I don't know when I woke, or when afterall I had fallen asleep. There was consciousness and then darkness. And then I was turning back the sheets and coverlets and stepping out of them. And you didn't wake -- as you never do before the late afternoon -- and I never wondered why.
     I am wondering... what made you say those things and is it true or is it allegory?
     And if it is true...
     Oh how, Valan, can it be true? You love a man 600 years your senior?
     And if it is true... what shall you do, Valan. You cannot go back... non, le jeune voyageur du monde, vous ne pouvez pas retourner. No, Valan, there is no going back...Back to what? Wandering cafes and those mind-numbing conversations? C'est la mort. C'est la mort a son plus mortel, lent et sans extremite...
     Noon became afternoon. Hazelnut coffee sipped with a helping of cream, steam curled upward. I breathed it. As much as I drank it. And I showered without feeling the water. And I dressed, without feeling the fibers of clothing. In layers of two sweaters, the top red and sleeved to the elbow...the one beneath brown. Dark brown trousers, something like corduroy...
     And now, I am having more coffee... and I am having a cigarette... on the porch with two dogs at my feet. I am growing used to Switzerland, Edward. I am growing used to ...this... all of it, ami. And so... my answer is still 'yes'. Ah, but now... to understand the nature of the question ...
     That is where you will find him, Edward. Your Valan sitting on the porch in Georg's chair -- he more swallowed by it, the chair that barely contained the Nordic knight. Furs are handy, a small table holds the cup of coffee when he is not holding it. And he smokes, and he looks out over the mountain. And the sky has gone from blue to red, now purple. Soon it will be so blue it will seem black. And it will be night. Now, it is twilight. His golden hair is purposely disheveled, not combed flat today in the Mod style, but as it was the night you met him. Disheveled, artistic, beautiful. The garnets sparkle, visible at his neck.

     "I thought you'd come back," his familiar voice murmurs, his arms stretched across the doorframe. He is a broad man, or had you forgotten. Now you know -- forged by centuries of growing strength. Vibrancy radiates from him, though he's dressed in black: turtleneck and pants. But he is quite undone this evening, your Edward, shirt untucked, feet bare, face and hair still wet. He's come out quickly to find you.
     "How's the coffee?" he asks softly, still lingering there, keeping his distance though he wants to be closer.
     You can see it...he gently sways back and forth, arms tensing in black as they reach above his head on the doorfacings.
     I love you. Every part of him says it. Will you come closer? How has your afternoon been? All of it flashes in his eyes as he looks down to you, head falling to the side and his eyes almost misting as he tries to assess how you feel.

     And the smile starts even before I turn, but when I look and I find you, its born here. And it spreads. How could it not? And even as it spreads, my hand comes out, fingers and skin passing through hazelnut steam to you. And then I notice the barefeet. I do not feel the air as I rise, just as I did not feel the water or these clothes. There is only the cigarette coming from my mouth, the smoke following after, and one last gasp of smoke as it is put out.
     "It has to be... tasted, ami, to be believed..." The cup, still warm, is handed to you. Freshly poured -- steam yet rises. His hand lifts the cup in offering, and his hazel eyes lift to the brown. They are bright, so vivid. Mostly brown it seems -- perhaps some effect of the clothes he wears. Valan smiles, warm and living. I love you is said without speaking. It will be murmured soon. "I was reading the book you gave me..." he says. "I liked it... but I was not effusive when I unwrapped it." A pause, a grin, and golden eyebrows lift. "How was I to know then that it was a family photo album, Eduard..." And so... is it true...?
     How can it be true, Valan ...
     "And so... it is true..." I did not dream it or in some sort of plum brandy haze hear something that was not there. "You... can show me... which one is you..." A question. A desire. He exhales and it carries a slight chuckle. "Si incroyable. Je ne sais pas quoi dire. Mais, je sais ceci. Je vous aime..."

     Edward smiles. Another evening and you are still here. He almost blushes, really, not taking the cup, but instead leaning to put his lips on the cup. You can pour. He watches you over the rim, loving being so close to you.
     "Mmph," he sips, "...family album no. Just a book...with familiar pictures," he whispers, running his tongue across his lip. His hands release the frame, and grasp your hips, no less firmly. The mountain water smells crisply upon his skin, as fresh as can be.
     Edward nods at the question, hands pulling and pushing you both in an idle sway. "It's true," he whispers, "...I...well..." not died, not yet, "...yeah...it's just...true," he chuckles. "Shall I..." he grins, shaking you a little, "...converse with you in my own tongue? I fear even a cunning linguist as yourself would not understand me. Hmm..." he cheers up, looking to the sky, "...how might I...demonstrate to you..."

     How may I react but... with widened eyes and a grin bold and broad. With laughter at my throat and from my lips? Tell me, Eduard, what else may I do? I tip the cup even as it spills from me, this warm and vibrant sound. My hands balance the cup, my lips brush your ear as you sip. Standing next to you, as much against you.
     "You were a ..." I cannot believe I am saying this! "...chevalier?" Six-hundred years ago, ami. That would be... 1400 something. The time of Joan and the Hundred Years' War with the English. "... too bad there is not a horse nearby... or... I should have you do a quest for me..." Valan smiles. "I know now though, oui... that I shall never challenge you to fencing..." He laughs again, softly, easily. How can he not? Rather than fear, rather than tears or rage, he laughs through the uncertainty of it, through the unfamiliarity with it, with the unbelievability of it. He laughs, Edward, because he loves. He loved before he knew.
     "Let's go inside," comes the soft voice, deep, smooth. "I cannot believe of all the men in L'Empereur that night, I meet and fall in love with a Vicomte and knight..." He shakes his head, eyes widening a touch again. But the smile?
     It has never left him.

     Edward continues to blush, not expecting this response. But then again, he's never been in a situation to have such a response. Someone to find him interesting? Certainly not. He laughs and stumbles on barefeet into the chalet with you, rather mussed and planning on staying that way for the day. The skis are not out.
     "What, what?" he laughs, grabbing you to send you both in a tangle to the sofas. "It's...well, that's fucking stupid of me to say, but it's no big deal," he smirks. "That was then...this is now....and you'd probably hurt me in fencing...I was never particularly any good with it. Now," he somehow behind you, "...if you talk about hands ," and his groping mercilessly, "...that...is more my thing. And a high-powered rifle with optiscope..." well, if you wanna really get particular about it.
     Here, there, everywhere. His hands are legendary -- for a spate of reasons. "See, this is why you should stay away from places like L'Emperor...bad crowd." Supernatural crowd. "And I don't do quests...or requests..." for a bad play on words. He's used that one a long time, for sure.
     He wants to tell you. He can't wait to tell you. Everything. Edward beams, fingers creeping to your front and below, "And you look delectable," he chimes, voice purring, as his playful side resurfaces with the confidence you give him, "...we could just skip the talk and...I can show you what advantages there are in being with a really old man, cher..." like some lascivious patron, lusting over the latest find....

     He was already laughing, trying to balance the cup of coffee while being led and tangled and ...handled all the way to the parlor and its sofa and chairs. And then... that talk of the advantages of an old man and he... goes as red as the top layered sweater. Full scarlet. "I... became familiar with those... advantages in Fleurlil." A pause. "And nearly every evening since, but that one torturous week. Ah, ami... spare me that in the future...let me put this coffee aside, before I end up wearing it..." Still the color does not fade, but he moves in your grasp -- both responding to your touch, and what it does to him, and craning, leaning to set the cup aside on the small table. "Your hands... are without compare," Valan whispers. And a moment is taken to merely linger in the embrace. I would kiss you, ami, but I would taste of cigarettes and coffee. Not a good combo.
     "I have ... so many questions... you know... it is... such an opportunity... unbelievable... you will be able to endure the frivolous to the silly, mon chevalier?" Valan parts, a hand to your nape as he leans back. And slowly, reluctantly parts from your hold. "To you, maybe not a big deal," hands gesticulate and then busy themselves with removing his shoes as he sits. "But... it is... " A pause, an exhale. "Like... the world just...opened up... and I saw inside of it..." A moment of seriousness in all the levity. But it does not last. His grin is soon to follow. Bold. Bold, your Valan. "Ami... let us begin with the important things... when is your birthday? What was your favorite period of history," a finger goes up, "other than the night at L'Empereur...and, ami, perhaps it has a bad crowd... but you and I were there... I will give it that much..." Settling back on the sofa, he opens his arms. Come here.
     "No requests... you are sure of this?" he whispers. Not even for me?

     Ah, an invitation. You were reluctantly released, but only long enough for you to remove your shoes. Edward collapses on the sofa, immediately swinging his legs around to recline along it, head in your lap. "I'll do a request for you," he points out, damp hair now on your corduroy. His toes wiggle, and Edward looks down to them. "Let's see," such honesty gratefully appreciated, "...my birthday..." he frowns, thinking, "... um ... sometime ...after...ah...the paschal season. May, it is now, I think. Non ... Avril ...but late. You know how they screwed up the calendar, hmm?"
     But quickly, excitement gentles. "I never think you silly, cher," his head bobbing, as if to confirm it, "...now you know." About me. "You are...the first..." mortal "...I have told..." A self-conscious shrug. "I love you, ami."
     "But enough of that, hmm? Let's see...I guess I've never thought about it," Edward considers, "...it was...not history, it was...just living..." he tries to contexualize.

     Fingers move through the darkness of your hair. And Valan tilts his head. Your head on his lap now, as his has so often been on yours. And the touches are almost rhythmic, even though they are haphazard. Meandering. "Avril... late... I will pick... trente. Le trentieme Avril..." The thirtieth of April. That is a magical day. It is May Day eve. "I have to have a day, hmm? I am still temporal." And Valan grins to this. Still. As if it were conditional upon some future event. Still. Until I am not.
     Now one hand plays with the strands of your hair, the other trails along your chest, feeling the softness of the turtleneck. Bending, his lips brush yours briefly. "What was the year, ami? Six...hundred years ago... it is... now almost 2010... and... that would be... 1400 and something..." Hazel eyes widen, sparkling. Now more green is visible. He has chameleon eyes. How immortality shall benefit them. "It is ... incroyable... six hundred years..." An exhale, and again carried by it... a warm chuckle. "If you look back now, from this place and time... did you enjoy any time especially more or... are you, as you seem to me.... more one who loves the moment best that he is living... this night...or... this moment..." Me holding you. We... talking of this... strange topic. "Did you ever fight in any war?"

     "Ah, ami, you are making me think," Edward chuckles, narrowing his eyes. He calculates backwards, finally saying, "I was born in...the year of our Lord...thirteen-hundred...and sixty-seven? No, six? Hmm, it depends on the calendar again..." he finally surmises.
     Brown eyes look up at you though and he smiles. "I like the date you pick, ami. I will remember that." He sighs and goes on, "But as for war...I have seen many. Been in many. Against England. With England. For France. For...the Lowlands," he smiles, "I am being so general, when I think you wish me specific. I am...a fighter," he nods, "...it is why you...well...I carried the weapon I did in Londoninum. But...when I fight, it is my choice, for the reasons I must."
     Then he laughs, "I...was with the Allies' Alpine Corps...fighting to keep the passes open between here, Austria, and Italia..." That explains much, and he smirks for it. "Unfair, I know," he cedes, "I will let you..." and his smirk slants, "...take it out of me later. But...I try not to think of those things. I enjoy Now," as you explained, "...and with you, now," he smirks at the use, "...I think of...a future. You did that, ami." When I have never sought more than the moment I was in, for to look ahead meant nothing . "You changed everything," he whispers.

     "As have you... for me," he whispers. "I... moved from day to day... I did not think... much about tomorrow or next week. And now... you come and there is suddenly... no limit. To what I want. To... how much I love..." Hazel eyes fix upon you for that, holding there throughout the breathfall of those last words. "And now... even time has no limit..."
     Of all the times and all the ones you must have known. If it is true. Can it be true? The soul and heart believe so readily. The mind? The mind, ami, it swims. It seeks to grasp. And when it cannot. It simply... accepts. Accepts what the soul and the heart hold so firmly. And so in this I follow you ...
     Valan smiles, and in the motion -- the smooth pull of that full mouth -- you have all you need to know of sunlight, Eduard Meurelle. Fingers run through your hair, and fingertips curl and uncurl against your scalp, massaging. Breathe, Montague. Golden eyebrows lift and Valan inhales, the smile spreading. "There... is just so much to know... I did not know how much before. But... we will have time to... hear it all. I just... tonight I just want to... hear and to ...absorb... I will skip around." The smile slants. "It is my way. Not to take..." A chuckle leaves him, "...the usual way. And here again..." With you. "1366...you were the ...son of a count, the count of Blois... you... did not follow him in that, but your brother did..." He does not yet ask why. "So... were you... related to the King of France or... England?"
     There is silence. The coffee is cold, ami . "Ah, and...you still have a cousin? I..." a smile, "... I guess you have seen... much of your own kind and family through the years. This... must have been... amazing. To see it all..." Everything. Time. History. Like a great unfolding .

     He nods, "The Kings of..." he smirks, "...then France and Spain. As they were known. Not as big as now," he smiles. "This is before that girl got the Dauphin in such a stir," he smiles, recalling Jeanne. "But, my father...he was the Comte, yes. But, as things go, as we did not know, things were already changing."
     "And I have...well, I do not have a cousin," Edward says softly, "...it is what we call ourselves, William...that is whom you met... and I. Our families are very close, and so we call each other cousin, ami. That is all." Easy explanation for now. "But I have seen many, yes, some good, some bad," he smirks. "It is the same, no matter the times. It is the people, hm, that make up everything. So..." he does tell, "I left home, when...I could no longer remain there, and went to Spain. I spent many years there," he nods, "...learning many things. It was the time when the educated were the strangers to Europe. They were skilled in arts, the Berbers ... hmm ... Moors they had been called...but all Moors are not the same," he smirks, digressing. "But still, I was educated for a long time there in the things an educated man should know for then. More with swords, strategy, dance, languages...how to dress and act...for...it was very different at home," he says diplomatically, looking up into your eyes. "Some mathematics and arithmetic too. It was...the height of fashion," Edward chuckles, "...some things do not change."
     Edward quiets a little, turning his face into your stomach. Sighing there. "I have not thought or talked of these things..." he notes. "Amazing, ami," brown eyes slip upwards, "...so many places and things. And I have survived, I have...prospered, even. I knew the right people, I...was made smart by my teachers." It was living. "I," he falls back again, the smile on his face lascivious, "...made love to whomever I wanted, and have seen many die. Sometimes, I took part, when I had to. You can have...bad habits that way," his voice trails off, "...spending so much time...passing through Time. Being alone." Ah well. Ermine gaze meets yours and he grins, realizing he's rambled on for a while.
     "I will say this, ami," Edward whispers, hand reaching to clasp yours, "...my times...with a man...are few. But you..." he smiles, "...I saw you...and I cared not any longer. I wished to know you, to have you with me. To have someone remain in my arms, in my bed, in my...life, such as it is...for more than a night. I need you," he confesses, "...and I do not want to be by myself anymore."

     "Pleasure is an art for the civilized... and you..." Valan murmurs, "...raised in such a setting... it ..." And then the grin you have come to know so well -- summer embodied. "... explains... a lot." A pause. "Non... everything. How... you... touch ...and ..." He has no words, Edward, and so he can only move his hands. Come undone, unravel.
     The cream-bronzed complexion, more this than olive...though there are touches yet of that in him, goes roseate with another flush. A flood of blood, rising to the surface. Electrifying the skin. His fingers no longer play through your hair, but in your turning his arms had moved to surround you. They are around you still. The touches... deepening somehow. As they must, when emotion is on the surface. "Men are all I have known ... but...it is..." the smile, too, deepens, warming the expression. "It is... a high compliment to me... that I was the one ..." He shakes his head. Amazed. This stuns him. And for a moment he is quiet.
     The clasping of his hand in yours, this says more than his French could convey...
     "I... do not want to be alone... anymore either. I want to follow you..." Valan intakes a breath, settling all the energy. "I know... I do not know much about... any of it, ami... how you came to ...live so long or what it means but... even so ... I am going to be with you..." That last is whispered. As the most important thing between lovers should be. Whispered.
     "Would you like more coffee... something to eat?"

     Lips remained parted as Edward listened to you, glad of your words. But as a question is asked, he returns from his reverie, smiling at your thoughtfulness. "Aye, laddie," he drawls, "...something to eat would be...nice." And indeed it would. "But I'll wait a little while," he smiles, "I'd rather talk more, hmm?"
     And of talking, Edward's eyes light up. "Ah...Georg is here!" just remembering, "Well, maybe still. He was here overnight."

     Georg. The host. The legendary one whom I have not met. Not yet. "Ah, yes... Ylsa was telling me... she was asking me if I had found a fig pie..." Quizzical the expression. A non-sequitur question, out of nowhere this afternoon. And still, no answer! Valan shakes his head and chuckles. "I had not, of course, if I had... I would have had a piece, ami. But ..." a wave, that is neither here nor there, "... she did mention in her flurry that Georg was here... came in last last night, or no... this morning, before sunrise sometime. I should like to meet him..."
     And you see him hold here. Pause upon some question. And then, you see the spark of it in his eyes. And then. "Eduard... is... Georg... I mean to say, are your friends here that you have known a long time, do they know about you... or are they... as you..." What? Immortal? I have no word for it suddenly . "... immortal or... remarkably long-lived..."
     Dawn. Like dawn. The smile spreads like sunlight at the horizon and lights his face, warming the whole of his expression, so altering... every smile. "I ... still do not know how you came to be thus and here and I ... so lucky to have found you..."

     Ah, but you are a liar, Edward Meurelle . He pauses now, hearing your attempts to label him. Mislabel, led by his half-telling. Edward sits up suddenly, on his side, facing you. You will see him when he speaks, for the words are for you alone.
     God, but how can I say what I have to with that smile. How happy you are. Like sunlight. To see you so radiant, when I am so dark.
     Edward's head drops, he flailing a little. "I have...not told you all, ami," he whispers, a hint of shame on it. "There...is a word for what I am. I am..just...ashamed to tell you what it is..."

     Hands come to you and he leans forward, his bend making him your canopy. Sun overarching otherwise dark sky. Remember this look and remind him of it one day. One night. "Ami..." Valan murmurs, voice deep and soft. Near you. "... is the word I choose to use, hmm? That ... is what is important to me." The rest? The rest will come in time...

     In his draping over you, his arms had surrounded, and now they squeeze. And as the embrace begins to unwind, and Valan to sit back, the smile yet lingers. Though it has softened. I do not like to see you upset. "You do not have to fear or... worry, Eduard. I love you. And there is no reason... to be ashamed of who you are. I love who you are. Who I have come to know." Do not be afraid. I am not.
     So bold, Edward, your young man. And quietly brave. You have come at him with so much, and yet he still stands. He, the hipster. Who would have thought to see him that he would be made of such quiet and tempered steel. Tilting his head, Valan smiles. It is warm. It is loving. It is open. And accepting. You can tell him... whatever you need to. "We do not have to talk about everything tonight... hmm?"
     Fingers trail over you. Wandering. Grasping. Needing. So much on the surface with him... desire, love. And you, Edward, are its focus.

     He can see you all there. All of you. William, with your brashness calm, instead now offering sympathy. Nasr, demanding the truth. Alfonso, expecting honesty. Girault -- going either way on the subject. He should smile at that, but now, seeing your face -- that mortal, innocent, honest, loving face -- he realizes he is not as Florentine as he'd like. Maria...should call me what I am. A liar.
     Until I speak The Truth. And let you choose.
     Remember, Valan. I love you. Please remember...
     "You have such...strength. You are strong. And so brave," Edward smiles proudly. But he shrugs, "No...I...better say it now. How can I make love to you, as I want, when all I can think of is this?"
     "The word..." his face twists, he sitting up, eyes looking away from you and misting, "...is...vampire." Said almost matter-of factly. Chin wavers and Edward tries to stiffen, to find dignity in what he is. It is hardly forthcoming. Another twitch rifles his expression, and he looks away again, unable to face you. He pushes off a hand, scratching at the corner of a sable eye. Damp.
     Edward clears his nose, pursing his lips. "That's...the word," he whispers, looking at your chest now. "And there are such things, Valan, believe me. There are. And I...am one of them." Suddenly...not like you.
     Licking his lip, he quickly follows, "Just...listen to me...ami...I...died...in 1395. That is why...I did not take my title. Why...my hours are as they are." Only now can he look up and face you. When the full truth is on the table. He cannot lie to you. "Why..." he smiles, "I love to feel your lightness in my arms, your warmth against my skin. Why..." if you have not seen, "I am so still when we lie next to each other."
     There's the frown. What a terrible thought. To have Death beside you. "Why...it takes no time to move from one side of the room..." and he peeps at you through lashes, to see if you are still with him, "...to another..."
     "All things, my sweet ami," Edward shares, "...come with a price..."
     And on cue, Edward's face lifts, a glinting slant of light flickering in the space between you. Lengthened canines. It is not a look of predatory display, but simple normalcy. They are there. Present. "They're real," he whispers...

     William, in his brashness and in his calm -- the placid hurricane, its eye and its energy. Nasr, the man of True Honor expecting no less. Alfonso, patient Alfonso -- visible in his understanding, and in the restraint that Listening demands. Girault? If only he could be as Florentine. If only we all could... Perhaps you do see pieces of them in the mortal. He, your lover... your mirror. Reflecting pieces of yourself back to you at the same time ...
     You, who have the resilience and passion of your cousin. You, who share the vulnerability of Conscience with The Moor. The intelligence and demeanor of your regal Alfonso. The flash... and the fire... of The Florentine. His humor. And they are here with you, in the pieces of Them that You carry in you after hundreds of years of association.

     I do not know what to make of this. Honest and Unknowing. The thing that... we had all written off to movies and stories to scare ourselves. And I .. am now in this universe. But I love you. I love you, Eduard ...
     There is silence for a long while. You can see the various stages of the news reaching him. First, the hearing. Then the absorbing. The sinking in. The tasting and the swallowing. The Realization. And finally, the Understanding. Things... that did not make sense... make sense. Valan swallows. A hand reaches to your face. Fingers... to wipe at the tears. "You exist. You... are alive. You are living, Eduard..." he whispers. "I have kissed you... made love to you. Felt you...." He speaks... his words emphatic. Such ... strong French. I will not be denied.
     His words began to tumble from his lips, a waterfall of French. But they halt upon his tongue, just short of cascading, as you display the lengthened canines.
     "Hold... there for a moment," he murmurs. And his finger ventures forth to touch. Visceral memory makes him tremble. Yes, his body knows. His blood has known for ...some time now. Valan swallows again, his eyebrows lifted in an arch, his mouth parted, dealing with a new layer of stimuli. No less beautifully. No less.
     In greens... in browns... in golds. Hazel eyes flicker as he looks to you, eyes fastening on your own eyes. "I ... suddenly understand... why it is... you ... lifted me so easily... the night in Fleurlil... you... carried me up the stairs....and ... moments blend together...."
     "Compressed time," Valan whispers. His finger withdraws. "You... have... had me," he murmurs. His blood. "But I am not afraid of you." Valan tilts his head. "I believe you, Eduard," he whispers. "Je vous crois. Je crois que vous quand vous dites vous m'aimez..."
     There is a moment more of silence. It is thick. It is very like when William is in a room. When the density of air reaches the point at which stars are born. It is this quality of quiet. And Valan's expression is even and still. Golden and living...
     "Faites-le. Faites-le, Eduard..." Do it, he says. "Faites-moi ce qui etes vous..." Make me what you are. "I want to go with you..."

     He is not so driven by passion. Edward watches you unfold, the steps towards realization painted upon your golden features. Yes, you see, you see ...
     And then a request.
     His brows arch as well in shock. "Are you not listening to me, ami!" His hand grabs your bicep. "This...is not some romantic game, hmm? You aren't afraid because you don't believe . And if you truly believed, you would know why we are having this conversation," his voice emphatic. "You cannot understand...I..." he shakes his head, "...am not alive, Valan. You..." his face wan, hands opening, "...you are ..." Rejoice and enjoy it!
     "Maybe...maybe...we will..together...decide," Edward breathes warmly, the canines still there, "...but...not yet. Oh...ami...you cannot know what it is like...to want to be like you again..."

     "What am I supposed to do?" His voice lifts -- though it is not much, still it is not the usual Loire drawl -- and energy and emotion ride on it in a wave. "Suddenly not love you... ? I cannot turn it off. It is not a switch... It is not possible..." His voice softens, and you see it, even though he turns his face toward the hearth and wall until he can swallow the majority of it. There is wetness there. "What am I to do... but believe and still love..." he whispers. His face is red when he turns back to you. A shake of his head. "What am I to do, now that I have tasted truth..."
     He swallows and he settles back. His hands no less on you than before, he merely is not hovering so. You feel a tremble in his fingers. "What are we to do, Eduard. You are neither alive nor dead, nor without you would I be alive, though I am every day dying..." That is the mortal condition, is it not. He is still in his life's spring time. Ten years, and summer will be upon him. Fifteen more and autumn will begin. And then winter. And then what...
     Valan inhales and then looks to you. And then he smiles. Weakly, wanly. No different from you. "You are right... not... yet... but... this does not mean...this does not mean," his hands gesticulate when he is emotional. Visions of William. Visions of Girault. It is a Continental Way. "... I don't want to lose you..." He doesn't want to lose you . This is rich, vampire. It is the mortal begging for understanding.

     His face is downcast, but Edward's head nods. "You won't," he smiles, "I...can't go anywhere," he tries to smile. To see you smile. But it will take more than that.
     Upright now, Edward grabs you, drawing you to himself. "This is why we talk of it now," he tries to reassure, but knowing him now, you can feel it. Fear. "There is another option, but right now, I don't want to talk about it anymore...if you don't..." He quiets a second before saying, "I'm sorry, ami...my Valan ami. I didn't know what else...I haven't known what so say or do, but I can't lie. I look at you and I want you to love me, not hear a liar..."

     There is an exhale. And then there is an embrace. He has sighed the world, your Valan. But it is a clearing breath. Not distress. Letting go...
     Of what one cannot control...
     Of fear...
     And a kind of relief.
     Yes, relief. It is better, always to know the Truth. And you feel this in him, as you know him. A hand lifts to your cheek. Eyes to your eyes. Even as you have lifted him. So suddenly he appears in your grasp. Having not felt the motion. Not felt the air. Do not be afraid. "Truth... like anything else, ami, should be... taken in moderation..." A moment of levity. And once more there is that Loire drawl. The voice of the hipster you have come to love. And the slow winding smile that so often accompanies it. But behind it, a thrust of honesty -- his soul is opened, laid bare. You look into him and you can see right to the heart of him. He bears it in the softening of the look, the eyes. The smile. "Merci, Eduard," Valan breathes. "For... telling me... for loving me. This changes nothing. Believe it -- I love you more for knowing..."
     You trusted me to hear it. You took ...such a risk. For me. Little bravery is it in comparison to merely hear it.
     He draws in a breath and water spills over gold lashes. "Carry me upstairs... Make love to me...I need to feel you. I need to feel that..." Valan lowers his hand from your cheek and arms surround you.
     He expects to find himself on the bed by the third beating of his heart...

Posted by rowan at February 08, 2001 01:14 AM