A day's calendar was cleared after breakfast. The seneschal did not provide much in the way of explanation, only that the request was made by the High King himself: Grand Duke Balthazar will not be publicly available today. When it comes from the office of the High King, explanations are seldom needed. It's good to be the king.
Today, let there be no demands, he said to his son. And he quietly made arrangements with his son's personal valets and his assigned seneschal. Cancel all appointments. Let him sleep as long as he needs.
A quiet word was sent elsewhere, not by missive or messenger but simply by the raising of his eyes and the voice of his mind. He gave it to the stroke of the sun on the water, to be carried upward, whispered and repeated by the feathers of gulls against the air.
If you have a moment, your brother Balthazar could use your tender graces.
It was carried from his concern and his love to his eldest daughter's ears. Who better than she to remind Balthazar that he is loved?
Balthazar sits upon the terrace in one of the large, comfortable chairs from his living room. In his hands, he holds a small electronic device, which is is working with a small black stylus. His eyes are intent upon the screen, looking at the words there. Notes, fragments. Maybe one day they will be songs. But he frowns at them. They are still too self conscious. Too referential. He sighs and closes the file.
He has slept a little, and he has eaten a little. Both of these facts have resulted in him seeming his age, rather than overly world-weary. But the smiles that would hold in yellow suns in the lift and curl are nowhere to be found. He appears drawn. Intense. Serious.
He is, at least, clean. His hair, recently washed, is coppery and burnished, seeming like the flames that spring from his feathers. He is wearing white that makes his hair seem all the more coppery. White cotton trousers are loose, the fabric sturdy. The shirt is short-sleeved and as white as the rest. It is more uplifting, certainly. Maybe in that, a little hope can be found.
Yes, father.
It is unquestioning, serene. She rises from the pool by which she'd been seated, her long dark hair swept back over her shoulder. She has her mother's hair, and her father's eyes; tall and slender and fluid, with golden wings that flutter as she walks. Her white robes trail the floor as she makes her way from her mother's island, veiled and covered to protect others from her as much as herself from the gaze of others.
It is not often that she is in her father's palace instead of her mother's. Tanira spends much of her time in contemplation; but she is fond of her brothers, too fond to depart to other places for very long. She makes her way quietly through the halls of the High King's palace, until she is outside your door.
Balthazar, will you let me in?
Tanira?
There is a moment of silence after he speaks, as if he were holding his breath or too surprised to speak. It is neither of those things. It is merely uninhabited air waves that intercede the moment of his thought and the opening of the door.
He has grown even taller since you last saw him -- it has been some time ago. And there is, unmistakable to your eyes, pain that is etched around his eyes. "Please," he speaks softly to you, reverential, as he moves aside, opening the door widely to allow your entry.
"It has been a while," Balthazar remarks, closing the door behind the trail of your gown and wings. He would ask why the surprise visit, but in his sigh he knows you were sent. Still, whatever the means, however it was requested, he is happy to see you.
A wave of his hand bids all of the delicacies of the East and of the lower heavens to his chamber. Rosewater and rosewater tea, almonds glazed with honey and rolled in cinnamon, dates stuff with walnuts and spices. Balthazar follows you quietly, heading to the sofa in the center of his living room and to the selection of honey-cinnamon almonds.
She smiles, her hands lifting to remove her veils. Only with her family will she go unveiled; and her younger brother most certainly is not excluded from that. "It has been a while," Tanira agrees as she enters, smiling at you. "I am sorry that so long as gone by."
She folds her wings, flattening them against her back as she takes a seat on the couch where you've been reclining. She sees your pain, but she does not ask; not yet. She waits for you to join her, and she lifts her hand to cover your own.
"Father tells me that you have been spending time with our uncle," Tanira comments, her smile and her eyes turned upon you. "I consider you fortunate."
Fortunate.
He takes a moment to contemplate that word. It is difficult to do anything other than contemplate in your presence. "I have," he answers quietly. "At first, I did not really wish to. Not because I do not love him -- I do. But because the conditions under which it was first required were... I wasn't happy initially. He was actually quite sympathetic and kind. I don't know what I was expecting," his mouth twists a little at the thought. "But... he gave me some...things to consider."
Sitting beside you, his hand still under yours, Balthazar bows his head. "I suppose it is very fortunate..."
It is difficult to accept physical comfort. But both his uncle's hug a few days ago and your holding his hand now are needed. Balthazar doesn't speak of it. He just sighs a bit and captures your finger with his thumb. "I am trying to consider the positive outcomes," he murmurs. "And not spend as much time thinking about the other things. It is difficult," he notes.
She listens in calm silence, her hand upon yours, still. She smiles as you take her finger in hand. "It is difficult," Tanira agrees gently. "You have always found living to be difficult, Balthazar."
She leans to the side in a graceful sway, her hand opening to scoop up a number of the seasoned and spiced almonds, dropping them into her lap. Her other hand stays with yours. "Life is easier for some than for others, not because of the challenges we face but because of the heart we are given to carry. I do not think that you do poorly, my brother, but I think that you nurture grief too well..."
"Would you tell me of your grief? Perhaps together we can begin to winnow the flock."
Your observation causes him both confusion and worry. He looks to you. "I never realized I grieved at all until recently. Or that I even had so much a pebble of a problem to worry the sole of my foot. Or are you speaking of merely Now, and This?"
He clasps your hand and then he releases it. Sitting forward, Balthazar looks to his hands. "I fell in love with a girl in London. I still love her," he whispers. "She was challenging, smart, beautiful. But she does not love me back. She just told me, this past week that we don't have a future, or even a present. It was a very quick thing. She pulled the chair out from under me."
He exhales at that. It is sharp yet. And he rakes his hands through his fiery hair. Only you can see that there's actual fire there. And only with you -- few others -- the wings unfold, golden and flame-tipped (it is a fire that illuminates but does not burn. Not unless he wills it to burn, that is).
"I miss her, Tanira. And I just don't think I will ever find another girl like that again. She was smart, so clever, so witty, so charming. Beautiful. She inspired me to try, to excel, to write. To match her wit for wit. And now that she's gone, all that inspiration seems to have followed her. I can't write. I don't want to sing. Food has no flavor. Everything seems dull."
"Now and This do not exist separately from That and Then, little brother," Tanira tells you gently, giving you a smile which speaks of understanding. "Your heart is still unfolding. It has been gently touched, before now, and you are in many ways a gentle person, Balthazar." She holds a nut upon her palm. "You have no hardened shell around you; this is not bad, but it means you feel these things, very deeply."
The nut is offered to you, and her hand is then lowered, resting gently on your knee. "Love does not pass gently sometimes," Tanira agrees. "It is unfortunate that it has happened, but you must let your love go, Balthazar. You must release it back into the universe. I believe that there are other girls out there who can give you that, but they cannot find you - or you cannot see them for what they are - while you are still tethered to this girl whose heart you wished twinned with your own. It is painful to cut a tether - but sometimes it is necessary, and especially if you wish to fly."
He does, indeed, feel them deeply. "Should I develop a hardened skin then, sister?" Balthazar remarks, taking the almond. He holds it a moment and then he eats it. It is sweet -- his tongue registers that much -- but the meaning of sweet doesn't quite reach him from tastebud to brain. "I don't want to love anyone else," he murmurs. "I can't imagine ever loving another. I can't imagine ever being remotely interested."
If I cut her out, then she truly will be gone. A dream and no more than that.
Elbows on his thighs, he puts his head in his hands. He does not sob, though his eyes are burning. He seeks in the darkness there, a refuge. Balthazar draws in an audible breath. "She was everything I could have imagined wanting. Everyone will be lacking in comparison. One girl may be prettier, but she won't have her wit. One girl may be smarter, but she won't have her loveliness..."
With another breath, he rakes his hands through the fire of his hair again, scratching against is scalp. Balthazar turns his head and looks to you, his cinnamon brown eyes flecked with amber flames. "How can I simply cut off this love? I don't know how not to love her, Tanira. It's not an on/off switch..."
She smiles at you, in quiet sympathy and affection, her hand lifting from your knee to cradle the top of your head. "You need to let her go," Tanira says gently. "She does not return your feelings, Balthazar. Yoking yourself to her does no help at all; not to you, not to her, and certainly not to your pain. She may have driven the knife in, my brother, but now you are the one holding it in place."
She bends in to you, quiet compassion still held in her primrose eyes. She was only ever a dream, Balthazar. A dream cannot be held. You must wake from this dream...
She straightens, lovely and graceful as a willow, taking an almond for herself, now. "All girls differ. They cannot be her, and they will not be her. And so you must set your love free to the world, to look upon the world as a whole, and not for her face alone," Tanira tells you with quiet sympathy. "Grieve as you must - but remember that we are blessed with love. There are so many in the world; look beyond her, past her, and see it for what it is. Do you wish to forget?"
He doesn't want to hear it, that she was a dream, ephemeral, a fantasy. He doesn't want to hear, even though he knows it, even though he feels it, that he loved her, and she did not love him back. He fought for her. He lost. You cradle his head, and you feel him tense all over.
He grips the knife tightly in his own shock, does he not?
As you lift away from him, his fiery wings surround himself in a cocoon. Balthazar shakes his head, frowning. "Forget? How is that even possible? I don't know how anyone can do what you are asking me to do." He looks at his hands as his wings hug to himself, shielding. "I don't know how to not want her," he murmurs. "I just can't seem to get interested in anyone else. Nymphs bore me. And seeing her sister just reminded me of the girl I want and can't have. The rest just... don't interest me..."
"You do know how," Tanira insists, though gently, still. "But you do not want to let her go. It is time to let go, little brother. No matter how much you do not wish to. It is not about other women; it is about moving on with your own life." She smiles at you, and she reaches for your hands, coaxing them in between her own. "Other women do not need to matter right now, little brother."
She holds your hands in her own, touch deft and light. She looks to you with that quiet sympathy, detached from your pain but not aloof to it. "You do not have to be interested in other women. But you must let her go. Let her go, Balthazar. Grieve, as you must. But let her go."
The only thing worse than being stuck with a knife, the only pain worse is in pulling it free. You hold his hands between your own, and the light touch goes straight to the center of his heart. You can feel it beating strong and quick. His shoulders twitch with his own pain, his own emotion, and his own resistance to feeling worse -- even if it will free him in the end.
His wings flap with emotion, with hurt and with frustration. Why was it not me? He shifts in his agony, his hand feeling around the pain, the emotional knife buried in his chest. Balthazar bends, his mouth against his hands and your own. You feel the warm exhalation, and the cooler drops of tears.
And somewhere, a knife clatters to the floor. His fingers and hands tremble, he trembles all over. And he cries, a choked sound in his throat.
She bends, one hand lifting to the back of your head. Her other hand stays in both of your own, and she presses her lips to your forehead, cool and light. And she holds you, giving you the only comfort that she can offer. There is nothing wrong with you, little brother. You are loved, even if not by her. You are loved; so live.
Her wings rustle and resettle, and Tanira whispers, "Live your life, Balthazar. The only thing keeping you chained is you. Be free..."
He wanted what he wanted. He wanted her. She left him her shoe like it was a promise. Chase me, it said. So he did. And the he caught her and he kissed her and he loved her.
And she left him.
One sort of pain -- of sharpened shock and surprise -- is replaced by another, that of loss. And embarrassment. Suddenly.
Sitting up, Balthazar puts the heel of his hand to each eye, stopping the flow of water. His fair caramel expression is ruddy and dark. His wings tuck against him, folding tight until they slip from view. He swallows, rubbing his face with his hands and then his scalp. The sharpness is gone; in its place is a throbbing, dull ache where the knife once was.
He is quiet for many moments, swallowing the emotion that flows out of him now that the dam is broken. His thoughts are scattered, hard to pin down. "How will I know I'm free, sister?" he finally asks.
"You will know, when it is time." Tanira smiles, her hand on your shoulder. "But for now ... you must begin to live again, in the aftermath. It is not easy, but I have faith in you, Balthazar. I have always had faith."
After all, what good is an angel of any sort, but for faith?
That's hardly comforting. Balthazar falls back, his large form slumping down in the corner of the sofa. He sighs, his head turning against the cushions. He is tired. You have pushed nearly every button he has, your fingers light and quick and relentless. He should be angry with you, but he can't be.
"I suppose it is good that one of us does," he quietly remarks, almost smiling. "Thank you, Tanira. For... pushing me. I ... really did not want to let her go. I really wanted her. I've never wanted anyone like that before," he admits. He looks at you, his brown eyes softened in his emotion. No, he is still an almond without a shell. He feels everything right at the surface.
Balthazar looks inward to his own thoughts and feelings. He is not sure he wants to feel this again, that anyone could be worth this, but he doesn't voice it. Cinnamon eyes lift to you. "I... don't feel very confident. But I will... try to feel confident. Until I do."
"I know," Tanira answers quietly. "You have suffered." She leans forward to kiss your forehead again, the cool impressment of her lips as a seal. "But it is time to return to the world, little brother. This world. That world. You will do well. You will do better than well; you will be brilliant. I know it, because I know, and I have faith in you."
She pulls back carefully, rising to her feet. Her hands fall to your shoulders. "Take your time. There is no reason you should fall again so quickly, Balthazar." Tanira smiles, primrose gaze upon you. "If someone calls to you - evaluate them then. Follow your heart, brother, but be slower about it, this time; until you know if it is for you or not. There is less hurry than you think."
He closes his eyes and for the first time in days, he actually smiles. "I forget I have wings, my sister. I should never fall, when I can fly." His smile retracts and he nods to what you say. He will be more careful. There is still a slight twinge to think of other girls, of trying to engage them. It is still too soon. Too soon, you see it on his face.
Brilliant. He is not quite sure he believes that -- he who was once so resolute and confident in his own energy in the world. But he nods to let you know he heard you.
Is he ready to sing? Not quite yet. But he is ready to consider it. Balthazar rises a moment or more after you and he gives you a hug. He whispers angelic thanks at your ear, and kisses your cheek before you leave him. "Thank you, sister. I ... appreciate your words. Tell mother I will come see her soon. I love you."
We will always love you, brother. Tanira smiles, returning the hug gently before she draws away. The veils are replaced, one by one, and she withdraws quietly. You have more to think about, now; and something to think about which is not Gillian West.
"Mother will be glad to see you," she replies. "I believe in you, Balthazar. And I believe that your future will not be spent alone."
Those words are given, and she withdraws, smiling gently from behind layered cloth. You are, indeed, loved. In your family, strength...
Posted by rowan at March 15, 2009 02:10 PM
