Side thread Patricians house: out in the dark

[Isabella Florentina]

Isabella cried out against his shoulder as her nails dug deep into his shoulder drawing blood and her legs were tightly wrapped around his hips, crushing him. He branded her with the very darkness of his soul, and all she could was cry out for him, begging for every last drop as she followed him into the abyss. Her empathy wove a tight feeling of extasy and the ultimate temptation into the darkness around them, their own little nest. They were both branded until eternity, willing to pay the price for this ultimate goal.

[Andolin]

It was a most unworldly, almost mystical, experience. She had given him her soul and he had branded her as his, in front of hundreds of witnesses, as well as some shadows from the netherworld. Likewise, she had clasp him to her bosom and bound him to her as well. If this was not a dream, he would have been trembling in fear over the dark bonding that had just occurred. It is a dream is it not? He was not so sure.

They lay together drenched in each other's perspiration and juices while Andolin struggled to regain enough vitality to move. It was not as if he really wanted to move, for he belonged in her arms, and she in his. Yet, he felt as if all of the strength in his body had been sucked away and deposited into Isa. It was as if the infernal energy that he called upon had been so powerful that it had required all of his strength to effect his bond upon her, something far more grand and serious than the glamour he had once cast upon her. Yet, why did he feel so weakened in a mere dream? He could never recall such a vivid dream before.

As he lay there, atop his small Isa, trying to regain his strength, he kissed her gently and brushed stray damp locks of hair from her eyes and forehead. He found that they were on an altar together quite alone and surrounded only by darkness. The obsidian altar cast off a dim and pulsating blood red light that allowed them to see each other.

"That ... my love ... was ... amazing," he whispered. "It felt so real."

[Guest]

In times past, Balthasar might have been patient. He might have held on to a belief in mercy or held some hope in salvation for anyone. But things had proved to him in recent times that mercy and salvation were often found only with a divine sword, and with them he might also add hope. Bursting in to intrude upon the couple, he felt only embarrassment that he had interrupted their passion. He felt no mercy or compassion to stay his hand from slaying them both.

He recognized the swan...she could not hide from him...but the man he did not. They seemed harmless enough to the eye alone, but it was not his eyes that had drawn him here. He had spent a great deal of time fighting to control the evils that might escape into his world, and his legacy as a Paladin, a King, and the embodiment of his God would not tolerate what he felt here anymore than it would allow him to sit idly by and let it continue.

No longer a heron, the King of the Western Kingdoms advanced with his rapier low, intent to run them both through with the same downward thrust. Dominicus, I beg your forgiveness for the judgement I take into my own hands once again. For these two, let their souls be trapped beyond with the demons...I have no use for them... he prayed, only a heartbeat before he struck, his blade gleaming with the power of his calling.

[Isabella Florentina]

Isabella gently caressed Andolin's sweaty forehead and was about to murmur tender words into his ears when suddenly she saw the Heron charging upon them with a drawn rapier. He had lost his mask, and with it he had revealed a handsome face that almost looked like an avenging angel. His face looked thunderous, full of rightous indignation. He knew of the bargain just struck, of that Isa was certain in that split of a flicker. It was as if time stood still for eternity.

Then the spell was broken and she refound her voice. Isa cried out in horror, and with her last strength pushed her lovers body, with her legs still wrapped tightly around him, with her as she rolled of the obsidian altar, on the other side of where the young avenger was storming at them.

[Andolin]

The middle of his back tickled him mysteriously just a flicker before Isa's cry of warning. It was almost as if the blade had been expected. As the two lovers rolled from the altar, the obsidian seemed to moan in regret, as if the couple's blood were the only thing needed to complete the ceremony. Perhaps Balthasar was a tool of Dominicus, but perhaps he was a tool of the netherworld in seeking to bind the couple with steel and blood.

Still weak, Andolin's desire for self preservation, and the protection of his Isabella, fueled the search for remaining strength. Too weak to parry a skilled swordsman with a saber of his own, Andolin envisioned a shield in his hand, and a breastplate over his torso as he attempted to stand. The shield would be used to attempt to fend off blows of a blade as he attempted to regain his strength.

[Isabella Florentina]

Tumbling down on the grass Isabella was acutely aware of how real all of this felt, including an almost lively reaction of the obsedian altar. Did it actually feel something? She could have sworn to feel regret, frustration and a bloodlust to make one shiver. Yet her sight was blinded by the light.. the feelings of rightousness and determination that the young lord of the Western Kingdoms was radiating as if supported by something far bigger than himself. Hastily Isa shielded herself to his radiance.

Embaressed the darkhaired beauty reached for the clothes that lay around in the grass, desperate to cover her nakedness and too numb to realize that here in this dream she could control any circumstance if only she was daring enough. She threw on her lacy shift, which barely covered her breasts or her shapely legs. "Cease this madness," Isa called out, trying to radiate calmness and reason into this fray. Yet the altar kept crying out for blood, almost forcing her to silence.

[Elevie]

Elevie follows behind to the edge of the circle of trees and stops behind one just in time to see Balthasar raise his sword to srike the woman who had greeted her along with her lover as they lay entwined on a dark altar pulsating with a sickly light the color of blood.

As the altar beats like an obscene heart, Elevie can feel waves of energy along with it, bearing the emotions she had felt before- as well a larger more swirling vortex somewhere beyond it- a vortex that is filled with what she could only absorb as hungry presences, each one giving off a heeedess and wicked desire for violence.

Even as Balthsar strikes, the lady takes hold of her lover and rolls him off the stone and onto the grass. Elevie stay hidden, her senses focused on the growing void somewhere beyond the normal array of the senses, and the creatures within it, sensing that they are waiting for something, watching even as she.

[Guest]

To the naked eye, the Paladin King was little more than a young, picturesque man with light, clear, blue eyes and long, blonde hair. But even as he had entered the small clearing, a new form overcame the Prince, a form in which the young man was surrounded by a nimbus of light that wrapped around him like a suit of mystic armor and extended well above his head in two sparkling, magnificent, almost terrifying wings. From his intricate guard to the end of his tapered blade, the nimbus continued even beyond the length of his rapier, a blue-white knife of divine light that illuminated the gardens all around, casting no shadow.

While the two mortals escaped the alter only just, the Avatar's strike did not fail, for it sought out the alter itself, driving downward to sunder it with a sound not unlike that of a falling bounder mixed with the distant peal of a massive, bronze bell. The smell of crisp ozone and the feel of electricity charged the air as the dark icon collapsed, it's cries of death rolling out in a wave of turmoil as the rift shuddered and collapsed around him.

The sounds of metal sliding on stone mixed with a crackling static to fill the air as the angelic avenger withdrew his divine blade from the dead stone and lifted his gaze to the pair huddled on the ground before him. Had the Prince not given himself over to the power of his God, he might have felt pride and compassion at the man's display of resolution, but he felt none of this. Instead, his ensorceled eyes were those of another being, and his face was overlayed by one of infinitely greater age, a stern mask of hot, righteous fury that peered out with infinite wisdom over a long, white beard.

"Tremble and despair, for I have come to do just that, witch," answered the fiery creature, it's words a deep boom that echoed up from the mind as well as to the ear. Snapping down it's wide, mystic wings, the Prince rose upon the broken, lifeless stone between them and held it's divine blade forward. No thought or emotion came from this creature...no pity, remorse, or patience. "Now gaze upon the Light, and accept it's judgement..." came the voice again, just as the blade suddenly flared to an unbearable brilliance, a light so great it seared the eyes and left a constricting blindness to those before him.

[Andolin]

It was a spectacle to be awed, to be sure. Yet, Andolin was not one to be lectured by self-righteous entities, especially in something he imagined to be a dream. He assumed that this was a humorless visage of Illuminatus. One did not mock such power, but perhaps one could defend oneself from it.

"Flee," he urged Isa as his armor and shield became mirror-like, reflecting back the blinding light unto its source. Andolin hid his eyes behind the shield. "You gaze upon the light, for you are a creature of it and no other substance it seems. We are as the people of Tazlure, walking between the light and the darkness, maintaining the balance." It was a feeble attempt at reasoning with a creature who was not of a mind to debate, it seemed. "This is my dream, you are threatening me, and you are no longer welcome here ... begone!" It was an even more feeble attempt perhaps, but one needed to test the boundaries of these dreams. Perhaps it might work, if this really was a dream. He did not savor the idea of being slain with a sword of light ... even in a dream.

[Guest]

The bright and impressive figment of a wild, dreaming imagination wasted no time murdering Andolin. Diving upon it's prey, the creature negligently moved the shield with a swat of it's etherial blade and followed instantly by running the man through, the bright shaft of light sprouting out of the sorcerer's back amid the sound of rending metal and the smell of burning flesh. Even before it's victim fell to his final resting place, the creature turned it's blue-white gaze upward to the lady, a stern look of disapproval upon one of it's two faces.

Amid a surrounding haze of violent illumination and pure, white power, the second face...the thin form of the young, unmasked heron...also turned his gaze upon Isabella, his eyes sad and regretful and his heart full of sympathy and compassion strong enough that she could feel him easily. Unlike before, a blood-coated crown of tainted gold and tarnished diamonds sat upon his head, a strange yet strangely familiar product of the possessed young man's own imagination within this suddenly very terrible dream.

[Isabella Florentina]

Isabella scrambled up but did not run , frozen in place by the horror of this moment. The light was not warm, loving, caring as she had always known it, the playful blanket of passion that Pan had covered her with. This was a harsh and judgemental face without mercy, forbidding in its blinding radiance. In an instant her white chemise was splattered full of bright red blood. It was warm and sticky on her face, dripping into the depths of her bust. She touched it with wonder, looking at her fingers before she realized what it was. Andolin's blood.

ANDOLIN her mind screamed. The only person she had truely loved beyond herself. Her colors swirled around her, the dream revealing her for the full empath she was. They turned from deep red love to the darkest grief a woman could know as she dropped down and took Andolin's limp form in her lap, caressing his face with infinite tenderness. My Love.

Isa looked up at the two masked avenging angel. Tears streamed from her eyes, cutting a white path through the trail of blood that she had been covered with. Her dark curls, still meshed up from the forbidden passion she had shared, framed this painting. She felt the human within extending his compassion even when the light remained as unforgiving as ever. It failed to warm her, eternal coldness possessing her body "Your crown already is covered in blood. How many more will you kill in the name of rightousness?" Isabella whispered harshly " Do you truely think there is light in death? In removing those you do not understand? Is your way the only right way?"

[Elevie]

Elevie stands, transfixed, watching as the Prince is overtaken by the Avatar of Dominicus and gives himself over completely to a merciless quelling of the burgeoning rift and the punishment of those who had opened it.

Her cheek presses against the rough bark of the tree trunk and her knuckles are white and bloodless as she grips her dagger in one hand and the ribbons of the forgotten mask in the other.

The man crouched before the terrifying figure of retribution makes a laudable attempt to protect himself and urges the lady to flee- but to no avail as he is run through and Elevie sucks her breath in hard at the vision of the bloody crown that appears over her betrothed's head, as for a brief moment the thin young man's face shows through the visiage of the shining and holy avatar of the god.

The Tarien's heart wrenches with pity as she sees the regret upon his features and a part of her longs to show herself; to step forward and offer- what? Some comfort or support , but she is certain that the Avatar will not require or appreciate either as It is and it seems that Balthasar has not completely returned to himself yet.

ANDOLIN!!!!

The woman's scream echos through the aetheric, bringing Elevie sliding down the side of the tree trunk, skin scraping against the rough bark, even behind her shields, so full of grief is the cry. Unheeding, the elf feels a tear of shared empathy for the loss of th woman's love slide slowly down her face, even as she feels the chittering hoarde beyond the rift seething with pleasure, feeding upon the other woman's pain and suffering.


A part of her longs to go to the lady as well; again, to comfort or assist, she cannot say why. But she can still feel the evil presences just at the edge of her senses- the things which were almost loosed by what this woman and her lover had wrought. The thing which has called down the wrath of Dominicus in the form of Balthasar upon this stranger and her lover.

So all the Tarien can do at the moment is bear witness and feel another wrench at the dark haired lady's words, for, harsh though they are, they ring true to the elf as well.

Although the bloody and hungry emotions held back in the Rift seem to be receeding now that the altar is broken, the mist of rage and pain and suffering seems not to have lessened in the garden.

A wary fatality settles upon the Tarien; an understanding and accepting of strange and unknown burdens yet to be discovered. For in her soul Elevie knows that the Butterfly had spoken true as well and that this dream will hold reprocussions in the real kingdoms for a long time to come.

[Andolin]

His shield had been pushed aside as if made of feathers, and he could not move fast enough to dodge the coming blow. Intense and searing heat penetrated his chest with righteous indignation. Andolin had not experienced anything so painful in his short existence. As he began his death cry, his voice seemed joined by a chorus of unworldly wails from another place that seemed distraught at his passing. Yet, even as he was consumed, a voice ... a baritone rich in malevolence ... came from his lips unbidden, "as you strike, so shall you be struck." It seemed to be a promise of sorts ... a promise that was beyond the reach of the mortal known as Andolin Azarin.

The man, who's body was already dead though his mind did not yet accept it, rolled his eyes to find his Isabella as he fell. There were so many things he wanted to tell her ... so many things. But, his lips moved lifelessly and no breath stirred his vocal chords, precluding his opportunity to say farewell to the woman with whom he would have taken apart the world. His eyes became unfocussed and all became a blur as the cold seized his limbs and body in an unforgiving embrace.

Then, there was total darkness. Yet, he did not feel alone.

OOC~ Okay, I took a little artistic license. So sue me. :p

[Guest]

Vacant and voiceless, the angel paused long enough for Isabella to take the corpse into her arms, it's glowing, ghostly wings spreading out to intrude upon the glade to either side of the clearing. It did not pause for long, though, and even as she spoke the creature lifted it's blade again and reversed it, the sharp point of light turning down to point at her with the alarming efficiency of a sword master.

Compassion, sorrow, and regret flowed from the Prince like waves from the sea despite the new, lethal position of his blade. The lack of sympathy or compassion displayed upon the ghostly, second face of the creature was as telling as the movement of it's blade, it's expression having gone unchanged throughout it's presence in the gardens. There was no warning or indication of the coming strike: when it finally came like the strike of lightning, it fell with merciful speed and suddenness, stabbing down into Isabella's heart with the blistering heat and pain that Andolin must have known the moment of his death. It struck with no sound at all save the crackling of the lady's chemise burning away as it impaled her and continued onward into the ground.

[Isabella Florentina]

Isabella did not cry out, nor did she look away as her fate was determined by something beyond the monarchs control. Her dark accusing eyes remained fixed on the Prins as he drove home his shining sword. There was a taint to his blind justice and she made sure that her forbidding beauty, the death in her eyes would be something to haunt him in dreams to come so that he could not deny this unescapable truth.

Isa felt her lifeforce leaving her, spilling out with her together with the damning pain that escaped her as blood flushed over her once white chemise as the light burned through her. Her last thought was on her lover, and the hope, nay, the certainty that were they were going they would be together eternally, ruling the afterlife as masters of everything and anything. Andolin, my love, I am coming.

[Shaeliana]

While her first instinct had been to follow her king, the onslaught of dark and evil emotions had stopped her dead in her tracks. Frozen, she stood torn between the need to flee this new onslaught of horrifying emotions and the need to provide whatever aide she could to Balthasar. The darkness grew and the girl struggled awkwardly to pull up a shield about herself, but she wasn't practiced enough and all she managed to do was make herself tired. The glow that began to emanate from the gardens was alarming however.

Magic wasn't needed to see this, nor empathy. It was as if the garden had been set afire and the thought of the king being in trouble loosed her hesitant steps and sent her flying through the garden towards the bright aurora. Stopping short of the actual area where the king stood over two dead bodies, she couldn't help but notice that the dark evil was much less now though she felt... regret.. coming in strong waves. Could this be from Balthasar? On the ground lay a man.. their host and the dark haired woman who had first told Shaeliana about her empathy.

Shocked, all the healer could do was stand and watch wondering where the elfess had gone, wondering what had happened here.

[Elevie]

The finality of the Avatar's killing stroke numbs Elevie to the bone- she cannot even think what it must cost the Prince to be used so by the God. And the lady on the ground seems to burn away utterly; her last cry and waves of longing and rage and love and ambition flooding over the elf as she watches the execution.

Elevie stands slowly up, grasping the dagger and mask and with one hand pressed against the bark of the tree, the ribbons trapped beneath it. She watches the figure of the avatar, feeling a pounding in her temples as gradually the maelstrom of emotions in the garden seems to shift , leaving her feeling oddly light and emptied out, the regret emanating from the prince slowly overweighing the feelings from beyond the rift.

And then there is something new; another stab of emotions, confusion and fear and determination all at once and Elevie recognizes Shaeliana and realizes that she has followed after the Prince as well.

Turning, Elevie stands the rest of the way, her pale dress showing clearly against the trees, and extends her shields once more to embrace the human girl. Elevie watches her a flicker or two and then turns back to the grove, and taking a deep breath, steps carefully out of the trees to stand in the sight of the Prince- or the Avatar- whichever one it is.

[Guest]

Almost as quickly as it had come, the spirit of the One left him. It was not the first time the avatar had come to him, and sadly it would not be the last...at least the young prince would have been surprised if he didn't experience as much again. It left with the same satisfied closure that it had before, leaving the young man to witness the results of it's passage like another refugee caught in the aftermath of some unstoppable storm.

Below and before him was the swan, burned and impaled on his own blade, an expression of agonizing pain left upon her face in death. She held a man...one that Balthasar did not recognize...in her arms, a man wearing bright armors that had been pierced as if my corrosion despite the lack of tarnish. The scent of burning flesh was thick in the air, and their blood filled the ground before him, turning the rich loam into a sickly, bloody mud.

Leaving his weapon propped through the woman and into the ground, the prince stepped back to ram his heel into the broken alter, knocking him off balance and back to sit upon the massive stone with heaviness and exhaustion. Glancing down, he witnessed the blood that coated him...he had not been spared in the lady's death, of course...as he recalled the piteous creatures' last comments. I have been struck as such time and time again, sorcerer. You should be so lucky that you have the luxury of death to protect you now...

A movement caught his eye. Looking up, the Prince witnessed the elfess stepping into the glade. For a very brief moment, he considered fleeing from this place, running away from her and the others that may or may not understand what happened here. But he could not do this, for he could feel the weight of his crown upon his head. Kings do not run from anything: enemies, friends, or fiances. Certainly she does make for fine timing, though. I've already offended her once. Now perhaps I might frighten her to death? This evening has not gone well at all. I would have preferred orcs...

"I...would have hoped my lady had not witnessed what has only just transpired..." he began, his words weak and hollow in the suddenly quiet glade. More words he could not say, for he could think of nothing through the numb rage and sorrow of his heart, both he felt for the two fools that had only just died by his hand.

[Elevie]

Elevie watches as the figure of the Prince stumbles and sits down hard upon the broken altar stone, his shoulders drooping as with a massive wieght. It is obvious now that the avatar has left him to his own devices- left him to confront the aftermath of its actions, whatever that might be.

The stench in the glade is terrible, almost more disturbing than the two figures entertwined on the ground, thier faces frozen in a rictus of violence and pain, and Elevie feels lightheaded and almost dizzy as if she is watching all of this through a fine haze of blood and flame.

Elevie steps soundlessly forward and stops as the Prince looks up at her. For a moment, she fears he will run away, but instead he gives her a holllow look and offers her a sort of terrible apology, and a wave of compassion for him washes over her. She can feel a numbness comprised equally of anger and sorrow, piled up inside of him like a bag of blackened stones and also a kind of formless desire for something- different. For things to have been altogether different in this strange dream.

Elevie stands silently a moment, watching Balthasar, almost able to see the bloody crown wrapped around his temples once more. Then she drops her dagger to the grass with a soft thud and steps forward to stand just in front of him as she lets the mask fall at their feet and sinks lightly to her knees in the mud and gore, her silvery skirts spreading around her.

Reaching up, Elevie cups the side of Balthasar's face with one hand and drops the shields on her own emotions, letting all her horror and sympathy and fear and compassion- and even an odd pride in the Prince, flow gently out to embrace him, as the Tarien kneels in front of him, looking up, her blue eyes full with unshed tears, the silver torque around her pale throat gleaming. Wordlessly she tries to convey an understanding of her own, as her mind fills with words she cannot seem to force from her lips just yet.

It is terrible, yes, but you could have done no differently. It would have been far worse had you not acted. Please dont look so stricken...

[Syrawenn]

Quickly the scene around her unfolded. Syrawenn stood by, as ever the bystander in her nightmares. People died, but not exactly the way she had figured. So the prince survives. That's one good thing. But those other two...oh damnit all.

"Oh bother." The words escaped her lips, not adequate enough at all to describe what she felt at the somaniest death. Elevie and Shaeliana seemed to be wrapped up with Balthasar in this, trying to keep eachother from crashing completely. So that leaves me to figure out how to warn these people when we all wake up. She realized and turned around once her muscles were able to listen to her mind again.

Inside the house she went, looking for anyone who would listen to her ramblings.

[Guest]

Why did they do this? I heard their words. They stared into the face of the One and they presumed to question him! And as if this was not enough, they even presumed to threaten him as well. Did they mistake him for a common mortal? Or did they see only me standing before them? Perhaps they saw only my hand, and not His. A mistake I might expect from those that could not even see how they had fallen.

The approach of the princess was unsettling. He had no intentions of navigating her sensibilities anymore than he would happily tolerate the party any longer, and he could not imagine what she could possibly want from him after his perceived insult earlier. In addition to this, he was not prepared to consider how his demonstration might have affected her. I must beg away from her quickly. I must leave this place. I would not bear the attention form her or any other guest after this. Especially the attention I might receive from Shaeliana.

When she reached out for him, the Prince intercepted her hand with his own, clutching her wrist and giving her a ragged, stern look. Her movement had surprised him, for it was a surprisingly intimate gesture for one he had only just met and had only recently insulted. "Have I not offended my lady enough this evening? Have I not given you leave to fear and hate me? What would you have from me now save my immediate withdrawal?" he said, his expression and his heart suddenly unreadable and his voice soft and quiet.

[Elevie]

Elevie freezes and hurt flickers in her eyes for a flash before she shakes her head slightly and says in a low voice,

" I am not so stupid nor petty as that, milord. This-" her chin turns to indicate the bloody grove around them-

"This hardly can be covered under the term 'offense'. I have seen much to fear in this place, yes- but it was not of your making. Nor would I hate you for it- I cannot even hate those two over there- and neither can you. I -"

He must be heavily shielded. I had thought to reach him, but it seems that was of no use. I had thought to... comfort him, somewhat. Not to...

Her voice drops even lower and she shakes her head once more.

"I had not come to judge you, milord."

The Tarien stops and starts to rise to her feet. Her head is pounding with the effort of mastering all the complex emotions that the garden and party have put upon her all night and having to shield both herself and Shaeliana.

She twists her wrist sharply in the Prince's hand, trying to break his grip upon it and then stands in front of him, looking down, her expression weary but otherwise smooth and unreadable as she drops a perfect curtsey to him in the mud and says quietly,

"I had not thought to have anything from you, Prince Balthasar. But perhaps I had thought there was something I could give. It seems I am mistaken once again. Shall I withdrawl, and save you the trouble?"

Elevie stands perfectly still, a silvery pale figure, save for the hem and knees of her gown which are stained with earth and with blood.

[Guest]

"I had not come to judge you, milord..."

Would that he could believe it. Living under the spectre of what he was as well as who he was, Balthasar had long since come to terms with his role in a kingdom that lived on the brink of destruction with every passing day. His subjects judged him, his court judged him, and his own companions judged him. He had to be something greater for them...a leader, a king, and the strength of his God...or they would perish. And yet she would not judge me. After all, she stands before me. She should have fled, but she did not. Instead she stands before me, offering me...her help?

Hopeful, the Prince smiled back at her, releasing her wrist as she pulled away. "I had not thought to have anything from you, Prince Balthasar. But perhaps I had thought there was something I could give. It seems I am mistaken once again. Shall I withdrawal, and save you the trouble?"

Somehow these words cast a shadow over his growing optimism, but he tried to ignore it all the same. "No, no, I beg you will remain for a moment longer. I don't think there's anything you can give me tonight that might replace what I've lost, my lady, but I honor you in the trying. I think I should like to depart before anyone else would see me, for I cannot bear what looks they will give me. Still, I would ask you but one thing before we part."

"I am not the simple marshland bird you once thought me to be, but your future husband and king. Have you accepted that we will be wed? And are you prepared for what this will mean to you? Will you accept me as your liege and your ruler, and obey my word as such?" he asked, watching her face carefully for any sign of reaction from what elven features he could see. The Prince had long since learned to be a capable judge of character, and in this he detected that the elven princess would find objection. She will marry...certainly she will do her duty in this. But will she obey? How well could I trust her when I need her the most?

[Elevie]

When Balthasar asks her not to leave, Elevie looks down at him for a moment, feeling another pang of sympathy as he tells her he cannot bear the looks others might give him.

He is so very young! Even for one of humankind. Somehow I had not expected that...

The mask and his earlier poise and panache had hidden it from her somewhat, but now, seeing that the weight of responsibility that has given his features more care and gravity than his years might warrant, Elevie comes to a descison and moves to sit carefully on one side of the broken altar, close to the Prince, but not so much that she infringes upon his space.

She looks at him for a flicker, her blue eyes fathomless and calm and then nods her acquiessence, saying in a low voice,

"My brother has spent many of his yahren fighting the orcs who threaten our realm. When he has been embattled and comes home, it is often thus. I believe that he loves us- that he wishes nothing more than to have returned safe. And yet, he cannot bear it as well. Our lightest words or most loving looks rest upon him like a burden. You are served by an altogether different malady, milord. And yet it seems you fear to be judged by those who love you as well."

She gives him a small half smile and adds gently,

"Perhaps it is easier then to bear with me for a little space of time, than with those who better know your heart?"

She listens gravely to the rest of his speech, her hands clasped lightly in her lap as if they are at some macabre garden party. When he has done speaking, she gives a little sigh, and tries to think what to say through the growing pain in her temples. Finally she meets his eyes are replies clearly,

"Milord, I have awaited this union since before you were born. When I was chosen as heir it was put to me as a child that I should be the next bride to leave the woodlands for the Grey City. I have ... built up many pictures of that day- that life in my mind since then."

She pauses and looks at his face thoughtfully, wanting to reach out to cup his chin again and raise it to look more closely at him, but not quite daring to. So she continues speaking, softly and unhurriedly, as if trying to reason out her own words before they leave her tongue.

"I have also had many pictures in my mind of you, milord. Some flattering and some not. I should have to ask that you give me some small measure of time to accustom myself to the reality of you, as opposed to the figments of my childhood fancies."

She swallows and then, leaning forward a little, says earnestly,

"I do not know you, milord! And how can you ask that I give my word now- to trust implicitly in your judgment with no idea of your character than what years of hearsay can provide me? I am accepting of this marriage of course. I would not betray the trust of my people, nor the treaties my Aunt, the Queen has laid her will upon. But-"

Elevie looks down at her own hands, troubled. She raises one to her temple- her head feels as if it is on fire, even the wash of emotions remaining in the garden dimming beneath the throbbing of some strange tide that seems to be overmatching her.

Still looking down, she says quietly, wearily,

"I would like to promise you that, milord. I should like to promise that I will fufill your expectations in this. But- if I were to do so now- not even knowing you, I would lie. And that I will not do."

"I cannot trust you without knowing you- and I cannot give you unthinking obidience without trust in you. I should not rest easy with myself and my responsibilities if I did."

The pounding in Elevie's head swells and receeds, almost like waves pounding against the shore. She feels oddly bereft; as if she has just removed herself from some hoped for idea or dream. A tremor of nausea passes through her belly and she closes her eyes breifly against it, wondering if Balthsar will notice.

She sits, looking downward, not sure anymore what is happening in this dream, only sure whether she recalls it later or not, that this part too, will have reprecussions yet unseen.

[Shaeliana]

Suddenly cut off from the maelstrom of emotions around her, the healer knew instantly where it came from and turned her eyes from the scene of her king standing amidst the slaughter to find the elfess. The sight of her hugging a tree, watching Balthasar produced her own wave of compassion for this woman who would be the bride of someone she barely knew and the man who would be her husband. It seemed wrong somehow to inflict this upon them just because they were born into it. Still, they were born to it and raised with it as the expectation and knew no other way.

Realizing that her own emotions would leak out to the kind elfess who was protecting her with her own sheild, Shae tried to rein in the flutter of tangled feelings - the edge of protectiveness towards the king, her shock over the slaughter and feelings of compassion for the elfess.

The shock was most easily overcome for she knew Balthasar well enough to be assured that this was not something done out of dark emotions. The young man was not like that as far as she'd be able to discern and over the past weeks, with her senses heightened, she was sure she'd have known it had he entertained malicious intents. He wasn't without faults but dark acts wasn't among them. In the seconds that it took her to think, she noticed Elevie move forward towards the king. Frozen while she dealt with her own emotions, she watched the two, once again torn between a desire to approach and do what she could and the need to give the two betrothed ones privacy to iron out whatever difficulties they were facing. It didn't take long to see that the elfess was not going to run off insulted again, nor the king attempt his own escape and so the healer withdrew back to the balcony with a sigh, knowing as she did so she would slip back out of the sheild, into the world flooded with emotions.

Learning more about shielding would be important to remember and to ask Rhoddin about helping her with it. Sinking down to sit on the marble steps, she tried to reproduce what she'd done before to block out at least some of the merriment from inside as well as the heartbreak from outside.