• Mature • 6. Buried Treasures

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Continued from 5. S E P E R A T E

A d r e a m e s c a p e in Emea on the third of Ymiden...

...a nightmare of an unknown subconscious...

Lord Charon Llyr Llywelyn felt the chill as he walked with Lars, hands held tight with long silk-gloved fingers entwined with restless lace-gloved fingers. Quiet drips of melted dream pattered over them, the stain of red blood that spread over silver skin and pale hair. Nothing distracted, not when Llyr kept focused on the path recalled. Behind them, the distorted monster scampered as if someone had sewn the broken shells of many different insects together. Awkward, gangly limbs that had no true dexterity, the fanged teeth that overlaid much of it chomped at the air while long tongues lashed out to taste the air and -

- as they walked, the tongues extended to slide along the two intruders to the dream. Scarlet, the tongues glided with the consistency of mucus slime over the white stockings of the maid. They licked at the pointed ears and the magical essence of the back of Llyr's neck. The thin reptilian points tried to sneak under the layers of clothing.

Llyr ignored the touches, even as one tongue slid under the collar of his jacket and tasted his spine. The predator's exploratory licks could be felt as real as anything - or even more real than the waking world itself, with the surreal nature of Emea that provided even greater sensation for those who opened themselves to perception so much. The Becomer sang with the use of his echoed sister's voice in a melody of a simple lullaby.

When they reached the spot on the wall where Llyr knew the constructs hid behind, he paused only long enough to wonder if any time had passed at all since they entered the corridor. He glanced at Lars, once, and drew silent until he lowly whistled and then set their hands together on the wall.

Glimmers of light sparked from under the joined palms, then the light spread into a split that rent the stones apart. The cramped lounge came into view, with all the lords and ladies who immediately paused from their banter to stare at the intruders.

"Have you found Lady Adina?" asked Lord Heber in an empty tone of voice.

The voice was enough.

In a rush, the eyeless monster barreled past with a quick flip that allowed it to climb onto the stones above the dreamwalkers. It crawled through the opening, hisses and squelches as it entered the construct's little sanctuary.

Llyr stood at the threshold, not allowing Lars to move one way or the other, while he observed.

The monster sunk into the nobility with absolute carnage. The awkward gangly appendages proved effective in pinning and tearing apart the bodies. The many mouths fed on the many constructs, dripped red, and overflowed with pulped meat and grounded bones in the noshing of fangs.

"They aren't real," he mentioned to Lars, deep voice calm but able to be heard over the screams and sound of feeding. Llyr glanced at his newest pet, but kept a close watch on the massacre that occurred in front of them. "Do you feel the connective lines? Like strings, or... it's a certain pattern of ether. Perhaps you might be able to also feel it. The dream flows outward from that creature."

"That is the dreamer," he informed. A squelch and a massive spray of vibrant red blood soaked the front of the two dreamers. Llyr blinked, then shook out some of the blood from his bangs. He added, "Once the dreamer's subconscious satiates itself, it will ease enough that we might be able to slip through without any undue harm caused. Now, if NoThing would only join us... I do not think NoThing would want to be trapped in Emea yet again."

The last words weren't necessarily spoken for Lars, but rather Llyr glanced around the dream to keep an expectant eye that the diri might return. The tall biqaj hummed, then looked forward again.

[Lars]

WITH LORD CHARON IN EMEA
ON THE THIRD OF YMIDEN, ARC 720

Laures Lars felt a shiver run down his spine as he walked with Lord Charon, fingers gently tapping against exquisite black silk. Intrusive pointed tongues slipped over stockings and slathered the backs of his slender legs. A soft but shaky exhale fell from his lips, as the silver-eyed servant struggled against the urge to pull away from the strange sensation. He focused on the sound that carried through the narrow corridor; the lovely, lilted lullaby echoed off of stone walls and encased them in quiet reverberation. He willed the unnecessary discomforts away, forced them out of focus, set them adrift on each fading note.

Clothes and tongues and cold dripping blood – fabrics cheap enough to tear with a strong enough grip; the lingering slime of red-tinted saliva; stains to be pulled with liquids colder than the catalyst. Broken down, nothing ever seemed as overwhelming, but it was not often that he had the mind to think so clearly. The motions of his deft fingertips stalled and stuttered and resumed over time as they seemed not to know what they wanted; they carried on after each fleeting pause as if they had never even stopped. And as the dreamers continued in sure forward motion –

– they came upon a barrier of brick and stone, the wall that separated them from those of lesser consequence. Another shiver shook through the servant’s limbs, subtle but for the slightest tremble against his pale companion. From behind snow-white lashes, Lars looked up to him, with features unrevealing of his thoughts. The voice became a whistle, a low, guiding sound. Silk and lace overlaid against stone as their joined hands were raised to the wall, and the light that sparked outward from beneath forced his gaze from Lord Charon’s face.

From nothingness, the light grew. Glimmers reflected on the blond’s starry gaze, silver and bright. Lars watched it splinter through the wall, tearing stone from stone to leave behind a clear path for the dreamers. And on the other side, just a step over the threshold, the crowded lounge of lords and ladies turned to see them arrive.

¿∀NIp∀ ⅄p∀˥ pN∩OℲ ∩O⅄ ƎΛ∀H

A flash of spindly, awkward limbs and scarlet tongues sent the creature forward in a rush – Lars withdrew from stable confidence and leaned quickly closer to his guide. He did not see it crash through the space above them, but witnessed its twirled descent into the room. The force of it all was enough to sway the layers of his black and white garb. It was the only moment of true hesitance – when he felt the cold shifting of the air as it whipped against their backs – before the delicate blond seemed to settle again, made audience of the bloody show.

The eyeless monster clawed and ripped and feasted without mercy. It caught the human’s quiet breath within his throat. The dark centers of his eyes dilated and glimmered in awe of the sudden massacre; his thumb gently traced small circles against the silk that covered Lord Charon’s hand. He did not dare to look away until the other’s voice drew him from his trance, and Lars glanced to the side to catch the ether-filled gaze.

While he had already assumed that they were not real, it was still a slight disappointment to hear that fact confirmed about the brutalized constructs. Lars tried not to let it show upon his face, and thought instead of the inquiry that followed.

“I… suppose so,” answered the soft-spoken servant. “I didn’t think to notice until now. But the dream feels stronger here; more real.”

Lars hardly seemed to react to the spray of bright blood, the sticky warmth that sought to seep through the layers of his uniform… until a sound began to rumble softly in his chest, and bubbled upward from his throat in a giggle. Blood dripped from his hair and streaked down his face; it smeared across his lace glove when he raised his free hand for inspection. He moved his fingers, one by one, to watch the blood soak through.

“I do miss NoThing terribly,” said Lars, “such beautiful things should not be hidden away.”

It might have only been an attempt to appeal to the diri, but he supposed that there was truth within the words. Head tilted to the side, his gaze darted back to Lord Charon, and his blood-stained fingertips tapped against the corner of his mouth.

“What would have happened?” he asked in a whispered tone. “If we had caused any more harm.”

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Small circles. Circles that traced along the curves of his hand. He almost glanced at the thumb that gently continued its rotation. Llyr could not figure if Lars felt anxious or... he did not look anxious. Not when the tall biqaj peered down at the blushed pale features that dripped with the emereal blood that had landed over the both of them. Then the blond human giggled. It bubbled and frothed into something that rather intrigued Llyr while he observed this reaction. Anxious or...

I do miss NoThing terribly, such beautiful things should not be hidden away.

Llyr smiled slightly, with both a mind to agree and disagree but he did neither. The mortalborn stared out; circles of warm amber wrapped around the dark pupils that aimed his focus. He kept an eye out, then smiled when he saw a slip of smoke arise out of the ground. It slithered, to go between their feet. It coiled around Lars' ankle and calf, unseen except for the faintest shimmer of contained vapor. It flickered into sight, a red and yellow striped gecko clung to the other dreamer.

NoThing returned, and dreamer secured, Llyr felt ready to enter the Veil with ease.

"What would have happened?” whispered Lars. “If we had caused any more harm.”

"Depends," answered Llyr with little pause. He held out a hand, two fingers pointed, and traced a line into the empty space ahead of them. "The dream would have degraded, until the dreamer awakens and the dreamscape becomes... untenable."

A shimmered line showed from where Llyr had traced. He peeled back the layer of reality that separated them from the Veil, and held it aside like a curtain. Light flooded outward from the space he'd created for their step from dreamscape to the other realm. The eyeless monster seemed to notice though, as it scuttled up onto the ceiling and jerked its way to hover above the two other dreamers. Blood dripped in pitter-patters from the many mouths positioned above them.

Llyr glanced up, once, then decided not to do that again. He needed to focus, and he cleared his throat in hopeful communication that Lars would hurry on through the opened ethereal passage.

"Other times, one can become locked within a dream. Unable to do this, unable to leave... the dreamer's subconscious takes offense to the interruption and the dream turns hostile and... similar, perhaps, to something like a splinter stuck in the foot." Llyr smiled once, then held tighter to Lars' hand while he made their way through.

However, they did not spend long in the Veil. Llyr turned and with a serpentine wave of his hand, the way that they had come got sewn up by thin threads of ether. He glanced down to see that NoThing had hopped ahead of them, back to the mangy fur critter as before. Llyr leaned down, to grab onto the diri, only for the critter to transform into a snake and slither up Lars' leg.

"Damn, would you-" muttered Llyr while he tried to grab onto the diri. Finally, his long fingers slipped around the serpent and he lifted the spirit up. Llyr gazed at his companion while the serpent coiled around his forearm then transformed into a gilded bracelet rather than anything alive. He hummed once, then grabbed back onto Lars' hand.

This time, he led them through into his own dreamscape...

...onto a path of stones and mud. As real as anything in the waking, Lars would look around to see a massive rainforest around them. It buzzed with insects and rang with the call of birds. Rain dripped down between the huge pan leaves that stretched wide through the network of vines, along the mossy grand trees. The path revealed to actually be what was once a river but the water had seeped out in a swampish valley set between ridges of black dirt and stones.

Llyr let go of Lars' hand. They were in his dreamscape now.

He walked ahead, a bit quicker in pace, and then skipped lightly down the steep slope that the river bed descended downward. Llyr's boots gently tapped out a pattern between the slippery rocks. He counted each of them as he set foot, and the stone lit up with different arcane symbols in etherlit gold. His wings fluttered, with exception to the crumpled forth that remained in a sad mess of pointless gossamer.

His outfit had changed though. What he wore was rather nothing more than a form-fitted silhouette of black leathers. A ragged cape fluttered behind him, and then settled with the magical wings that cut through the bronze-colored fabric. He stopped at the base of the downward slope, then looked up to see if Lars had followed or not.

"So, you honestly weren't scared?" he asked with a light-hearted tone to his voice. He added, as if in afterthought, "Where in Idalos do you reside?"

Llyr paused for a moment, to wait for a response, and then he asked, "Do you know what a brand is, Lars?"

[Lars]

WITH LORD CHARON IN EMEA
ON THE THIRD OF YMIDEN, ARC 720

It had been a long time since Lars had encountered a word he did not know. Faintly, he could recall a time when language made little sense to him, when only the simplest of criticisms and commands cut through the foggy barrier of his awareness. How Lord Charon would have thought him an absolute fool, then, if only he had met him before. Improvements had been made, largely due to his newer-found ability to read (and by extension, write), but on occasion there were still words that slipped through, that were left to simply buzz over his head like flies.

Untenable, he thought, and connected it with something unpleasant. Though he felt the lightest taps of a gecko’s little feet against his leg, Lars did not bother glancing down, for he knew what he would find – and Lord Charon’s eagerness to trace an exit through the world only confirmed it. A little humming sound threatened at his lips while his eyes flitted upwards, to the eyeless monstrosity of a dreamer above… and the noise devolved into another bubbling giggle. Far from mocking, the giggling escaped with no other intention than expressing the blond’s giddy delight.

Blood spattered down over his face in tiny drops. It only added to the smear of blood already there, at home on the dreamer’s pale face. He could have stared up at those hungering mouths forever – or so it seemed, until the clearing of Lord Charon’s throat jerked his attention from the creature entirely. In a trill, the beastly thing was forgotten, as if Lars had never even glanced upon its eyeless face. Easily returning the lord’s smile, he bowed his head in acknowledgement of his clear response, and stepped alongside him into the glimmering light of the Veil.

As if a weight was lifted from his shoulders, or a pressure suddenly lessened in his lungs, Lars took a deep breath of misty forest air. He was more than happy to let the taller blond continue to guide him through – and if a part of him wondered how long he had slept, he wondered only for the fact that he did not want to wake anytime soon – and did nothing but observe as Lord Charon recaptured the tricky diri to return it to his arm, apparently unbothered by the feeling against his leg. As much as he wanted to know more about the odd creature, he did not wish to be pulled into any other nightmares, not when they had so nearly lost each other in the last one. If Lord Charon had not pulled him from his non-lucidity… if he had simply followed the beast-like dreamer’s whims, what would he have been? Another scrap of flesh impaled upon the creature’s teeth?

With a tap of his fingers, Lars’ hand conformed easily to Lord Charon’s. He knew not where the winged biqaj was taking him, but he knew that he would be alright, wherever they went.

It was a foolish thought. Naïve. But he had never formed attachments any differently.

Through another twisted archway of trees and vines, Lord Charon pulled him into another dream…

...and into a forest larger, richer, greener than the older blond’s perception of the Veil. The first things he noticed were the sounds – the buzzing and chirping of insects, the echoed songs and sharper quips of birds, the steady drizzle and pitter-patter of rainfall over wide-leafed canopies. It was easier than anything to settle into, he found quite quickly, and beautiful in a way that he had never seen. He had seen forests before… but none like this. The second thing he noticed, with a distractedly disappointed glance downward, was the slip of Lord Charon’s hand out of his own.

The taller dreamer moved forward. Lars’ lips parted in delayed surprise, and he lifted the skirts of his – no, not skirts… there was nothing to hold out of the way, as his maid’s uniform had disappeared for the replacement of plain black leathers. Nothing fancy, but nothing that distressed him as the uniform had. So he lifted his head and followed after Lord Charon, fluffy hair lightly bouncing with each step like soft feathery clouds.

Out of habit, the human followed the other’s steps exactly. Each stone was found in sequence, skipped lightly off of with a click of his dark shoes, just a few trills behind Lord Charon. He heard the question as he skipped, and lifted his pale gaze to the other blond, where he stood at the base of the slope.

“No,” said Lars with quiet confidence, “why would I have been scared? You were right there.”

It simply had not occurred to him to feel anything else at that moment. Before, he had certainly lost himself to the terror that came with isolation… but once Lord Charon found him again, it was easier to see through the fog of his own anxieties.

Lars hopped down in front of Lord Charon. He looked over the biqaj’s face for a trill before he glanced away, to look over the rest of the dream, but he took no steps to distance himself.

“Lowgarden. Etzos,” he answered, “I haven’t been there long. I don’t know how long we’ll stay.”

Or if they would ever stay anywhere at all. His husband was restless, he had always known that. But Lars wanted… sometimes… he wanted something nicer than that. Something that he did not have to leave, something that the world did not take away. He inhaled deeply of the rainforest scents, and as with the nightmare before, everything just felt so real… more so than even the waking world, he thought. It all felt… familiar, like what he imagined a real home must have felt like.

Lars shook his head. A few strands of colorless hair fell over his face. He only knew of one kind of brand; he knew he had had one, at some point in time.

“A brand… you mean the sort they give to slaves?”

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Llyr observed while the other dreamer followed, without hesitation, and an almost ease that seemed as light as the soft pale hair that curtained the other man's dark brows. Each step on each stone, followed with quiet clicks of heels, and soon Lars landed to share the stone where Llyr had paused at the base of the slope.

Why would I have been scared? You were right there.

Quiet, for the moment, he didn't say what he thought. Instead he returned the calm examination, only Lars glanced away quick enough but Llyr continued to survey the human's features. They remained close to one another, not much room for otherwise on the stone, but Llyr did not mind. They had been far closer while navigating through the nightmarish dreamscape they'd just survived.

"Lowgarden?" he repeated, and his brows raised in a slip of obvious surprise. He hummed, as if he could have never guessed that. He considered the answer, but didn't ask any actual questions toward it. Instead, Llyr skipped off the spot that they shared and went to a bank of moss. He swept his hand in a wide gesture -

- and the trees narrowed, the vines coiled around the trunks to constrict them. Before the tall biqaj, from the gesture of his hand, an entire valley pressed into existence through the dream's nature. Llyr snapped his fingers. The rainforest canopy spanned outward, impossible to any actual physics, to create a curtain of cool shadow over the valley.

Lush green grass, short and devoid of bugs, the valley held a peaceful quiet and the faintest scent of a Ymiden-like spring. Llyr turned around, and offered his hand for Lars to take, "No, not like the ones given to slaves."

"Nothing like that," he mentioned, while he waited to lead through the grass in an easy stroll. "This is more like..."

The mage paused in thought momentarily, and glanced down at Lars, before he concluded, "...our hands. When I hold your hand like this-" he entwined their fingers together again, like they had when he'd forced the construct's hiding spot open for the monstrous dreamer. "-see how we are connected? It is like that, but we don't have to physically touch in order to continue to be connected."

"I am connected to you," he informed the inexperienced dreamwalker. "I have branded you, in this way, and this means that even if you... leave Lowgarden, I'll be able to find you again."

"Even so, you should not rely on me, Lars," said Llyr, thinking back on what had been said earlier. "Walking among dreams is dangerous, and not only due to the fear that lurks in some people's subconscious... but because you will find that you are vulnerable to harm here. It is not exactly the same as in the waking world, but it is enough that you must be careful. You cannot act without fear, as that might result in your untimely demise and that would most truly be a dreadful shame, if you are as I think you are."

"Do you understand?"

Regardless of the answer, Llyr turned his attention forward and he let go to walk away. His hand waved in a small dismissal of the conversation, and he said, "I am familiar with Etzos. Though I won't admit to staying in Lowgarden for any lengthy portion of time. You are not Etzori, then. ...you said, we?"

[Lars]

WITH LORD CHARON IN EMEA
ON THE THIRD OF YMIDEN, ARC 720

Lord Charon was surprised. Lars could tell, but he could not tell why. He knew quite little of Lowgarden, despite his residence there, and far less of Etzos (and even, of Idalos) as a whole. From what he knew of it, what he had seen and experienced since he and his husband had made it a home – it was nothing but a swamp full of people he would rather see dead. But he was not sure that that was any different from anywhere else, the more he thought about it. He was yet to find a place within the waking world that felt like home, and a part of him had started to doubt that he ever would.

Lars mentioned none of it. He maintained the calm neutrality that laid over his fine features, as he found himself suddenly unsure. Should he have shared his true location? Did Lord Charon think any less of him, for living in a place like Lowgarden? Surely the other man must have lived somewhere beautiful… somewhere as elegant as Lord Charon himself. The older blond bit idly at the inside of his cheek while he watched the dreamscape shift, and his head tilted for his gaze to follow.

A calm, quiet valley awaited them, shadowed by the same forest that surrounded. When the tall biqaj turned, and held a hand out to the human, Lars quickly accepted the touch. It did not occur to him that there was no longer any purpose for it; that there were no uncertain landscapes to guide him through, no predators to pull him away from. He stepped closer to walk at Lord Charon’s side through the valley.

What other kind of brands were there? If not some sort of marking to display ownership, or to keep permanent awareness of one’s whereabouts, or to degrade and dehumanize the one being branded… what was a brand? Lars could almost imagine a tingling sensation in his arm, one that could not quite decide where it wanted to be. He ignored it in favor of a glance down at their joined hands while Lord Charon interwove their fingers. “Connected?”

When – and how – had the other dreamer branded him? He had not felt him do any such thing, so it must have been a simple affair… something he had not noticed. Lars did not admit to the fact that the idea of being branded in such a fashion brought him some sense of comfort. Was it not a good thing, for the patient blond to have established that brand? To always have that connection in place? For the lovely Lord Charon to always know where he was, no matter where he went…

...except it was not a good thing. It was not a good thing at all.

Lars felt his breath catch somewhere in his lungs. The realization failed to bleed through his expression, but he felt it deep within his chest, where his fluttering heartbeat skipped and fell over the edge of his pleasant high. No, how could he have been so careless? So reckless and naïve? How could he have allowed for such a thing to happen? Oh, he knew – he knew how easily he was swayed by such a pretty, patient face, because it had happened more than once before but gods he had thought himself smarter than that by now! Loneliness picked him apart, left him hollowed and eager for anything to make him feel whole again. His fingers tapped in rapid succession, once, but there was no other indication of his distress.

Lord Charon seemed so… perfect. But he had made a mistake in letting anyone have that kind of power. As much as he wanted a permanent space of his own, he remained aware of the need to move as much as he and his husband did – the need to stay out of anyone else’s life, out of public awareness, out of anything that put either of them at risk. Lars did not think that the winged biqaj would do anything… and it was not as if Carver was ever around long enough to be caught, but it ate at him, suddenly, to know that he had somehow jeopardized his husband’s safety. If he only had himself to worry about, it would have been nothing but a pleasant surprise to know that Lord Charon had thought him worthy of continued attention.

He could not help but feel as if he was being scolded, then, as the more experienced dreamer warned him of the dangers of relying on anyone else. Lars knew that it was ridiculous. He knew that it always was, no matter who he was relying on, or why. He gave a soft sound, somewhere between a hum and a sigh, between disappointment and distress. He had not meant to be so obvious in his incompetence; he had nothing to cover it all. No gowns, no jewelry, no veils. Eyes of pale silver lifted to the sky, and he nodded in response.

“Yes, I understand.” Cold fingers fell together at the front of his waist when Lord Charon stepped away, to fold and keep himself from tapping at his thighs. He did not know what the other man meant at the end, or what Lord Charon assumed him to be… but he could appreciate the sentiment behind the words, and did not dwell on the disappointment he felt in himself.

Lars’ hands moved again, unfolding and placing each fingertip together before him. He stared down at them, delicate features devoid of any clear emotion, and he remained quiet for a trill or two after he heard the other blond’s question. And then, as his curious gaze returned to Lord Charon, he admitted, “no, I am not Etzori. I don’t know what I am.”

He lifted his head from where it had started to tilt. The dreamer’s soft voice betrayed a note of uncertainty as he continued, “...and yes. My husband brought me to Lowgarden.”

He wondered how Carver was enjoying it. If he liked the scenery, the isolation, everything that came with living in a swamp distant from other people. Or perhaps, wherever he was, it was more pleasant. Lars had no clue. The silver-eyed dreamer looked down, where his fingers had begun to tap away again.

“But he doesn’t like to stay in one place for long. I’m sure we’ll be somewhere else, soon enough. Uh,” with a shrug, he continued, “Lowgarden is…”

Lars meant to say something kind about the place, truly, but he simply could not think of anything. The only word that came to mind was necessary, and he thought that sounded awfully ungrateful. So he left it alone.

He lifted his head and with a glance to the other dreamer, Lars asked, “where are you, in Idalos?”

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Every little twitch of expression that hinted under the calm neutrality on the fine-boned face of Lars; every idle bite of the inside of a cheek; every tilt of a guided gaze; every tap of the fingers against his hand; every step closer; every hitch of breath; every little realization and skip of the emereal heart; Llyr could feel the dreamer, just there, underneath the illusion of a soul made manifest. Though everything felt as real and physical as the waking world, it was not the same. The ether that bounded their forms was something else entirely. Though... Llyr realized, that if he so desired, he could become physical. He could slip right through the other's dreamscape and land on the other side of wherever Lars slept. There. Physical and real, at once, where their hands could entwine and it not have the faintest ripple of Emea touching Emea through the shapes that represented the mortalborn and the human.

Every soft sound, somewhere between a hum and a sigh, every look to the sky; every nod of agreement; every fold of the hands in front of a slim waist - only to unfold and steeple and stare at the long digits...

...I don't know what I am...

What a curious way of putting it. Llyr's eyes glittered, iridescent glimmers caught in the irises while the rings expanded to start to take over the entire shape with the pale color.

Mention of a husband brought Llyr to nod, in acknowledgement that he had heard the statement. It did not surprise him, regardless of the context for any of it. For all he knew, Lars could have an exceptional grasp on the manifestation of his body and look nothing like he appeared in the ether-spun avatar. Or so Llyr assumed... Most of the time though, the visages that dreamers wore matched themselves in the waking world. Imagination lacked in the masses, Llyr discovered from his journeys through dreams, which was part of why he recognized potential in certain dreams. A dreamscape spoke so much about the person who generated it while they slept. Llyr still wondered all of what Lars' dreamscape had said about him.

A husband, though? Llyr could have guessed that from the moment that he'd seen Lars walk through the dancing crowd of the ballroom.

He said in his southern-accented deep voice, in repeat as if confused, "Brought you?"

Llyr walked over to join Lars spot in the valley field. He glanced once at the shadowed leaves with hints of blue sky past them. He hummed, then the blue turned gray and darkened while the rush of rain gathered overhead. Caught by the giant leaves, the water sped into vertical rivers in creation of watery pillars. Positioned consciously, this created a sense of architecture of a massive temple where the grass became the hallowed floors and the pillars of water held up an arched ceiling of fern-green palms and vines and the storm clouds that churned behind them.

Though all this occurred in swift change of Llyr's controlled dreamscape, the mage didn't even glance away for how he stared down at Lars in flagrant observation. He asked, in a voice that sounded fairly disinterested despite the quesion, "Are you not capable of making decisions about such matters? About where you reside?"

"Where I am..." he looked away only when Lars glanced at him for the question. Almost haughtily, Llyr looked forward as if the landscape before them was far more intriguing than the blond in front of him. "I am wherever I desire to be."

"I could be in Lowgarden," he mentioned in the same disinterested tone. He looked to Lars, caught momentarily on the silver eyes, then forced a smile to manage free of the momentary trap of curiosity. His eyes turned a warm violet hue. "If I wanted. I could... be with you. Wherever you are. Right now, as it is."

Llyr shrugged, with the smile that still lingered thinly on his pale lips. The pointed-ear mortalborn walked along a path that went down the center of the water pillars. Mist gathered from the bases, and the vapor gathered around the lithe form to change Llyr's attire. A long cloaked robe of velvet in dark purple, so dark that it looked black except for the reflection that cast down from the warm glow of the mage's halo.

One hand rested at his lower back, he gestured with the other for Lars to keep up with their walk through his dream.

"Tell me, Lars..." he said, with only slight dramatic pause. As soon as Lars got near his side, the valley pivoted in sudden change of direction. Rather than a gentle slope, the land jutted near-vertically. Llyr stepped right off the cliff-like edge, only to land as the ground extended to create a step of stone just for Llyr to land on.

As Llyr walked forward, he also went down as the stairs were created by his path. Without looking back at the other blond, he inquired, "...what do you know of magic?"

[Lars]

WITH LORD CHARON IN EMEA
ON THE THIRD OF YMIDEN, ARC 720

Lars did not elaborate. Yes, his husband had brought him to Lowgarden, was there something strange about that? Something subtle that he hadn’t seen? He watched the dream around them shift, pulled to the fulfillment of Lord Charon’s whims. He wondered if he would ever find that sort of power, or if he would be left to stomp upon the marbled floor of his own dreams forever… and he let his eyes glance over the water that rushed down in pillar-like streams from the canopies above.

The lord’s tone did not settle over him well, in all its low disinterest. His face remained carefully blank in spite of the increasingly tangled and numerous thoughts within. Not capable – are you not capable? – it felt like an insult, was it an insult? Was it a haughty implication? He could not remember ever deciding such things for himself. If he had ever lived through a time in which he had found and decided upon his own housing, rather than being kept there against his will or simply brought along and expected to stay – then he could not remember it. Did Lord Charon look down on him for it? He looked to the other dreamer, but Lord Charon looked away.

What is he looking away for?

We’re nothing of interest to look at…

Who would want to look at you.

STOP TALKING.
I AM TRYING TO LISTEN.

Silver eyes narrowed slightly as he stared, as if trying to concentrate on the man before him. What had he said? Where was he? He was… wherever he wanted to be? The non-answer made no sense to the starry-eyed human. The continued tone that it was given with, as well, only served to confuse him – even as his high cheekbones were dusted with the lightest of rose-pinks. Lord Charon could… be there. In Lowgarden, with him. Right now.

If he wanted.
let him want whatever he wants, we don’t want him
Lars said nothing, because he did not trust what would come out of his mouth if he did. Best to leave it alone, he thought, or at least a nervous part of him did – and in spite of the smile they were given with, the words did not feel like any kind of invitation Lars knew. Nor did he want them to. But then why had he told him at all? His bed was cold, but he did not need some handsome man from a dream falling into it to keep him warm. He kept thinking about it though, he couldn’t get his mind off of it now. Why had he said that? He looked away from the taller blond as his features blushed further, though his expression remained the same, unbothered and blank, as if there existed a disconnecting contradiction somewhere within.
STOP LYING AND LEAVE US ALONE, YES WE DO
Lord Charon moved away. The ethereal biqaj continued down a path, and Lars moved to follow a few trills after, hesitant for one reason or another. He wanted to stay close to him, of course, but the effect of the other man’s disinterest was clear in the way it redirected his focus inward. He did not like it; he did not want to devote his energy to it, and though he considered a change in behavior to simply conform, he was irritated more with the lack of proper attention.

So he trailed after the powerful dreamer, in his dark robes of purple velvet, and by the time he reached his side, Lars had wiped the indifference from his face. Open, alert, there was a glint to his curious, starry gaze, one that only seemed to brighten as Lord Charon stepped from the ledge… and landed perfectly upon a new step, to descend further into the dreamscape.

Lars stepped after him, graceful and quick, and said, “not as much as I would care to know.”

Careful though he was not to rush, or knock the other man’s position through their descent, he had regained a sureness to his steps that had fallen away just before. Lord Charon was a mage, was he not? He had to be. What kind of mage, Lars did not know, but it would have surprised him if he was not.

“I have a spark,” informed Lars, “Graft. But I do not know how I got it.”

Why did he ask? The forgetful older mage certainly would not turn down the offer of any information Lord Charon had to give… but it did beg the question of why. What compelled him to guide him through Emea, and teach him the things that he did? The taller blond’s words repeated in his head, again and again: if you are as I think you are…

It meant nothing.

YOU MEAN NOTHING.

If you are as I think you are...

“Lord Charon… what did you mean, before? What do you think I am?”

[Llyr Llywelyn]

The robes were fitted, tailored tight to the silhouette of the lithe biqaj. As he guided them down the stairs, as the stone polished into marble and granite, the embellishment of the velvet elaborated into intricate designs. Gold started to bead along the edges, as if sewn into the fabric by invisible seamstresses that kept beside the mage in motion.

He glanced at Lars who kept up with him, so quick and graceful in the matter. The curiosity of the other proved obvious...

"You host a Graft spark?" escaped Llyr, too surprised by the information to hold such a comment back. His eyes widened, and a flash of warm amber showed, then he smiled again. The color of his elfin-shaped eyes turned to a topaz yellow. He paused on the steep staircase to turn toward Lars. When he lifted his hand, the long digits had gotten coated in various rings of gems, metals, shells and bones. Some chains hung down from the accessories, attached to cuffed bracelets of gold. He drifted his fingers in front of the starry silver-eyed gaze, in a gesture to capture attention, before he slid his etherlit fingertips to caress over Lars' blushed cheek.

How did he not know how he got a Graft spark?

There were a few different possibilities that Llyr considered, but he didn't ask.

“Lord Charon… what did you mean, before? What do you think I am?”

The thin smile softened, a gentle expression on Llyr's youthful features. He leaned forward, almost towering over the half-a-head shorter man, and his eyes churned in warm white light that washed out his pupils. His ringed fingers combed through the soft blond hair, before he cradled the back of the skull so that Lars had some guidance and support to look up at him.

In a low, hushed voice, the mortalborn answered, "Worth my time."

Llyr's fingers traced back along their path, this time passed over the cheek to tap his fingertips against the other's lips. He noticed the other's form had started to flicker - which meant that the dreamwalker was getting woken up in the physical world. His smile faded. He suggested, "Practice your control when you dream, so that you might show me something interesting next I visit."

[Lars]

^WITH LO^R D C̷͓͂H̶̥͉̄∀R o N IN E ME̵̟̭̅̚∀ ₇
oN T^IHE T_HiRD OF Y M !!!DeN, ARC̷̰̓ 7₂ 0

The nature of his spark, too, seemed to surprise Lord Charon. What would the other man truly think of him, if they were to meet in the waking world? Unmasked and left bare of all the wonders of his imaginings, he would have nothing but the truth to offer him. The truth of being… nothing. Lars knew that he had felt like something once, that he had felt like something more, that there was a reason why he had always been so fixated on golds and jewels and corseted waists, but he could no longer remember why. The time for feeling useful, or important, had already passed.

He did not know much of Graft. Whenever his husband brought home books, he looked through them, and he practiced his newfound magic when he could, but it was a daunting task for the delicate blond. Magic that could heal, rather than harm, was still strange to him. Even stranger was the fact that he could wield it himself. Lars nodded in easy confirmation – as he saw no reason not to share that truth with the other dreamer – but was pleased enough not to have it questioned any further. He would not have had any answers for Lord Charon.

At some point their walk had slowed, until Lord Charon brought their descent to halt upon a polished marble and granite stair. Etherlit fingers waved in front of his face, dripping in gems and metals and chains, and the accessories stole Lars’ attention immediately. With silver eyes bright, darkened only by the expansion of starry pupils, Lars turned to his ethereal guide. Lord Charon’s perfectly-tailored robes had become so beautiful – he wanted only to reach out and touch, to run his greedy hands against every gold bead, but the touch to his rose-dusted cheek distracted… so he asked the question that had been on his mind since the words had left Lord Charon’s mouth.

As the biqaj’s smile softened, so too did the human’s anxious heart.

Lars let his eyes close against his overwhelm, a momentary flutter of pure white lashes against pale, pink-tinted cheeks. The ringed fingers that trailed through his hair were clearly well-appreciated, as the little touch seemed to relax whatever subtle edges had remained in the dreamer’s demeanor. He thought again of what the other man had said, of his ability to be wherever he desired, whenever – and his eyes only opened when the hand moved to cradle the base of his skull.

Lord Charon spoke… and the softest of quiet sounds emitted from behind Lars’ lips. Something akin to a whine, despite his overwhelming approval of the answer – or perhaps even because of it.

Glimmering etherlit fingertips moved over his skin, returning to rest upon his face. As soon as they tapped against his lips, the older blond’s response was instinctual. He parted his lips, almost demure in expression. The tip of his warm, pink tongue tested against one of Lord Charon’s fingers, with the expectation that it would be slipped further into his mouth.

But Lord Charon’s smile faded, and Lars was distracted –

WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?

Noise, but where was it coming from? It was not coming from Lord Charon, who stood before him unaffected. Could he hear it as well?

i̴͈̩͑ ̴͕͘'̷̦̎̌͑m̵̳̪̉̓ ̶̦̳̈́ȟ̸̩̐͝ _̸̼̍ȯ̶̦ḿ̷̬͔͐̈́e̷͉̅̿...

WHO IS MAKING THAT NOISE?

Lars exhaled, breath hot against the other dreamer’s fingers. He did not want to wait until the next time Lord Charon came to visit… when would that be? How much longer would he have to endure his dreadful isolation before he dreamed of him again? He heard another sound… a familiar voice, and he knew that someone was waking him up.

A cold, delicate hand was set against the exquisite velvet robes over Lord Charon’s chest. Lars only nodded in response to the suggestion. He did not want to wait to see him again, but he had no other choice.

The dreamer’s starry eyes fluttered shut, and he awoke.