Despite the emotional extremity, he has slept like the dead during the night. You may even have wanted to check to be sure that he was breathing; but he is yet alive, and yet with you. Yet.
     His dreams have been strange; he dreamed of drowning, of a relentless vortex pulling him in, with no hope of escape, leaving him to wake feeling bruised and battered and more exhausted than when he laid himself down to sleep. Tiernan sits up slowly, shifting one leg so that the blanket slides along his thigh. He rubs his eyes and leans forward over his knees, then turns to sit with his legs hanging over the edge of the bed. And he turns to look for you.
     Must every crossroads in our lives be marked with pain? I wish otherwise...

     He tossed and turned upon the seas of his own dreaming for hours. If you need to know the source of those vortices and whirlpools, you perhaps need look no further than the other man in your bed. His flesh is marked with them, though whirlpools have long since turned to spiral galaxies on his skin. But hidden beneath the lounge pants the Charybdis somewhere still churns...
     At some point during the middle of the night, exhaustion physical and emotional eventually caught up with him and he rested still as a plank washed up upon a stretch of sand. Iowerth lies sprawled on the bed as if the sea has coughed him up, his face half turned on the pillow.
     It is not your movement that makes him stir from his stranded spread, but the cool air that issues in with the shifting of the blankets. Iowerth's eyes slowly open. It is the seventh day. Six more and then the sun will disappear beneath the horizon, and it will seem as though it's gone forever.
     Iowerth sighs in lingering dreams, his body reflecting the lethargy of his soul. "Did you sleep any," he wonders suddenly, if softly. He rubs his eyes and face as he rolls over to lie upon his back. He is dressed in bed, which is unusual even in winter. I don't want to move. Hands lowered to rest on his stomach, Iowerth turns his head against his pillow to look at you. There is a conscious effort not to make every look fraught with significance and meaning or emotion. And so, every look comes in glances, so that the weight of his attention might be measured out and balanced, the load not coming all at once.

     "It's all right," Tiernan whispers. He looks at you, and where your glances are brief, his is steady, and has his trademarked compassion shining through. He turns, and he rolls over, and he reaches for you to pull him close. He needs a hug, even if you don't. "I'm here..."
     For six more days. But he is trying hard not to count them; he bends to kiss your shoulder, and rests there, inhaling your scent. My beloved.
     With a sigh, he releases you, though he doesn't immediately rise. There are bags under his eyes; his exhaustion shows, the roughness of his night, not in bruises but in shadows. The shadows make the crescents on his skin shine the more, hundreds of little stained glass windows behind which flickers his soul.
     Time passes...
     Eternity approaches...

     Iowerth doesn't say anything for some time. As you reach for him to pull you close, he does. These motions are memorized, having been performed over a lifetime. If others didn't know better, they might just think this was some other morning when the King decided to play hooky with his Consort. The only thing missing in that equation is the smile.
     Iowerth closes his eyes to feel you near him. To feel the warmth of your mouth in a kiss makes his eyes close. "Remember when I first saw your marks, before I knew what they were." Iowerth turns his head to look at you over his shoulder. "I thought they were... put there by the moon. You were the Crescent Moon."
     His look lingers on the few marks he can see at this angle. "I felt badly after that... when I found out what had caused them. But... now... seeing them glow, perhaps I was not so wrong. But... it seems more like the crescent halo of the center of a galaxy. You're... too beautiful to just be a moon."
     Iowerth rolls upon the bed, curling into the pillow for a moment, to hide his face and his pain. He lies there, very still, as the wave of it moves over him. Such lessons learned from battling the sea; he never thought he'd use them to battle his emotions.
     "I was wondering," Iowerth says, his face still turned away from you. He looks to the window opposite his side of the bed. "Would you like to take a short boat ride? It's winter; it will be cold. But," he rubs his face on the pillow before twisting to look back at you. His face is red; he is choosing to ignore it. "A little rain or fog... we've... faced worse." Are facing worse now, he could say. "Or maybe we could just take a walk to the shore. I think moving... might be a good idea."
     Iowerth pauses as you release him. He lies there a moment longer and then slowly starts to sit up. "How would you feel about ... going home for Yule," he says, rubbing his eyes. "It would be easier on Gruffydd," he notes quietly after a moment.

     He sighs, running his hand over your back gently. "You never needed to feel badly, sweetheart," Tiernan murmurs to you, expression gentle. He touches your hair, then rises from the bed, moving for the bathroom. "Has cold ever stopped us?"
     I have hurt you. He acknowledges it quietly, with slight misting in his eyes as he turns on the water of the shower. "We could do both. A boat ride and a stroll. And lunch. We can certainly go home for Yule, Io." Tiernan tests the water with the back of his wrist, then climbs in. He stares at the tiles as if to make sense of them. Why, o Lord, why? "Would you," he asks it quietly, suppressing the waves of emotion, "would you prefer I go sooner?"

     Iowerth looks up. He watches you move. You were always so graceful. God, so handsome. And that time on the docks, do you remember? We were arguing about... something. I don't even remember what. But I saw you on the docks with your dark curls and your cap and whatever the reason was... it didn't matter to me anymore.
     You haven't. The situation is devastating. But. You haven't done anything but live and love us. I'm not casting blame. Not even at God. Why wouldn't Heaven want you? Why wouldn't the Goodness of the universe want you to ... be free to help more people.
     Iowerth remains on the bedside, his hands on the surface of the bed, his legs over the side of it. He bends, allowing himself a moment of grief where you cannot see it. But he inhales it quickly after, his head tipping back and his eyes scanning the ceiling. He prays for composure. He prays for grace.
     The water runs in the sink -- and fortunately that doesn't cause the water in the shower to run suddenly colder... or hotter. Iowerth douses his face, then buries it in a soft towel. "No... I don't think you going sooner is the answer, Tiernan. Besides, for the children's sake, I would rather you draw it out as long as you can. We'll spend a day or so more here, just... to let everyone, including me," he says with a glance in the mirror, "...calm down a bit and settle into the news before... subjecting us to the court. We can go... maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day. I'll... we can ask the children what they prefer."
     He cannot look at himself long in the mirror either, so it's not just you. Face clean, Iowerth pushes away from the sink and his reflection. He takes a seat upon the edge of the bath. "Have you decided what you're going to do with your businesses?" He can't talk about the emotion of it, or his feelings, but he can talk about business. The mantle of the Old King, Emeritus though he may be, is a comfort, no matter if it is a defensive one.
     Time passes...
     Eternity approaches...

     He comes out of the shower, turning the water off and reaching for a towel. "I don't know," Tiernan admits to you, voice quiet. "I was planning on leaving the business on earth to Tanira, you know. Now that she is marrying, I do not know if she would still want it. The businesses here, a couple of them I am planning on giving to the people I've trained up to hold as a joint employee-run company. They've earned it."
     He does not care solely for his family, after all. He goes to you, taking a seat next to you on the marble edge and putting his arms around you. "Is there any you would want? Anything you'd like to see? I love you, Io."

     "I don't know what she will want. She's more than capable, however," Iowerth notes.
     ...Just two days ago, had he been sitting where he sits now and you appeared wet and naked, he would have smiled and flirted.
     Iowerth glances up after a moment and then shakes his head. "No, I don't want anything. Whatever the kids want is fine with me. I think if Ani were older, he might want the shipping business, but if he wants one... he will make his own. You are right to reward those who have been with you, working with you. That's a good decision. It's fair and I know it would be appreciated. You are leaving a good legacy, Tiernan."
     Swallowing, Iowerth nods. He turns his head to look to you. It's the longest look you've received since you shared your news. "I love you, too." Looking to the floor, his hands grasping the marble of the bath, Iowerth shakes his head again. "I can't think of anything that I would want. Maybe... The Drake. That's it. I don't know that I'll sail but it might be nice to have just in case. I was up a lot last night, awake," he clarifies. "And I think it would be best if I moved back to the Capitol with Ani. Let him finish school there. If it gets to be too much of a hassle for Gruffydd having an Emeritus around, then I'll go to the Sun Kingdom to help Balthazar for a bit. If he wants. I don't know why any of that is important but... those were just things I was thinking last night while trying to will myself to sleep."

     Time passes...
     Eternity approaches...
     "The Drake is yours, then," Tiernan answers quietly. "And ... I understand. You shouldn't need to feel pressured, beloved." He reaches for your hand and brings it to his lips, then lets it fall. As much as I have tried to be kind, maybe it would have been a greater kindness to - to let my body slip into death silently in my sleep. It would not have been honest. But it would perhaps have been kinder.
     He rises to his feet, turning away, feeling the weight of it all heavy in his stomach. "Our family is important, Io. I do not think you are wrong to think of these things. There is only one thing I would ask of you. Just ... do not dismiss your own happiness. I know it is hard to think of, right now. But I do not want you to dwell in this pain forever. I ... will understand ... whatever you decide."
     The words ring hollow to his own ears. They are sincere enough, but he does not know how to approach you. Your grief is as a sea between lonely pieces of land.

     Iowerth looks to you as you rise. While he could not imagine how else one might handle it, he wishes he could bear it with more grace. At least in front of you. "I don't mean to dwell on the loss," he says quietly. "It's not a very godly thing to do. But then, I've never been confused with being godly. I wish I were in a place to ... celebrate your life, your success, and this honor. If I were a better man, I would be able to do so now. My reaction is very selfish."
     He bows your head, exhaling at your wish. "I want your ... remaining time to be... peaceful, full of love. Not some slow march to oblivion in the company of mourners." Iowerth shakes his head with a sighed curse. "I'm sorry, Tiernan. So," and he tries, valiantly, "...shall we go see what the weather has in store for us?"

     You are my one and only.
     But he does not say it out loud. He does not rub salt in your wounds. Tiernan smiles at you, but he feels your grief, still, as much as a sledgehammer might feel. "Yes," he agrees, and he reaches to bring your hand to his lips. "My love," he whispers, and his eyes shine like stars, past and despite his grief at your pain.
     He relinquishes your hand, and turns. The day still lies ahead.

     Your smile has been his savior on more than one occasion. Will it be his lifeline yet? You can see, surely you of all can see, him waist-deep in the flood of his emotions, grabbing for the rope, any rope, to pull himself to solid ground. He is trying; there is no shortage of effort.
     "What do you want to do," he wonders. "You've heard what I wanted. But," Iowerth says as he looks at you, as he follows you -- God, whatever you do, keep walking. "You're the one who's ... going someplace else. I should be asking you want you want from me. From us. Is there anything I can do?"
     His face, already drawn in his own pain, peers at you in compassion and concern. Your love, your smile, your voice is his rope. And his faith in you. Perhaps this is your first act, to save a drowning man.
     Iowerth walks with you through the bath. He pauses at his closet, remembering that it is winter. He pulls out random pieces, not capable of putting together an ensemble at the moment. There are the midnight leathers and a matching sweater and paired with that one of his captain's coats. The sweater and coat fall to the floor and he turns away from you as he drops the lounge pants and pulls on the leathers. It's not as if you haven't seen him naked a million times before...

     "I was hoping there'd be more time," Tiernan whispers. "Years more. Decades." It is to himself and not to himself; it is in answer to what you have said and to what you have not said.
     He swallows, and he dresses, aware of your turning away, but he turns and he watches you. It hurts. You hurt and he hurts, and it makes him crumble to pieces inside. "The only thing I would wish for is more time." I am not ready. But a million years would not be enough, and Deus knows it. I am not ready, Io.
     The tears are threatening him again, and he turns to make his own selections, blindly, without looking at them. It's not as if his wardrobe won't match almost by default. He has always been muted...
     "I?" Tiernan answers your actual question bemusedly, without looking. "I want whatever will make you happiest, Io. I want you."

     "I think that's what everyone says. But maybe my father," Iowerth remarks quietly, pulling on the leathers. It is very strange -- these motions that would have been second nature, nothing-much, are now made suddenly significant. "He would probably say it, too. There's never enough time, not even for those who age and then don't age."
     Iowerth lifts his gaze to you. For a moment, it is the Iowerth of a few days ago. It is muted by what he knows. "If you weren't ready, Tiernan, it wouldn't be happening. It is, and so you are. You are a man of faith and grace. You always have been, even when you had every reason in the universe not to be."
     Iowerth pulls on the sweater, quiet as he lets it settle on his form, fitted. He pulls the heavy coat on after, and finally a violet scarf. "My happiness doesn't really enter into it," he counters quietly. "That can't be achieved, regardless of the outcome. If you were to force your course upon a different track, to stay, I would be the one holding you back, keeping you flesh-bound and imprisoned. And the thought of not being able to be with you, to see you, to hear you, leaves me inconsolable. There's nothing of happiness to be found in either option."
     There are no melodramatic histrionics in such a reply. As he pulls out his gloves, waiting for you to join him, he is simply, and forever, truthful. His gaze is there again, quiet, subdued, but eternally loving the one upon whom it lands. "If you were not with me and if you did not have the children, you would not be second-guessing God's decision. So accept it for what it is: a blessing with a price. There's a price to everything."

     It is true; but he wishes perhaps that it were not. Tan breeches are joined by charcoal vest and white shirt, charcoal boots and coat paired with it and a flat grey knit cap. He sticks his hands into the pockets of his coat, and he turns towards the door.
     He says nothing. What is left to say? His grief is too much for words, even in the face of Truth. Tiernan looks down at the floor. "Ready whenever you are."

     Iowerth looks to you, his expression melting at the sight of the cap. That is the one. He shakes his head, and his eyes fill with iridescent tears. "I will never be ready," he murmurs with a wan smile.
     But the captain joins you. Grabbing onto the rope of your faith, he pulls himself slowly along, through deep eddies and jagged rocks.
     Time passes...
     Eternity approaches...

Posted by rowan at August 16, 2010 09:31 PM