GoldenCat/FirstNight

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First Night

And next morning, without fail, the windwraith left Vorpal and the Prince on the peaks surrounding Whiteshield... not to the West, closer to Windia, this time. But to the North, as close to the Boil as Cael could manage...

Of course, they still had to trek down the snow-covered mountains... with the prince having already slipped down more than once.

The trees shone with water and snow, and the beauty of the place was to be commended. Was hard to think war was being fought little more than a day's walk down south...

Vorpal: "-- Oh, quit your whining, you pampered little princess!" the Pale Angel snaps, halting midway in where she is leading the progress down a snow-covered slope. "What did you think this would be? A field trip? A nice little ride across the wonderful Winlandian countryside?"

A creature clad in dark furs against the pristine white of the landscape, the hilt of an even darker sword jutting up from amongst the folds of her cloak, she turns and glares up at her partner. "I should have left you grow fat munching Bastardian's food!"

Ice: A sour snort is the only response the great warhorse gives her rider. Its white mane hanging limp down its neck, its black sides gleaming with droplets of molten snow, the beast is currently a positively haggart sight as it trudges along the slope. Its mood is much the same - the initial joy of being finally allowed to have some excercise had quickly darkened into a very much offended silent over the first few hours of their journey. Never mind the fact that it was Ice who carried the vast majority of their current supplies, while Vorpal and Alex travelled with relatively light loads.

This was no battle Ice was born and bred for. This was no opportunity to prove its superiority against any other beast running over the face of creation. This...

...was work for a mule.

Demoted from a warhorse into a pack animal.

Woe is the horse with such a fate.

Alexander: Alex could only giggle, as he watched ice... his feet trying to not slip again on the ground he couldn't even see.

You never cease to surprise me, Lilith...

Every time I turn around, you have a different face to show.

Well, both of you angels of the Lover...

He smiles up at Vorpal, shaking some snow out of his shining hair, "Try to be a little nicer to it! Otieno always told me to be firm, but nice, with animals. He will probably need to carry you into battle later, and it is best if he is in good spirits with you..."

Vorpal: The Pale Angel leans past Ice's sizable bulk to give the prince a rather dry look. "Have you ever heard the expression Scratch the dog once? "

Alexander: "Not... really, nope." He says, puzzled.

Vorpal: "If you scratch a dog's ears", Vorpal begins and turns with a jingle of bridles, to take the next steps down the slope, "she learns that she will get attention from you. She will come back to pester you again, and again, and again... until you will never have peace from her."

Halting to check that Ice has no difficulties at following her, she pats the beast's wet mane. "Now Ice here, she is worse than that. Feed her a bit of sugar, and she will refuse to ride you to the battle unless you give her more." She gives a little chuckle. "Won't you, partner?"

Ice: The black horse's response is a very philosophical snort. Ice is one of the best, after all, so it naturally follows that it deserves the best there is to be had.

Alexander: "I wish I could have a loyal companion who would go into battle with me, die with me, just for some nice words and some petting." He says, "I had a dog once. I loved her... loved when she came to me, wanting to be scratched or to play. It got annoying sometimes, yes..."

He stops then, looking back at her, "... but it is worse when they stop coming for scratches, is it not? When they cease annoying you..."

Vorpal: Vorpal pauses at that, and the smile melts away from her lips.

"Aye", she says after a moment and smiles again, more softly this time. "Aye, it is."

She turns back to continue their journey once again. "So", she calls over her shoulder as she goes, "What happened to that dog? The raid again?"

Alexander: "... and before you get angry thinking I am pulling the tragic prince routine..." He begins saying, bu then she brings it up herself. "... nope! It happened years ago. She ate something poisoned... a new sort of plant mother had received as a gift. She was never too smart... even though she was too cute! And eager! She was like... you know? Always happy?"

"I had a kitten too. But she just disappeared one day..."

"What about you, Pale Angel? Ever had any pets?"

"... aside from Ice, that is!" He says, after feeling the cold eyes on his shoulder.

Or... is it that Ice doesn't...

'Wrong if I say this, wrong if I say that... shouldn't even have brought it up! Now I just know he will run me over... '

Vorpal: Yes", the Pale Angel responds, oblivious to what is passing through the Prince's mind. "Yes, I did."

She extends one leather-clad hand in a sweeping gesture. "A whole brigade of them. You won't ever believe how much work it was to keep them all warm and fed through the whole Iranorian winter..."

Alexander: Alexander laughs, utterly amused, the sort of laugh one says before such absurd. "Your brigade were as pets, is it? Poor guys. I bet you had them make a big line, sat down, and wait until each and every one gave you their paw..."

"... not to mention, sleeping in a dog house must be awful"

Vorpal: "It kept them warm, at least", Vorpal counters with a chuckle. "But do believe me, shake hands was the easy part. Sit, dance, roll over, now those were the difficult ones. Especially in field armor."

"But a kitten, eh?" When the Prince had first mentioned the magic word, the Pale Angel had been thankful of the broad hood she wore. It had kept him from seeing the brief flush of warmth that had flooded her face then. "What was she like? Small and cute?"

Alexander: "She was. She was all black. You could miss her at night! Her eyes were green, and, and... so fuzzy! Her hair seeemd to always be up! She... she loved to run around. Every time I looked for her, she was in a different place... I would seriously hear a noise on a side of my room, turn, do not see her, then turn around to see her hopping on my bed. She was that fast and furtive! And, and..."

"She loved my lap. I usually left here there while I read... a pity it was not much of my day. She spent most of it with Carina, who didn't need to be as physical as me..."

"She never let me eat, however. I had to lock her to do it! Otherwise she'd jump at the table... she could never jump straight to it, but she'd claw on the sheet and climb up... made the maids go nuts at the pricy table sheets she was cutting with that stunt..."

Alex smiled as he said all that. He was happy. Happy times...

"I kept thinking she would come back..."

Vorpal: Vorpal slows down a little, to put some effort into pulling the hood further up over her face... and to try and look very nonchalant while doing it.

"That's... cute", she responds, a bit faintly, perhaps. "Maybe she will come back one day. Or maybe you'll find another."

Alexander: "Pehaps..." He says, as they walk down..."It... won't be the same, however. And I will have missed out on so much, Lilith... so much..."

"I suppose you need to have had a kitten to understand."

Then, he squints his eyes, looking down the trail... "Think we are near the end. May I get the permission to fly past the trees and see if it is?"

Vorpal: ...need to have a kitten to understand...?

"Granted", she responds, her voice suddenly draining out of emotion, returning to the accustomed objectivity of military discipline. "Just don't stray too far, and report immediately if you see anything."

Alexander: He let his wings appear once again, spreading them to his sides as he takes to the skies... cutting through the branches as he goes, and vanishing above the canopy of trees.

"It is clear, Pale Angel!" He calls, circling back, flying close overhead. "It ends just a few meters down. And seems like there are no dead around, not even a hint of them on these wilderness! I will be waiting at the end of the trail, alright?"

Vorpal: The career soldier in Vorpal tenses at the Prince's suggestion. A lifetime in the army had allowed the Pale Angel to hear her share of famous last words, and what had just passed through Alex's lips fulfilled every definition of the term.

"Don't", she calls back to him calmly. "Stay in the air, and stay alert until I get there."

One could call it superstition if one so wishes. Vorpal calls it taking no chances.

She clucks her tongue to Ice and picks up their pace, eager to finish the last meters of this leg of their journey.

Alexander: "Right!" He calls from far up.

It is not long after that Vorpal finishes the trail, and finds herself at the end of the Mountain... a valley-like trail leading outside of it. The whole place is still peaceful... pehaps too peaceful. A brook runs nearby, waters clear as ice... and the white peaks, far above, seem like old monuments, totally atemporal, totally detached from anything that might be happening now...

Vorpal: Stopping at the end of the trail, Vorpal spends a breath or two to take in the view unfurling before her. It is beautiful, even to a deathknight like her --

She purses her lips, shifting her attention to other matters. Open terrain. Easier to travel, easier to spot enemies, easier to be spotted by them.

This place is as good as any, I suppose, she thinks with a soft sigh. Calling upon the birthright granted to her by her mother, she attunes her senses to the spectral realm and takes a moment scanning her surroundings for anything unusual.

• She tries to sense something ghostly around her... and senses... nothing. Nothing at all.
  
  The coast was clear...

Vorpal: ...for now.

Considering where they are headed, it would be only a matter of time when they would begin encountering signs of enemy patrols.

Not taking her eyes from the valley, she runs her gloved hand through Ice's mane. "You wanted some excercise, didn't you?" she speaks to her mount with half tones. "Now's the time."

She swings herself to the saddle, throws a glance up to the sky where Alex is circling around, and tips her head into a small nod. An instant later, she jabs her bootsoles into Ice's flanks, and the beast surges forward with a sudden burst of speed.

• For a long day, Ice gallopped through the valleys and plains of Whiteshield.
  
  Birds flew past, wild animals scurried away... and throughout this long day, Alex was on the sky, just past... until he flew down, atop a mount in front of Vorpal.
  
  As she herself got to the top of the mount, she saw... the image of a great spider within a village. Insects flying above it, but none of them threatening the plantations.... where farmers work, in an opressed fashion...
  
  The spider is, obviously, an Arcanoi. Vorpal would never be fooled by the tricks of death. So are the insects. Obviously, the dead are leeching essence and prayers from those mortals. Certainly an undead overlord is residing in the Manse in the center of the city - well, the weird thing they are building a Manse on.
  
  There are also dead overseers in the field, of course, but those are just the ghosts of farmers - mere scarecrows. Weak ghosts playing at being gods by using their illusions and control over crawling things - quite the contradiction, one Vorpal had seen countless times before.

Vorpal: "Hmm." In a calm, thoughtful manner, the Pale Angel leans forward in the saddle, resting one hand atop Ice's head. "Tidy work, isn't it?" she asks and glances briefly at the Prince standing beside her, to see his reaction to this sight. "Don't be fooled by the bugs. They aren't real."

Alexander: "That great spider there isn't? With those webs holding the village...?" He gulps... then remembers the last time he saw such illusions. And his hand moves to the hilt of the blade "Those are ghosts, right? Doing that?"

Vorpal: "Yes, they are", she explains, "It's not very common to see something like this happen outside a Shadowland, but then again, these past months have hardly been anything usual for Winlandia and Whiteshield, don't you think? I'll assume they are related to the Bishop's troops somehow."

Her eyes move down to Alex's hand and its movement towards his sword. "And I'll assume you're not going to let me just ride past this?"

Alexander: "No way."

He looks up.... as the sun begins to come down on the sky... its hues beggining to turn to red.

"Will be night soon, too. Not safe to travel here during the night, is it?"

"So, if we save them, we get to sleep there, too. And get some food for ice... you have to admit it is convenient... right?"

Even if you don't care, least you do about this right?

Vorpal: Vorpal stares down at the prince for a moment. Then, slowly, her lips begin to curl upwards. "Honestly? I would have been very worried about you if you had wanted to do this any other way."

She chuckles and shakes her head. Reaching up over her shoulder with one hand, she runs her fingers lightly along the soulsteel handle of her great blade. Ice snorts and shifts under her, sensing the change in the air... and welcoming it.

And then, it is that this point that Vorpal asks a question that is rather unusual for the likes of her: "So... how do you think we should proceed?"

Alexander: He smiles at her, hand in the blade's handle... "Oh, how we proceed? Simple, we just go, hit them fast and furiously. I seriously doubt any of them can actually hurt us - and you can spot any of them who try to run away, right? It will be under our control in no time!" He says, confidently, wind blowing on his hair, the sun near its dusk making him golden and confident!

... until that moment passes, and he turns to Vorpal, sheepshly. "...right?"

Vorpal: Vorpal smiles down at him from atop her horse, and there is no sarcasm or malice in her mien. Although her hood is still up and drawn well over her head, a few strands of her snowy hair have managed to snake themselves loose. Wind is tugging at them playfully, and ruffling the fur linings of her cloak. "If it was an ordinary camp, why not? But what if one of them gets the idea of using the villagers as hostages?"

Alexander: "Then...!" He starts, raising a finger... then stopping.

"Well, um... then..."

"... I don't know. I think I can burn one easily with my light, but if he is resistant enough to still kill the hostage..."

Vorpal: "Maybe I can do something about that", the Pale Angel responds after a moment of thought, "but don't let your guard down" She moves her right shoulder, and there is an audible crack as the joints and muscles there loosen up. "Still..." she muses, "I'm feeling like wreaking some havoc."

And so they did.

Much Later...

Alexander: The village of Ailill...

The manor belonged to a wealthy noble of Whiteshield, and was used by the ghostly lord of the city. Alexander was able to burn him easily, and outside, the altars to the dead were burned like the Prince and the Angel had asked them to. Dots of light appeared on the window, as they celebrated. The people turned easily enough, as if they already lacked wills of their own...

The noble was already dead, and Alex had sang rites to placate all the dead. The place was theirs', tonight. To rest... and to continue their march in the morning...

To the Boil. Alexander never understood why it was called that... it was just not like Whiteshield. However, the dead-eyed people of Ailill, mostly burning the temples and celebrating because they were told to, did not fit in either, the prince mused, as he watched the village on a balcony... the winds caressing his face. It was already pitch-black, and no more birds flocked around the prince and sang. Now, only a few owls stood close to him, as a court.

It was his first time back to his country, and his fear for what he would see increased by the minute.

Vorpal: "In a way", Vorpal says as she slowly walks up from behind the prince, "we may have done these people a harmful favor. Without anyone to lead them, I don't know how long they will survive."

Coming to stand by Alex, the Ghost-Blooded leans against the balcony's railing and looks down at the celebrating people. The wind tugs gently at her hair, the flickering halo of flames paints trembling shades of red and orange across her white skin. "Come tomorrow, once we leave, I wonder if they will simply stand around and wait for someone to come tell them what to do. Living day by day, without planning, without thought, like a slave that has been beaten once too many times. Not caring what will happen next."

Alexander: "Is that all we are going to find, milady?" He grimaces, looking down on the fires, without turning. "I have always seen my people so proud, so sure of themselves, always ready to serve and do their duty... but that... that is not the people I know. I wonder if they can be saved from that. There is nothing I can do about it, I cannot cut it... I cannot fight it."

Vorpal: "Cut it?" The Ghost-Blooded asks, throwing a sidelong glance at the prince's beautiful profile. "No." She shakes her head. "You can't cut it, any more than you can cut flame. But then again, you don't need to cut a flame to make it dance."

She lifts her hand - she has taken off her mercenary leathers, and her arm is bare, smooth and white. She points at one of the burning altars, at the ravenous orange fire swaying in the breeze. "Make the wind blow from the right side, and the flame will spread into a certain direction."

As if to mark her words, the altar suddenly cracks and collapses, sending a shower of glowing sparks spiralling wildly into the sky. "Make the wind cold - encase the fire with the ice of terror, and it will falter and die out." She smiles, slightly, as she adds: "I should know. I do that a lot."

Alexander: He was smiling. Until the end, he was smiling.

He whispered a thanks, lost in the end, not trying to trouble her until she was finished.

And as she did, he turned around, facing her, and the owls decided to fly away.

"I know." He says, and his eyes are filled with the memory of when she encased him in terror.

"Why? Why do it?"

Vorpal: "Do what you do best", she responds, apparently quoting something. "It's a way to survive."

Now, it is her turn to show the other Exalt her profile as she stands quietly, her red eyes glimmering in half-light. "So", she asks after a moment, "What do you do when the fire dies out?"

Without looking at the prince, she raises her hand again, lifting her fingers as if holding something small and precious. She purses her lips and inhales lightly... and blows at the invisible object, gently, gently...

Alexander: The prince catches it in his hands, what is not there. He holds it in them, as if cradling a precious baby bird.

"I would say, to start it up again..."

"... if it is possible." He takes it, and places on her hand again... holding his own there, warm, a little bit of light making it warmer. "It has to be.... I see you, cold at all times... Cael, never too attached or emotional... the Dark Angel, and how bitter she is... Valencia, and how cold, like you... them all, seem to have lost something. I... I cannot believe it is lost forever." He says it again, "It seems to easy to lose, so easy to let go... but..."

He lets go, and turns back at the fires, "I just know there must be a way to warm it again. To start the fire again. They are people. It is in their blood."

Vorpal: She does not pull her hand away.

In fact, she does not move at all. Her eyes are focused on the prince's face, watching how his lips move, her ears catching his words.

Only after he lets go does she shift, turning slightly to look at the view herself, but not leaning next to Alex this time.

"Well?" she says, after a while. "Get to work."

Alexander: "You mean.... me? Now?" He froze. He looked over his shoulder.

And can I do it?

He looked at those people, and wondered... and wished...
He imagined how badly he would do in front of the Pale Angel...
And his legs trembled.

"Like that?"

Vorpal: "Who else?" She shrugs, very strangely nonchalant about this all. "You're the Zenith here."

She turns away, unclasping the soulsteel brooch of her cloak as she does so. Walking back towards the door, she whisks the heavy black garment from her shoulders and begins to slowly bundle it up. She pauses by the doorway and gives the prince one more glance over her shoulder. "I, for one, don't have that kind of power."

Alexander: The boy cannot help but to watch her body as he does so.
It was so easy to slip away, yes... not care, think only of those things.
It would be so much easier if he did not ache for the people behind him.
If he did not feel every ounce of the crushing responsibility.

He stands there for a little while. And then... he is not.

A golden angel appears before the people. The golden angel smiles. The wings spread all around the village, the great alabaster knight a protective shield around them. They were in the halls of heaven now. And in the middle of it, there was a young boy.

He was shaking, and trying to remember every time his father had done the same.
He was shaking, and praying he would not do it like the Pale Angel would.
He was shaking, looking within his memories, within his shard, for some way to do this right.
He was a Zenith. He had to pull this off.

His unsurpassed beauty captured their attention. His light held it. And then, he begun to speak. And his words could rouse the spirit of even the most hardened, bitter warrior. His words echoed sacrifice, echoed love, echoed justice. He spoke about how they should drive back their foes. How they should do right for one another. How they should live the way Shielders should, with honor, with ideals, with kindness...

...it did not matter he constantly stumbled in his words. It did not matter he barely knew what he was doing. It did not matter that many did not believe things were as such - his idealism spread like a contagion, and made people believe in the beautiful angel's words. If his ideals were not true, then they should be!

He gave his all. For them. Because he believed in them. Because he had to believe in them. Because they had to believe in him.

Because it had to be done.

And even as the light begun to vanish, feathers raining from the sky, the clarity remained...

And the people from Aillil would never be the same.

Alexander: And they were not. They were changed, at least for the moment.

They begun to build things, to help one another, the entire city moved by compassion, in the small things....

And then Alexander was back, his light vanishing, on the room he had chosen to sleep in the manor... and shivered.

Vorpal: "Well?" comes the Pale Angel's voice from behind him. "That didn't go too badly."

She is leaning her back against the wall by the doorway, her arms folded across her chest. She tilts her head, her red eyes glittering in the faint light, and she smiles. It is one of those rarers types of her smiles, the warm, genuinely pleased kind that is reserved only for the most unusual of occasions. "How are you feeling?"

Alexander: "It should have gone better..."

"It had to..."

He tumbles to the ground near the bed, trying to lean back, banishing the wings with his artifact. "I have never felt so alone in my whole life as when I was in front of everybody like that, Lilith..."

Vorpal: "That is leading, Alex."

Her voice is quiet and gentle as she pushes off the wall and crosses the room. She crouches down next to the young prince, her arms and face glowing white even in the dim light. "No matter what you tell them to do, no matter how well you guide them, you won't get anything in return."

Her gaze is intense, anchored to his eyes with a bond that is almost tangible, never straying, never wavering. She shakes her head, slowly, yet her white hair tumbles over her white shoulders even then. "Some leaders gain pleasure from the power they have over others, but even they sometimes cry themselves to sleep."

Her voice falls down to a whisper, steady and intent. She is no longer crouching, she is on her knees, her hands rising to touch the prince by the shoulders. "And the worst part of it all is that no matter how bad or uncertain the leader feels about her decisions, she must never, ever show it to those who follow her."

Alexander: He holds her hand, silver bangs falling over his eyes, "We must always be strong. To give them a symbol. An example."

"Hope."

He smiles then, faintly, "My father always used to tell me that." He says, looking at the Pale Angel... "I got this by birth. What got you into this path? Why did you choose it?"

Vorpal: A sharp breath. Quiet, almost soundless, lasting only for a split-second. Like clamping a mouth suddenly shut, or clenching a hand into a fist, or twisting a key in a lock.

Then it is past, and she pulls away. "Birth", she responds, her voice flat and ordinary speaking volume again, almost offensive to the silence within the chamber. She rises to her feet and turns away. "Unusual conditions of birth: my mother died two weeks before I was born. She walked across the border of Underworld and Creation just to present me to my father. White hair, white skin, red eyes, stronger than I should be. What else could I be than a destined warlord." Her voice is emotionless - there is no bitterness as she tells about her fate, nor is there sadness. There is, however, a distinct streak of calculated, offended neutrality permeating her entire being, from the sound of her voice to the choice of her words and to the way she moves across the room, back towards the doorway. "My father is a count, if he is still alive. If he isn't -- well, I suppose that would make me a countess."

Alexander: His hand goes with hers', but she pulls away.
The words froze him in place... up to the very end.
As she gets to the door, he is there, Holding her arm.

"A lady. A wife. A noblewoman. A mother."

"A heroine."

"So, that is why you never had any pets..."

Vorpal: She pauses at the sensation of his touch. "A lady?" she asks, thoughtfully. "Yes. A wife? No. A noblewoman? Yes. A mother? Good grief, no."

"And a heroine...?"

A pause.

"No."

"And definitely, no pets." She hurls a spiteful glance at Alex, her voice tightening for a second. "They wouldn't even let me have a cat."

Alexander: "It is what you have been." He smiles, that angelical smile of his. The magic changes him, as always. His hands do not have the callouses they should have, touching her gloveless arm. His skin does not feel weary of the traveling. "You saved me. You saved Cedric. You stopped the Celebrant. You spared Cloud. You could easily take me to Red Ice, but you didn't!"

He sees the spite. He wishes to back off, as he has done so many times. But he cannot.

"Once we leave, I wonder if they will simply stand around and wait for someone to come tell them what to do. Living day by day, without planning, without thought, like a slave that has been beaten once too many times. Not caring what will happen next."

"Do what you do best"
"It's a way to survive."

"So", she asks after a moment, "What do you do when the fire dies out?"

"I would say, to start it up again...if it is possible." He takes it, and places on her hand again... holding his own there, warm, a little bit of light making it warmer. "It has to be.... I see you, cold at all times..."

It has to be

He does not let her go. He does not back off. He just smiles, as if the scariest, meanest woman on the North was... the lady he knew was there. "A cat? You wanted a kitten!"

"What would be his name?"

Vorpal: She seems to.... deflate then, drained of energy and authority, of anger and indignation, leaving behind only a woman of sadness and melancholy.

"Fumby." Her answer is quiet, barely even a whisper, more like a word mouthed without a sound. Her gaze falls, her head bends downwards, her hair hanging over her face. "Fumby. He... she was orange."

Fuzzy, fuzzy, meow, meow... So soft, so soft.

The agony of a sword being stabbed through the abdomen, the macabre terrors of Underworld, the chilling, terrifying lust aroused by the Lover's knowing smile. In that one moment, all of it seems shallow and irrelevant, ordeals easily overcome when compared to the horrible, spine-breaking, heart-tearing longing of something small and furry and cute, a brightly-colored little creature crawling its way across the carpet or chasing a ball of woollen string. Enormous eyes, so wide and curious, staring at the wonders of the world. A little pink tongue and sharp, sharp teeth. A tiny, fragile warmth curling up into the lap, a contended ball of bliss and comfort.

Fuzzy, fuzzy...

Something snaps within her, then and there. She shudders...

Sobs.

And bursts into tears.

Alexander: Once again, he is there to hold her.
A bullwark.
Like he had been before.
To her, in this life. To many, in countless others...
Like he should be.

And he does. And he whispers, he whispers, a smile on his face, tears touching his eyes as well, emotional. "Orange. Fuzzy. Running on your room. Vanishing when you blinked, to be hopping somewhere else. Right? Looking at you, wanting food, wanting love, purring after she claws through your skirt to get to your lap... right? Fumby..."

"It is alright. Cry. Cry. Go ahead..." He whispers, lowering her bit by bit, elegantly, like gentleman should treat a lady, the tall woman held against his chest, his lips against her hair, whispering. "Stop holding it..."

Vorpal: She does not respond. She does not have time to respond, as his words evoke more memories buried even deeper into her mind, feelings suppressed for all these long years. Running around the room, yes, looking at her, wanting food, wanting love

She had imagined it many, many times, the way those large eyes would look up at her, how that supple back would brush against her ankle but she had not actually experienced it herself, not with Fumby. There had been no time that kitten had been discovered and taken away before any of those dreams could become a reality. The stablehand she had gotten Fumby from had been flogged for his transgression. What had happened to the kitten afterwards, she dared not to think about, not even after all these years.

Such had been the life of the dreaded Pale Angel.

She shudders, whimpers, presses herself against the princes chest. Her jaw is trembling, yet she is clenching her teeth together. Her cheeks are wet with the tears she is shedding, yet her eyes remain open through it all. Her heart is hollow and aches terribly, yet there is still the will that holds it together, keeping it from breaking.

Such had been the life of the dreaded Pale Angel

Except, before, the Pale Angel would not have allowed her hands to rise, snaking up along his sides, to clench her fingers around his shoulders, seeking support, leaning against the pillar of purity to keep herself from stumbling to the ground.

Alexander: He noticed that. He noticed that as he held her. That she was looking for his support. He lifted her then, and his whispers kept saying she was doing what she should. To cry, to let it all out.

I felt so badly when you told me to not do so.

I felt it eating at my insides when you told me to harden, to be cold.

Was it always like this for you?

He lifted her with a strength such a young boy should not have, and had her sitting on the bed, with her head on his shoulder... "You held that all those years, did you not? How much you must have..."

Vorpal: She has never been carried like that. Aghar, the Son of Giants, had once picked her up when she had been wounded and carried her through a vicious cross-country march, but that had been one soldier supporting another, nothing like the gentleness she feels in Alex's touch, nothing like the strength and security his arms seem to radiate into her.

It is a... strange feeling, a shiver in her heart, a thrill in her spine.

And, at the same time, she feels herself tensing, her hands squeezing his shoulders with crushing force.

"Do -- " she asks, her voice thick and trembling, "Do you think I would be alive if I did't?"

Alexander: "Yes", he answers immediatly.

Then, he stops... knowing it is not enough to say. She is far older than him... she did so much. She should know better. She knew so much better than him, all she did, all she trained him in... and yet... when they trained, she told him...

"Come at me when you're ready. Oh -- " She lifts one finger, swinging it in the air. "No Charms. We are trying to improve your own skill, not toy around with the magic in your veins."

Yet, she hit him with her own charms. She parried and gave his strike back in spades.

"That is not... possible... you said.." He had said, amidst gasping for air and supressing his coughs...

"...unless I used a Charm", Vorpal finished for him, letting her sword fall to point at the floor. "Which I did. And the lesson of the story", she continued, slowly retreating backwards, giving the boy some room. "Anything is fair in love and war. You're risking your life out there, Alex. So is your opponent. Honor, chivalry, good manners, all of them are very nice, but when it comes right down to staying alive, none of it matters a whit. Be always ready for dirty game - when it comes to hand-to-hand combat, it usually is the more ruthless one who wins."

"I will stay alive... but I don't want to. Being ready and doing it yourself have to be different!"

Her way had merit... it worked. But...

He blinked back the few tears on his eyes, and continued. "You are stronger when you let yourself cry. When you let it all out. When you can be warm, when you can be ready, instead of leaving it, cold, inside your chest... you are stronger if you can cry."

He caressed her hair, his hands strong around her, and yet, gentle. "It makes no difference for the Pale Angel.... but someone has to hold her together, right? And she is hurt... she can do it better if she is not..."

At least, that is what I think. he adds in his mind. But he could not say it now, he had to sound confident...

Vorpal: It is then, all of a sudden, that she chuckles. Shakily, perhaps, but she chuckles. She relaxes her hold of him, merely resting her hands on his warmth rather than squeezing him the way a drowning woman squeezes a piece of driftwood. She does not pull away from him, however, not now, not yet. "Do you always try to win your girls with such lame lines?"

Alexander: "I... I didn't mean to! Really! I... I... no, really it's not... "He flushes. Embarassed. Suddenly, all he wants is to run out and destroy zombies until he forgets what he just said. All of it. It was clearly all wrong. All of it. Vorpal feels the hands almost leaving her, as an embarassed boy replies, "Well... um... it is not like I ever tried that... there were a few at the balls, and we kissed, but it was more them, and, and.."

Vorpal: "Calm down", she says, more lightly now. She does not let the prince pull away, but snuggles closer to him, her white arm encircling his back, the curve of her black armor brushing against his side. "You're saying the right things. You're thinking I'm some tragic princess deep down inside. I'm not, but it makes me feel warm to hear you say it."

She shifts a little and pulls the long, long and smooth lengths of her white legs onto the bed. "Life is not black and white. It's not rose-scented red, either, like some love tale. But sometimes... it's nice to pretend it was, even if just for a moment."

She looks up at him then. Her eyes are still rimmed red and the tears still sparkle on her cheeks, but she is smiling again - a very strange, a very wide smile, completed with half-closed eyelids and a dangerous glimmer in her gaze. "Soo... you've kissed some girls before?"

Alexander: "But... but it should be. Monsters and maidens and gentlemen."

"Why do you all keep making it so complicated, so cold.."

He whispers weakly, not interrupting her words, just adding to them as he calms down, then looks back at her... and almost loses himself in her eyes. In those beautiful crimson eyes.... he looks into them for a long time before replying,

"Yes! Three times!" He says, proud. "Well, one of them it was many kisses in a ball, but yes! Alia Summerfall..." He tried very hard not to think what must have happened to Alia, whom he had danced with, whom had said she liked him, whom he entertained dreams of marrying for a week afterwards. Was better this way.

Vorpal: "Complicated? Cold?" She shakes her head. "No, you're just thinking it is. It's sad and terrible sometimes, but it can also be warm and funny and sweet." She shrugs her white shoulders. "You'll merely have to know when to feel what."

She pauses, sighs, her chest rising and falling once. "Now, are you going to ignore every hint, or do I really have to do everything myself?"

And with that, her hands suddenly take a hold of him. He is strong beyond belief for a boy of his age, but he could just as well be a kitten for all good it does against her. For a moment she lifts him clean up into the air, lightly, easily, without any effort at all, before laying him down onto his back. She leans over him - unyielding, unstoppable - her hair falling over his face, her armored breasts touching his chest --

--- and presses her lips against his.

It is a very gentle kiss.

Alexander: So gentle.

So warm.

So sweet.

He responds to her kiss with hunger, but restraint. His hands slide on her body with desire, barely held by respect. Barely. But he pushes her against him, and at that moment he realises something he needed so much. Not the lust that plagued his nights. Someone with him. Someone pressed against him. Her warmth. That she was him, on that moment. That she was giving herself...

The lips part. It felt like an eternity. He holds her against him, and there is no confusion in his eyes. Just happyness. "I will try to be more observant next time, milady, rest assured. But you are welcome to do what you wish..."

His hands run down on her body, and respect barely restrains him now. The Black Queen's vestiments resent his hand, flowing in the way. He smiles up at her, only slightly embarassed, a happy tinge to his cheeks. He kisses her once again.

Just a little more passionate. In the same tune as his feelings.

"Will you keep the armor, Pale Angel...?"

Vorpal: Her hands leave him at that point, and she pushes herself up into a sitting position. Towering above him, she looks down at the prince for a second, her chest rising and falling, her pale cheeks glowing, a flame burning in her eyes.

Suddenly, she smirks and raises her hands. Arching her back, she stretches, slowly, pleasurably, and the Black Queen's Vestments begin to flow.

The lily-and-spiderweb etchings melt into glistening mass before his eyes, shifting and moving and running along her skin. It is like watching black frost melting away from a marble statue - soulsteel runs smoothly and quietly down her form, following every rise and arch and dent. It moves swiftly in the steep places and slows down in places where the Pale Angel curves further out - as if to momentarily appreciate the scenery across which it is travelling.

The soulsteel reforms the moment it loses contact of Vorpal's skin. The breastplate clatters to the floor, unnoticed, ignored, irrelevant.

"Better?" she whispers, her hands on her hips, and the tone of her voice says that the response is better be good.

Alexander: He looks up, entranced. It could be a great dancer of the far South giving her most alluring presentation, and his expression would be the same. She was like a goddess. And by thinking so, he did not realise how his own face seemed godlike as his eyes ran across her flesh, together with the Black Queen's Vestiments...

"Much better." He exclaims finally, and his eyes clap for the great performance he has witnessed. "I want to see you like that," He says, sliding between her legs as he begins to get up, holding his own breastplate. Essence flows, and lights appear with clicks on it... and he discards the breastplate, making it clang to the floor unceremoniously. Now he stood sat in the bed as well, their thighs locked together through the clothes, and he held the Pale Angel to him.

"I want to see the tragic princess within the Pale Angel, the one you keep denying." In all that time he ran, in all the time with them, he felt he had nothing. Even in the Zephyr, he felt he had nothing. He had something now. This moment... this moment of giving. It felt like something. "I want to make love to her."

He kissed her, gently, once again.

It was a question in and of itself. An invitation to dance.

That dance would be theirs. He would have something.

Vorpal: "Silly boy", she responds and takes a hold of his hands. Gently she guides them upwards, to slide along her skin, to cup her breasts into his palms.

"Silly, silly, silly boy", she whispers and bends forward, pushing him down ahead of her, her gaze locked in his, her lips parting without hesitation this time.

Although Alex does not know it, it is the first time for both of them. And so, it begins a little awkwardly, with both of them a little uncertain about exactly how it is done. Soon, however, memories of past lives begin to flow in, of a hundred centuries of love and need and passion, of pleasure and lust, of divine skill and daring only elder Chosen of the Sun can truly achieve.

In less than ten minutes, what they are doing in that room would make a Neomah's ears burn.

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