost certain its cause would be similar to the reactions she received from the guards earlier.

“I heard.” The old half elf woman begins in a very shaky voice, fearful. “The murderer Jhethen is here in this place and he’s out there in the tents. You must bring him to justice, Speaker Amalia.”

Her elbow knocks against a peeled potato and it rolls off the table, right plop into the middle of the heaped scrapes. The goat stops bleating the moment and immediately noses at the morsel, biting chunks of it.

The mention of that name instantly brings a frown to Amalia’s features once again. “Yes, he is here indeed.” she responds, her tone expressing her dislike for the situation. “He will see justice, although I’m sure it would never be enough..” she lifts her gaze toward the woman, meeting her fearful gaze with steady hazel eyes.

Amalia watches the woman for a moment, her gaze only faltering as the goat quiets long enough to take interest in the fallen potato. “There shouldn’t be a need to worry though, he’s in no position to repeat himself” Remembering again why she’s here, she begins to move across the kitchen. “I’m looking for Mr. Ladisvale, have you seen him?”

The old Elohai, relieved and assured, picks up her knife again to pare the potatoes, “My..daughter and her husband died in the fires of Eldestra, and I took their children, my granddaughters here, Karala and Livilia.” She almost launches off into ramble if not for Amalia’s question.

“Lord Ladisvale?” The old woman jabs her knife towards the open door heading into the gardens before returning to her chores. “He went in. Nice young man, but strange.”

The goat bleats at the end of the woman’s words at Amalia, perhaps agreeing too.

Amalia would have grinned at the woman’s observance of Falennt if it didn’t hold some bit of truth. She does take a moment however to offer the woman her condolences, “I’m very sorry to hear of your loss, too many..”

She finds herself beginning to grow angry once again upon hearing of another’s misfortune. “Please let me know if I can do anything for you?” she asks quietly, her words sincere as she waits before entering the greenhouse.

“Just justice to be served rightfully.” The old woman replies, her voice thick with bitterness. “Many people lost their families, some of them are here. They camp near the orchards if you like to see them.”

The elderly matron appears to ignore her now and returns to paring potatoes, the goat by her side settled down into a fitful sleep after being engorged with potato.

Amalia nods to herself, giving a brief glance once again to the elder woman before heading into the gardens. The smells that greets her feels somewhat like home to her now. The appearance of this herb garden having much improved since her first arrival upon this place.

Her eyes scan across the expanse of the garden, wondering what area he could possibly have found to hole himself up in. With the briefest grin once again, she remembers the girl and her promise to plead her case.

The sound of crunching leaves sounds loudly upon the cool breeze, caressing over the dark dresses of the Elohai coming from the docks of Lo’kier. Her foul mood is only greatened as she neared the castle gates once again.

A knife shaped box held loosely in her fingertips, Amalia pauses before the infirmary seeming to be fashioned in haste. He was in there, she knew it. Looking at the object within her grasp, wondering if she dared to quench her curiosity.

Jhethen finally steadies his breathing and closes his eyes against the continuous sight of the tent, almost as if simply his gaze would tarnish something as pure and clean. He swallows hard and thinks, no wishes, that Amaia had been able to finish it and just kill him. Rid him of the all the guilt, the pain, the sorrow. But no, debts must be repaid, even if in as little as he now has to offer anyone, he must make amends.

Amalia removes the object from within it’s packaging, a frown marring her lips as she does so. If she were to see him… perhaps she could, she thinks as she stares down at the blade, glinting in the sunlight as if to mock her.

Quickly pocketing the weapon within the folds on her robes, she nears the tent. A vision of her home, what had happened in her absence, pushes her to the flap leading inside. With slender fingers she pushes aside the opening, filling the room with bright light.

Jhethen’s eyes open at the sound of the tent flap moving and he quickly squints them again at the brightness that invades the area. Attempting to lift his head to look at who arrives, Jhethen finds his gaze spinning in dizziness and he lets his head drop back to the thin pillow again. “Who-” he begins before the feeble attempt at a question ends in another coughing fit.

Amalia eye’s narrow, partially adjusting to the light and attempting to reign in the surge of anger at the sound of his voice. Helpless, she thinks as she drops the flap behind her, encasing the room again in dim lights. Standing before him, she watches for a moment, remaining silent and uncaring at his discomfort. “You are… Jhethen I assume?” she murmurs coolly.

Jhethen turns his eyes downwards as best he can, trying to look at the dark clad figure who he assumes by the tone is a woman. He breathes in and ignores the pain this time, determined on answering the question posed to him. “I am… Wh- who asks?” whispers, speaking softly as not to incur more coughing.

A wan smile crosses the woman’s lips, put there falsely so as not to alarm him just yet. “No one of concern I assure you” she responds, gesturing to his current state. A slightly malicious tone rings in her words as she speaks. “Your survival is of interest to me.” as well as your death she thinks, her hands disappearing into her robes briefly as she eyes him.

Jhethen stares seemingly shocked at the woman for a moment before letting out a wheezing sarcastic laugh that causes his to curl a bandaged arm across his chest at the pain. “My survival is of interest to no one.” He whispers harshly, telling her in his tone how wrong she is before adding in a softer tone, “Except maybe to myself long enough to get me back to Eldestra and an execution.”

Two soldiers emerge suddenly from behind the tent flap carrying various supplies. The taller of them eyes the woman cautiously, remembering her comment about letting the injured man bleed to death.

Placing the bandages and bags of medicines in a far corner, they hasten back to the doorway. They stay near however, should she decide to act on her words.

Amalia watches his struggle with apparent disinterest. His last words catch her attention however and a slender brow arches in response as she regards him. Her frame remains still, the knife concealed in her robes clutched tightly in her palm “You wish to return to overlook your work perhaps, to hear those who could not escape crying for mercy?” she asks, unable to suppress her hatred now even if she gives herself away..

Jhethen once again struggles to raise himself from his horizontal position, fending off dizziness as he shifts back, propping himself as best he can against the pillow. “She was away at the time, I am not the person I was then I don’t think the same-” He starts to try to explain all the different facets of the story at once and just stops, staring once again at the white tent above. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter now.”

The Elohai woman’s back goes straight, her movements halting instantly. “Doesn’t matter now?” she asks quietly, daring to raise her voice in anger with the guards standing outside. Whirling around in her spot, she casts her gaze upon Jhethen, cold and menacing. “Those people are dead Jhethen, buried by their families. It most certainly /does/ matter.”

Jhethen’s heart sinks even more under the hazel glare boring into his soul and the reminder of his deeds. “I know! But I can’t take any of it back. If I could, I would, but I can’t. All I have to offer is my death, and I can only give that once.” He says, his own voice rising as he spreads his arms. “Would you like it? It is yours to take right now, Because if you don’t, then leave me that I may give it to Amalia!”

Amalia continues to look down upon him on his bed, her cruel grin deepening “It’s a wonder with your obvious ignorance how you managed to stay alive this long. When you offer your life to someone, it is best to know who you are talking to.” her fingers remain around the handle of her blade in her robes. “As for your offer.. it is worthless to me.”

Jhethen’s eyes widen in slight shock as realization dawns on his fuzzy brain. An Elohai who took interest in his survival, the clothes, the hair. “Amalia…” he says, letting himself sink back into the cot, bringing one hand up and covering his eyes for a moments time, trying to sort out his thoughts. “Why is my offer worthless to you then?”

A glint of sadness caresses Amalia’s features, she still feels no compassion for him however. “I would love nothing more than to kill you. You ask for it however and I am not in an obliging mood” Her jaw clenches momentarily before continuing “As you said.. you can only give your life once. ONCE for the dozens of others! Your death will never justify them all”

“What would you have me do then?” Jhethen says softly, his eyes still closed as his chance for any sort of repayment of the lives lost is snuffed. “How can I begin to make amends for what I’ve done?” He shivers slightly, the exertion of his actions having soaked through his bandages once more, making him cold from the wetness and blood loss.

Amalia frowns as she notes the blood beginning to seep through his bandages. She would not kill him herself, but she would not lift one finger to help him either. Inches from his ear now she speaks, voice barely a whisper. “Live and endure the torture for I knew the names of every one you killed. Their families are reminded daily of your chaos and they will not suffer alone. May you die of old age and rot in the place you ravaged.”

Jhethen flinches away from Amalia as she leans close and swallows hard at her words. “If that be how you wish it, then I will do as you command.” He speaks, his eyes fixed upon the tent once more, part of him dreading living with what he’s done till old age, another clinging to the pain it causes him as a feeble but real form of retribution. “Your pathmaster is waiting in the woods for me to return, I suggest you explain to her the situation.”

Amalia glares down upon him and his instant agreement to her words. “Don’t even begin to think it’s that easy.” she growls out. “I will personally see to it that you are never at peace. You may beg for death and receive none by the time I am through with you” her eyes narrow upon him as the knife within her robe is withdrawn, it’s blade glinting in her palm as she holds it outward, awaiting his reaction.

A hustle and shuffle of feet outside the tent and salutation cries denote the arrival of someone important. The tent opens, allowing a rather well-dressed, mid-aged man to enter, a ledger tucked under his arm. And the man stares at Amalia and the knife in her hands.

“I beg your pardon there?” He coughs, pointing at the unsheathed blade, the soldiers by his side immediately frowning at the woman.

Jhethen turns his head ever so slightly to meet Amalia’s gaze, strangely calm as he disregards both her knife and the new arrival. “Amalia,” he whispers, his voice level and solemn, “I will beg for whatever you deem to give me, be it death, torture or worse. I will thank you and ask for more. For although I search for punishment for what I have done, you cannot do worse to me then has already been done.”

Amalia grows even angrier at his submission before turning smoothly toward the man in the entrance. Without pause, she offers him the most innocent smile she can muster. “It appears his bandages are soaked through, a females touch is far gentler than those soldiers I imagine.” Turning her head, she glares down upon Jhethen once more before placing the knife on a table nearby.

The mid-aged man peers at Jhethen now, pulling the quill tucked behind a pointed ear before bowing to greet Amalia. “Speaker Amalia, good day, and you should not talk so much, Jhethen X’Theus.” The man turns his ledger, looking down a lot of writing done in red ink.

“I am Magister Nalefen, Speaker. I’m so sorry if the soldiers don’t know who you are.’ Nalfen makes a croaking laugh, jabbing his quill’s end towards the injured Elohai. “Oh back to him, yes, I have informed Lord Augustine this man is a criminal.”

Jhethen rolls his eyes and sighs, the deep breath once again bringing a cough. “Will he be executing me instead then?” He asks, sarcasm tainting the voice of the half-elf with nothing left to lose.

Amalia half grins at the mention of the guards. “I believe rumors spread quickly, even here.” she offers, appearing unaffected either way of their actions. She casts yet another dark look toward Jhethen, “I believe he told you to not to talk so much” she hisses toward him before straightening “Yes, well then. I see that he’s taken care of..”

“He gave orders you will be kept alive first until Lord Augustine speaks with Lady Amalia about the crimes listed and carried out by him upon the City of Eldestra.” Nalefen recites now as he sticks the quill behind his pointed ear.

The magistrate frowns a moment and starts speaking again, now to Amalia. “Lord Augustine relays that you, my Lady, have the choice of having this criminal judged here by a jury selected by you.”

“My Lord Augustine will conduct the trial and hearing.” Nalefen adds.

Jhethen shivers, more from the thought of how Amalia would ‘take care’ of him then from the cold this time. He glances at Nalefen but keeps his mouth shut as he’s supposed to, wondering what all these people have in store for him and feeling very, very weary.

Amalia nods without an immediate response. Casting her gaze upon Nalefen, his presence brings down her anger considerably. Let the dead judge him, that would be fitting she muses silently. “Thank you, The matter of my Pathmaster is of concern now however. I will have to speak with him later.” her tone business-like as her duties call forth again.

Nalefen bows cheerily then and leaves the tent, informing the soldiers to have a double guard and patrol for this place.

The urchin learnt some of the people in the castle called this silver-haired man a wizard. But the child is more interested in fulfilling his side of duty then fear of this person, so he waits, waving at him. “Here, Sir! Here!”

Amalia hung back as Falennt had set off toward the castle entrance, her fingers curled absently around the pendant at her throat. A quiet distant expression fills her eyes as she shifted to glance back over her shoulder.

She hears the voice of another and her attention is brought back toward the castle gates. With sure steps, she makes her way toward Falennt, very unlike her first arrival here. A smile creeps across her lips as she comes upon the two.

The horse lad takes a quick peep at the dark haired lady behind the man and quickly pockets the coin pressed into his palm. Bidding goodbye, the boy leaves the horses tethered to a young tree, a little unnerved by the sight of the man’s eyes.

‘You can ride?’ With the boy departed, Falennt turns to regard Amalia, his hands tucked behind his back, the faint movement of his chin directed towards the horses.

Her smile never falters as she tilts her head toward Falennt, her eyes crinkling in amusement. “I would not be much of a lady if I could not, now would I?” Amalia responds sternly, yet the crinkling of her eyes betrays her teasing nature.

Taking the necessary steps forward, she runs her hand along the neck of one of the horses. A hint of humor still etched into her voice, she teases further, “Should I ask the same of you?” a slender brow lifts as she pauses in her petting.

Untethering the beast she is touching, Falennt relinquishes a thin smile at her words. ‘You are in a good mood this morning, ‘arna.’ A dun yellow with darker brown forelocks, the horse seems accustomed to handling by strangers and rather docile, snickering and tracking the soil with one hoof as it waits.

‘I am of enough skill not to fall off one.’ Falennt adds, the silver in his eyes taking on a light humorous glint. His hand reaches out for hers, and the reins, he places in them, though his touch doesn’t linger for some reason.

Hazel eyes swim with varying emotions as he remarks on Amalia’s mood. “How could I not be in such company” she remarks quietly. She’d become thoughtful lately, unsure of her feelings about this man beside her and how they applied to her normal life.

Her thoughts are swiftly halted by the warm nuzzling against her arm. With an indulgent grin, she resumes her caress upon the animal. “Will you be needed here?” she asks suddenly, referring to his accompanying her home.

Setting a booted foot onto the stirrup, Falennt hoists himself easily over the stallion, gathering the reins to him before tilting his gaze down to Amalia; silver mirrors staring back at her.

‘Not for a time, but I have to return immediately after I have you escorted past the gates.’ Perhaps a slight break of emotion is there as he concludes his words and takes his eyes away from her.

Those eyes close for a quiet moment as Falennt steers the steed away, the beast restive and pawing the ground now, eager to be off, quite contrary to what he seemed to feel. And that ache, it is there, it can’t seem to go away.

Amalia nods quietly, biting her lip from commenting further. Completely impulsive, the words she’d almost uttered seconds before. “I suppose you’re ready to be off then” she comments somewhat dryly. Mimicking Falennt’s movements, Amalia mounts her own steed, adjusting as comfortably as she can, reins held firmly in her hands.

“I think I will miss this place believe it or not… or at least parts of it” She seems to stare at his back for a long moment before that smile returns to her lips, it would almost appear forced.

The yawning rays of pale morning sun appears over the mountains surrounding Lo’kier, touching soft spots of light to the Archmage’s silvery locks. The dawning brought activity astir in the Keep and two of Augustine’s soldiers appear from a makeshift infirmary, carrying blood-soaked bandages in their arms.

A light frown comes over Falennt’s face as his attention is momentarily taken by the two men and their strange baggage.

Amalia’s brow lifts, her attention drawn as well to the men. She’d obviously missed something while she was at Lo’kier. Curious now, she wonders exactly who or /what/ could possibly produce so much blood. “Falennt?” she begins to question, unsure if she
she even wants to know.

Turning her mount slightly so she may better view the men. “Do you know what this is about?” she asks Falennt in a somewhat hushed voice. Perhaps it was best that she was leaving now.

A sharp tug of the reins drives the stallion to near Amalia’s steed as Falennt nods towards her, his eyes trailing the two men as they vanish into the castle, perhaps for supplies.

‘A few days ago, Augustine’s soldiers found a young man in noble clothes very badly injured along the perimeter. My apprentice, Amaia, was lying unconscious next to him.’ A gentle shrug follows as thought touches Falennt’s face,

‘I am sure he came for her.’ The Archmage muses, one hand reaching out to pat the horse’s warm neck in long strokes, soothing its edgy temperament.

Amalia does not find the reasoning that unusual. Did she not also come here in search of Falennt as well? Upon this thought, her eyes catch his momentarily. Unable to supress the instant quickening of her heart, she takes a deep breath before speaking.

“They are both alright?” she asks, finding a sudden interest in what little information he’d given her. “Strange to be found the way they were you don’t think?”

‘Perhaps they fought. I might guess his name is Jhethen though; she spoke of him eagerly when I first met her.’ Falennt’s pensive features relax, though the tiny frown hidden betwix his eyebrows does not vanish as he turns now-obsidian irises upon Amalia now, ‘I seem to recall this name somewhere?’

Falennt’s voice, clear, soft, directed towards her quietens as their gazes lock, permitting the ache to come wind its talonous grip around his heart now. But his eyes stay on her, fixatedly, ignoring the growing pain.

The name slides across her frame slowly, taking a moment to register his words as those few syllables lock into her mind, closing out the rest of his sentence. Her back straightens, her head tilting upward as a sudden anger flashes across her features.

Fingers tightening cruelly about the strips of leather against her palms, her voice is laced with checked fury “Perhaps, because he is what put Eldestra in its current state.”

In one smooth motion, Amalia is off her horse once again. Casting a fleeting glance up to Falennt, she begins to stalk off toward the castle doors where the men from moments ago has disappeared.

“Injured you say?… we’ll see about that.” She mutters under her breath. “Dead would be a better word.”

Blinking quickly, Falennt slips down his steed as well, landing onto the gravel, the silver buckles of his boots clinking loudly. ‘Amalia, come back here.’ He does not yell after her; it is not in his nature to yell.

In long strides, he follows the Elohai, the frayed ends of his cloak biting at his heels, quickening his steps to meet her before she steps through the open doors.

Amalia halts in her step just before colliding into Falennt, his strides advancing on her quickly. Her eyes, now a deep jade, flash up at him as if looking through him. “Falennt, don’t do this.” she begins, attempting to sidestep him to get through the doors.

In frustration, she feels emotion rage within her. Never before, even while being kidnapped had she felt such fury toward one person. “Do you have any idea how many deaths he’s responsible for?” she asks loudly, unable to force him aside.

‘I have heard reports.’ Falennt stands his ground, his eyes upon her down – cool silver matching the infuriated green orbs of hers. ‘Shall I give you a knife now, Amalia?’

‘That you can go in and stab him right there and end his life and have these soldiers witness the murder?’ He steps aside, opening up the way to inside the Keep, his arms folding behind his back.

‘Go then, end his life, if it makes you feel better this moment.’ He jerks his chin towards the inside, a lock of silver flying from the ribbon of black velvet that bound his hair, to cast a sharp shadow on his cheek.

“Yes, that is exactly what I want” she utters, giving no thought nor common sense to her actions. Nodding as he moves aside, her own nightmares are the only thing flashing within her mind for those brief moments he speaks.

She couldn’t look at him, to do so would be to lose her resolve and without glancing at him once more, she moves through the doors. Her cloaks swirl about her heels as she spots a bandage, fallen, before one of the hallways.

Falennt, however, does not follow her now. He stands by the doors, hands still clasped behind his back. His features writhe to a nonchalant flat mask, his posture straight like a crane’s and not a trace of emotion appears in his eyes; now rendered a dark obsidian.

‘I will wait here when you are done then.’ The Archmage calls after her retreating figure, the tone of his voice overtly casual to the point of uncaring and detached.

Amalia hears the words behind her, her gaze narrowing on the bloodied cloth upon the floor. Quickly, she goes toward it, scanning down the hall for signs of the men. Her eyes falter briefly, swearing softly under her breath. “No, don’t think about it.” she whispers.

Echoes sound somewhere down the hall, a door closing perhaps, the creaking sounds of movement. As she disappears into the hallways, she’s halted by her own thoughts. Finally, she begins to doubt herself and with a sigh, she leans against a wall.

Questions soar through her mind. What happens when she does in fact, find him? Could she bring herself to willingly kill another person? Her hardened features begin to crumble, a hand moving to her temple. She knows the answer already.

“Falennt” she calls, emerging from the hallway once again.

There is more than just the lack of compassion for the injured murderer of Eldestra in Falennt’s choice not to join her. He would give her the blade to kill; but he does not desire to witness the act.

Turning away from the doors, he takes the horses away, the loud whinnying of one beast sounding through the doors, down the dimly lit hallways – he did not hear her call, having moved away to another part of the Keep.

The two soldiers whom Amalia followed emerge from another room – the taller one carrying fresh bandages, and his stockier companion bearing a rawhide bag of medicines. They give the Elohai a strange look before walking past her, having seen her in the Keep and the rumors of her being a witch who made the flowers bloom on command does frighten them.

Amalia noted the looks she received from the men as they passed her outside the hallway. A fury building within her again at the person they’re attempting to nurse back to health. “You should let him bleed to death” she murmurs, unsure if they’ve even heard her.

Amalia’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as she finds no response from the doorway. She moves past the forgotten bindings on the floor, coming to the entrance where she’d been blocked moments ago. He wasn’t there… the horses gone as well.

Only the soldiers carrying their bundles of supplies are visible as she searches for where he may have gone off to.

The two soldiers did hear her angry mutter and the taller of the two, Antonio, decided to keep that in mind the next evening Senor Augustine visits. But the fear of witchcraft takes drives them to hasten their footsteps away from the ravenhaired woman, wondering if she would turn them into a frog or a toad. They almost looked thankful as her attention is taken by something else.

As the soldiers walk off quickly, a loud patter of feet sounds right behind Amalia and a small thin hand reaches up to seize at her sleeve insistently.

“Dama, dama, the Lord Ladisvale sezs tis fer ye, Dama.”

The child, her greasy bangs streaking over a freckled forehead, holds up a small knife-shaped package to the woman, tightened with a black velvet ribbon.

Amalia blinks down at the young girl, her anger instantly squelched by the thought of killing a man with a weapon delivered by a child. Outwardly cringing, the shape of the box gives away what lies within. She has a feeling he’s done this intentionally.

Kneeling down before the girl, she comes to her eye level. Pushing strands of tangled hair from her eyes, she withdraws the package from the girl’s hands, placing it on her lap and she remains crouched. Her voice is soft, always remaining patient with children. “And where did Lord Ladisvale go?”

“Eh, he sezs ye will ask tha.” The child suddenly giggles, holding a grubby hand clutching around a gold piece to her mouth. “Lord Ladisvale, hes went down to the docks! Tha way, Dama.”

The child’s hand lurches up, showing the beaten and worn trail down to the makeshift pier set up by some of the nobles who made their homes here.

Breaking away from Amalia, the girl rushes off to display her newfound wealth to her friends, leaving the Elohai alone by herself, against the vast doors of the broken Castle.

The Archmage lights the last of the candles in the lonely chambers of the Sorcere – having removed the wards and moved away the stones that he used to block it. The light illuminates faintly the obsidian roses and markings of sorcery in the Sanctum as well as empty shelves and tome-podiums. He pulls off his cloak and starts hunting around for anything left to create Ryoko’s artifact.

Falennt’s Chambers, Mage’s Study, Northwest Tower

Within the darkened room of the tower used as Falennt’s chambers. Amalia lies, sleeping, upon his bed. Her lashes flutter over the tops of her cheeks, lips murmuring incoherent words as she is consumed once again by nightmares.

Her home, her family, burning and crying out within her own mind. Her arm flings out next to her, gripping at an unseen object. Her movements are agitated, her body moving as if the vision in her mind were in fact reality.

Within the Chambers of the Sorcere

Shutting a dusty tome and inciting a flurry of aged spores into the streaks of firelight cutting through the shadows, Falennt folds his arms tightly, his teeth moving to chew on his lower lip. The books and materia he needed are back in the Tower.

A clipped curse slips from his mouth, and quite unlike his usual thought nature. The Archmage douses the firelight in the curved rose sconces and returns to the main hall of the Sorcere’s interlinked myriad chambers. He has no need of light for his way and easily he returns to the surface, the bright moonlight lighting his way now.

Falennt’s Chambers, Mage’s Study, Northwest Tower

Amalia’s movements continue to shift beneath a woolen blanket covering her slumbering form. Within her mind, the city of Eldestra burns, overtaken in a blazing fire that could not be stopped. The cries of her kindred are never ending as she tries frantically to be released from her internal fears.

Her brow furrows in pain as she shakes her head adamantly, answering a silent question. She does this repeatedly, her curling tresses twisting about her torso in a tangled mess caused by her movements. Still murmuring, a tear slides down her cheek in frustration.

The Keep’s Herb Garden

He chooses to walk through the herb gardens Amalia had worked her magic upon the last few days. The light from the moon is bright enough to see by, although the sudden appearance of cold mist makes Falennt worry.
Falennt strolls through the quiet kitchens, now cleaned and scoured by the girls and women who use it now. He stops at the threshold the moment he steps into the garden, hands clasped in a lock behind his back, and a frown lines his brow.

The Archmage bends to touch the topmost sprigs of a thyme bush near him. The leaves break off easy in his fingers and his lips turn inwards, pressing together. Dusting his fingers, he takes quick steps to where the tea-rose briar is.

Falennt’s Chambers, Mage’s Study, Northwest Tower

Fingers clench tightly, pulling the blanket away from her body as the heat begins to suffocate her. Amalia’s breaths come in short spurts, smoke filling her lungs within her dream. Her escape seems futile as the images replay over again.

Her hand closes around an object around her wrist, a name whispers from her lips and suddenly, her eyes open. Inhaling a deep breath of cool air, Amalia rises on the bed and pushes into the far corner of the wall, her fingers still clutched tightly around the bracelet of silver tresses as she stares into the dark.

The Keep’s Herb Garden

The briar, brought back to life by Amalia, climbs the entire stone wall, at some parts, almost merging in with the broken rock. Moonlight has rendered the entire plant, tendril and stem, into veins of dark silver upon the wall.

Falennt walks close, brushing fingertips against the drooping blossoms breathing still with druid magic, yet he does not hear the harmony. Instead a discordant note crashes through his ear and he jerks his fingers back from it, the upset harmonics clutching at his heart and replacing his wish to be soothed with a terrible ache. He stalks away from the briar, cloak flaring out behind his form as he heads back to the Tower where Amalia is asleep.
Falennt’s Chambers, Mage’s Study, Northwest Tower

Amalia shudders in the dark, afraid to move else the flames rise before her once again. In the dim light, she finds it difficult to discern if she’s still trapped within her nightmare. Her arms rise to wrap around her legs, drawing them up as well in front of her until she is curled tightly within the corner.

Lowering her head to rest upon her knees, she begins to rock back and forth as if soothing a small child. When will these nightmares end she muses. The visions bring home the fact that she must make a choice… soon.

Falennt opens the door to his chambers, dragging off his cloak. His ankles felt cold after the short hasty walk from the gardens back here, for the mists seemed to thicken, gliding through grove and hallway, chilling everything in their path.

He does not brighten the firelight in the chamber, being all too familiar where his things lay, and not to awaken her as well, though in the dim light of the room, he could see her movements beneath the blankets.

Strange, he muses, making his way to the bed, inhaling as he does. She was peaceful when he left the chambers; and what not. Settling down by her side, the Archmage reaches out fingers to tug at blankets clutched too tightly.

Amalia tilted her head as she heard the sound of someone approaching. Terror still coursing through her frame prevented her from using common sense. Pressing herself further into the corner as if to disappear, fearing the drow had found her once again, she held her breath.

Upon the tug of the blanket beneath her clutches, the breath she’d held is quickly released as she cries out in shock and lingering fear. She is unable to see the unspeaking figure before her, his presence bringing in a chill that quickly overtakes the room. “Don’t touch me!” she half screams, her voice barely held in check as her back pushes even more into the wall as if to absorb into it completely.

At the sound of her scream and the words uttered from her lips, Falennt recoils, snatching his hand back. He exhales quickly, releasing breath as well the moment she moves away from his touch.

Swallowing something unseen and as if it was poison that would twist his heart into more painful coils, he stays where he is, hands pressed onto the bed. ”arna?’ He calls, but once, worry tight in his voice.

Amalia narrows her eyes in the dark as the figure pulls away, instantly causing a sense of confusion with her. As she hears the voice, her demeanor changes instantly. The endearment Falennt had given her slowly helps her regain a sense of where she is, her breathing slows as the fear begins to creep away replaced by a sense of relief.

“Falennt” she utters softly, pushing away from the wall. Her hands find him in the dark and she wraps her arms tightly about him, clutching him close to her, almost to the point of tears.

He sighs, cradling her head against his shoulder and slowly strokes the tresses of raven plastered to the back of her neck and back before he gently elicits her arms away from him although he still holds them in his hands.

‘Were you dreaming?’ He asks, tilting his head close, anxiety coloring his eyes as they widen towards her, silver quavering into the obsidian slits of his irises.

Amalia takes a deep breath as she pulls away from Falennt enough to make out the shadow of him before her. She nods, silent for a moment and bites her lip. She wonders for a moment if she could speak of it if she tried.

A sigh issues from her lips, his touch warding off some of the lingering chill within the room. “A dream would consist of something pleasant, there was no joy in what I’ve seen” she murmurs, his nearness to her not requiring her to speak louder than she did.

Falennt nods, though thought shadows his eyes, turning them into darkened silver. ‘All these nights, you slept in peace,’ He frowns again, his eyebrows knitting as he arranges a pillow behind her, urging her to lay back.

He wonders if the weakened plants in the gardens were due to her state now, though he decides against saying that to her. His heart pained, physically, though a new ache decided to hold its hand too and he pondered it briefly – perhaps whether to control or relent, and he glances down at his hand upon her arm, his eyes blinking slowly.

Amalia follows his movements to guide her to the pillows, resting in a half sitting position. His words were right, causing her to think about the sporadic nightmares and what triggered them. “The same happened after you left Eldestra, the most horrid things my mind can conjure up are brought to life as I sleep”

A frown etches on her features, brows furrowing as images from her dream are brought for from memory. Pushing the now tangled mass of hair from her forehead, her eyes search him out once again in the dark “I did not even think to tell you until just now”

‘Tell me what you saw then.’ He does not light the candle next to the bed, not really wishing the harsh light of flickering flames. His fingers lift to brush the air near to Amalia’s face; creating soft globes of the faerie lights she had seen when they were there at the River Nenda. The glow of the hovering orbs is enough to illuminate her features and her expression, touching her eyes with a hallowed lilt and radiance.

Falennt’s lips thin, thinking of what she said, and perhaps the association of her dreaming with his presence; his fingers drifting across her cheek before moving to rest his hand on the bed once more, watching her intently with a dim silver gaze.

Amalia squints her eyes as the glowing light reveals his welcoming presence. They remain closed briefly at the touch of his hand upon her cheek, further soothing her into a state of calm. “It is always the same, my worst fear” she begins, giving no thought in confessing this fact to him.

“The city of Eldestra burns, the inhabitants all screaming for me to help them… save them. I try and try but there are always more, the fires always burning.” A silent tremor courses through Amalia “Drow torment me, taunt me, knowing I cannot save them all”

‘Drow?’ His facial expression changes, but he closets his worry for her quickly, and the look retreats back to a flat frown on his brow, mind recalling all the instances and associations when she spoke of it. ‘Again. These nightmares started when I left Eldestra?’Falennt’s hand trails to hers, trying to pry open clutched fingers, wondering what she held so tightly within; though he keeps his eyes upon her face.
Instinctively, Amalia’s fingers clutch tighter at his prying, not wanting to release the object that seemed to bring her awake. Her eyes watch him closely, sensing an underlying emotion held in check. She shakes her head briefly before responding.

“Drow were the cause. But yes, after you left, they began. The child… ” she pauses, finally allowing her fingers to open at his insistence. A bracelet of gold, interwoven with Falennts silvery strands lies in her palm, glinting in the soft glow of the orbs.

His heart lurches slightly on seeing the gold bracelet and the strands of his hair wrapped around it. It is not a terrible feeling; this new ache. He nods, looking at her once more. ‘Drow. And the child you bear, and that young female we saw by the river.’ He rises from the bed fluidly, trying to piece together this haphazard jigsaw while he gets her a glass of water.

The wind whistles in through unclosed windows of the chamber, tossing the damask curtains apart and buffeting the hovering globes away, semi-darkness enveloping them before he wills the lights to return to stay around her, their brightness expanding and encompassing her form.

Amalia gently replaces the bracelet around her wrist, her fingers caressing over the soft strands absently as she watched him moving about the room. “Yes, a drow by the name of Phalar…somehow he is able to come into my dreams.” her voice hushes at the momentary dark, willing the unexpected panic away.

“He knows of the child as well…. I’m not sure if I believe his words. That the fate of my people lies in an unborn child. A drow itself at that” her words are spoken as thoughts, not entirely directed at anyone but more to make sense of it herself.

Falennt returns with a small goblet of water, seating himself by Amalia’s side again. ‘I have heard of Phalar, though acquaintance is naught however. Merely heard.’ He sets the goblet down on the table by the bed, next to the unlit white candle in its silver holder.

‘The child you carry seems to be the whole crux of this matter -’ He looks away contemplatively, at the shadows cutting across the floor of the chamber.
”arna, you do not remember any physical association with the drow at all?’ He glances back, shifting his position to near her, his eyes dulled to somber silver.

Scooting over the edge of the bed, Amalia lifts the goblet to her lips. The cool liquid soothing her parched lips and throat. Her eyes watch him closely over the rim for a moment as she listens to him speak. The question catches her off guard, it having been asked of her before by him in the past.

Amalia sets the now half full glass back upon the table, she regards him silently for a moment, her hands now running over her arms as if she’s cold. “I don’t believe so.. would I not have at least some recollection of such a thing?” Her memory continuously failing her during that timeframe however, leaves a hint of doubt in her words. Her hand releases from her arm to search for his, finding a need for him close suddenly as the topic leaves her openly vulnerable.

Falennt observes her briefly, thoughts coalescing in his mind before he picks amongst the hypotheses he formulated and offers it to her.

‘It seems like you do not have. And, I am certain, what ever happened to you was taken from your memory – you do not recall anything about that episode with the drow, though you spoke of the pirate to me.’ The Archmage comments, his voice without any hinted emotion, jealousy or otherwise perhaps. ‘We need to figure what, or even who is the father of this child you carry, and why the drow wish to have it.’

Falennt blinks slowly at the sight of her approaching hand and he exhales in a sigh, the gills beneath his shirt’s collar flaring. He accepts her hand, the touch of her warm fingers instantly lighting pain in him again.

Hazel eyes widen in the dim light as she listens to his words, making perfect sense but still leaving her shocked at the thought. “Or why a specific drow would wish to rid me of it” Her mind returns to the offer made by the female at the river.

Her expression turns foul, her brows knitting together as she once again becomes frustrated at not know where or what happened during her time in Iniquity. Biting her lip, she considers an idea, her fingers curling around his as if by instinct and familiarity. Hesitantly she asks, “Falennt, do you know of any way, supposing they have in fact removed specific memories, to return them?” She doesn’t dare hope, but the need to ask is obvious in their search for answers.
Careful with his words now, for he had seen how her temper rose back in Eldestra the Archmage wets his lips slightly before he speaks. ‘The child is not mine; ‘arna, I have promised to protect only you, not this, whatever the child be, the pirate’s or the drow’s.’

He tightens his hold on her hand now, moving closer the side of his hip brushing against her blanketed waist. ‘I will have a way to return your memory.’ He assures her, the vertical slits of his obsidian irises contracting, an alien silver glint encasing them.

Amalia seems to consider his words silently for a moment, the need to know growing strongly within her. Her eyes move over his features, softening her own expression at his comforting presence beside her. Her free hand moves over her abdomen, fingers pressing warmth into her skin through the layer of clothing.

“I understand” she begins, responding to his statement of the child. “If it were my choice, I would have no child at all, Falennt, surely you know that. Protect the blood of my enemy? Or save it and spare my home?” Her hand moves from her stomach to caress his cheek, her eyes scanning over his own silvery slits. “I must have answers”

Falennt does not seem to know what else to say; being caught in a situation like this for the first time. He takes leave of her hand, venturing to the silver strands of hair winded around her gold bracelet. ‘If it be our child, I will protect it as I promised its mother.’

The Archmage’s jaw clenches slightly at Amalia’s soft touches and her words that spilled from her lips. Half-wondering at his own words though now, Falennt lifts her hand, the braceleted one. ‘We have to stop these nightmares from occurring though.’

A thought comes to his mind now and he decides to entertain the idea, ‘Take off your bracelet and the strands around it.’

Amalia looks at Falennt strangely for a moment as her hand withdraws from his cheek. Curiosity creases her eyebrows. His words had given her yet another sense of comfort and she complies without question.

Her fingers linger over her skin briefly before sliding the bracelet from her wrist. The contrast of silver and gold are illuminated further by the low lighting. Slowly, as neatly as possible, she unwinds the tresses from the bracelet, keeping them all together as she finishes. “And then..?”

‘Give them to me.’ Falennt says, holding out his open palm for it, the ring of her tresses and that old aquamarine ring gleaming in the light offered by the globes around them. He jerks at the drawer of the table, pulling it out and picking out a small simple dagger from the inside.

Falennt loosens the velvet ribbon bounding his hair, more silver strands slipping down the nape of his neck as he unsheathes the dagger, laying it, blade flat, on top of his leather-wrapped thigh.

Remaining silent, Amalia hands over the two pieces she holds to Falennt. With obvious curiosity, she allows herself for the moment to put aside her own concerns. A faint smile crosses her lips, wanting to run her fingers through his own hair as it is loosened to fall upon his shoulders.

“Would you care to share with me what your doing?” she asks quietly, giving in to the urge and gently caressing her fingers through his locks before falling still once again.

The Archmage returns a slip of a smile at her before his free hand eases Amalia’s hand away from him. Picking up the dagger, he draws out some more strands of silver, neatly slicing them off. Together with the ones Amalia has given him, he holds them in his hands, laying them flat on open palms.

‘A talisman, or well, if my presence helped to keep the nightmares and your fear at bay, something worked out of my being might protect you.’ His hands clasp together as he replies, the locks of mercury vanishing from view and he works at them quickly, braiding, twisting each strand like they are mere silver threads in his hands.

Amalia pulls back, resting her hands in her lap as she watches his fingers move deftly over his own strands of hair. “If that is the case, it has helped me escape, but has not kept them from coming” she offers, her eyes lowered at she continues to observe the process he goes through. “How will this one be different?” Biting her lip, she hoped his assumption was correct. How many more nightmares could she go through without going mad from it?

There is no need for elaborate magiks or ritual in this simple creation of this artifact for her. His hands grow warm as he continues to braid, the end of the necklace appearing from his palms, a bright silver chain, pliant to touch and yet the links strong as tempered steel.

Falennt finishes, holding out the silver chain necklace before her, the links filled with promises of protection, a shield wrought for Amalia alone. ‘It will stop the nightmares from coming now, until I have obtained what is needed to return your memory, ‘

Her fingers slides over the chain given to her, the tips of them barely caressing over the material as if it would crumble at any moment. Lifting her eyes to Falennt, their depths darken ever so slightly. “Thank you Falennt… for protecting me.” her voice remains soft, unaccustomed to the growing closeness they’ve acquired. This does not displease her however.

Amalia smiles faintly, appearing tired still from her restless sleep. She clasps the chain around her neck, it’s length falling in with the amethyst resting undisturbed against her warm skin. “You’ve done more than I could ask just now”

The Archmage does not allow himself to sigh however; ‘You have to return to Eldestra, ‘arna. This stops the nightmares from invading your mind, but it will not stop the drow from bringing physical harm to you and your people.’
Falennt watches Amalia as she wears the necklace now. He sits back a little, keeping his gaze on hers, the reptilian glint in silver and obsidian-twined irises growing faint.

Amalia nods in agreement even as he continues to speak. “I know… there are things aside from my nightmares that would cause trouble I fear.” Her hand once again moving to her abdomen. The slightest raise found there is the only indication of her condition.

She once again begins to chew on her lip, what would happen if too much time had passed, before what was done becomes obvious to everyone around her. Her eyes appear sad for a moment as she once catches Falennts gaze upon her, “You are right” she offers, a faint grin crossing her lips. “as usual”

The pain digs itself deeper into Falennt’s heart as he watches her hand move to touch her stomach; and the knowledge of the strange child growing within Amalia puts him into a strange limbo of thought – whether to forcibly rid her of it or otherwise.

A decision had to be made irrelevantly. Falennt thins his lips once more and his hand lift, the one on which the quaint silver ring is. ‘If this helps, let my magic protect you as well from their blades.’ He slides the ring off, feeling the cold band move down his finger, part of the sorcery that makes up his being taken with it as well.

Falennt stops using an aquamarine set in a quaint silver ring.
‘Your hand, ‘arna.’ He holds the ring with one hand, and his other reach for hers.

Amalia’s eyes widen, a faint glimmer shining in them created by the light from the orbs. Shaking her head, she couldn’t possibly accept the ring from him, he’d claimed it was his peace. Strangely though, she begins to wonder at his action – what emotion lies behind the gesture.

Something stirs within her at the thought of wearing something held so closely to him. Her fingers enveloped in his own as he takes her hand, she nearly ceases to breathe, taking in more from his movements than his words.

Falennt places the ring in her hand, closing her fingers over the gleaming watery jewel set upon the worn silver band. ‘A illusion I have placed it in for you – you will appear physically normal, untouched, to everyone around you but me, when you wear it. The child will not show on your self.’

He pauses, hands lingering on hers. ‘But the toil of childbearing will continue to be on you, you will be tired and sluggish. Hopefully, the drow and your own people will be tricked into thinking it only as fatigue while we continue with other plans.’

Drawing himself closer, his head inclines as he turns her wrist upwards to him, strands of silver falling by the sides of his face, and he lays one kiss upon that wrist, sealing his promise further.

Amalia listens as if hearing the words from somewhere far off. How strange that he’d understood her own distress without her even voicing it. Like the sensing of him in the garden before ever seeing him, he in turn shows the connection they’ve formed together.

Her gaze softens as he presses his lips to warm flesh of her wrist. As he had done before as well, she finds the gesture reassuring even without understanding its purpose. Unwilling to ask for fear of breaking the moment, she caresses the hair from his face, smiling upon him as she holds the ring within her palm.

What he’s just done for her, he’d probably never realize. Lowering her head, she lifts his chin with two fingers and presses the faintest kiss upon his lips, murmuring a thank you.

‘Do not take it off, if you do, the illusion will be broken.’ He warns, though he did wish to try to distance himself a little, the kiss catches him unaware, and he finds himself sinking into it despite the growing gnaw of pain in his heart.

A thought latches onto his mind suddenly; wondering of the implications it would bring – his ring upon her, and her being visibly pregnant if the illusion broke. Falennt shrugs it off however, it is not even important, such blasé ideas only serve to be the bread and butter of gossipmongers.
Amalia nods her head as she releases her lips from his, moving back far enough to look into his eyes. The past few days, she’d learned a great deal about this man sitting beside her. Even now he’d surprised her the magnitude of his giving.

“I won’t remove it then” she promised. Already she slides her finger into the ring. Gazing upon it momentarily, “I will still see it as well correct?” she asks suddenly, the question having just come to mind.

‘You will see it.’ He replies, affirming it with a nod of his head. ‘Rest tonight, ‘arna. Tomorrow I will bring you to Eldestra myself and be sure you are safe with your people before I return here.’

Falennt smiles wanly, the thought of her leaving seemingly not sitting well with him though now he refuses to show his discomfort, staying his hand away from clutching at where his heart lay.

He touches her shoulder and the pillow tucked behind Amalia’s back. ‘Come, you need to sleep now.’ Falennt murmurs, brushing wisps of her hair away from her face.

A yawn is suppressed as Amalia had already begun to lay back once again upon the bed, the need for sleep consuming her once again. Perhaps she’d rest peacefully this time. “Will you stay?” she asks, curling under the blanket before twisting the ring upon her finger absently. His hands within her hair, sooths her even further into a restful state. Turning slightly, she places her lips against his hand near her face and without waiting for response, her eyes begin to close.

He dearly wishes for her now, though he seeks not to take advantage of her tired state. Nodding, Falennt returns her question with a thin smile, his eyes illuminated with the glow of the orbs he has willed to stay by her side, their minute radiance spilling over her body. ‘I will stay with you tonight.’

With those words, he sits there, humming softly to himself – a vesper he used to sing in prayer for peace to her, and darkness falls as the orbs of light extinguish, vanishing into invisible motes, leaving an ethereal glow to outline his body hunched over protectively her sleeping form.

Further within, a soft humming issues from Amalia as she takes a simple moment of quiet to move about things familiar to her, running her fingertips over the tops of leaves and stems of various herbs found throughout. Her sleeves are pushed back, the skirts of her dress pulled up with one hand as she moves about barefoot, her shoes lying somewhere along the path as well.

He wondered where she went off to. The breakfast he had left for her, lay cold on its plate and the mulled wine had lost its warmth. The bed was made, pillows placed neatly and the blankets folded. Perhaps she went off on her own again to wander about the keep.

Falennt picks up his cloak from the chair he had draped it upon, stepping that few paces to the door he left open. The light of the morning slips into the chamber, illuminating corners and places with a soft golden glow. He does not take time to appreciate the beauty of it however, and he shuts the door with a soft click before making his way down the tower, his mind ruminating upon the places Amalia could be in.

Amalia kneels down, a warm expression playing upon her features as she gently removes a leaf from one of the smaller plants still struggling to grow amongst the weeds that would overtake it. Holding it to her nose briefly, she turns it within her fingers, her head tilting. The edges of her dress already marred by the moist earth beneath her, she puts a hand upon the mound of soil protecting the life beneath it. The humming continues, a song stuck within her head from a place she can no longer recall from her youth.

The morning sun seems to act like a summon to the Archmage, the soft rays slipping over the broken stone walls that border the once well kept herb gardens, reaching out to catch and ensnare his darkly clothed figure in its almost holy nimbus.

Falennt pauses in a step, and crouches down. Dew. On new grass. Perhaps there is hope after all, he thinks as he pulls himself up and starts walking again towards the herb garden, the wet verdant blades brushing sparkling droplets against the silver buckles of his boots. The door of the garden is open; someone is up early, a peasant or another one of Isabella’s charges perhaps, he thinks until he sees the familiar robe upon the fieldstone.

Falennt picks up the folded robe, draping it across an arm, lips used to nonchalance curving into a tiny smile at the touch of the material and the scent that lingers upon it. He pushes the door open, stepping in.

A warmth seems to emanate beneath the Elohai’s fingertips as they are pressed within the earth. How she would love to nurture a place like this back to what it once was. Closing her eyes, she seems to fall into her own past when a task such as this had delighted her even then. The scent of rosemary, the touch of lavender, all assail her senses as she rises once again, pushing further into the garden. Dusting her hands against each other, the loose soil falls from her palms to once again rest upon the ground beneath her.

Falennt pushes away an overgrown branch, leaves and large blossoms of white clustered around it as he tries to find a way through, unable to avoid crushing weed and shrub that has peeked up from between the path stones.
Routing around the broken-down sundial, rendered with a greenish patina from rain and snow, he searches for her, deciding against the calling of name for it is early; and there would be peasants trying to find a niche to sleep in here, he believed.

Falennt ducks under another branch, and his left foot accidentally snaps a couple of fallen twigs on the path. The crackling of breaking wood echoes through the quiet garden, splintering the peace and the silence of the morning.

“Good Morning, Falennt” Amalia greets warmly. Her footsteps pause, her head tilts yet she does not turn as she continues to wander, her features becoming almost childlike as she finds small prizes within the shrubbery obscuring them, crowding the useful elements of this patch.

Shooing away rebellious curls that have already begun to wander from their confines of pins, she finally turns hearing him not far behind her. The rays of sunlight create a golden glow upon her raven locks. Clasping her hands before her, holding various leaves within her grasp, she patiently waits for his familiar presence to appear before her.

Amazement lights itself on Falennt’s face, and quirks one eyebrow into a light crescent the moment he hears Amalia’s greeting. A gentled contemplation touches his brow and he glances at the ring of braided raven locks on one finger. And next she would know what he will say to her when he sees her then,
Falennt chuckles inwardly, almost finding it amusing such a link would start to exist between them as he moves towards her voice.
‘Good morning.’ And the reply, and the expected silence as the Archmage regards her with silver eyes washed in interest over what she is doing.

Hazel eyes darken to a shade of green as Amalia’s gaze falls upon his form. They scan over him momentarily pausing upon the cloak draped over his arm “I see how you came upon me then” she half grins as her appraisal continues upward to meet his own silvery depths. They never fail to amaze me, she thinks for a moment.

Amalia’s hands release themselves, one moving once again to lift her skirts as she comes forward from the foliage to stand before him. “Would you care to.. play in the dirt with me?” she asks, her good mood prompting her to tease, having a good feeling he’ll decline such an offer. An impish grin forms upon her lips.

Surprise take the other eyebrow into a fleeing arch over his forehead now at her suggestion at such a ..well suggestion to play in the dirt. ‘We shall be gardeners this morning, ‘arna?’

Falennt removes her robe from his arm thoughtfully as his eyes dilate, still in performed shock at the temerity of her words. ‘I suppose we can be mistaken for farmers then. It is rather early.’ His eyes hunt around for some place to drape both her robe and his cloak, finally folding both neatly over a half-broken marble bench. ‘It’s only dirt. I used to collect water from the moat for experiments before.’ He laughs suddenly at memories drawn from stilled depths as he rolls up sleeves now.

Amalia blinks in obvious surprise, her grin faltering for a moment to replace with the lift of a single brow. His response was obviously not what she’d expected. Continuing to stare at him blankly for a moment, she begins to laugh at her obvious shock.

“Very well then Farmer Falennt” she grins as she watches him for a moment, her fingers still clutching the various herbs she’d picked up. Turning, her skirts hiked up to mid calf, she begins to wander once more, searching out useful items amongst the mess of negligence. “Perhaps, we can start with exactly how long this has been like this?” she asks curiously, already thinking on the possibilities of restoring it.

Indeed this is a morning of surprises for the both of them, he laughs again quietly to himself, somewhat feeling more comfortable and in better spirits now. She put to words what he is going to ask of her. Just how long this place has been like this…’ He crooks elbows now, setting hands on hips and straightening to inhale the earthy moisture of the overgrowth. ‘A few months, since Noirin and her maids left.’

Amalia suddenly grins, kneeling before a clump of growth “Come” she utters as she begins to pull away stems and leaves, leaving them rooted in the ground still but creating a space to see what lies beneath. Glancing over her shoulder, a grin half forms upon her lips, an eyebrow rising once again as she watches Falennt curiously for a reaction to being elbow deep in the dewy plot. “Has no one cared for it then?” She’d already assumed not, the considerable neglect proving as much.

Falennt follows then; this is her realm, something he is not familiar with, though taught the use of dried herbs, to nurture nature and plant-life is something out of his sphere. He frowns slowly, tilting his head.

‘No, no one bothered with this place – and the curse I mentioned of, killed some of the plants, though some strangely thrived from it.’ He looks at Amalia expectantly, irises turning into bright mercury slits as his emotions shift. ‘Thus I locked up the gardens from prying eyes.’

Amalia smiles, her features brightening with the action as she finds a slight growth of comfrey, Extracting parts from this plant as well, she leans back on her heels to regard Falennt for a moment, “Obviously, the plants that thrived were not for the betterment of this place however”

She blinks at him in the light, holding out the uprooted plant within her palm, taking in his changed demeanor “For sprains, burns…swelling” she begins, her words trailing off as she wonders if he’d really be interested in mere plants. “it’s there, for how much longer however, without care…” She wonders briefly if she’d even bring herself to inquire, this was not her home. She had no business wanting to restore a garden.

His head tilts again, tipping to a side, a few locks of silver hair finding their way out of the velvet ribbon that secures them. ‘Comfrey, I use them in stews.’ A wan smile meets her eyes as he regards the plant she holds.
Falennt’s upper shoulder shrugs less than pleasantly though; ‘I do not know who would want to try to take care of a cursed garden..’ He trails off, suddenly thinking of something. ”arna, did you, by chance… no, how did you manage to find your way here?

Amalia grins softly at his question, finding it interesting that he’d be curious about her wanderings. She appears thoughtful for a moment. “You could say… I am drawn to places such as this.” she offers, choosing her words carefully. “Nature has it’s own calling, such as one might find a source of magic or an item of great power” Her smile becomes wistful, her eyes lighted with a strange thoughtfulness as her fingers absently move across the leaves within her palm. “A druid’s playing field” she murmurs, realizing for the first time that the topic hadn’t come up until now.

A hint of silver chases into the obsidian slits of Falennt’s eyes upon hearing her words. His features tightening as he entertains an ascertained, if not ridiculous then, thought in his head. Not even the four big bags of gold Mbwana gave him the evening before would purchase this miracle if he could have it happen. There was only one path leading here; the grass used to be dead, and he saw it renewed earlier.

Falennt offers his hand towards her, his lips pressing together tightly and suddenly like a precocious young boy wanting to show off his prized spinning top, he speaks half-eagerly, ”arna, come, lets see if you can do something for this place.’

Amalia lifts her gaze to Falennt, an amused grin mixed with curiosity spreads across her features at what could possibly have gotten him so excited. Her palm opens up to take his, not wanting to crush the plant within his grasp, she transfers the comfrey to her free hand with her other gatherings.

As if by the coaxing of her fingertips, the leaves seemed to have taken on a lush, healthy appearance. Where only stems had been, new growth had begun to sprout from within. She appears to take no notice however, as her newly free hand slides into his own, her grin remaining.

Remembering an old rose bush, rather a climbing briar of a tearose hybrid at the far end of the garden near to the large wall, now crumbling stone and mortar, Falennt takes her there, winding past a few decayed marble benches and statues choked by tendrils of dark green ivy.

‘Here, this one.’ He glances up the wall at the shriveled growth of what is once a grand lattice of verdant leaves, fluted blooms of white and graceful tendrils. ”arna, can you?’ He releases her hand from his, turning to glance at her, the shift in emotions on seeing the dead plant coloring his eyes into watery silver.

Amalia watches him silently for a moment, the impulse to question what it was he asked of her became unneeded as she became witness to a complete shift in his composure. Her eyes move slowly over the structure before her, pulling away a brittle, crumbling leaf. “What is it that you call me Falennt?” she asks suddenly, her fingers curling around the decayed leaf. The shade of her eyes darken once again, emotions are always inevitably attached to something she holds dear to her. Instinctively, she searches for the same from him and this task.

‘Which?’ He questions, pulling his gaze from the towering mass of dead leaves and lianas. ”arna?’ The Archmage tilts his head, pulling his hands behind him in that clasp again, the muscles of bared forearms going taut with his motions.

Falennt blinks very slowly, not expecting her to ask and his mind sweeps back to the moments before; he /had/ been calling her that, unconsciously even. ‘That means, my little deer, in our tongue.’

His reply is flattened with a straight forth, forced nonchalant tone and he returns to watching what she might do for the plant, his lips drawing to a thin line, obvious he would not speak anymore.

A light shade of pink steals across Amalia’s cheeks at the familiarity of the term. The leaf, crumbled and broken, is released falling to the ground before her feet. She kneels once again, pulling away at the dead parts that surrounded the plant.

“Naturally… to receive, one must give” she murmurs softly, continuing to search for a piece of life still clinging to the vines. Her eyes move to his now controlled form, positive that she’s repeating known information to this man waiting patiently.

Amalia’s fingers continue to search and pull away, finding what she seeks. A deep breath issues between slightly parted lips. One hand is placed upon the earth, the warmth once again returning to her as she attempts to coax life from beneath the soil, within moments a sliver of life begins, breaking through about an inch from the earth.

There is no break in the marblelike stature of the Archmage as Amalia begins her magic upon the vines, though traces of curiosity touched by a mellow rising of awe wavers into his eyes at the words she utters.

Falennt’s hands release from their tight clutch, one moving to place over a heart suddenly griped by pain but if he would will it away, he did. And he continues to watch her, marveling at what she could do, saying nothing only admiring quietly.

Where trailing plant life had once dwindled, new growth slowly flourishes throughout already existing vines still clinging upon the wall. Buds begin to blossom to the now risen sun, new vines spring forth from the moist earth beneath Amalia’s hand.

Her lips move, though no words are spoken, her eyebrows etched in concentration. Through closed eyes, she gives parts of herself to create this single wish for the man beside her, picturing the strength growing within the roots, stems, leaves, creating delicate blooms upon the once barren wall. Finally, releasing her hand from the earth, she remains – silent. Her eyes still closed as the growth continues without her.

He watches as each and every leaf uncurls into lush, emerald splendor, the vines strengthen, finding support upon the stone wall. Buds of white peek out underneath the curved rims of baby leaves, and tendrils arch lithely outwards, seeking the nourishing rays.

Falennt lifts a hand to his ear, an involuntarily gesture, and his head dips, hearing strains of melody shifting, bright harmonious notes chiming as Amalia’s druidic magic cascades down the blighted plant, giving it the touch of life once more.

How beautiful it is. He has not heard such songs ever since the curse began its ravages through this castle. The Archmage lifts his chin, silver eyes catching onto the plant reborn, his lips parted as his gaze travels upwards to follow the blooming roses. His heart no longer pained, he realizes abruptly, the ache soothed by the symphony of her magic.

Amalia’s eyelids slowly begin to lift. Their depths swim in various shades as her gaze rises from her position before the wall. Her hand moves to her chest, feeling the quickened beat beneath her palm. Breathlessly, barely audible she whispers Falennt’s name as she attempts to reign in her own thoughts and emotions.

A soft, almost weak smile caresses her lips, forgotten tendrils curl against her shoulders and collarbone. She laughs lightly as she caresses her fingers over the circling leaves, the velvety feel of them against her skin fascinating even her. “It is yours once again”

‘Not mine.’ He finally speaks, breaking the silence of his own making. ‘No, you brought it back. It died and it left me. It is yours now.’ His hand falls from his chest to linger fingers over the new leaves and soft blooms.
The Archmage’s hand suspense’s over a cluster of small buds, their petals tightly clinched together and awaiting the rays of sun to strike them apart. He seems to sense something and steps nearer to her, leveling his silver gaze with her dark eyes.

‘Are you alright though?’ He asks, concern stealing into his voice and the wonder he beheld in himself now for this woman tracing the edges of his timbre, faint but clear.

The faint smile remains as Amalia returns Falennt’s gaze, tearing her eyes away from the miracle before her to fixate on the one questioning her. Her arms cross over each other, rubbing along her skin as if chilled and nods reassuringly in response.

“Such is anything that is worth sharing with another, it will take time to grow” She gazes pointedly at Falennt, unable to find words to express herself. “It meant something to you…” the words come out as part statement, part question.

‘Let it grow then.’ He echoes her, glancing at the flourishing briar again before his gaze touches upon her face, taking in her delicate features. ‘It meant many things to me, ‘arna. My memory, my former life, my teacher.’
Falennt holds back his words for a moment, growing very quiet before he speaks again in a tranquil, almost revered hush. ‘I have yet to thank you for this gift you gave to it.’

He searches her face now, the silver mirrors in his eyes cracking once, only this once for her, allowing Amalia to see more than just plain gratitude within the mercurial pools, but tender affection for this woman before him.

Amalia’s features seem to falter, either from fatigue or the expression he gives her in the brief moments of eye contact. Her hands rise to cup his cheeks tenderly, how could she ever refuse a request from him. Her control vanished in his presence, the tenderness shown by him now only deepened that instinct. “You take with it a part of my peace” she utters softly, leaning forward to press her lips against his cheek, faintly before pulling away once again to gaze upon his features.

Falennt closes his eyes, chin lowering to level his face with hers. He smiles lightly, a finger curving to brush a tendril of hair from her face. ‘I will take it then.’ He whispers, leaning forth, returning the kiss ardently, his lips brushing against her cheek. ‘You need something to eat after this; there’s much more to do later.’ He muses, retracting back to straighten slightly, eyes falling upon the climbing roses.

Amalia pulls away from Falennt slightly, her eyebrows furrowing as she suddenly remembers the forgotten meal in the tower. “Much more you say?” she asks. A nearly unreadable expression crosses her features for the slightest of moments. One mixed with affection and grief all at once. Her features are masked just as quickly and a grin curves her lips. “Perhaps” she responds, her eyes already moving about in search of their cloaks as she regains some of her own composure.

‘Much more; though it might be too much to ask.’ Falennt inhales deeply, taking in the late morning air already warmed now by the overhead sun. ‘The trees around the tower, ‘arna.’ Another inhalation of breath comes again.
His hand slips out to take hers promptly, making her stay and urging her to look at him once more. He could not find it in his heart to plead though, and he frowns, discarding whatever he wanted to say.

When she would have departed in search of their things, Falennts hand stilled Amalia’s movements. Her head lowers slightly before turning to face him, unsure if she could look upon his features and not feel a sort of painful need to have him open to her.

As she turns however, she is greeted with his frown. Her own expression turns to one of worry as she steps close to him again. “Falennt, what is it?” she asks, searching his eyes, his expression for an answer to his sudden displeasure.

His frown vanishes at her question to a self-conscious knitting of his eyebrows. Lips parting, and with a brief wetting of the lower with his tongue, Falennt replies, voice soft, reminiscent of his ten year old self, the shy, reticent Ffalenn, one she would never had seen, ‘Make the sparrows come back, ‘arna.’

How many amazing discoveries can be made in a single person within a morning, she idly wonders. Her worry vanishing as she senses his reason for hesitation. She could bring them back this instant to appease him, to bring him the slightest of ounce of joy again. She knew very well they would not stay however, without a place to dwell.

A smile laced with the utmost sincerity and adoration, one for he alone is offered in response. “It is not impossible Melamin” She leans forward, her fingers curling around his own finally, squeezing his affectionately. “Come then, we have much to do” she repeats his words spoken earlier.

Falennt would finally smile and laugh now at her touch and her promise to bring back the creatures he loves so much. Hand still in hers, he leads the both of them away from the budding roses, and perhaps he could almost hear a gentle flurry of many tiny feathered wings behind him and the bright chirping of an aubade to the rising sun.

She had expected to be stopped before coming upon the lands of Lo’kier, nothing prepared her for what she’d actually found. With the mingling of people outside the dwelling, she removes the hood, her eyes fixating on a young man before addressing him, “Tell me, why are there no sentry to watch these doors?” she inquires of him.

The youth pushes unkempt, oily locks of brown hair from his eyes and glares at the woman, his expression souring. “I donno, I follow’d me pa here. He said we be gettin’ rich.” Spitting the wad of narcotic herb he was chewing almost at her feet, the youth stalks away back to his own camp, throwing her another weird glance before he vanishes into a badly built tent near to the moat.

Amalia takes a step back, a look of disgust on her face as she watches him walk off. “Well that was… enlightening” she mutters, pushing tendrils from her cheek. Her face lifts, her eyes looking over the crumbling castle and taking a step forward, she enters the castle slowly expecting someone to instantly halt her.

Within the great expanse before her, Amalia bites her lip, unsure if she should have come here. Where would she even begin to find who she seeks? Her gaze falls upon halls and doors, this place completely foreign to her. Running her hands along the folds of her cloak, she closes her eyes briefly as her fingers once again caress over a silver braid of hair hidden within it’s depths. Her eyes open once again and she begins to move forward, examining paintings and artifacts placed throughout.

Further in one of the smaller ruined courtyards, Falennt’s hooded head is lifted towards a wrecked statue, its marble face defiled, and the eyes once orbs of gold, gouged out by a petty thief. A cold wind sweeps its way into the courtyard, churning up dried leaves upon the moss-covered stone slabs covering the ground, twisting the black folds of his cloak into swirling rivers of obsidian.

He turns from the broken statue, head bowed as he paces from the courtyard, hands pulled behind his back. The depth and shadow of the hood shrouds his face, and the prying eyes of some of the refugees resting in the courtyard follow him, examining the cloaked sea-elf with curiosity and a hint of fear. He ignores them and turns into a hallway, mindful of the soft steps he hears at the end of it, a woman perhaps and probably another immigrant.

Absorbed in her own thoughts, Amalia’s fingers trail curiously over items, scanning the chambers and hallways where doors remain open. Her steps whispers softly as she moves. Paying no mind as others pass her by, an eyebrow lifts slightly, thinking she could look in here forever and probably pass him by all together.

Taking a deep breath, she turns on her heel and begins down one of the hallways. Hearing steps further down, a hand quickly moves to cover her mouth, stifling a curse as her elbow connects with the doorframe, having backed into it.

Pausing by an open door which once led into a Knights’ chamber, Falennt draws in a breath, both hands lifting to fold down the hood of his cloak, the dim firelight that illuminates the hallway casting a copper sheen upon his silver locks.

Sadness seems to flit past his face, memories and nostalgia condensed into an expression that darts away immediately like a frightened butterfly. The Archmage replaces his hood and continues his trail down the shadowed hallway, the sound of a whispered curse and a loud knock reaching his ears. A frown tints his face but irritation melts into contained surprise when another sound – a single melodic strain, of her, touches his being.

Amalia holds her elbow in her hand, rubbing it as she chastises herself for her behavior. She was not one of those people camped outside waiting for their chance to put their fingers on the castle’s worth. She stands to the side of the doorway now, waiting for the dull throb to subside in her arm. Laughing lightly at her childish actions, this was most definitely not how she expected to come upon Lo’kier. A clumsy foolish woman hiding from shadows in dark hallways.

She waits, sure there was someone there as a briefly familiar feeling assails her senses. Her brow furrows.. a scent perhaps. She isn’t quite sure.

Falennt’s darkly outlined figure approaches, the sick scent of roses about him as he stalks down the shadowy hallway, his movements hastening though his steps are still light and noiseless. Perhaps he heard it all wrongly – he is tired, and why would she come here, to this decayed ruin of a castle.

He halts a few paces from the doorway, the strange vertical irises of his silver eyes thinning in response to the familiarity of the figure there, and the involuntary clench of his jaw at the sight of it. His fingers tense in a tight lock behind his back and he stays his ground, watching intensely almost like a predator.

Amalia’s eyes widen slightly, what sort of luck would it be that she would find the very person she was in search of standing right before her. Still holding her elbow, her eyes scan over Falennt, taking in his familiar form. A shade of pink steals across her features as she realizes he just watches her. “I suppose your wondering what I’m doing here” she utters softly, releasing her arm as it the ache is forgotten, forgetting even now what her purpose was for coming.

‘I am.’ Came the flat answer from within the darkness of his hood, the tonal quality of it possibly expectance of him by her. The Archmage closes in, melding with the shadows cast by the open doorway, pulling his hood off as he does. ‘Wondering, in fact, why are you here.’ He continues, firelight shaping his face into strange, alien angles and touching metallic hues to the inhuman irises as his eyes blink, staring down into her own, and her face.

Falennt tilts his head, listening as Amalia composes herself to speak. His eyes notice the release of her hand from her elbow yet he makes no utterance of it, nor ask whether she is hurt.

The Archmage inhales once, deliberately before sweeping a glance behind one shoulder, down the hallway. ‘Reason, or none, we should not be seen here as well.’ He murmurs, placing a hand light upon her upper arm, a chaste touch despite the moments they had shared. ‘Come. We’ll go to my tower. People…might recognize who you are. It will not do your reputation any good, ‘arven.’

‘You’re so much like a sparrow.’ Like an afterthought, he adds, while directing her to move down another hallway into a silent courtyard filled with dead trees, the eerie gloom of the place unwelcoming even to the most daring refugee.

“A sparrow?” she asks as he guides her outside, the comparison taking her by surprise. Her expression crumbles somewhat to see the life so drained from the courtyard. She wonders if there were ever a time when it flourished. More questions, curiosity, though she does not ask as they move quickly, still curious about his previous words and the need to remain unseen. Her head lowers slightly, her eyes darting from the trees back to the man directing her.

A faint smile catches his lips as he nods to her. ‘A sparrow.’ He echoes, not saying anything more about why even he likened her to one. He takes her on a path, trodden only by him and perhaps just another, towards a heavy oaken door.

Breaking his steps, he glances musingly at the unlocked door. There is no need for the lock even – the dead trees of once verdant courtyard are enough to keep any thief or burglar at bay.

Falennt pushes the door open, revealing a stairway spiraling upwards around a newel of dark granite. ‘There used to be sparrows here.’ He suddenly remarks, taking another long, thoughtful look at the dead trees. ‘But let us go. The wind is cold here.’ He steps behind her, thick cloak whirling into place like an additional shadow haunting his form.

For the moment, she refrains from commenting further. Placing her hand upon the banister, she begins up the steps. Her fingers slide over the surface, her footsteps light as she searches upward toward the end.

Amalia’s free hand pulls her cloak upward, her skirts beneath coming with it as well as she finds them a sudden nuisance. Reaching the top of the stairs, she feels as if they were entering his private sanctuary, very interested at what may be found within. Turning as she reaches the top, she moves so he may come up after her.

The soft thud of his boots reverberates quietly as he climbs up the stairs behind her, towards his chamber at the topmost of the Tower. Bare stone walls line the entire ascent, the only difference in detail be the shift of shadows and firelight on each slab and block of rock. As he steps onto the landing next to her, he keeps a polite distance, a hand moving from his cloak to grasp the bronze handle, pushing it down firmly.

Light from the many candles set in copper basins on the walls glint off the aquamarine ring on one of the fingers of that hand, as well as its companion – a shimmering ring of braided ebony locks worn around the next. ‘Here.’ He says, moving the door open to allow her entrance into the dimly lit interior of his chambers.

A smile forms on Amalia’s lips, her expression softening visibly as she catches sight of the new ring adorning his finger. Surprised and touched she reaches upward, her fingers brush against her own hair habitually to push tendrils from her face. She moves into the room, unsure of what to expect as she pushes past the door. “It appears I was quite a ways off from finding you” she half grins as her eyes begin to adjust, “I suppose hurting myself had its advantage.” her words are light and unrushed around him, finding no reason to be overly formal now.

Falennt shuts the door behind him with a dull sound as now both of them are within. Locked with magic and wards away from the conniving fingers of the thieves who had pillaged most of the other rooms, the restored chantry became more bedroom than laboratory. Sparsely furnished with a single bed, a work desk, chairs and a bookshelf lined with only a few volumes, and on a lower shelf, an old lute. The only luxury in this room is a small glass bottle filled with white tearoses, kept in bloom with sorcery, no scent or fragrance emitting from within its undying petals.

Eyeing her slowly, he leans against the door, folding hands behind him. ‘You hurt yourself?’ A wisp of concern tries its way into his voice and it found no niche to hinge upon however. ‘Your elbow?’

Amalia laughs softly, as her hand goes to her elbow once again “I’m fine really, you startled me is all.” Feeling a bit sheepish now at having been so clumsy. She moves about the room, finding comfort amongst his belongings, parts of him. As her fingers move over the bridge of the books on their shelves she glances over her shoulder to look at him, lifting a brow at finding him still by the door. “What’s happened here Falennt?” she inquires softly.

Falennt straightens, taking steps away from the closed door to stand next to her, his gaze flicking down the nearly emptied bookshelf. ‘A curse and a plague, and now what’s left was what you saw earlier.’

A half-shrug ends his words and he turns away from the books and the lute placed at the bottom of the shelves, though not moving from her side. ‘If you’re fine, that is good.’ He glances at her considerably, irises dilating to obsidian slits within a calm sea of silver. ‘You’re not…really here to find out about this place, are you?’ He questions, one eyebrow quirked in a quaint fashion now towards Amalia.

“Would it be so hard to believe?” she offers back, answering his question with one of her own. Her reasons are muddled even in her own mind, a wish to see him again being one of them. Her eyes lock onto his own, as always fascinated by their dragon-like appearance. “Perhaps I just wanted you alone in a room for my own purposes” she teases lightly, the grin faltering as she remembers her reason for coming.

Shrugging the joke away, “There is someone or something taking the lives of those in Eldestra that are not of the Elohai” she murmurs. “There was… a mention of finding each other again before you left. I was concerned..” she trails off at her admittance to worrying.

Falennt listens, his expression nonplussed as she attempts to explain herself, or even what is the reason for her being here. ‘I would believe you.’ He replies her with an expected aridity before the dry tone softens slightly.

He appears to inhale, his head canting to take in her features and abruptly as it is, caught within a yearning of his own make, his hands sought hers, pulling her into embrace. And in spite of the livid pain immediately lurching through his half of a heart, his lips find her soft ones, his kisses hard and insistent upon her mouth as his long fingers tangle in her raven locks, the cold fingertips brushing the upward tilt of her ears.

Amalia’s eyebrows lift in surprise, a sound of shock is quickly muffled by his lips as it fades to a soft sigh as warmth spreads through her frame. In an instant her own hands move to embrace him, having missed him yet unwilling to voice it.

She returns his kiss with a deeply rooted passion of her own, her hair beginning to tumble from its arrangement. Pins securing her locks fall unnoticed to the floor. Whispering his name softly, she finally finds her true reason for coming here.

Within the darkness of his chambers, he would give in, yet the struggle for control again cores into his being, making him break away from her on hearing his name fall from her lips.
Falennt’s own mouth parts in a quick exhale of air, the half of his heart quickening to beat and he tries to slow it down. ‘Amalia.’ He whispers, brushing away the wayward tendrils and locks from her cheeks and forehead, which he had in his fervor, ruined their delicate arrangement. And his hands pauses, framing her jaw with them and tilting her face towards his.

Amalia’s eyes flutter open, their depths swimming in the response he elicited from her. They watch his own struggle to contain himself as he held her face delicately in his grasp. She wets her lips, not wanting to let go just yet as his nearness warms her chilled frame. “I promise, this is not what I intended” she whispers, not expecting yet not protesting it either. The pain he holds back at her expense brings her back to reality as he utters her name in return.

A curt nod replies her words and he gracefully evicts himself away from her, drawing in air to steady himself, the almost unseen gill flaps on his neck twitching. ‘What shadow you said?’ He asks, head dipping for a moment in thought before touching her elbow to guide her towards one of the chairs; whether she wishes to sit, it is her choice. ‘As for finding each other again,’ He waits a moment before continuing, ‘I thought it was left to Fate, no?’

“I believe I already know the cause of what’s happening, a warning.” Amalia brings her hand around to grasp his against her elbow, holding onto it. She turns to stand in front of him, brushing against his torso, her face tilted toward his, “Even fate requires assistance from time to time Falennt” she murmurs. Her thumb caresses over his fingers held within her grasp. Lifting it, she places her lips against the ring containing a lock of her hair.

‘Do you require my assistance then?’ He asks, allowing her to lift his hand and fingers to her lips, and within even the shadows of this chamber, an unmasked tenderness reflects in his eyes, like a dragon watching his treasure. Falennt trails his fingers away from her mouth, flicking his wrist to trace the back of his hand against her cheek, and though his jaw tightens again, he swallows, keeping the pain for himself, not for her.

‘As for fate..’ That passive shrug completes what he perhaps wanted to say. ‘You wanted to see me, ‘arven?’ He asks, question direct, and formally addressing her again.

Amalia turns her cheek into his hand, her eyes closing at the slight touches they share. Her gaze lifts to look at him once again her head shaking as she suspects he sees through her reasons. “I did want to see you Falennt,” she confesses. Her eyes still watching his own. “I needed to. The emotions you bring about…” Removing his hand, she covers it over her chest, the quick beat of her heart caused by him felt beneath her own fingertips. “Feel how I respond to you”

A faint laugh, weak like a twittering of a bird, trickles from him as her heartbeat resonates together with that pleasant melodic strain of hers. ‘Does no one else bring about those emotions, ‘arven?’ He runs his gaze over her form, fastening his silver eyes upon the dark depths of her own. ‘What do you wish to hear me say to you, Amalia?’ He comes closer, fingers finding their way down her arms, lacing tight into hers.

Amalia slides her fingers with his, as she comes forward to press her cheek into his shoulder, her lips caressing against his neck “No one save you” her breath whispering across his skin. Her voice so near to his ear, she speaks low, words meant only for him “I do not wish you to say anything… if it is not how you feel. Just know that I have found a pleasure in your arms that has been lacking for some time.” Her entire being embraces him, caressing against him as she speaks.

The habitual need for struggle invokes itself in Falennt the moment she encompasses him again. With only half a heart, he could only give her this much, or perhaps spare. His pain is his own and he is unwilling to let her see it.

His hands wind around hers, pulling her to rest with him upon his bed. ‘Stay with me tonight.’ He murmurs, mouth leveling to her ear and gently kissing the cold skin of her earlobe. Her directness in wanting him amused him, though on a greater scale, he admits readily he is indeed still attracted to her. One hand finds her neck, feathering fingertips across it. ‘Are you willing, ‘arven?’

In response Amalia places her hands against his cheeks, her fingers sliding along his jaw line and into his hair on either side. As she kisses him softly at first, a deep sigh issues forth from her. She briefly wonders where her control had disappeared to. Perhaps her words were too much or not enough, she contented herself with the present however. He was here with her and that’s what mattered.