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The pendant trembled on its fine silver chain as she held it up, the pearl-like drop filled with ever-shifting mists that swirled in the tiny white orb. It had been a gift once, many years ago now, from someone she had considered a friend. Gazing into the misty depths she knew she could still fall into the memories that dwelt within if she let herself, golden memories of her childhood when everything was so much simpler and she had genuinely believed herself to be loved and safe.
A choked laugh escaped the S’Hean Queen, but there was no amusement in the sound. Only a half-hysterical bitterness. Safety? That was even more of an illusion than the memories trapped within the jewel. Even the ‘friend’ who had given her this gift had turned away from her in the end, preferring the ‘old version’ of the woman he had known to the woman she had become. The pendant slipped from her fingers, falling to the dressing table with a faint sound as Silverthorn buried her face in her hands. She was shaking, she realised, a fine tremor running continuously through her body as if she was chilled to the bone.
Perhaps chilled through to the soul was a better description.
Like a tightrope-walker, the dark-haired elf faced each day, aware that beneath the thin rope of normality she was attempting to walk across was a seething cauldron of depression, pain, anger, madness… One misstep was all it would take, one slip, and she would fall into it and drown. Every time she stumbled she could feel the panic rising up within her, thick enough to choke.
An inarticulate cry left her lips, a sound filled with rage and pain. Blindly, she pushed herself to her feet. All she had wanted was to feel some sort of security. Was that really too much to ask? One place to call her own. One place where she could be herself. One place where people only wanted her to be herself. Where she could relax. Where she didn’t have to lie all the time. Where she was actually wanted and needed. One place, that was all. She didn’t want the world, just her own little corner of it.
But then what she wanted and needed wasn’t really all that important. She had learnt that lesson all too well. Even her own husband had helped with that part of her education. He had not wanted her to leave him, even when she was almost suicidally unhappy, but he hadn’t wanted to change his life in anyway to make things easier either. He’d said it himself, he liked his life the way it was. Why should he want to change it if he had everything he wanted?
So, he hadn’t.
An hysterical laugh escaped her, the S’Hean Queen’s legs giving way beneath her, her body crumpling to the floor. Half-laughing, half-crying, the dark-haired elf gasped for breath. Her heart raced, her lungs dragging in air desperately and they still couldn’t seem to get enough. She felt cold, so very cold, a fine sweat making her clothes cling clammily to her body. Funny, the one thing she had never expected to be on Whispin was cold.
Her world felt as if it was falling down around her ears, the ground shifting and swaying so that the delicate house of cards she had so painstakingly constructed came crashing down. How could she feel safe enough to relax, to trust, if someone she loathed so much could just walk in to her home whenever they pleased? How could it even be called her home if she did not even have the right to say she did not want someone in it? Because evidently she did not. She was selfish, inflexible, ridiculously prejudiced, destructive, hurtful and god knows what else for even suggesting it. As always, it was her fault, she was the one out of line. She wasn’t entirely sure why she even bothered trying to claim otherwise anymore. It would be easier to accept that everything was always going to be her fault and just give in to it, just give up fighting.
Exhaustion was setting in as Y’Roden returned to his chambers. He was badly in need of a bath, and sleep. An’Thaya was as stable as she was going to get for now, there was nothing more he could do. The door shut silently behind him, emerald eyes settling onto his wife and his heart immediately dropped to his boots. For a moment he just stood there, eyebrows pinched by thumb and forefinger as Ro struggled to pull what was left of his wits together. He had known this was coming, but intervening events had distracted him for the past few hours and he had blissfully tuned himself out. Now… here she was, falling apart again… and some part of him inwardly went on the defensive. He hadn’t done a damn thing, certainly not invited Ghet here, and he had asked her to leave immediately… and yet, he had the feeling, he was going to be blamed somehow… again.
“Arianne?” Despite his own roiling emotions, he stepped further into the room, crouching down to wrap his arms around Thorn, a deep shuddering sigh warming her hair. “Come on now… breathe Elleska…”
"I... I can't..." she gasped desperately, clinging to him as if he was her only anchor. Her breath rasped harshly, so short and fast that her vision was going fuzzy around the edges. Her emotions see-sawed wildly from panic to hurt to guilt and back again. "I'm sor... sorry. I know... my fault... stupid." Tears trickled unheeded down her cheeks, a fiery burn starting in her heaving lungs.
“Yes you can,” he said quietly, “you just need to calm down first… and stop apologising. I never said you didn’t have a right to your own feelings, and I never said I didn’t understand.” Silence, aside from his wife’s sobs, fell between them for a moment as Ro tried to find the right words, something that seemed to elude him when it came to Silverthorn.
“It isn’t easy changing old habits and patterns of behaviour, but I have to a certain extent. I want you to be happy Arianne… I hate being the cause of your distress. At the same time, I can’t control what other people do. I rule a Kingdom, and despite the wards, Nenlante is fully accessible to anyone of the blood. The King belongs to his people, as much as his wife, and I’m responsible for them, even if their name happens to be Ghetsuhm Alcarin.” He brushed a kiss against Thorn’s temple and hugged her closer against his broad chest, “I’ve asked her not to come back, that is all I can do. I want you to feel safe… I’ve gone wrong somewhere… my own wife isn’t secure in her own home… you should have that, no matter who happens to walk into our Palace.”
“I should… should have been able to deal with… it better, I… I… thought I was,” the dark-haired elf gasped. Her breathing was still uneven, but it had begun to steady, her heart trying to slow to match his. “Didn’t mean to… do this to you. Not again. I… I… was alright until I got back here.” A shudder ran down her spine and she buried her face against his shoulder. The half-elf’s presence was warm and comforting, and she felt so very cold. Small shivers rippled through her constantly. Despite her husband’s reassurances, she felt horribly guilty and ashamed. She had promised herself she wouldn’t break down like this anymore, kept telling herself she was stronger than this, but she didn’t feel particularly strong at that moment.
“I keep… screwing up, don’t I? I know you didn’t… ask her to come here. I’m… sorry I was horrible earlier to you. I was… so angry she had barged… in like that. I know… she was upset, but it was still rude… and selfish, and…” For an instant the furious indignation at Ghet’s presumptuous behaviour flared anew, the heat of anger washing away some of the cold panic. “I could kill her so very easily. I want her dead so very much.”
“It’s alright,” Ro murmured, “we are all a little high strung right now. I just need you with me… Ghet is gone, she won’t be coming back.” Callused fingertips slid along the line of Thorn’s jaw, tilting her head back so he could meet her jade gaze. “I need you to focus right here now Arianne, S’Hea is in trouble and I can’t do this on my own. I need my wife, I need my Queen, and our people need us…” He had nothing to say about her wish to see Ghetsuhm dead; the half-elf didn’t want to think about it, not now. He understood his wife’s anger in a way that no one else could, but he couldn’t share it… Ghet was a friend, and he… or at least part of him, had done unspeakable things to her. Guilt would forever shadow his soul, and he couldn’t ask Silverthorn to understand, it was just… impossible.
The raven-haired woman let out a shuddering sigh, the anger draining away, then she nodded. "I can do this. I can." Her hand reached up to caress his cheek. "I'm always right here if you need me. I said that before and I meant it. I can't promise not to go a little loopy from time to time, but I'll do my best not to. It's not something I'm proud of doing, believe me." Jade eyes darkened with concern. He looked so tired, and the fatigue she could feel tugging at him seemed worse than usual. They had all been under a lot of strain, but he was usually more resilient than this.
"Come with me," she murmured, rising to her feet and tugging at his hand, urging him upwards. With a faint smile the S'Hean Queen led her husband, gently but firmly, in the direction of the bathing chamber, not allowing him to protest. "It's my turn to look after you," was all she would say. Slim fingers undid his clothing and hers before closing around his hand once more and leading him into the warm water.
"Sit." The scent of strawberries perfumed the air as Silverthorn slid behind the large half-elf. Fingertips rubbed the sweet-smelling soap into his thick, chestnut locks, moving down over his neck to his shoulders. As she massaged the knots out of his muscles, the dark-haired elf felt herself start to relax. That she had only made a bad day worse for the man she cared about filled her with remorse. If only she could stop herself from falling apart like that. She used to be stronger than that. One thing at a time, she told herself, just take one thing at a time.
"Did you see Lady W'Cren?" she asked softly, her voice a gentle murmur of sound.
The half-elf’s eyes opened a crack, a slow rumble of pleasure rolling into a growl as the soap ran from his hair into the open gouge across his back, the sound hardly one of complaint.
“I haven’t had a chance,” his low gravely baritone filling the chamber, “everything was so focused on An’Thaya… I’ll summon her after Zenith. I promise.” He went quiet for a moment, concentration focusing on working a rose thorn out of the flesh on his wrist. “I’ve sent word for the Lords to gather this afternoon. Vaegh-Riel begins tomorrow… we have decisions to make. There is obviously something very wrong with S’Hea and until we find out what it is… I’m not sure what to do.” Heavily muscled shoulders rolled smoothly beneath Silverthorn’s touch and the King let his head fall forwards, letting himself relax into the oppressive sense of fatigue that had been dragging him down. Sleep… he just needed sleep and then he would be alright… At least, that is what he kept telling himself.
His wife let warm water trickle from her hands, washing the wound clean. She shook her head slightly. "Someone ought to have to have words with a certain Callan Blackthorn about keeping his talons clean," she muttered under her breath, gently cleansing it of dirt and blood. Sometimes she wished she could heal, truly heal, someone she cared about, but healing was not among her family's abilities. Oh, she could share her life force with someone, but at a price, for any energy shared only depleted her own. If the person was too ill to be saved then they would drag her down with them.
She let her arms wrap around the large half-elf, hugging him back against her. "Rest, chev," she murmured softly. "I won't let anything happen whilst you sleep." Resting her cheek on the top of his head, the raven-haired woman began to sing softly, her warm mezzo-soprano drifting into a timeless elven melody.
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