I hear the roar of the ocean from somewhere far from here. It is not here; not where I am. Nothing can reach me, where I am. I am safe; I am alone. When one is alone, then noone can leave or be torn from you.
     He is curled in blankets, his good arm flung over his eyes. The progress back to the city was a long and bitter fight - one after another, after another. We should have known that the trip there was too easy. They made up for it, didn't they? The battle after collecting the late and unlamented queen's belongings from the heart of her labyrinth. There were items there which even Gwilym had not found; dark items, dangerous items. Souls, trapped in bubbles of blackly frosted glass, their bodies long decayed but trapped to linger on - books of every sort and most of the sort which could create dire situations and beasts, if the reader wished. In there, every note on every spell the witch devised - in there, secrets which have lain in waiting.
     There was no time to study them there. It was no place for lengthy reading. Black things were consigned to dust, and the histories, the tomes of research were packed carefully away; some sent via magical conduits back to Tiernan's office so far away in Fiona's city. Some, to end up in a certain king's captain-coat's pockets, out of lack of room anywhere else. And then began the return.
     Mile after mile through the maze - it was within the first mile that the first attack came. Those bodies which had not decayed to dust pulled themselves upwards in awful mimicry of life, lurching towards prince and siren. Only the testament of time kept their numbers fewer, and made for so quick and easy an escape.
     It did not get easier. Instead, it got far worse. The moments of ease became fewer. The mountains, so perilous - the wolf-creatures and the strange, stubbly men with their grey-green and black mottled skin and yellowed eyes and teeth had no intention of leaving the two of them alive. It was a cleverly thrown and sizable rock hurled by ballistae that smashed into Tiernan's arm, sending him sprawling, his dagger falling with a clatter. But he still had one good arm, and a sword to go with it; pain may hurt, but he was fighting for his life.
     You bought him the time he needed, as did the gallant golden lion with ruby eyes and diamond teeth. While you held off half a score of the kobold-like creatures, Leon rolled round and round with a wolf-thing until there was a sickening crack of its spine breaking. The survivors slunk off into shadowy rocks, leaving you to tend to him as best you could.
     If only that were the last of it. At the foothills of the mountains, where the hills became road, there was the last attack. And there, it seemed, would be your last stand, his and yours, back to back amid the press of trolls coming skulking with the remains of the first war party. Tiernan opened his bag of tricks, sending creature after creature - mechanical mice with steel teeth, clockwork crows with carnelian beaks, a menagerie and zoology of created minima. Even those seemed not enough. Leon was locked in combat with the largest of the trolls, diamond claws tearing at its leathery hide even as it opened its mouth and bit chunks of gold right off the lion's moulded flesh. He shook himself - and went back for more, even as you and his creator fought for your lives.
     When it was over, Leon was twitching on his side, his tail thrashing weakly as Tiernan made his way over. What could be done? Even with a forge, there was no hope. There was only one thing to be done for the gallant clockwork lion; one gift left to bestow. And weeping, the gift was given, and the ruby eyes closed, and Leon was no more.
     The commotion so close to the road had been noticed. Patrols were sent from the Kingdom of the Flowering Tree, from the Kingdom of Avalon. No further incursions from the monsters of the mountains would be tolerated. Even with the wounds that you and Tiernan suffered, though, none would have questioned his abiding silence, even as it carried him and you to the heart of the Flowering Tree.
     He fell into the bed given him, and he laid there, trapped in exhausted sleep. Exhausted, but not dreamless. He has twitched, on occasion; sat bolt upright with a shout more than once, only to remember where he was, where he is. For two days, the healers tended to a fever from infection in his wounds. And since then, he has been lucid; awake, but quiet. Not estranged - but simply unwilling to speak. He has eaten and he has rested, and he has turned to reading. To finding the truth for which you and he had risked their lives - and for which Leon had given it.

     Though he was out of his element -- how brilliant he must be when fighting under water -- the siren fought with savage and graceful precision. Though water was severely lacking, he was able to strategize as well on land, his quick-thinking that helped preserve you both, though wounded, through the battles that ensued. You can take a siren out of the ocean; but you cannot take the commander out of the siren.
     He gave without a second thought, protected you and defended you, bled by you and gave you comfort in the small interceding moments between conflicts. And he did so without faltering, without a moment of doubt or fear. Fear and doubt will have their day eventually, but then was not the time.
     Agapios has sat at your bedside for days. It has been two months since you and he left Oannes for the Flowering Tree and the forbidding mountains and forests past her boundary. He is not going to leave you now, simply because it's quiet. He has found his rest when he can, slipping into the bathtub. His own wounds have healed, only minor abrasions remain. He was there when you sat up. He has been there when you have cried out. And he will remain there to tend you.
     Your valet, at last...
     Sitting at your bedside, Agapios is clothed in loose cotton trousers, a string of shells around his neck. Beside him, resting on the table, a service of healing herb tea. Beside this is a plate of various seafood, crab cakes and other oceanic delicacies. Protein, for your healing, but light for your wounded appetite.
     Glancing to where you lie, Agapios twists, pouring tea for you and floating upon it a slice of quince. "When you are ready," he murmurs, "...I have brought you food, and more tea." He speaks softly, so that your drifting mind may hear him. But it may not be loud enough to wake you.

     Slowly, one hand - his good hand - comes up to push his hair from his eyes. His hair has had time to grow, of late; he has not been interested in such prosaic matters as haircuts. He tries to sit up; it's difficult, with only one good arm, but he manages it by degrees, letting his pillow slide behind and partially under him. "I am awake," Tiernan answers you just as quietly. You did not wake him.
     There are notebooks and parchments not far away. Whenever he has not been dreaming (whether awake or asleep), he has been poring through these notes, researching the truth. But what kind of truth? But now he turns his face towards you, offering you a small, weary smile. "Faithful Agapios. You should rest yourself, you know, instead of spending all your moments on me."
     Tiernan rubs his face slowly, reaching just as slowly for the tea you have brought him. He knows he must heal. Must - it is a strange word, all the same. "I have been reading. There is much for which she should have answered. Least of all for me. How are you feeling?"

     "Now, would you deny me the pleasure," he smiles at you, his own hair grown longer in coiffure neglect to fall in blue waves at his collar bones, "of tending to you in your time of need?" Cerulean eyebrows lift slightly as his hands balance the taking of the cup by your one hand. "I have taken the necessary moments to acquaint myself with the bath," he assures you quietly.
     But this is where I am needed...
     "I am glad she was not there. The trolls were sufficiently scary, do you not think?" There is gentle humor, but beneath that is sympathy and a real understanding for some of the horrors you have witnessed. "Remind me the next time to pack an army, would you? I felt rather under-armed." As if he had shown up naked to a fancy dress party.
     Bending, Agapios places a kiss upon your forehead. "Is there anything I can get for you, Tiernan? I have brought the fruit of the sea," he gestures to the prawns and crab and lobster on the tray. "You are finding... what you were looking for...?" he wonders, a hand moving to your hair, smoothing it back.
     All the small comforts, he gives those to you -- the slight touches, the gentle voice, the closeness of his body, his constant presence. His affection for you has only grown with the death and blood you and he have shared.

     There is genuine affection there, genuine caring in his voice, his eyes. He does not ask how you are feeling out of empty politeness. He brings his tea to his mouth, eyes closed as if to blot dark thoughts and dark deeds away. If only it were that easy.
     "She is dead - long dead, by now. Close to a decade. The queen of this kingdom slew her in magical contest, while her army ran rampant over the city walls to the other side of the mountains." Mountains which you and I have crossed twice now, once going and once returning. Not unscathed. Not unchanged. Tiernan sets aside the cup again, then shakes his head. "Nothing else, thank you." So quiet, his voice is. Not weak, precisely, but quiet; as if he cannot quite bring himself to disturb the air by speaking the more loudly.
     He reaches with his one good arm for one of the books he'd dragged out of that hole, defended them with his life. They show some marks of blood, not all of it his; but not all of it not his own, either. "I am finding many things. Not all of which I looked for. Much of which I could easily not have known. I cannot stop reading, though."
     Tiernan settles the book in his lap, staring down at the crabbed script filling its pages. "So many people gone to serve vanity," he tells you quietly. "So many people just - wiped out, as if they never existed at all. For her twisted experiments, her wicked and selfish personal desires. But," he sighs, and closes the book. "I know something, at least. I've found confirmation of what I was told. She was not my mother."

     "And have you found your birth country in those notes, any indication on how or from where she took you?" He sits at your bedside, turning to pour another cup of tea -- this one for himself. Agapios glances to you, then looks over the selection of food. He cannot decide whether or not to eat. He must be tired.
     "It is amazing what selfishness can do," he murmurs. "How twisted and corrupt one can become when one ceases to be sympathetic to others. Though, she likely never was. Some trees are bent by the weather. Some are simply bad seeds."
     Sipping at the tea, Agapios looks to you, beautiful bright eyes under cerulean bangs. "At least you know you are not of her flesh and blood. She tried, and she failed, to turn you into something like her, like those creatures we battled. You have survived, Tiernan. How do you feel about the things you have discovered? Shall it give you the peace you longed for?"
     Agapios tilts his head, setting the healing herbal tea aside. ."I am tempted to lie down with you," he says suddenly if softly. "I do not know if it will help your arm, but it would help my arms to hold you."
     I do care for you...

     "My mother and father were from a place as far away from here as the sun is from the moon, and the sea is from the mountain top." Poetic, even if not informative. Tiernan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. The food is, for him, ignored; he is not hungry enough to eat. He has eaten at times, but he is slow to it right now. "They are separated from me by a gulf which nothing I can do will pass. In that small thing, she has her triumph."
     He looks at the book, the leather cover, and then loosely, he lets it fall to the floor next to the bed. "But I know who I am. And that triumph is mine and not hers. So at least our trip was never entirely in vain. Still," his voice goes softer still, and his eyes drift again closed, "it seems a high price to pay. A very high price to pay. I am glad I did not lose both of you. That would have been more than I could bear."
     You bring up your own needs, and he blinks, eyes shuttering for a moment. It comes to him as a surprise, even if it shouldn't. "There is room on the bed," Tiernan whispers to you. "I ... am sorry that I am not more present. I am far away, in another country right now. I do not know when I will be back."

     "Then let me join you. It seems we will be on many adventures together. If you wander for forty years, someone will have to pour your tea and fluff your pillow." There is a slight smile and Agapios rises. His grace, while still intact, is stiffer than usual with the last of his injuries. "Do not apologize," he murmurs. "You need never apologize to anyone, least of all me."
     Agapios makes a place for himself among the bedding and books. He comes to lie on the side with the good arm, so as not to aggravate your injury. "A small triumph indeed, for all her work to enslave you," he murmurs, settling beside you. Agapios kisses your shoulder and rests his head there. "I am sorry about dear Leon," he whispers. "And he was just beginning to like me." He sighs in his own grief and in sympathy for the greatest of your many mechanical friends. "He saved my life. We all saved one another, Tiernan."
     Resting his head against your shoulder, his arms slowly, tenderly surround you, mindful of your wounds. "Truth exacts a high price, as high a price as freedom. And you have both. Two for the price of one." He trails a finger along your chest and side, barely skimming the surface of your skin. It is all the massage he gives today. You are still too sore to be kneaded as normal.
     "I care for you very much," Agapios whispers. "Who you were, who you are now, who you will be." He closes his eyes, his body flush to yours. "And though you are separated from one family, you have me. I will be your family, Tiernan. I am adopting you." He seems resolved to that. Are you ready to belong to a siren?

     He shifts a little, making room for you; not that you really need the extra room, but he tries all the same. He slides his arm around your shoulders, closing his eyes. "She did worse than enslave me. My mind is still reeling; it will take me some time to come to settle things. I will be awake more than asleep, with all of this in my mind; the healers will be upset."
     His fingers squeeze your shoulder lightly, then relax. He is not there; not entirely, not really. The flesh is present, but the spirit wanders, in mind and thoughts far from this place. "I think the price was still too high. I will regret it until I die. He was brave." There is the stoic note in his voice. He will not be able to fully grieve for some time. Perhaps never.
     Instinctively, he tries to lift his other arm to rub his forehead; a wince is elicited as he is reminded why that's a bad idea. "I care about you, Agapios." Tiernan opens his eyes, looking at you where you are up against him. "I'm sorry. I am neglecting you, aren't I? I do not think you should adopt me. I am still so very far away. I do not want you to be hurt by it. I ... still have so much to resolve."

     "Stop," Agapios says, tipping his head back. He is half-smiling, half-serious. "You are determined to be alone. Determined to isolate yourself. Well, I am not going to let you. I am your friend, first and foremost. And you need a friend right now. And I am not going to abandon you, no matter how much you might want it." His hand lands upon your good shoulder as gently as if it were your sore one. "You are not neglecting me. I am responsible for my own emotions, and my own happiness."
     Lowering back to the bed, he rests alongside you. He gives you the comfort of his arms. Perhaps one night you will be able to take the comfort he offers. He will be there when you do. "You are far. Near or far, Tiernan, you will always have this friend. Always. You can't do this alone. No one could, so stop trying so hard to alienate me."
     He turns his head. He kisses your shoulder. He settles his head against your chest. Closing his eyes, Agapios idly, gently runs his fingers over your stomach. "And though you have much on your mind, you must sleep. Do you wish me to put a tonic in your tea, something to quiet your mind, to make you sleep?"

     You are as always, impossible to argue with. Tiernan closes his eyes. Sometimes it is easier to at least attempt it than others. "I am not trying to alienate you," he whispers, settling back against the pillows. "I just ... do not know my own mind right now. There are other things on my mind." And other people. A family found and lost in an instant. Enemies abroad and at home. His lover - Iowerth is not far from his mind, right now.
     How could it be otherwise? He is in the very palace where first he met his lover. In the very kingdom in which he was born, where his mother met with Tiernan's - memories crowd round every corner. And in truth, he would not wish it otherwise.
     Iowerth, again I am missing you. Wishing things - if there were a well within reach, I would pour all my fortunes made and lose them in the effort of loving you. If there were a star I could see, I would pull it down from the sky. But you are far from here; bound by duty. And deus help me, I would not have it be otherwise. If you were to abandon duty at the lightest pretext, you would not be the man I have loved so long.
     What will I do? I don't know. I have much reading to make sense of, if I can. I am in a terrible temper, though it does not show on the outside. I do not allow it to show. But - against logic and sense and even stubborn pride, I miss you right now, more than I can tell.
     "Leave it be for the moment," he finally says, not reopening his eyes as he says it. "I ... will let my thoughts wander. They will lead me to sleep in time, and I would rather sleep without aid, if I can. Right now, sleeping would mean postponing things I need to work out - and that will just make me take even longer to heal. I prefer the bones be set properly right away."
     Awkwardly, his one good hand pats you where he can reach. He does not mean to neglect you. Tiernan slides down a little, a grimace marring his features before he sinks again to the pillows. "I've been injured before, you know. I'm not going to die if you take your eyes off me."

     You can be infuriating, even to a utopian-born, zen-appreciating mer-man. But it has been a traumatic few months following what has been a traumatic life for you. While others might throw up their hands and say Fine, be alone!, Agapios simply gives his weight to the bed and his hands to your skin.
     Fingers idly move through your dark hair, slowly, gently. "I am not worrying about you dying," Agapios says after a few moments of blessed stillness. "I am not worried about you. I have faith that you will succeed. If you were easy to conquer, easily vanquished or discouraged, you would not have made it this far, this long. I am simply not going to be easily put off."
     Who knew that someone so watery could be so stubborn? But he only wants the best for you. "I am your friend, Tiernan. I am here because I wish to be. I am here because you do need a friend with you. You will simply have to get used to the idea."

     He retains his calm, despite the inner foul mood which he has not admitted to you. However, despite his calm, his words give away his frustrations. "You can stay if you want, but I don't need a nursemaid. You have injuries of your own, haven't you? Let the healers tend to them, since right now I'm going to be of no use until deus knows when."
     Abruptly, Tiernan sits up, ignoring the jarring of any twinges of pain in his ribs or shoulder and arm. "I can't stay in this bed forever," he mutters. "I can't think like this. I need to move around a little." His good hand lifts to rake back through his hair with an imitation of his usual energy, and he carefully, creakily bends to pick up the book. He is so stubborn. Though his face goes white from the effort, he gains the book, dropping it back on the bed and straightening unsteadily.
     "What is going on out in the world?" Tiernan asks, looking at you and then towards the door to the chamber, as if expecting one of his employees to come bursting in with news. "It has not stopped while we were gone. What has been the point? Why ..."
     Angrily, he swallows the words down, letting his head hang back on his neck, eyes again closed. More quietly, he speaks again. "Why have I risked you and lost Leon? Out of selfishness? Fear is selfish, isn't it? Grief is selfish. It does not bring anyone back. Grieving over someone I have never met, especially - that is the height of selfishness, foolishness. Isn't it?"

     "No," he, too, sits up, his arms wrapping around his knees as the flat of his bare feet rest on the mattress. "It is not foolish, Tiernan. Nor is it selfish. You have learned you had a life, a family, that you can never see again. You have not been able to grieve for them. What you feel is natural, it is legitimate. Why should you suffer endlessly? Why should you be made a martyr? By fate or by yourself?"
     Agapios folds his arms on top of his knees and he rests his chin there as he looks to you. "You did not risk my life. I risked my life because I felt it was necessary, it was worth it to me. I made that decision. You do not get to feel badly for that. You do not get to own that. That is mine."
     "Fear," he continues softly, "... is selfish because it is the expression of the body's and the soul's will to survive. It is necessary. Do you think anyone is without fear? Do you think you should be? How unreasonable a thing to ever expect from yourself. How unfair you are being to yourself. On all of this. Why should you not grieve? You of any I have known have a legitimate reason to grieve. You deny yourself what is rightfully yours to make yourself suffer even more. What a horrible thing to do to yourself. You do not need to pick up where she left off, Tiernan. You need to love yourself. You need to love yourself in order to understand how and why others love you. Until you do, you will not be able to love properly."

     He listens to you, slowly letting his head hang forward again, his one hand coming up to his face, which tips downwards. There is no sob; just the slow well of reluctant tears. "I do not want to grieve," Tiernan whispers, turning his back to you slowly. "I know I must. I have to let them go again. And it hurts more than any physical wound could, Agapios. It tears at my innards. And yes, I am afraid."
     He pinches at the bridge of his nose as if that would someone turn off the tears, prevent the salt and water from leaving their tracks. "I feel as if, if I love, where I love, I will lose. I have loved with all my heart. I do not want to lose what I have loved. How can I feel peace when anything I have built has been on such broken ground, such pretext? Yes, I know with my head that who I am is who I am, and the truth does not matter. But with my heart, I do not know that. I do not know how long it will take. But talking about it does not help. It only hurts more."
     It is too soon. It is too fresh, too raw. With a sudden impatience, he swipes the empty mug to the floor, letting it roll or break as it will. But he doesn't add more words; instead, he crosses the room at a slow pace, to rest his palm against the wall. "It is not your fault. But neither do I want to take it out on you, Agapios. It would solve nothing, and I would regret hurting you or any other..."

     "It is too soon. You are not ready to hear me. To truly hear me," Agapios notes quietly. He is all the more calm for all your outbursts. "You do not get to control whether I am hurt or not. I get to determine how or if, not you." He sighs a little. "Do not talk, then. If you wish me to give you some space, I shall. But it is impossible for you to push me away. You should resign yourself to this, while you are thinking of all these other things."
     It is only then that he moves, unfolding his arms, unfolding his legs. Agapios rises. He does not begin cleaning his service. The food and tea shall remain. They, like him, are here for you. "The more you hold onto your pain as a commodity, the more pain you will feel. The only way to be free from it is to truly let it go. It is frightening to think you might lose touch with the only past you have known. But is it the sort of past you truly wish to be defined by?"
     He lets that sit with you, he gives it to you to mull over. "I am going to go take a swim, I think. It will be good for my back if I swim more now than I walk. But I will be back, Tiernan." His seafoam eyes fix on you. There's nothing you can do about that.

     He stands where he is, leans where he is. If he hears you or not, he gives no real sign of it. It is not that he is ignoring you; it is that the words refuse to come. They have a stranglehold on his throat. And all he can do is stand there, shoulders slumped upon your examination.
     Finally, he manages a few words. Only a few. "We can talk later," Tiernan answers you quietly. "I ... will be thinking. For a while."
     Thinking, and writing. It occurs to him that he has letters to send. For business purposes, and other purposes as well.
     But he does not put it into words; he cannot. Words are tricky creatures, requiring more strength than he has to hunt them down, chase them and beat them into submission. Blue eyes veiled by closed lids and dark lashes, he adds in that quiet voice, "I do care about you. I am sorry for my ill temper. Enjoy your swim." He turns up the heel of those words, moving in his slow pace to the next room.

Posted by rowan at February 20, 2007 09:35 PM