Hall Of The Fae King

Chapter Seven

“… you’re too important.”

– Rey

Letting himself daydream while he waits for the next Impurity, Eaden leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed….

His Lady and he had the most wonderful night in their Soulscape! She was all jittery and excited because she said the next day all her work would be done and she was just so… alive and fiery and passionate! He loved it, loves her… he said he couldn’t wait to hear how everything went when the meet the next night. She cooked them dinner, he took her out into the gardens, they cuddled on the long sofa, with kissing and the like.

Her skin had been so soft; it was if she bathed in milk and rose petals. Her hair curly even though she swore she never braided it. Her beautiful eyes never leaving his face. She simply and purely always smelled like lavender… it was that something special that had to be the magik of her soul, the magik of their connection.

Her soft pastel purple eyes bringing forth that amazing scent that just was the scent of their time together, their life together, their love together. He had only smelled that scent in real life a few times, in his childhood, when his mother had brought back lavender from her home realm. But after she passed, it faded just as well, until his love… until this life anew.

Suddenly, the guards call from just down the hall, “Sire, we’re bringing in the girl.”

Time to recapture being The King… letting Eaden slip into the background, into the Darkness. Though, it is just another routine procedure… get the memories, get the information, kill the Impurity. Not a big deal, nothing to struggle about. Part of him did wish that just as his Lady has said, his work would be done tonight, (rather than the estimated two more semaines).

Towering, broad, solid, and silent, The King watches his men enter with the last slab. Instantly, he wavers, washed over with confusion. Had he let himself wander too far? Had he started projecting astrally into the Soulscape? Had he, perhaps, fallen asleep?

Lavender.

The King smells nothing but lavender.

A natural floral perfume, a subtle scent of rain on soil, a fresh cleanliness… pastel, soft… pure.

Blinking rapidly, shoulders twitching, Eaden looks around the room in a panic.

Blinking again, The King must actively try to clear is mind of all dreams or memories, thoughts of anything but right here, right now. But it seems he is failing – his mind, his heart too strong, because… well, because the girl on the slab –

The girl on the slab will not stop looking like Her.

The men back into their normal positions when the doors slip close, leaving The King a wide birth around the floating slab. Breathing heavily, he tries again and again to clear not just his mind’s eye, but clear the faulty vision before him. Back straight, shoulders wide, chest out, deep breaths, eyes closed… hands in fists as his concentrates. Wiping everything away but the here and now. And yet… when he opens his eyes, it’s still Her - a bruised and bloodied and unconscious version of her, but still Her…. Still the decaying scent of lavender in his nose.

“What is this?” he throws his hand to the guard closest to him. “Some trick? Some… who did this? Who is doing this?” he stares him straight in eyes, the metallic voice not able to showcase his rising anger.

Lionheart, the one who literally jumped at the chance to go after this Surrielle Sunsprite Impurity, his head is low, his eyes closed. “This is Surrielle Sunsprite. This is the Impurity we were told to bring in this journee.”

The King c***s his head, “Whoever thinks this is funny, it is not. I demand the masquerade stop and they wipe the magiks off this female, reveal who she really is.”

The second guard, one of his best known for being a true Purist, comments quickly, “Sire, we already wiped any magik that could be on her. She actually didn’t have anything hiding her… she may look pretty Pure, but I swear, she’s a Halfling.”

The King shakes his head and lets his eyes fall to the female. “No… no.” He starts shaking under his armor, blinking hard and fast, then rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “No, she,” Surriel, “cannot look like that.”

“Sire?”

Confused, feeling like he has a fever, his blood boiling at the thought… the one simple thought that this is her – his Her, this Surrielle - and yet… so damaged, so broken. “Who… hurt her?” the stench of dying lavender would not leave, causing nauseousness.

The King keeps himself far away from the female though his eyes do not leave her. Every detail, if he looked past the harm, is there. Every detail from his dreams, it is all right there… in the middle of the interrogation and… and death room.

Oh help him, this could not be Her?

“Who. Hurt. Her.”

Lionheart spoke, his energy shaking and full of sadness, “I found her, Sir, and then, Darihan… he did his job, once she was in the carriage, taking care…” his voice quakes, “of the Impurity.”

Rage. Pure rage. Unstoppable rage.

Uncontrollable Darkness.

The King’s hand rises to his right, straight out to Darihan, his eyes never leaving Surriel. Slowly but very, very painfully, his twists the guard’s spine, making sure rib bone after rib bone is snapped from the vertebrae - snapping so hard it rips through his skin, poking out of his armor.

Then the lungs, popping! Popping in his chest, rib shredding through the tissue, blood filling the bottom of the ripped sacks of useless garbage. And then… oh then came the heart. And just as this Fae, this loathsome cockroach that The King steps on without a thought or concern… he strangles the heart and damages it, bruises it, makes it bleed where it is not supposed to bleed… just as the Fae had done to Her, his Lady, his Surriel.

Gritted teeth, shaking muscles, twitching uncontrollably, The King is happily killing the male who hurt his Lady, his love, his Queen Surriel.

Then with a giant thrust of his hand, the dead body is thrown out the room. “Leave!” Eaden screams at Lionheart, though the mask restricts the expression.

At the slamming of the door, the female’s eyes flutter and she wakes for but a moment. She looks around the room in a panic. Her eyes land on The King and she cannot help but weep. “I am sorry…” her voice is a broken whisper, her sobs ringing horribly in Eaden’s ears.

Ripping off his crown, his helmet, his mask and throwing it with all the rest of his rage and hurt and Darkness against the stone wall, the Sunstone shatters and the metal cracks and he does not care. His heart is breaking, and as she looks at him so confused, so desperate… he cannot stop the tears.

With the ever soft dropping of his hand, the slab lowers like a feather, Surrielle now looking as if she is in a cot, resting. Eaden comes to her side slowly and crouches, his hands wide and voice soft, “Cherie. Mon cherie….”

As she looks down at him, she blinks a few times and then he can see her smile through her swollen and broken face. “If I have died, then why do I still hurt? Can you make this hurting stop? Mon amour….”

His vision blurs with tears and his hand catches on the edge of the slab as he falls in agony, in desperation, in confusion. He wants to weep into his hands, but instead he grips onto the slab tightly, looking up to his “Cherie…” he whispers again.

The same power he always felt in the Soulscape, he feels now. As her consciousness grows stronger, as she is more awake, as her heart begins to race…. The ever opposite but equal force of the Oversoul that is his Lady, his love, is right here in front of him.

Just as real as any of their time together in their shared Soulscape, just as real as she must have been after their kiss and him finding her hand in the Darkness… she is right here. Her aura the same; her features the same; the lavender scent coming back to life, drawing him in. Her strength in magiks so powerful it is almost tangible. Even after all the harm, she softly glows - her personal Light more powerful than the now-broken Sunstone had ever been.

“Surrielle…?” Eaden speaks her name for the first time.

She blinks and tries to laugh but ends of coughing blood into her hand. After easing flat she whispers, “Of course.”

“It’s me,” he explains softly.

Her eyes are closed but her expression twitches with either confusion or bemusement. “I know.”

“But… how?”

“Because I am dreaming.”

He goes to touch her face, as he would in their shared world, but his hand only hovers over the bruised skin. “Cherie, mon cherie, no… this is not a dream.”

“So I am dead, then,” she sighs.

“No… this is real. This is…” and the tears start again. “The children's tale… you ever hear it? About two… soulmates… who share dreams? Surely you’ve heard the little… ah, what do they call it – fairytale? Please… mon cherie… I am here. This is real,” yet his heart is breaking.

Everything he ever wanted, everything she ever was - the hope and prayer and sanctuary from the Darkness… it was because… it is because he has to not kill her. He has to not kill the Halfling. He has to not kill the Impurity. He has to listen to the Light. How can he not?

Feeling so much love that he forgets what it is to hate. His other half finally completing him.

But as he looks over her broken body… he realizes how was she ever going to forgive him? “Surrielle?” his voice croaks.

Her eyes open as much as they can, one almost swollen shut. “Yes?”

“They say you cannot love someone unless you love yourself. But it cannot be… I have never loved myself, but you… oh help me, I love you so much. Do you remember? When we touched that first time… all that Light! So much love… Oh, how I love you.”

“... and I love you. Of course… but I am tired, and still hurt. Can we rest now?”

His eyes close and he nods. He runs a hand a few inches over her body, “Rest now,” and he temporarily elevates the pain in such high doses of magiks it makes her fall asleep.

As the slab raises ever so slightly, Eaden falls to the cold floor, his palms pounding hard against the stone. His body rocks forward, it is easier for him to be curled, and rest his head into his hands against the stable ground.

The King realizes that truth is not found in magik or the Aether but is found in his own heart. As he had understood he craved the Light, craved to be Righteous, and thought that to be his greatest weakness – what a lie.

For the longest time he had convinced himself she was a dream. But then, after that kiss – after crossing through the Aether and holding her hand? He’s been doing everything he can not just to find her but make sure everything was as safe as possible for her. The chances of meeting his perfect opposite like this? That his other half is….

She has been his protector, his only hope, and yet, as a Halfling, she now becomes his endanger-er.

Here she is… and he is blessed. But strickened for he must choose. Either they can be painfully, desperately apart forever… sending her far, far away, a different plain, a different realm… excommunicating her to save her life and only ever seeing her in his dreams if she lets him.

Or, they will become inseparably together, forever, regardless of consequence.