TBTT 56. The morning after

[moonshadows]

Disorientation and discomfort greet his reluctant return to awareness. Absently, he frowns. He doesn’t usually feel this stiff when she’s done doing whatever she does. Come to think of it, the pleasant haze isn’t present, but his head doesn’t hurt, either, so what happened? He remembers being cold – both physically, and to his young Champion – and that she tucked warm blankets around him. And then…yes, then he waited to see if she would take advantage of his apparent vulnerability, and she did not. He asked her how she had known – but she didn’t know, and she was telling the truth, as she always did with him.

Unconsciously, he holds her tighter. She didn’t know, and it wasn’t hard to guess that the magic binding them together was whispering his deepest thoughts and feelings to her – not when she had more than once divined what he needed when he himself hadn’t known. That conclusion had awakened the fear of having his weaknesses exposed, and the reflexive urge to push her  away, but no…she could be trusted with his weaknesses, couldn’t she? At that point he’d felt himself slipping into one of the spirals that led to pushing everything away until he could force his broken thoughts back into some semblance of order. Somehow, he’d retained enough control to keep from hurting her or himself and waited to see if she would again prove not only that she could deal with his instability, but that she could be trusted when he was most vulnerable. And then…

He frowns absently again. And then she’d…sung him to sleep. She’d distracted his chaotic thoughts with her innocent joy and then calmed him somehow. For the first time, he realizes that he is stiff and disoriented because he fell asleep sitting on the couch with his Champion in his arms. In his-? Yes. He doesn’t need to look to confirm that she is still there, but he does anyway because he can’t quite believe that she is…that she is…

Suddenly shaken, he swallows and frees his other arm to gently caress her cheek with wondering fingers. She could have left to sleep in her own bed, but she did not. Instead, she chose to remain with him. She is trusting him at her most vulnerable. Grudgingly, he admits to himself that her trust might not be misplaced. After all, she was still inside his mind when he started losing control, and somehow he kept himself from either hurting or ejecting her. That thought causes the pit of slain hopes to tremble, and quickly he summons trusty repression to hide it from himself. If he allows himself to think about it, he will only ruin it somehow. After a moment, he takes the knowledge that she can learn his most secret feelings and locks it behind the barricades with the rest of the things best forgotten lest they devour him. That still leaves him stiff and sitting on a couch with a half-demon snuggled up against him, fast asleep. The pleasure at this unique experience is cut short by uncertainty. What should he do? What is he expected to do in a situation like this? What if he does the wrong thing?

It’s a relief when she stirs and murmurs, “Kal’shan?”

“Wake, my Champion,” he says quietly.

“Ooog, my wings are stiff.”

They detangle themselves from the blankets and each other with awkwardness minimized by Tessa not being quite awake yet and stretch as best they can. The decision to not discuss the situation seems to have been reached mutually and wordlessly. Because she knows that’s what you want, whispers his mind, but he ignores it. Come to think of it, how long has it been?

“Sixth hour,” she says, as though she’d been wondering the same thing. “Well, at least we have time for a hot soak before the meeting with the delegation from the Delta, right?”

The oath that leaves his lips is one he heard a satyr utter after he’d had his lower half forcibly separated from the upper. A hot soak didn’t sound like it would relax him nearly enough for being diplomatic. “Gym,” he snaps. “Now.”

She follows him through the Twisting Nether and fetches her glaives. Side by side they run through the warm-up routine until neither of them wince, and then spar until she signals that she needs a break.

“Return to your rooms,” he commands as she drinks electricity from the stripped cable. “Soak. Rest if you need to. I will be by to fetch you at the tenth hour.”

Obediently, she nods and fades out of the physical world, leaving him to slice through imaginary foes while he wrestles with his own mind. He can no longer pretend, even to himself, that he could ever let her go or push her out of his life. Her presence and safety are no longer optional, and to deny that would only place her in danger. No, he has taken responsibility for her continued survival, and any plan he makes must account for that. The air resonates with the absence of his motion as he comes to a sudden halt, every muscle vibrating with the strain of holding absolutely still to balance himself against the inertia of his thoughts.

Her survival is as essential as his and must be accounted for, the same way his brother’s always was, back when the demons first came. Even after-

The Warglaives of Azzinoth are banished so that he can press the heels of his hands against the band of silk covering what passes for his eyes, Tessa’s painstaking embroidery hard against the smooth cloth, trying to focus on her adoration instead of the memory of green-gold energy cradled within a womb of pure silver-white. No. He will not succumb to his own pain. He is the master, the one death could not stop, the Lord of Outland and of this world. The memory of green-gold tainting silver-white will not defeat him. There is too much to be done today, he does not have the luxury of falling apart so that his Champion can put him back together. Even though I would dearly like to. That thought is shoved behind the barricades without hesitation.

He feels oddly focused, as though the energy he would normally have spent fighting himself has been redirected and is his to command. As he returns to his room and steps into a hot shower, he can feel his lips curve of their own volition into a sardonic smile. If he found a way to reward her for this, would she guess that he was aware of what she was doing? The end at least, if not the means. Or would it only confuse her and encourage the…feelings she has for him?

Does he want that?

An angry snarl echoes off of polished stone as he increases the water temperature until scalding heat drives all thought from his mind, then turns it back down some. Later, he will wrestle with such thoughts. But not now.

==================================

Even though he told himself that, and firmly, he still finds the question circling like a gnat: just annoying enough to distract him but too elusive to swat. As he stalks through the halls with guards and demon in tow, he smiles darkly. The irritation will make him look suitably foul-tempered for his guests. It comes as a mild surprise to realize that although she is not touching him and he cannot sense her in his mind, he is not being plagued by the buzzing anger and frustration that usually swarm his thoughts. Well worth stiff wings, he thinks as he settles into the massive stone seat in the vaulted audience chamber and gestures to the guards. The double doors open, and the delegation strides cautiously in.