Elyna twisted to watch his move around the home she’d shared for almost an arc with Malcolm. They existed in a kind of ceasefire, careful not to spark an argument and so the house was always tidy and clean. They were both neat, but with a puppy and an active baby it would have be easier to let things slip. It was almost a compulsion though, they both kept the house immaculate so there couldn’t be the usual arguments about picking up towels, or changing the sheets, who was going to do the washing up. It was easier to be perfect, all of the time, to avoid a whisper of disagreement; and it was exhausting. Vakhanor moved through it all, oblivious to the political minefield and washed his mug as though he belonged in the kitchen.
Who was Oberyk? She didn’t have time to ask as he returned her question.
What do you want? The skyrider rebelled against the sudden sensation of being pinned to her chair. She reached out and stole Malcolms’ mug, peering at the untouched tea within. It smelt of ginger and found herself blinking fast once more. Maybe it was just a mixture left over from her last pregnancy, or maybe he’d started adding it to their drinks again.
“I want a lot of things that I can’t have,” she admitted. More than anything, she wanted time and the ability to change the past. She wanted to set fire to the letter her Mother had sent back in Ashan, explaining that a match had been found. She wanted to slap Malcolm for telling her that they’d been fun, and trying to walk away with the shrug of his shoulders. She’d wrap herself around him, without caring what it looked like, and swear she’d never agree to her parents demands. She’d refuse her title and set her old life and her family aside to be with him and wait…until maybe one day he could choose her.
She wanted to escape it all and start fresh. If there was a right way to fall in love, she’d do it. Elyna smoothed her shirt down, holding on the hem. There was no leaving anything behind, she was bound here and to Malcolm whether he wanted her or not. It was easy to imagine standing up from the table and simply walking away. It would be dangerous and exciting and the life she’d always dreamt of as a little girl. Travelling Idalos and seeing the world. Despite the wild fantasy, her heart squeezed at the thought of Elsie and Malcolm and the new baby on the way. Even if her fantasy was offered on a plate, she wouldn’t take it. Maybe she just wanted the world to be simpler and easier to manage.
Elyna realised that she hadn’t given an answer and lifted the mug, taking a slow sip of tea.
“I don’t know,” she couldn’t look at Vakhanor either. The Skyrider didn’t have a plan that extended beyond the necessary duties of every day. Thinking too far ahead stirred such a deep sense of loss and regret for all that had happened in the time behind her. There was only each day, and for the time being it was all she could manage. Looking after Elise, keeping the house tidy, seeing her parents, existing with Malcolm, following her duties with the Skyrider’s.
“Maybe a map,” she forced herself to look at Vakhanor with a smile, “to show me where I’m supposed to go next.”
A familiar pain painted Elyna’s face, and yet they had so different an affliction of it. Drying his mug with a rag, Vakh placed the small utensil down on the counter and took a deep breath as he turned to wander over to Elyna, kneeling down beside her.
Silence lingered in the gaps where Vakhanor chose for her words to sink in. Empathetic, the smith took her delicate hand between his calloused fingers “You once told me you didn't want to marry a man because you loved another,” he uttered softly, mirroring her uncertainty with compassion “I told you then what I will now, your map…” Vakhanor lifted his fingers against her heart “has always been right there.”
Intensity of a single moment saw his worries drift into the wind as he withdrew his hand and looked up at her with a concerned smile. This time, she was drowning and it was his turn to bring her back up to the surface. He reflected on Elyna’s analogy, better a broken boat than no boat at all. Malcolm was too his friend by default of their marriage, if Vakh could help Elyna see the good that she had in her life then he would do his best to achieve that, for both of their sakes.
Back against back they had stood together, since even before the death of his brother Vakhanor had tried to help the woman and after all this time that had never changed. Through it all, for the good or the bad he'd cling to the one bit of sanctity he had left in the safe little haven on top of the hill.
There was such sincerity in his voice and the moment so serious, that Elyna felt the first crack in the brittle skin she’d stared carving out for herself.
“I think my map might be faulty,” and wasn’t that the truth. She met the intense blue gaze of the Smith before covering her mouth, to hide her laughter. Elyna turned away, cheeks burning tried to steady her breathing.
“The world turned so serious, Vakh,” the woman struggled to suppress her giggle. He was right, of course. Her heart should be her guide, it was what they’d said all along. The Skyrider sank back in her chair with the trace of laughter subsiding. She felt exhausted from the curve of her shoulders to the ends of her toes, completely drained of life. Blind, she extended her hand to take his once more and held it tightly. Then she leant forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Careful not to stand on him, or knee him in the face, the young woman stood and moved around her chair, perching on the table top instead and released the Smith’s burly digits.
A burst of laughter had cleared the air and she felt more relaxed then she had in trials. When was the last time she’d laughed? What about Malcolm? “He knows that I kissed you,” her voice dropped again. “I’m sorry for doing that,” the woman admitted, reaching out to touch his arm. “I’m sorry that it meant you’ve kept your distance when you probably needed a friend. I think…if I’m honest following my heart has always got me into a bigger mess.”
Last edited by Elyna on Mon Apr 10, 2017 3:10 pm, edited 2 times in total. word count: 280
Warmth filled the room and Elyna relaxed, her lips were as gentle like the touch of the Ashan breeze against his forehead. Calm and thankful to be reunited with his friend the smith too laughed and allowed her to hold his hand, just for a little while. She was right, the world had gotten serious, it was a fact that very rarely changed. Moments like these were the ones that counted the most.
“Nah. Your heart did you well,” he replied, grabbing her shoulder “you got a good husband and a happy home. So what about the kiss? Forget it. It only matters if it means something to you.” Vakhanor retreated away from her and returned to the counter, folding his arms as he settled back against the wood.
Reality sunk back in and his softened mood shrunk back into his usual candid demeanour. Discomfort coursed beneath Vakh’s skin as his thoughts drifted to the man and the child in the next room. There was clearly tension between the married couple and being the cause of it was the last thing he wished for. “If you need a break away with Malcolm to sort some things out, I'll look after Elsie,” he offered, returning his gaze to the horizon.
Heartstrings lay waste to the truth, again and again he worked to shatter the illusion of love and it worked. There was no love between the two friends, only a closeness born from their understanding of one another. Their relationship was built on the foundation of pain and pain was what they shared.
The woman curled her hands around the luke-warm mug and she almost relaxed, until the mention of her husband. At which point it was as though all the hairs stood up on the back of her neck. A chill ran down her spine and the woman shook her head, eyes narrowed as she stared at the cooling liquid.
“Vakh,” it was never easy, trying to explain what happened. Most of all, she hated living a lie and the assumption that people made. Well, it wasn’t an assumption, Vakhanor had seen them married with his own eyes. He’d been a witness to their wedding. “We’re not married,” the woman scowled and set the mug down, legs swinging from the table, “I’m sorry you were caught up in it all, and...I meant everything I said and the promises and…” she couldn’t look at the bedroom door and so she shrugged. “The marriage wasn’t legal, so I’m just Elyna,” she flashed him a grin that failed to reach her eyes. The expression returning with all the brittle composure she was growing so used to.
“When you met me, I guess I was that Noble Lady on her way to meet her betrothed,” she shrugged again, “I always told you, I was more Skyrider than anything else – so I guess that’s still true. A Skyrider with a bastard daughter and a second on the way.” She laughed, as though it was funny. In reality her neck and ears were burning and it was hard to look him in the eye. The young woman wanted the memory erased from everyone that had attended, she wanted it to have never happened. “Maybe that could be our next adventure,” she tried to joke, “I’ve made so many plans to steal that record from the city ledgers. I reckon I could cut it out, or burn the page before anyone found me…If I got arrested then I’m pretty sure I could talk my way out of it.”
"Elyna,” her name left his lips like a command, soldier to soldier his icy blue eyes bore into hers “How often have you caught me treating you like a fucking noble.” Vakhanor rebelled against the snide nature of her grin, false and full of malice.
The skyrider knew better than to bare bitterness and Vakhanor had enough of her moping. Marching back to her side Vakhanor grabbed Elyna’s face with one hand, forcing her to look up into his eyes “Custom or none, you were married that day and I know you meant the words,” he growled, rage slowly calming “look me in the eye and tell me when you suddenly gave a fuck about what anybody else thought of you.”
Boiling in his blood, Vakhanor could feel the urge to succumb to the darkness that had been festering over the past few cycles. “I knew you as a soldier. If you want to be treated like a skyrider then act like one. Not a snobby, bitching noble crying about a piece of paper.”
Letting her go Vakhanor stepped away from the woman, turning away from her to quell his frustration “You have everything.” While he had nothing. Very little remained of his home other than the bed his mother died in and an old teddy bear he had brought for Bjorn when the baby was little. Enough was enough, what kind of mother would actually call their kid a bastard. The thought made him sick, a child was a child. Whether it was conceived before or after a ceremony of vows.
The woman was pinned when he took hold of her face, dark eyes growing wide with fear and her heart felt as though it was going to burst through her chest. Hands on her face or neck, with any kind of anger were enough to spill her back into Saun and the torment she’d received at Marcus’s hands. She couldn’t breathe or move until his growl was enough to push her further beyond the brink. A soldier? The woman stood so fast that the chair fell over behind her and crashed to the floor.
“It’s not the paper, Vakh” she growled at her friend in turn as she advanced “it’s the lie!”
Hands curled into fists she pushed at him. Why was it, that when the men in her life made her angry, she decided to lay hands on them? The young woman couldn’t remember this same kind of seething rage from a time before, but it had grown in the darkness of Burhan. It waited, coiling like a spring till the moment she could strike out. Fighting against the wrong people, and taking her revenge on men that hadn’t hurt her, because she couldn’t kill her demons by facing Marcus. He was lost to the wind. “Does it look like I’m crying? No, I’m laughing because it’s ridiculous. This whole f—king façade is ridiculous! I meant everything that I promised and you’re right. I’ve never given a damn what the rest of the world thought of me. But when the people you love make it something twisted…"
People always referred to Malcolm as a calm man who was able to tolerate more than his fair share, but over the last few seasons, things had taken a turn. His fuse was short, his anger quick to surface, and he, like Elyna, had noticed the cracks and didn't know what to do about the anymore.
The toppled chair saw Elsie jump, and as the conversation took a turn, Malcolm decided to step in. He took up the doorway, the house from that angle appearing to shrink around him. Elsie looked on, curious, from her father’s arms, eyes following the stranger. Malcolm pressed a kiss to the babe’s temple in a bid for her attention, to put a smile on her face where it looked otherwise as if tears were to be summoned.
“I think it's time for you to go,” he looked at Vakhanor before his gaze fell on Elyna. “Both of you.”
The warden had that look about him, one that warned that it would be unwise to make him repeat himself. His body language changed, and he twisted Elsie out of view, stating without saying as much, that she would remain with him.
Last edited by Malcolm on Tue Oct 08, 2019 9:33 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 200
The woman was pulled to sharp attention by the Warden’s sudden appearance in the doorway. For a moment she softened and her heart-rate slowed to a dangerous thud. Her eyes burnt at the sight of her baby, safe in her Father’s arms and her hands dropped listless to her side. There had to be a better way to deal with the anger, and the restless hatred that was tearing her life apart. Her ears were roaring with the depths of the ocean and she was dropped to bottom. The house vanished, wooden walls blurring in comparison to the tall, dark-haired man who turned his back on her.
No. The woman had never felt anything like it. There’d been maybe a spark of the deadly emotion, when Malcolm had admitted that Ava, had tried to kill Elsie. The skyrider had stalked the mortalborn woman with absolute calm covering the rage beneath. It seethed and roiled, rolling through her body. Her arms and legs were shaking and her eyes sunk to a bright, ungodly golden hue. Elyna strode towards Malcolm, body rigid with the effort required to contain her anger without lashing out. She would never hurt her baby, but she was damned if she was leaving without Elsie.
There was no way that she could wrestle with Malcolm, not without risking the child. The truly sensible thing would be to walk away, to let her temper cool and to try to mend the bridge between them again. Perhaps the final strip of rope had dwindled to twine because now it snapped. She almost heard it within, she certainly felt it.
“Malcolm,” there was a final knife that she could use to twist into his back. Her voice broke as she stood behind him, “give me my baby. She is not yours.” It wasn't true of course, but the young woman was desperate. Desperate enough to tell the first lie that had left her lips in over a decade.
Malcolm stopped mid-stride. He didn't look back, not right away, but waited for the retreat of the stranger’s footsteps, and if none were to follow, ducked his head in order to stare at the man side-long. He hoped the pause would give Elyna a moment to consider her words and the effect they might have. He hoped also that Vakhanor would give them a moment, but most of all, Malcolm hoped that he would not lose his temper.
Elsie shuffled her foot against Malcolm’s side, like a child trying to encourage a pony to walk forward. “Dadadadad.” She beamed up at him, confused as to why they had stopped.
Malcolm’s features softened as his brow relaxed, lifted as not to frighten his daughter. “She is all right with me for a while.” It was the truth, she would be, and Elyna could use some time to herself to calm down, he thought. “Why don't you show your friend the farm,” Malcolm. suggested, it was nicer than alternative.
Last edited by Malcolm on Tue Oct 08, 2019 9:33 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 174
