Hall Of The Fae King

Chapter Five

“There has been an awakening.”

- Snoke

Long heures had turned into long journees, The King taking his time with every single Impurity his guard brings him. Partly because he needs to do his job thoroughly, least his abilities to rule be questioned. But also because… well, it seemed that the Darker his days are, the more beautiful and long his time in Soulcape became.

His Lady and he spending many a dream together, each encounter getting longer and longer… each interaction becoming more and more vivid. She is real to him in a way that he cannot give up. So, if Darkness lets him have her in such a way, Darkness is what shall be released.

Cracking his neck and twirling his wrists, he tries to relax his body before the next Impurity is brought in. The magiks aren’t difficult but it is taxing on the body to be going so hard for so long. Just one more, though - just one more before he breaks for this journee.

The male is brought into the room, the floating slab finding its place in the middle and halting. With magikal masks or defenses stripped, the male is short and speckled, bloody all around the face and hands… it seemed he put up a fight.

His guards back against the wall as The King moves slowly to the Impurity. One of the guards says his name but why should The King care? He studies the male and by reading his aura he is informed that he put up too much of a fight - trying to protect his family - and would not be waking up. The King turns to his guards, the metallic voice directed to them, “And the family?”

One of the guards flinches and does not meet The King’s eyes. “Escaped, Sire. When we came to the house he was outside waiting for us - the news of The Raid has traveled. When we searched the house we found a portal had been used in one of the bedrooms - a one way portal.”

Closing his eyes The King is still. His men did not do their job. But… this has been a consuming and exhausting process for them as well. He could not exactly let it slide but he still needed them for the rest of the list. “... go… rest now. He’s not waking up, I’m going to wipe his mind and kill him. You two go rest for tomorrow. Your superior officer will get the report and he will go from there.”

Though it was not looking the other way at their mistake, it is a very merciful response, and the guards bow deeply before scurrying out of the room. Alone to do a simple and easy and quick task, The King smiles to himself. Just a few minutes he’d have all the information that was relevant, and it was as simple as flicking it to his Chief Commanding Officer.

One breath, two breath, three… The King rapidly and magikally moves through the Impurities memories and thoughts like an open book; pulling out names and locations of other Impurities the male had ever dealt with was simple enough. Later the list is cross-referenced, adding any names or locations to search by his guard. Then The King snuffs out the Oversoul of the male with one pinch of his fingers. Dead and gone, the body is left to be swept away.

Getting the list ready to send, he arranges the golden names floating in the air beyond his face. This last session gave way to another seventeen Impurists still living within his Realm walls. List finished; he flicks his hand for it to send to his Chief Commanding Officer. Once a little ding of acknowledgement is sent back, it is time for The King to retire for sleep.

Quick to his bedchambers, he ignores the female that calls after him about a meal. He knows she will follow - dutifully so and knock on the door. However, if the door is locked, she is to leave immediately. Slipping inside he slams the door and locks it instantly.

Ripping off his crown, Eaden watches the mask float away in sparkling wisps. The crown is the only thing he places down carefully, on the right side table of his bed, the rest of his armor is strewn about uncaringly. After a short bath, he’s in bed and falls asleep rapidly.

He comes to be in the living room of the cottage and for the first time finds himself alone. Waiting, he is impatient, and that impatience turns to worry. Usually She is there to greet him, bring him tea, something….

Where is she?

His stomach churns and he starts searching for her, panic spreading under his skin like the crawling of insects. As the negativity creeps in, the sunlight from the windows seems to fade, the sky beyond filling with storm clouds.

But then! Oh, but then, he sees her tending to the garden. Suddenly, he can feel the sunlight brush over his skin, his heart feeling a warmth that spreads through his chest, through his whole body and soul. Down to his fingertips, he feels lighter, feels the same happiness and joy and adoration he always feels for his Lady.

“Chérie!” he calls out the back door.

She smiles up at him and wipes her brow with her wrist. “Mon amour.”

Wrapping his arms around her, he kisses her cheek, then the other. “I must say, you gave me a fright... I couldn’t find you.”

She giggles and her eyes shift in an ever so slight roll. “Oh, mon amour… you are too funny. Work was rather exhausting today so relaxation seemed appropriate. Without you here… well, I decided to tend to some flowers. It was one of the things my mother taught me to do.”

She rarely speaks of her mother. “The flowers are always perfect here,” he comments lightly.

She turns and looks at them slowly, “Maybe so, but it is relaxing… tending to things so delicate, so special. It’s completely the opposite of my work.”

Thinking of her beautiful eyes, the softness of her skin, in the way she loves him, in the way she cares for him - talk about delicate! She is the most delicate of all…. Kissing her amongst the flowers, the warm sunlight cascades over them with a subtle breeze cooling their skin. “How about I tend to you?”

Blush spreads across her tan cheeks. “Well now… that sounds rather enticing.”

But when he goes to kiss her again, hands reaching up her bare back above the deep scoop of her dress, he feels a sort of yanking of his Self, his aura being sucked away. Something is calling him out of the Soulscape, out of this place, trying to get him back to The Solar Palace. He fights it as hard as he can, even closing his eyes and just focusing on the feeling of her skin under his hands. A snap! And he’s back in his bedchambers.

Fuming, cosmic sword in hand, he’s ready to kill whoever woke him. Rage pulsing through him, magiks sparking from his fingers as they fly through the air, magically opening the door. “What.”

The female is instantly petrified, “Sir-sire… there’s… there’s someone here for you.”

“My door is locked.” His body is tense, with muscles spasming. “Are you brand new to this Palace, this Famille, or did you forget the most basic and simple rule of them all?”

“Sire… I – we know not to disturb you when your door is locked, but Sire, everyone - we all cannot get this female to go away. They sent me -”

His eyes close and his hand twitches hard enough that the wood splitters under where he has come to hold the door. “Who? What female could possibly…? Who.”

“Sire, she says… she claims its urgent to speak with you, after a dream she had. She says -”

His eyes open, looking down at the trembling Fae, a dream? “Describe her.” And for a moment his heart weeps.

But then the Fae gives the wrong description. She does not describe his Lady, she describes some strong-willed elderly female of some semi-prominent family, the name of one of his guards - Lionheart… perhaps his mother.

The wrong description… not his Lady. He does not care.

“Leave me. She can call upon her King in next mois’s open court heures. The session is held, as always, on the second Mercredi of the mois, in the first twelve heures. Give her a remembrance card if you have to. Now, go!” And he slams his door so hard the wall beyond its frame quakes.

*

A crack like lightning, Surrielle is momentarily blinded. No longer are his hands on her bare back, no longer are his lips on hers… when her vision focuses, he is simply gone. While blinking rapidly, her chest collapses in a sigh; the sensation of hollowness seeping through her being.

Why had he vanished? Why had he been taken away? Did she do something wrong?

Their intimate affection had been new… maybe, maybe that was a step too far? Maybe they should go back, back to….

Suddenly, she finds herself sitting on the iron bench in the garden, the sunshine fading overhead, leading to grey clouds. She can’t. She just can’t go back to the distance, to the hesitation, to the yearning.

Surrielle is awake, in a way – alive! Living, not just existing. A spark leading to more than a flame in her heart; no, it is white light engulfing of her soul.