Thread: Blood of the Fae (Alvis & Xana)

He could say there was weakness in her, but she was mortal. Such was their lot in the world. It would be far more profound for him to admit that instead he saw strength in her. And it was there, the way she resisted. It wasn't fear, or at least not only fear, that made her make no promises about his charm, there was caution, there was stubborn determination. It was something that he could respect. He knew she was wavering. Then again, it was inevitable, she was bound to die, and he was not. He had the time to out wait her, to assume different tactics and approaches. But he still had to be careful. There were still ways that she could turn the tables on him. He had to assume that she was canny enough to be a threat. Always assume such. When she took her leave of him, leaving him to his own devices, he considered sleeping. He had no need of it really, those not exiled never did. But they could , an those moments of oblivion could be treasured in their own way. Servants appeared to clear away the remnants of teh meal, vanishing. He held the gaze of one of the maids, willing power into the moment, grasping for something as simple as breathing most times. But now out of reach. She hesitated, seeming torn between remaining in the room alone with him, or fleeing out of a sense of risk that she would be alone with the betrothed to the princess. Her fear won out over her curiosity. She fled. Etarlm sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the wall beside the door. A guard was stationed near the door, ensuring he didn't try to flee the premises. It was a fooling precaution. He couldn't flee, not with the charms in place. There was no way to safel unshackle his powers without the keys. And if the charms had been made well, and he was be forced to assume they were, then the key was likely charmed to be impossible to use save by mortal hands. Even theft of it from her would not avail him victory. The guard changed through the night. When morning came, the first guard returned, looking into the room. Etarlm still sat in the same rigid pose, still staring, as though he had not moved an inch all the night through. Sir? The guard called. He started as Etarlm snapped his head around at the voice. The guard started at the suddenness of it. It was like being fixed by the gaze of a hunting falcon. Etarlm didn't speak, just stared. It's...it's time sir. There is ceremonial clothing for you. If you will come with me? Etarlm rose from the bed with an easy grace, effortless. Show me. The words were simple and without preamble. The guard did as he was required. Etarlm was not pleased with his garb. Perhaps it would be fine fare for most, but to him, it felt drab and discomforting. It was impossible to match the weaving skills of those that had millennia to perfect their craft more so when such was done by thigns like piies were their very hands were nearly the size of the needles of the mortal world. He let his eyes close, drawing himself up. It would not do to present at anything less than his finest. When his eyes opened once more, he held himself with all the regal poise that he could muster, his shoulders squared, and his bearing very much reminding those present that they stood in the presence of something other than human. Something ancient, and wonderous to behold, and such was to be bound to their nation now. The king had turned himself out as best he could. His health was not as robust as it had been in his youth, but long years of careful peace and time with a beautiful wife had ensured that he had maintained himself in a reasonable state. ANd now, his daughter carried on the tradition of the first born in the land. There was pride. Much pride for her. There had been many a murmuring that their kingdom was on the edge fo falling, simply for not having a suitable heir to carry on the line. But the king knew his daughter, knew her canny turn of mind. In her he could trust the future of his people. And with a husband that might bring far more power than ever seen in their line to bear. It was a good match. A good future. At her prompting, he took her arm, adn led her into the chapel. The music soared, announcing hte arrival of hte bride. Etarlm took a glance to the entrance, and saw his coming bride. What he saw did not disappoint. he allowed himself a smile at the sight of her. There was something in her appearance that emphasized her lineage, her poise, he quiet strength that he had seen at times all ready. And she did it all without a spark of glamour or magic. There was something to this woman that he anticipated might be much more worthwhile than a simple mortal woman. He held her gaze as he approached, giving her no sense of weakness, but he did nothing to make it an open challenge. The high priest of their kingdom stood to officiate. Who presents this woman to be married to this man? The priest asked. I do. The king annoced, no attempt to hide the pride in his voice. The king stepped to the side, and the priest began the ceremony. It was filled with the usual statements of holiness, and the words made Etarlm's skin crawl. The concept of holy and his kind were not opposed per se, but they were not made of the same stuff. It had largely been acknowledged that his kind existed outside the plans and creation of Gods. He had been given a card, a simple thing, containing vows he was to read, a way of swearing himself. When the priest looked to him, Etarlm simply let the card fall. I vow you the first cut of my meat, the first sip of my wine, from this day it shall only your name I cry out in the night and into your eyes that I smile each morning I shall be a shield for you back as you are for mine, no shall a grievous word be spoken about us, for our marriage is sacred between us and no stranger shall hear my grievance. Above and beyond this, I will cherish and honor you through this life and into the next. The words flowed easily, pouring from him. There was something in them, a power that reverberated in the room. it wasn't magic, not the kind that had been his meat and drink all his life, but there was a kind of old, ancient power in it all, like his phrasing had been from a time before Kingdoms and Gods, as though his vows were from a point that such was sworn in stone circles, before ancient thigns mortals sought to forget. When he had finished, there was a moment of silence. Teh priest didn't try to correct him, and turned to Moira, knowing it was her turn for her own vows.