The Last One Standing
”Zaknafein, what's the problem? You don't seem to concentrate at all today.”
Izil'daerryn sighed and closed the book he had been reading, raising his eyes to his young student whom he had observed struggling with the very basic incantations the boy usually was good in.
”I'm sorry, master Frozenheart… I… I didn't rest very well...”
The boy mumbled, ashamed and flustered, slight blush glowing on his cheeks. Izil'daerryn tilted his head a little bit and observed the boy closer. True, he seemed to have skipped an hour or two of his trance. Clearly, his beautiful and usually so bright orange eyes were puffy and red, like he would been staying up reading something for a very long time.
”Why is that?”
He asked, reaching for his cup of water, taking a sip while he waited the answer. Master Frozenheart's eyes inspected the cup's carved ornaments lazily. The water had been scented with some dried flowers from the surface. Flowers were expensive because they had to be imported, but of the little satchel used to scent his water he hadn't paid a copper. It had been a thoughtful gift from a friend who was currently fighting far away and protecting his home. The gift had come with a short letter which had made his cold heart twinge in an odd, uneasy way. It was so easy to forget what was going near the surface. The echoes of war were so much quieter when they reached Zaetron Derraz.
”Well… We...”
Zaknafein Mightshard stuttered and bit his lip, until he was able to continue. The boy began to look more and more distraught by every passing minute. The matron council approved tutor raised his eyes back from the cup and looked at the boy again. It took him slightly by surprise that his student seemed ready to burst into tears. Izil'daerryn raised his eyebrow a little bit, but he wasn't at all prepared for what the boy would tell him.Nothing could have prepared him, even when that option had always been present on the background. He had thought, perhaps full of hubris, that they would be above it. They had been better than that, at least in his mind. Victorious, invincible, resolute.
”We had some news yesterday… Uncle Nilyrdarrin had passed away...”
Izil'daerryn blinked slowly. The information just didn't sink in.
”Zaknafein, you should have told me before we even started.”
He said, in an unfamiliar soft tone which made his pupil raise his eyes up. It was a tone he had never hear Master Frozenheart using before. It was odd and soft, but still so sanitized, a tone which was proper but lacked any deeper connection. Almost somewhat forced, faked, too clean.
”Let's continue next week. You and your family will need time to settle after these news.”
”But, Master Frozenheart-”
”And take my condolences to the matron. I will pay a visit before the funeral.”
”Master Frozenheart… I… there is no funeral, they said the… he wasn't… they couldn't bring his body back… I heard...”
The boy began to sob quietly and Izil'daerryn stood up and started to back Zaknafein's things for him. He was calm and collected and arranged everything in the boy's bag with utmost precision like he would have rehearsed for years for this very moment.
”Nevertheless, I will be there to pay my respects, be it at funeral or a memorial service.”
The boy couldn't answer to him, but it was something Izil'daerryn had expected.
”Now, now. Tears won't bring him back.”
He gave the boy his own handkerchief -something he rarely parted of. Even his student understood this was something out of ordinary and quieted partially because the situation was so strange.
”Dry your face and keep your chin up.”
Master Frozenheart adviced and came to see the boy off to the courtyard of their palace. It had been easier to have the boy to come over for a while to Xart'zith Kyorl. Most books were here, after all, when they had been delving deeper into the areas of conjuration magic.
”See you later, Master Frozenheart.”
Zaknafein bowed, still sniffling a bit. Izil'daerryn nodded slowly.
”Yes. Take all the time you need.”
He said when the boy stepped into the houdah and waited until the lizard had disappeared out of the gates of the palace. Izil'daerryn's steps took him back inside, back to the room where he had left from. The overly sweet, suffocating smell of flowers overwhelmed him when he stepped in. It felt like the smell alone was enough to puncture his lungs and make him gag. He hastily opened the window and not thinking clearly, his fingers wrapped around the handle of the crystal carafe and he flung it out of the window. The scented water trailed out of it like a tail of a comet before it shattered on the pavement with an audible high-pitched crack.
Izil'daerryn felt like he would faint in any minute. His fingers had taken a tight grip on the windowframe and he was suddenly out of breath. He was so angry and sad at the same time. Who gave Nilyrdarrin the right to die?! Of course he had always been a soldier, and when there is a war, a soldier goes to the war, but it had never occured to him that his friend, the only man he had let to stay by his side after Mother's death, was actually now gone. He wouldn't be returning. They wouldn't be spending time in The Palace anymore. Not that he would have felt like dancing in a very long time.
Nilyrdarrin's muscular hands wouldn't wrap around him when they were resting in the dead of the night, offering him a sense of security, sense of being safe and not so damned alone anymore. Of course the tall and handsome soldier hadn't been a substitute of losing Mother, but he had offered him a pocket in time where he had been allowed to be vulnerable for a while. Where he had been able to recover, to grieve in peace.
They had never talked about love, perhaps because they both knew it to be a silly, romantic notion which was out of their grasp. It had never been a crush on either side, more of a mutual companionship. They had not been lovers, but they had shared the bed. He had never pried on what izil'daerryn had in mind. Izil'daerryn hadn't needed to explain himself to his companion. Nilyrdarrin had never tried to question him, bother him with unavoidable queries and endless curiosity. He had just always been there, ready to support him, no strings attached. Just… being present. Like a small reef or an island in the middle of a vast ocean. An island too tiny to build a house on, too tiny to actually live on it comfortably for a longer period of time, but big enough to rest on and restock food and water needed for the rest of the voyage. Big enough to make the needed repairs on the ship, so it could withstand the storms of the future.
But now he was gone. His island had sunk and Izil'daerryn had been pushed out into the open waters, with a ship that was still leaking. He wasn't ready for this! It was all too soon. He wasn't ready…
”Please… not you, too...”
Master Izil'daerryn Frozenheart, the third son of the House Frozenheart, the Matron Council approved tutor and acknowledged father of three, slumped down on the floor. The tears froze on his cheeks and he was too tired to think anymore. Instead he, against all what was proper for his high reputation, laid on the floor and pressed his cheek against the soft, lush carpet which smelled faintly of cleaning products and dust. He couldn't do this anymore. Not again. The news had drained every last drop of strength from him and all that was left was an empty husk. Maybe, if he would just close his eyes here, this all would be just dream. A nasty little dream, swept away by the morning.
A clank woke him from his trance. Izil'daerryn blinked his weary eyes which felt crusty and puffy from all the cried tears. It took him a while to understand what was happening, and that it had all been a dream. A real memory of what had happened several years ago when the news of Nilyrdarrin's passing had reached him. An empty goblet laid on the floor. He must have pushed it down in his trance.
Izil'daerryn sighed and stretched a little. He had been reading a book after another nightmare had woken him up earlier, positive that he wouldn't get any more trance in, but clearly he had underestimated himself. Mother's death's 100th year anniversary would be today. Perhaps it would be time to wash his face, have a long bath and start to make himself ready for the day. True, it was still a bit too early, but another short nap like this wouldn't do any good if his mind had decided to go through the saddest moments of his life. Izil'daerryn sighed and rubbed his face. He was, truly, the last one standing.
Izil'daerryn sighed and closed the book he had been reading, raising his eyes to his young student whom he had observed struggling with the very basic incantations the boy usually was good in.
”I'm sorry, master Frozenheart… I… I didn't rest very well...”
The boy mumbled, ashamed and flustered, slight blush glowing on his cheeks. Izil'daerryn tilted his head a little bit and observed the boy closer. True, he seemed to have skipped an hour or two of his trance. Clearly, his beautiful and usually so bright orange eyes were puffy and red, like he would been staying up reading something for a very long time.
”Why is that?”
He asked, reaching for his cup of water, taking a sip while he waited the answer. Master Frozenheart's eyes inspected the cup's carved ornaments lazily. The water had been scented with some dried flowers from the surface. Flowers were expensive because they had to be imported, but of the little satchel used to scent his water he hadn't paid a copper. It had been a thoughtful gift from a friend who was currently fighting far away and protecting his home. The gift had come with a short letter which had made his cold heart twinge in an odd, uneasy way. It was so easy to forget what was going near the surface. The echoes of war were so much quieter when they reached Zaetron Derraz.
”Well… We...”
Zaknafein Mightshard stuttered and bit his lip, until he was able to continue. The boy began to look more and more distraught by every passing minute. The matron council approved tutor raised his eyes back from the cup and looked at the boy again. It took him slightly by surprise that his student seemed ready to burst into tears. Izil'daerryn raised his eyebrow a little bit, but he wasn't at all prepared for what the boy would tell him.Nothing could have prepared him, even when that option had always been present on the background. He had thought, perhaps full of hubris, that they would be above it. They had been better than that, at least in his mind. Victorious, invincible, resolute.
”We had some news yesterday… Uncle Nilyrdarrin had passed away...”
Izil'daerryn blinked slowly. The information just didn't sink in.
”Zaknafein, you should have told me before we even started.”
He said, in an unfamiliar soft tone which made his pupil raise his eyes up. It was a tone he had never hear Master Frozenheart using before. It was odd and soft, but still so sanitized, a tone which was proper but lacked any deeper connection. Almost somewhat forced, faked, too clean.
”Let's continue next week. You and your family will need time to settle after these news.”
”But, Master Frozenheart-”
”And take my condolences to the matron. I will pay a visit before the funeral.”
”Master Frozenheart… I… there is no funeral, they said the… he wasn't… they couldn't bring his body back… I heard...”
The boy began to sob quietly and Izil'daerryn stood up and started to back Zaknafein's things for him. He was calm and collected and arranged everything in the boy's bag with utmost precision like he would have rehearsed for years for this very moment.
”Nevertheless, I will be there to pay my respects, be it at funeral or a memorial service.”
The boy couldn't answer to him, but it was something Izil'daerryn had expected.
”Now, now. Tears won't bring him back.”
He gave the boy his own handkerchief -something he rarely parted of. Even his student understood this was something out of ordinary and quieted partially because the situation was so strange.
”Dry your face and keep your chin up.”
Master Frozenheart adviced and came to see the boy off to the courtyard of their palace. It had been easier to have the boy to come over for a while to Xart'zith Kyorl. Most books were here, after all, when they had been delving deeper into the areas of conjuration magic.
”See you later, Master Frozenheart.”
Zaknafein bowed, still sniffling a bit. Izil'daerryn nodded slowly.
”Yes. Take all the time you need.”
He said when the boy stepped into the houdah and waited until the lizard had disappeared out of the gates of the palace. Izil'daerryn's steps took him back inside, back to the room where he had left from. The overly sweet, suffocating smell of flowers overwhelmed him when he stepped in. It felt like the smell alone was enough to puncture his lungs and make him gag. He hastily opened the window and not thinking clearly, his fingers wrapped around the handle of the crystal carafe and he flung it out of the window. The scented water trailed out of it like a tail of a comet before it shattered on the pavement with an audible high-pitched crack.
Izil'daerryn felt like he would faint in any minute. His fingers had taken a tight grip on the windowframe and he was suddenly out of breath. He was so angry and sad at the same time. Who gave Nilyrdarrin the right to die?! Of course he had always been a soldier, and when there is a war, a soldier goes to the war, but it had never occured to him that his friend, the only man he had let to stay by his side after Mother's death, was actually now gone. He wouldn't be returning. They wouldn't be spending time in The Palace anymore. Not that he would have felt like dancing in a very long time.
Nilyrdarrin's muscular hands wouldn't wrap around him when they were resting in the dead of the night, offering him a sense of security, sense of being safe and not so damned alone anymore. Of course the tall and handsome soldier hadn't been a substitute of losing Mother, but he had offered him a pocket in time where he had been allowed to be vulnerable for a while. Where he had been able to recover, to grieve in peace.
They had never talked about love, perhaps because they both knew it to be a silly, romantic notion which was out of their grasp. It had never been a crush on either side, more of a mutual companionship. They had not been lovers, but they had shared the bed. He had never pried on what izil'daerryn had in mind. Izil'daerryn hadn't needed to explain himself to his companion. Nilyrdarrin had never tried to question him, bother him with unavoidable queries and endless curiosity. He had just always been there, ready to support him, no strings attached. Just… being present. Like a small reef or an island in the middle of a vast ocean. An island too tiny to build a house on, too tiny to actually live on it comfortably for a longer period of time, but big enough to rest on and restock food and water needed for the rest of the voyage. Big enough to make the needed repairs on the ship, so it could withstand the storms of the future.
But now he was gone. His island had sunk and Izil'daerryn had been pushed out into the open waters, with a ship that was still leaking. He wasn't ready for this! It was all too soon. He wasn't ready…
”Please… not you, too...”
Master Izil'daerryn Frozenheart, the third son of the House Frozenheart, the Matron Council approved tutor and acknowledged father of three, slumped down on the floor. The tears froze on his cheeks and he was too tired to think anymore. Instead he, against all what was proper for his high reputation, laid on the floor and pressed his cheek against the soft, lush carpet which smelled faintly of cleaning products and dust. He couldn't do this anymore. Not again. The news had drained every last drop of strength from him and all that was left was an empty husk. Maybe, if he would just close his eyes here, this all would be just dream. A nasty little dream, swept away by the morning.
****
A clank woke him from his trance. Izil'daerryn blinked his weary eyes which felt crusty and puffy from all the cried tears. It took him a while to understand what was happening, and that it had all been a dream. A real memory of what had happened several years ago when the news of Nilyrdarrin's passing had reached him. An empty goblet laid on the floor. He must have pushed it down in his trance.
Izil'daerryn sighed and stretched a little. He had been reading a book after another nightmare had woken him up earlier, positive that he wouldn't get any more trance in, but clearly he had underestimated himself. Mother's death's 100th year anniversary would be today. Perhaps it would be time to wash his face, have a long bath and start to make himself ready for the day. True, it was still a bit too early, but another short nap like this wouldn't do any good if his mind had decided to go through the saddest moments of his life. Izil'daerryn sighed and rubbed his face. He was, truly, the last one standing.
The 100th anniversary of his mother's death is coming up. The Ceremony has been much anticipated, but also fretted. All that has happened in the Moondancer Court and especially with a certain Miazall Moondancer has pushed Izil'daerryn Frozenheart over the edge after a long period of stillness. Missing his mother, anxious of what the future will bring, he dreams of his most recent long-time partner Nilyrdarrin Mightshard who perished in the war.
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