for phaedrus;

[riva]

i don't love you;

but i always will.

Riva refuses to acknowledge that they might have anything in common between them.

Like stories or origins, or feelings.

Her own resolve slips the moment the tip of his wing brushes the black hairs from her face. His kindness is slowly snipping the stitches on the thick meat of her spiteful little heart. How could this be happening to her? It isn’t fair that he can unravel the complicated threads of her hate and bitterness until he comes to the beginning strand that he holds high and tight, strums it like an instrument until the music of her life comes slamming back into her with a shocked breath and Riva slides her eyes away from because the look in them is unfamiliar to her, maybe unwanted too.

She bites back the retort that floods her mouth; he is too tender in his look to hurt and he wounds much too easily. Believe it or not, she has noticed how easily she can hurt him with a few words. Riva was quick to turn her face away from his, still entirely too aware of how he reached out to brush the hair away again but this time, her hair snagged on a single feather before falling back into her eyes. By the time she looks at him (with something like wonder in her eyes), he is downcast and eyeballing the earth more than is necessary. He’s almost too shy around her at times, but she knows how to inflame his senses until he snaps back at her except --

Riva doesn’t poke him. He promises to tell her the story, and she shows her approval with a nod.

They take to the trail together, and she cannot fail to notice how he brushes away the bushes and branches that would otherwise catch at their skins, scratching them. Again, how his kindness strips her of her hateful armor! His tale is no more long than hers’ was abhorrently short; “Are you that colt?” She has fallen back, stopped even as she asks him this. Her eyes hope to meet his, if only to judge the truth of his answer but she cannot help the sympathy that bubbles up in her gaze - they are a little alike, she hates to admit it but the truth is there, plain enough in his story and hers. She too, had been cast aside once nothing had manifested itself in her - she was a throwback to a magicless era, a cropout of ordinariness that had originally been bred out of the bloodline, but Riva existed despite that and her existence was an embarrassment to them.

“It isn’t just a story, is it?”

She looks up at him, even as his wing settles around her to ward off an offending branch and she doesn’t shrug him off as is the expectation. Riva is shocked to find they have crossed into the Jungle already, but she stays beneath the shelter of his wing to the point that her side almost touches his at every other step. His feathers tickle her ribcage, as she tells him - “Welcome to the Jungle.”

Riva

[Phaedrus]

PHAEDRUS

He wavers for a moment, his silence the only answer she receives for a response to her question. Then she persists asking if it was just a story, and he hesitates for a moment Isn’t that all life is? one big long story, with many miniature stories to fill in the gaps? When she doesn’t fend off the wing he lets it settle on her offering a small smile of tenderness. For a moment he remembers her freshly wild scent, and traces each bony facet of her face with his eye. How did she manage to grip his fascination so quickly and so tightly that he finds himself hopelessly lost in gazing at her?

He dares not to try and figure it out, because if he does then there would be more danger of discovering something that he isn’t quite ready to acknowledge just yet. So he settles for the moment of closeness they share. The world and all the worries of a man in his position wash away, and he sighs with contentment. She is able to pull emotions from him that he never believed would exist for him. He had found a contented love, one that in another life he could have sunk into, and unearthed the hope for a bright future. This is not the case however, and letting go of that hope, the hope that didn’t exist in the first place, is the only thing he can think to do. As pleasant as the thought of peace is, he knows that the spark of passion, and thrill of the unknown owns a stronger call to his soul.

With Riva at his side he knows he doesn’t have to change who he is. He isn’t required to love, he isn’t forced to be shackled with worry and protecting, he has no angst about her thoughts and feelings. All that matters is his kingdom, and duties. and yet every time they meet, every time his eyes lay on her something flares white hot and he finds himself chained to her every nuance. As uncomfortable as it feels, it also feels deeply satisfying. So he allows it to sink deeper and deeper until this moment where he knows he is bound to her. Part of him is irritated at this, but another sighs with contentment, and that is the part of him that he allows to take over for now. Would you mind taking me to your queen? His tone though a little husky is gentle in breaking the silence, along with the spell that had entrapped him for how much time, he couldn’t say.

i'll carry this flag, to the grave if i must

@[riva]
Sorry this took so long D: