Private Twilight

[Cedric Grayson]

He glanced out from the battlements of the Graywall, and found himself marveling at its beauty just as he had thousand times before. The early hours of morning were cast in lightning blue as Ruusan's sun fought its way through bleak thunderclouds. The heavy snowfall helped to further dissuade him from stepping too far beyond the doorway, but he allowed himself to linger for a few moments longer.

There wouldn't be many more years like this. His failing ability to lead had only been expounded upon by the fading strength in his limbs and softening of his fervor. He'd spent more time here with the local church than in his office this year and matters both of state and beyond them now plagued his mind. He'd hoped to just let things continue as they were, praying in vain that Mikhail might prove himself capable of wearing the crown.

The boy had the heart for it, but not the mind. Now Cedric's bastard was running about claiming princely titles and other nonsense spilled into his head by overly ambitious clergymen. The boy's existence was better left a secret so that he might not suffer for it, but greed had poisoned that well. He was not trained in the manner needed of a ruler, knew nothing of the Force, and was the product of a bitter mistake. His path would only lead to ruin.

"I've done all I can for him, yet he still craves more. The boy is his mother, I can't legitimize him," he grumbled to the cold. It was an old argument he'd fought with himself a dozen times now, though he wasn't certain if he'd won any of them.

Exhaustion filled his limbs as the words left his lips, and he drifted down onto the kitchen chair, tired eyes peering out into the snowfall. "Have I not earned a comfortable rest? Must there be struggle even as my body fails me?" He asked of the skies.

The howling wind was his only answer.

Emiery Athelon

 

[Emiery Grayson]

Coming back to the Graywall was a strange homecoming-of-sorts, tied to places near and so very far in time. A location that was part of her identity in a way, an edifice that stood for so many things, including the swearing of her own loyalty within its bowels some fifteen years prior, to the man who stood peering out from the battlements in the minutes before she neared the doorway, silent of foot as ever.

It had been a recommitment, in truth - her commitment to his vision had been solidified ten or more years prior to that day, within herself. Altogether encroaching on nearly three decades, and time had only been unkind to one of them. But then… time hadn’t quite played by the usual rules when it came to her, ever since she stepped out of that portal on Voss.

She peered from the few feet she was within, looking out the doorway to the heavy snowfall - had she ever been here in winter? No matter the season, he was in winter, now.

She heard the grumbling of a weary man that had given so very much of himself. Regardless of the subject matter, the words hung like a weight that doubtless drove him into that seat. It wasn’t an easy thing to see him so grey. See time come for him. Harder still… what that meant at the terminus. She wasn’t at all blind to what was happening. With soft footsteps, she approached the chair.

“Da legitiméiert hien net,” she agreed, “jo,” to the first question, “an nee,” to the second, slipping a gloved hand over his nearest shoulder, giving it a soft pat. She understood, as only one born into that world could, the reality of his struggle when it came to an heir. It was the need of most every noble-born that desired their name and legacy to remain a going concern. If only the answers were so simple as the ones she had just given. “Just know,” she tilted her head so that she might look at him more closely, “that I will see it through, whatever it may be in the end” she smiled faintly, though warmly, “with however many more years the Ashla sees fit to give me. As I always have.”

She wasn’t going anywhere.

Cedric Grayson

 

[Cedric Grayson]

(Phone post)

There were very few people still breathing that could walk through the halls of the Grayson household freely. Trust was a rare thing for the Ashlan patriarch that had grown even more precious as the years dragged on and the few he could place his faith in passed from war and the passage of years. Not even the Prime Minister or the Grand Marshal complete free run of the Graywall, but Emiery most certainly did.

The familiar tone of her voice dragged him from his grievances, the momentary touch upon his shoulder most welcome given his previous state.

There was understanding in her voice and the mother tongue was a comfort. She was as a native as he was, though the passage of time had not wracked her body as it had his. It was not that he had grown infirm or destitute: by all accounts Cedric should be in the waning prime of his fifties. In a sense, he was, though the pressures of rule had grown far too heavy upon his shoulders and the years felt longer still. He craved the peace of the church and the pleasantry of simple service. The quiet life that had been denied to him.

More importantly, he was not sure if he possessed the fire required to wage a war to its conclusion, and that put the Crusade in a dangerous position indeed.

"Ech konnt ëmmer op dech zielen Emiery. Är Loyalitéit a Vertrauen sinn zwou Saachen, op déi ech weess, datt ech an der Mëtt vun engem Stuerm ziele kënnen." He mused in the native tongue, the despair in his voice giving way to appreciation. "You don't need to reaffirm yourself to me Emiery, I know you'll be here," a hand reached up to the one in his shoulder, the touch brief but emotion bubbling beneath it was a timeless thing.

"Of all the things I've dealt with, both as general and statesman, nothing has confounded me as much as this." He admitted, huffing a quiet sigh as the snowfall picked up somewhat. The flakes melted softly against his skin but he muttered no protest. "I had thought that I might take the time to marry and produce a proper heir by now, but the goddess has not seen to that as expected. I worry if perhaps Lothaire is meant to inherit, but he is a bastard, and moreover his conception was not my choice. His mother saw to it that I was properly intoxicated before doing her work." The sorceress had been a pretty, yet vile thing. She sought power and through the youth's ascension she would certainly gain it. Corruption ran rampant in her blood, and if it sat upon the throne of Ession, Cedric could only see ruin to follow.

The patriarch's gaze returned to Emiery's , bits of snow catching in his beard and eyebrows as he offered her a light smile, "Perhaps I should just throw it to the elections. There is that undercurrent of discontent from folk that want a proper republic. I know several among the administration that would be all the happier for it."

It wasn't something he believed in his heart would work out. The burgeoning Kaiserreich would quickly shatter into competing factions and likely balkanize itself within a decade. Still, the hypothetical would free him of these damned obligations.

And make his life's work a relatively pointless affair.

"Or I could just jump from the battlements here and be done with it," he added, tired sarcasm dripping from his words, "You can be empress and I'll make for a lovely landmark for the local mountain climbers."

Emiery Athelon

 

[Emiery Grayson]

Having that touch responded to was a small comfort in itself; the years had not turned him to stone, a blessing beyond measure. A life of rule, regardless of being imbued with the right, was fraught with potential for such an outcome. That he worried over these things still meant he had a heart for the good of his people, and the continuance of their culture. His culture. Hers, long by now.

She lifted her hand away and took a few steps past, then turned to face him while he continued to give his concerns more life in words; she folded her arms over her chest, watching the shifts in his expression, the rise and fall of his voice. The way he voiced his concerns was not too far off from the sound of his doubts when they were both young.

He spoke of the boy’s origins, a situation she could uniquely grasp - they had both been seduced by one imbued by the Dark at different points. The woman from whom she was derived, and in part was, bore a son herself, but she was slain by her seducer in time; an outcome that was the ultimate cause of her particular existence, here and now. A son whose blood ran through countless peoples in an alike darkness, compounded by centuries.

To say she had taken well to resisting the heady call of the flesh because of it was apt - her own service was of greater import and more fulfilling than what mere minutes of enslavement to lust could provide - but that wasn’t to say it was easy, that there weren’t times she felt the pull of at least companionship keenly… she replied to his smile with one of her own, her brow faintly creasing. She couldn’t fault her Kaiser for having been weak to such a thing at one point in his life, when she had, in effect, been subject to the same.

When he went on about the possibility of a republic, her brow knit more firmly, and she could almost scoff at the concept. That would be inviting corruption. Her head shook, faintly… but then his words soured, and made light of a thing that stole her smile, and drove her to speak.

“Cedric…” her voice began in a sudden, partially admonishing tone, the fingers of one of her hands curling tensely against the elbow of her other arm, her expression writ with concern regardless of the sarcastic tone… and she half sighed, half laughed a single note of false humour, a sharp out-breath altogether, “...and what? Leave me a suspect in your demise for the rest of my life?”

While at the same time mourning it? The same gloved hand rose up, her head dropping, fingers tenting against her forehead and cheek, as her head shook. Her head rose, and she regarded him, clearly bothered by the subject of offing one’s self. It was, after all, what she found out had become of her father. The centuries did nothing to keep her from the pain that came with acquiring that knowledge, close to thirty years ago.

“And if not that, having to eventually give myself to a man I very well may not love, as a means to an end?”

And in time, possibly come to resent the man sitting in that chair for putting her in either of these positions? It was all too easy to extrapolate such a path. Her eyes squeezed shut, moisture stinging at the corners, and she turned her face away. This wasn’t anger, not at all… but upset, certainly. After a couple of moments, and with slow, steady breaths, she turned her face back to him, just as slowly. Wrestling the emotion back under her control.

“I’m sorry, Cedric,” she began to explain, her expression still no less concerned, no less faintly etched with the pain of considering even the thought of losing him in the same way, “but some things are too painful to consider, even in jest.”

Cedric Grayson

 

[Cedric Grayson]

His rather dark attempt at humor stuck a chord that Cedric had not been aware of. His expression softened at her half-joking first remark. "Well we both know you could slip away if they came looking for you," he attempted to joke, though he held his tongue as she spoke her very real concerns about the issue.

His own ruminations melted away, concern and a desire to reassure his most loyal companion overtaking the worries of succession. The ashlan patriarch turned his attentions away from the mountains, shifting fully to face Emiery. The snowfall drifted down quietly around them as Cedric placed his hands atop each of her shoulders, gray eyes met her own, the mask momentarily dropped for a gaze brimming with emotion.

"You will have to serve no one when my time has come, nor will you need to worry about giving yourself to any men. Your lifetime of service has more than earned you the right to do as you wish," he assured, his grip loosening somewhat as he made his promise. "As far as I am concerned Emiery, your oaths have been fulfilled. I don't know what will follow after me but you are not chained to this throne."

It seemed that the source of her displeasure was not wholly that, but the topic of suicide itself. He wasn't going to pry in places that should better be left in undisturbed, but curiosity chewed at his thoughts all the same. "And I promise you that I will not be ending my own life. Would have done that long ago if I ever truly considered it." More than truthful.

He lingered there for a moment, unspoken words muddling about in his mind before his grip relented. "What would you do anyway, without all this?"

Emiery Athelon

 

[Emiery Grayson]

When he rose and stepped towards her, placing his hands upon each of her shoulders, it was a gesture that steadied her in her disquiet, her breaths progressively becoming less shaken as she held his gaze, sapphire staring into slate, and took in his assurances. Allowed him to allay her concerns.

That he would not take his own life and went so far as to promise it managed to soften her features just enough to permit the faintest of upturn of the corners of her lips. The rest of her concerns, an extrapolation on his suggestion that she take his place if he were to end it, were ultimately an issue with not having a choice in the matter. Every point along her path, since the day she had found him and entered into his service, had been a choice. Her oaths, a choice. To make this realm her home, learn the tongue of the people, and lay to rest the corpse of her ties to the land that birthed her? These were also choices.

The only way in which it wasn’t a choice, was how much all of these choices had ended up reflected in her heart - that simply couldn’t be helped. Nor could she pinpoint when her choices had stopped merely being influenced by her faith in his vision, and became more reliant on that particular bundle of emotion. The Crusade was her home and country, its people were her people, and she loved it all so dearly. To see them fall apart would be pain, and the man before her? His death would leave an unavoidable hole in the metaphorical thing that was her heart. A juncture riddled with cavernous uncertainty. Why had she been called into life, centuries beyond her beginnings? To be here was the only plausible explanation, when it had turned out to be the only thing that felt right. The only place that felt the most like 'home'.

"What would you do anyway, without all this?"

The lines in her face began to ease a bit more as she unfurled her answer, “There is…” she paused, and swallowed, cleared her throat, “...always the Knights,” her right hand was grasped around her left upper arm, the thumb rubbing nigh-unconsciously back and forth against the fabric of her jacket, “and I…” she breathed one note of humour, genuine this time, “...figured I could settle down with a few cats?” A couple notes of a faint, perhaps slightly incredulous laugh sounded with her head turning to flick a glance out past the battlements, her gaze tracking back to him after a moment with a sigh, and a little shake of her head, “I’m honestly not certain, Cedric,” she finally let out, “it’s been difficult to imagine my life without you in it.”

Cedric Grayson

 

[Cedric Grayson]

The pieces fell into place so clearly in Cedric's mind. The Ashla worked in strange ways, but he was beginning to see the planning behind her designs. The Bogan had a foothold within the Crusade so long as his bastard still claimed the throne, but another option presented itself, one that might satisfy every party other than the boy.

To say that it did not pain Cedric to make decisions that would be to the youth's detriment was putting things lightly, but his responsibilities were far greater than a single man. That his idea was also personally appealing bore little consequence on his decision. He was above such things, or so he believed.

"I can say the same," the ashlan patriarch muttered, his gaze following hers out toward the snow-capped mountains as if they might give him some words of encouragement. When their eyes met again, Cedric's shoulders slackened and his lips parted, as if his body were relenting to something or another.

"You could have a few cats here." Cedric mused, a light smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite himself. "Plenty of room, though the groundskeepers might make a bit of a fuss." A moment’s hesitation struck the Kaiser, but it passsed as all other had.

Gathering himself, Cedric moved to snake his arm about her waist, drawing Emiery close as he gazed into her eyes, intention radiating from his own. "You've stuck by me this long Emiery. Longer than anyone else. I have wracked my brain with this issue when the answers been right in front of me for years." Cedric huffed a quiet laugh, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "Your place is here, with me, but it need not be as a servant if you would wish it otherwise. The Kaiserreich needs a Kaiserin just as I need you.”

Emiery Athelon

 

[Emiery Grayson]

She wasn’t quite sure when the feeling had set in, over the years, but when she realised it had, she hesitated. She sat with it for a while, wanting to be sure of it. All that came of that decision was to leave it be when her mind prevailed; she had thought at the time that perhaps it was a danger, an invitation to distract her from her duty, and distract him from his, if she were to have said anything about it.

All underlined by old doubt derived from her origins. She had been a dead woman, twice over in effect - who would ever accept such a thing? - but something had seen fit to call her forth. She had long since resolved that this was simply the will of the Force, but as the years wore on, a different doubt burrowed into that resolution. A lighter thing… but that was a different struggle to wade through at another time.

Oh, time. Zäit. She thought what she felt for him might have lessened with the passage of it, but when she had read his open letter, she realised that she had only managed to long distract herself from her own heart, or at the very least this part of it, for as she read, another feeling set in: regret. Or the potential of living with regret for the remainder of her years. Regret over having said nothing when she still could.

To that end, when it came to having divulged this to even such a small extent, and his response to that admission, she felt unburdened. An alike smile to his own pulled the corners of her lips upward.

“I was joking about the cats,” Emiery muttered with faint amusement - wasn’t that what lonely old women did? Take up the care of several small animals? “I don’t wish to burden the groundskeepers with…” a sharp intake of breath, released as a light sigh, a vague little laugh, “...Force only knows what cats drag home.”

But that subject faded with his arm around her, pulling her close in a way that differed vastly from the needs and outcomes of battle over their years. She had walked into hell and back with him, and would make the same commitment in any other life. Emiery looked into those familiar eyes, the grip of her hand at her other arm loosening as he spoke, the gloved hand going at first tentatively, then finally to rest on the upper half of the arm about her waist.

“I feel… relieved,” she admitted, frankly, her brow once again knitting together, though faintly, “And I feel I must apologise,” her other gloved hand went to his face, fingertips resting against the cheek, there, her own voice taking on a soft tone and volume, “I could have said something much earlier, and saved you the struggle.”

Cedric Grayson

 

[Cedric Grayson]

Worries about the succession melted away as she returned his touch. The terrible deeds his bastard might wrought and the danger his legacy now found itself in became an afterthought for the first time in weeks.

His feeling toward Emiery has been a slow simmering thing. In their youth, she had been a close confidant and a sharp tool in his arsenal. As the years dragged on into decades and figures passed in and out of his life, she had remained a constant, ever loyal, ever at his side when he allowed it. Fondness had kindled into affection in due time, though duties of station and spiritual consequence had kept Cedric from exploring his yearnings toward the Jedi Master until the very matters of state that had constrained him now shoved him toward her. His twin interests aligned for once in a millennia, and he would not be so foolish as to seize on the opportunity.

"There is nothing to apologize for," he reassured as he leaned into her touch. "My life has been governed by my calling. In that, perhaps I have shunned more important things." He leaned in close, until his forehead was resting against hers and the sound of the wind whistling in the snowstorm beneath the peaks filled his ears. "Nothing worth having is gained without a little struggle anyway."

Tiring of the sound of his own voice, Cedric drew another hand to the back of her head and, with a moment's hesitation, pressed his lips to hers. The cold of the snow melted away and the thunder of his own pulse deafened him to the howl of the winds as he lingered there, savoring the moment however brief it might be.

Emiery Athelon

 

[Emiery Grayson]

His words once again reassured her, and that he did so was a sort of trading of places: it had been her place to give him counsel at countless points in their time; her role, so often, to work through his doubts and put them to rest - her mind as sharp as the blade often lashed to her side.

His response to her touch, how he leaned into it and his head tilted in the action, was endearing to her; the line of his jaw pressed into her palm, cushioned by the fibres that had sprouted from it, while he expressed, in a way, that she was not any more foolish than he was to have waited. She could recall keenly when he had more often been clean-shaven, but neither look was any less in her eyes. Each version of him throughout the years carried a fondness.

The gloved hand at his face went to rest upon his shoulder as he drew closer still, putting his forehead to hers. It may have been out of service in part, but the balance of it was that he was simply so dear to her that she couldn’t help but express that measure of regret. A want to ease his struggles, nay… a desire that ran far deeper. Yet he was right: nothing worth having is attained without struggle. Everything in its time. Even this.

With a hand at the back of her head, and a moment where it seemed he took care to weigh and measure his actions, he put his lips to hers, and she reciprocated without reservation. What followed was a moment woven through with the patience of long yearning, brief though it was, a thing that seemed to warm her against the frigid flakes accumulating in her hair, and melting against her skin. Her own heart thrumming in her ears. At the end of it, she was silent at first, still standing in the feeling of the connection. A thing she had chosen. All of this, a choice.

“I am...” she started after that additional moment, peering into the slate grey of his eyes, "...immeasurably glad that I'm not alone in my feelings, Cedric." The faintest few notes of a laugh preceded her next words, "And after all that we've faced over the years, I didn't expect that I would be nervous - of all things - about this. About coming here."

Emiery had always strived to be plainly honest with Cedric. It had been her intention to unburden her heart, this morning, and with no plan as to how, but the flow of their conversation had unintentionally pulled the hint of it out of her. Thankfully he had caught on. She hadn't been certain what, exactly, to say otherwise. This wasn't typical subject matter between them. She returned the one hand, then both, to the sides of his face. Its lines and shape that she knew so well. One thumb stroking along the cheekbone, there. Eyes searching his face.

Cedric Grayson

 

[Cedric Grayson]

He had never been one for soft things.

Of being a man, Cedric understood the struggles. He'd chosen to live through grit and determination, casting aside any attachments beyond that to his purpose in his endless crusade. The castle walls and the empire that guarded them were a testament to his success, but then what was life without balance? What was a life when it only consisted of hardship? For Cedric, there had never been anything resembling a balance.

He'd embraced such things once, long ago, and found himself ruined for it. His heart had been betrayed and his paramour's leaving left a hole in his life that could never truly be filled. Even still, he'd certainly tried. Leading the Crusade had certainly helped in distracting him from his grief, but now the Crusade was whole, and yet the gap in his soul remained barren.

That it might be filled had never occurred to him.

Emiery had ever been the constant, even in those dark days.

"I have never been good at acknowledging how I feel about people, unless it was rage," Cedric admitted, "I know hatred and bitterness intimately. I have known love once, and she broke me. I was - am... afraid of it." Words unspoken to any other, or ever for that fact. Dark secrets Cedric kept close to his heart. "I do not fear death, Emiery, but I am terrified of being hurt again."

Saying it out loud was both liberating and a matter of disgust for Cedric. He sounded pathetic, like a damaged child trying to make sense of things, begging her to preserve him like this, and yet he could not help himself. The veneer of the strong Kaiser evaporated, and for a moment, the tired man Cedric kept hidden away was wholly present.

Uncertainty crept across his features even as she drew her thumb down his cheek. Would her attraction fade as she came to understand him fully? Would his pathetic nature drive her away in disgust?

She looked so perfect amidst the storm. Bits of snow caught in her hair and the heat of her seemed to steam off into the atmosphere, as if she were surrounded by a white halo, glowing through the darkness. For a moment, despite himself, Cedric felt his heart move. It was an adrenaline unlike that which he'd experienced in decades, not the heady preparation for combat that he'd grown used to, but a high just as sharp as that anticipation. His first thoughts of what might happen if he were to lose her were buried deep beneath that sensation; for once Cedric would live for the moment.

"You don't need to be nervous," his voice was a rumbling whisper as he pressed his lips to brow, the words mumbled against her skin. "It's just us. You and me. Like it's always been." He drew back for a moment, though he still held her close. "We're just being a little more honest now."

Emiery Athelon

 

[Emiery Grayson]

When he admitted to her one of his most closely guarded truths, his fear, her brow knit together. That could be a hurt that ran one through as much as death itself… for that was what it was, the death of a connection. Of that presence in one’s life. A thing that could haunt the heart and soul out of nowhere, just when the one left behind might feel finally free of the pain. He had mentioned a partner once, a decade and a half, past. Just once, almost in passing. Only now was she aware of just how deep that cut had gone.

Truly, there was no time limit on grief.

So, she didn’t see or hear a pathetic man, no. She did see and hear an honest one, one that had lived, loved, trusted, and had, at times, been given pain and betrayal in return. One that chose to persist in his path, regardless. One that was incredibly human. He had put his trust in her in many ways over their years, despite it all, and as she brushed her thumb over his cheek, as she saw his uncertainty, she hoped in her heart that he could come to trust her wholly with his. And with who he was, behind the veneer.

With his lips to her brow, and the continuation of his assurances - a thread running through this exchange that spoke immeasurably of his own concerns for her well-being - her eyes closed in that moment, just to hear and feel, that it might be imprinted in her memory. Her nerves much more calm than when she arrived. When he drew back from this and her eyes opened, she could only smile warmly.

More honesty. Yes.

“Then, in the interests of honesty,” she began, “I… do have a deep interest in your happiness, Cedric, and seeing to it that you know peace,” her brow creased faintly, “and my love.”

A pause.

“And I still very much wish to continue to know what’s on your mind,” she stroked his cheek again, “and I could quite honestly stay like this, as we are now, for a rather long time, but It’s not getting any warmer out here,” she said with a faint laugh; was that some sort of theme in their relationship? Them hanging around in inclement weather? It had its charms, for certain, even a fondness to it, “So, why don’t we find some caf, and somewhere to sit, and talk about what I can do to help you now? Or… anything at all, really.”

Cedric Grayson

 

[Cedric Grayson]

Quiet relief crashed over Cedric like a tidal wave.

After the experiences of his many years, the Kaiser feared very little. Death had long since lost its sting and matters of state were his sole stressors. Indeed, the one thing he feared more than anything, despite his duties and proclivities of destiny, was to be abandoned once again. It had kept him frozen throughout most of his adult life. On the battlefield or in the midst of command, his mind was too preoccupied to notice it. When giving speeches or rousing the people, one could not dwell on their own fault.

But in the quiet moments, it was always there, taunting him for his weakness. To say that he'd grown lonely in his self-imposed isolation had been an understatement, but then he'd always been a private man. His personal life was an enigma to most, and anyone he might have ventured to call a true friend was long dead now. No companions, no brotherhood, no love: only grim devotion to a cause as his sole respite.

That isolation had taken its toll. Bits and pieces of his soul withered away as the years drew on, his connection with the people and his desire to help them fading with it. No doubt the weakness of his limbs was tied to that loss. How long had it been since he'd communed with the Force in any sense beyond the religious? Let its power fill his body and revitalize his spirit?

Such unwelcome questions sputtered to a halt as Emiery spoke once again. His reservations melted away at the welcome sound of her voice; it was a blade that cut through the din of his thoughts, striking to the core of his psyche and shattering the many masks he'd forged over the decades. He was left a barren thing, spiritually naked and, for once in his life, unashamed.

It felt like he was spitting up gravel when he spoke the words, but he felt them in his heart and would not let them lay unspoken. "I love you too," he muttered, a relenting in his tone as he kissed her again, brief and wanting.

The cocktail of emotions that had served to well intoxicate Cedric were confusing. It was an intermingling of warm certainty: an acknowledgement of just how 'right' this felt. Yet, at its edges the fear lingered. Hairline fractures in his psyche. Unprocessed trauma. It had felt so right before, and then...

"It'd be tragically poetic for us to die of hypothermia now," he mused as he drew back, a quiet laugh following his words despite his reservations. He acknowledged them, accepted them for what they were, and set them aside just as he had set aside his reservations countless times in the past. His failings would not hold him back from this.

He drew away from her with a hint of displeasure in the act. The doors to his study hissed open once again, artificial warmth seeping out from the room, beckoning them both inside. Cedric interlaced his fingers with hers and passed through the portal, the door snapping shut behind them.

The study was as it had always been. Wooden shelves lined with books printed on ancient paper took up nearly every corner. His work desk sat in the room's center, flanked by the various banners of House Grayson and the Ashlan Papacy. Light came from sputtering candles rather than anything electric, the scent of pine incense swirling through the shadowy room.

"I'll set some caf," he muttered as he made his way toward the tiny corner that served as makeshift kitchen. It was a simple thing to start the pot, though he found his gaze lingering on it as he took in the magnitude of what was happening. His back remained turned to her as he spoke, "I never thought I would feel something like this again," his voice was low, just rumbling over the crackling of the flames. "I thought I'd perish on some battlefield soon enough. Never have to worry about this sort of thing." Honesty, as ugly as it was. "Resigned myself to my own company. Thought it was the Ashla's punishment for my arrogance. Like this was all a mistake. The Crusade, Ession, all of it."

He glanced over his shoulder, gray eyes twinkling in the din. "I'm glad you've proved me wrong."

Emiery Athelon

 

[Emiery Grayson]

He had said it, those four words a sum and reflection of the clear sentiment of her many, and as he kissed her for the second time, she felt the heady certainty, the warmth of wanting… and the caution provoked by her awareness of the risks of too much wanting, too soon: the path of mistakes and shame. A thing they were doubtless both aware of, and nothing she wanted to, or dared to have repeated.

“Yes, terribly tragic,” she replied with her own small laugh - only this time she wasn’t soaked through, just cold. The frigid weather couldn’t entirely be abated by their closeness, and when he pulled away from her almost completely, she felt both the tiniest relief that it could stop and the larger, immediate regret that it did - both at the lack, and the increased cold that seeped in, in its place. It had been so comfortable, so right, to be held.

The disconnect was only momentary, of course, when he took her by the hand, their fingers knitting together, and she followed him into the warmth of his study, a place that had hardly changed over the years. She could recall some of the conversations that had taken place here when the Crusade was young but growing, and as he went to prepare the caf, her eyes followed him while she began to pull on the fingers of each glove to free her hands from them. All the while watching and listening to him as he voiced the end of long-held beliefs, born out of isolation. How he had resigned himself, how he believed it was punishment, that perhaps everything he had worked so hard for was a mistake.

[ No, not at all. Not in the slightest. ]

When he looked back to her, she smiled warmly like it couldn’t be helped, “I’m glad to have been able to,” she replied, tucking her gloves into a pocket, feeling the warmth, a burning sensation as it seeped into her cold fingers, “I never thought I would feel like I belonged anywhere, until the Imperium,” she admitted, “And I didn’t know anywhere else could ever feel like home until the Crusade, until Ession,” she laid one hand on the back of a chair, “until I started coming here.”

A lot had changed. She had, certainly. “And I wouldn’t be who I am now, without these things,” the decades had changed the cold, vengeful young woman that she had been, “Certainly not a woman that could love anyone, or see the peace and happiness that this long work has given to so many.” Her other hand joined the first one on the chairback, “So, thank you, Cedric, for all of it.”

Cedric Grayson

 

[Cedric Grayson]

The crackling of the candles underpinned a pregnant silence as Cedric took in her words. His gaze broke from hers, darting toward the floor, absorbed in the small details of the hardwood. His emotions were a quagmire, and one he had little experience in treading through. For so long he'd feared what revealing his inner thoughts might bring. That someone might validate his own internal doubts; morph them from suspicions into matters of reality. It was the expected outcome, the only outcome, or it had been.

And then, suddenly, it wasn't.

It was an affirmation he'd not been aware that he needed so terribly. It was an amazing thing, how quickly the curtain was drawn back from his eyes. How foolish he'd been to doubt.

His actions had always been taken in the name of the holy. The Ashla provided her comforts, and yet a small part of himself, the annoyingly human part, wondered if his actions had only led to more suffering. Yet, Emiery had found her place here. In his efforts, it seemed, she'd found her happiness. Given her a home.

Given himself a home too. In the end, that was what this had all been about, wasn't it? Going home?

"You don't know how good it is to hear that," emotion bristled beneath his words, though he kept it reigned in. "I... think I needed someone to tell me that. Not someone praising my efforts because of station or for personal gain, but... to know someone truly benefited from my efforts. That it really helped." He tore his gaze from the floor, meeting hers through half-lidded eyes, a smile that bled warmth splitting his normally stony visage. "I think somewhere along the way I lost sight of things."

The caf-brewer dinged. Cedric wandered over and poured two cups, quickly crossing the room to offer Emiery one. "At some point, the mission became revenge. Maybe it always was, and I deluded myself. Maybe that's why I have these doubts." He took a sip from his cap and pressed a hand on her hip, taking some private joy in their embracing of such familiarity. "But you've reminded me why we started - so we could go home again. And now we're here."

He leaned in, lingering close as his voice dropped to a low whisper, his face graced with the dancing shadows of candlelight. "Our home."

Emiery Athelon

 

[Emiery Grayson]

Emiery hadn’t expected the long pause after she had divulged the impact his work and vision had on her life, but she had meant every word, and when his gaze sought the floor, she knew her words had an effect. She couldn’t fathom where she might have ended up, what might have become of her if he hadn’t decided to act for the sake of his… no, their people. As if one couldn’t exist without the other.

Then finally he spoke, confirming the impact of what she had said, and she looked down at her hands, lifting them from the chairback to rub one palm with the other thumb, then the fingers as the tingle brought on by the difference in temperature began to fade. Listening without looking for a moment, just feeling the tone of his response, his realisation of a need he didn’t know he had.

An unexpected mote of service that warmed her heart to have given it. What she saw, that he could not on his own. She lifted her head, meeting his half-lidded gaze, and the warm smile that underwrote it; there was an equally warm, enveloping quality to knowing that she was the cause, a faint blush at realising she could stand to see more of the same.

When the caf-brewer dinged, she could almost sigh in relief, and when she received a cup from him and the aroma wafted up from the hot liquid, and she gingerly took her first sip, the sigh came readily. “Thank you,” she near-mouthed as he continued on, speculating the origin of his doubts… but when he put a hand to her hip, her mouth was obscured by another sip in the wake of that touch, its presence reiterating her immediate dislike for its absence. Reinforcing it.

"But you've reminded me why we started - so we could go home again. And now we're here."

Emiery lowered the cup and swallowed gently as he leaned in, watching the shadows dance across his face.

"Our home."

She reached up with her other hand, brushing the backs of fingers against his cheek for a moment, admiring the look of him then in the dim lighting, before turning her hand over to fingertips as she lifted her chin, slipped her eyes shut, and pressed a kiss to his lips - though brief, it was like it simply couldn’t be helped. She was drawn to it.

“Our home,” she whispered, repeating the words upon pulling back, a fond smile on her lips, “That… will take some getting used to,” she admitted, then taking another sip of caf, "How do you suppose we'll tell... other people?"

That would be another thing to get used to - other people knowing. She was under no illusion that this could be kept under wraps for very long at all, and she detested gossip.

Cedric Grayson

 

[Cedric Grayson]

He might well have dropped the caf. Certainly, he considered it as she pressed her lips to his, his instict to wrap his arms around her and draw her close strangely strong. For his part, Cedric managed to remain a functioning human, and contented himself with savoring the moment. "Generally, you tell folk of something by talking to them. Y'know, with your words." he cracked a mischievous grin, pleasant sarcasm dripping from his tone. "I think we have a rather easy solution to the gossip."

Of politics, Cedric had little interest in indulging. Still, Emiery raised a valid point. "You're of noble blood and the Essonian people know you well. Consider you their own if you asked one of them, I'm sure. You've got no political ties beyond the Crusade, no strings. No reason for us to keep things in the dark."

He set his caf aside, interlacing a hand with her own, the other resting at her hip as he beamed at her. "Emiery," a moment's hesitation. Not uncertainty about what he was going to ask, but the personal fear of a man about to make lifelong commitment. A heavy thing indeed, yet as he looked down into her eyes, the question came easy.

"We've danced around one another for decades. Time and duty never allowed us to meet in the middle, but things are different now. Nothing and no one to get between us." She had his full confidence, something no one else truly shared save for the Ashla herself. "We're good together. Always have been. So..." he raised his hands to cup her face. They were calloused and rough, but he held her so gently it seemed he might have been afraid she could break apart at his touch.

"Would you marry me?"

Emiery Athelon

 

[Emiery Grayson]

His sarcasm, this time, provoked an entirely different response than earlier. The mischievous curve of his grin, along with the pleasant tone of such cheek gave his words the sound of a playful tease that made the sides of her face just a little pinker, and briefly pulled a mildly confident smile to her lips, but she said nothing in response. Instead, she took another sip of her caf as he continued to speak.

The feeling of a faint urge to engage in such talk - an old thing, it was - faded as he showed a full grasp of what she was getting at with her question, that he recalled her distaste for hearsay, and understood her concerns. A part of her might have wanted to privately enjoy their closeness for a time before making their relationship the news it would be, but a greater part knew well the risk of doing so. it was hardly an option for either of them.

Besides such wishful thinking, there was nothing to hide, and no reason for it. As he set aside his cup and took her hand, a clear measure of happiness in his expression, she saw part of her desires for his remaining years could start to be fulfilled. “Cedric?” she replied scant seconds into his hesitation, then putting down her own cup on a nearby surface, only briefly looking away to do that one thing. A seeming tether between them, pulling her right back to his face, his eyes.

"We've danced around one another for decades. Time and duty never allowed us to meet in the middle, but things are different now. Nothing and no one to get between us."

There was no need to wait any longer than they had. No need to wonder if this was right when decades held that answer.

"We're good together. Always have been. So..."

And when he gently cupped her face, she placed her hands over his, a soft touch. There was a vague fear in this calm moment, but nothing that could undermine the trust and love that she felt for him while he wound this particular path of words.

"Would you marry me?"

Though she could see it coming once he started down the path, the question was no less overwhelming when asked. Her gaze drifted downward for a moment, as did her head tilt down a small measure - she knew well her answer, even as the start of tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, a helpless effect of the sheer surge of what she felt. Then the moment passed and she lifted her gaze again to look on him, sure of her response.

“Yes, Cedric,” she said, her fingers lightly curling around the edges of his hands, warmth and love written across her face, “Of course I will.”

Cedric Grayson

 

[Cedric Grayson]

His worries assuaged themselves as she spoke the words.

This was as things should be. His private turmoils might find some peace in her, and hers in him, or so he hoped. As his arms drew about her waist and pulled her close, his certainty of such only grew. He kissed her then, long and deep, the crackling of the candles about them a welcome ambience as he lost himself in her. "I had little doubt," he muttered, a warm smile breaking his stony visage as he drew back to gaze longingly at her.

"We'll have the ceremony in old Essonian custom. Sooner rather than later. I'll announce our betrothal during the crowning of the homeworld. The less time the rumor mill has to start sputtering, the better." There were other reasons of course. The personal ones were rather obvious, but then there were the matters of state as well.

"This will be good for the nation as well. A monarchy is a family, and our country has no mother. You'll bring us some stability," a pause, his hand gliding up her side to rest just beneath her chin. "And... I don't mean to spoil our moment. This has been a beautiful thing, something I've needed, but -" a pause, the kaiser's brow furrowed. "Are you open to the possibility of children? I marry you out of love, and I will do so against my duty if required, but the succession must be secured."

There was a pain to voicing his concern, but he voiced it all the same. He'd intended to find a partner one way or another to create a proper child. He'd not considered Emiery Athelon in that regard, holding her too close to the heart to treat her as a means to an end. He could only hope that she might be receptive to the idea as an equal partner.

 

[Emiery Grayson]

She felt again what she had put to words before: she could stay like this for a long while, his arms about her, held by him. Giving herself over the deepest of kisses between them was an unreserved act, hands gently clasped about those arms as she allowed herself to be absorbed in the long instance, the vague fear of a minute earlier utterly dissipated by her certainty about him.

If she didn’t know him well enough, her response to his proposal might have been more hesitant, and required more thought, but even then she likely would have answered much the same, though it would have been out of duty and for the good of the realm. That she had the opportunity to come to an unquestionable love of him first was an uncommon thing in the societal sphere they both occupied. Small blessings.

So, so many things mattered far more than that one multifaceted feeling - a thing her father had been quite frank about, though no less desiring of her happiness - that was also worn on Cedric’s face when he pulled back, sporting a smile that had become less uncommon in her presence, this morning. So too, when he spoke of the ceremony and the timing of it, did she have no reservations, understanding well the pertinent reasons for it and the increasingly less manageable subtext, the longer she remained this close.

She simply nodded in agreement as he went on to voice the good it would also do for the realm, and broached another question: one she had known the answer to since she was a young girl, a desire unsullied by time and experiences, both direct and indirect. The welling up of a different longing - one that could not in any manner be fulfilled, for those of her blood long passed - was the only thing that delayed her response, and that feeling knit her brow together softly.

“I am more than open to the possibility, Cedric,” she replied with soft joy, “I would be beyond happy to have children of my own.” She focused on him, a hopeful look on her face. “And I would like to honour my family in their naming, one way or another, when the time comes.”

Emiery paused.

"And yours."

Cedric Grayson