Jerlas/Siiryk
Something I wrote today during lecture so my mind didn't explode into a billion pieces (based off my original story, entitled something like The Kivaltas Saga, or the like):
As was always, Jerlas took the news with grace, ease, and acceptance. Though in her simple acquiesence, all failed to notice idle fingers rubbing her arm where the inked word for destiny lied. Siiryk was unable to restrain his anger.
When the last vestiages of Siiryk's raging cooled, Jerlas found herself beside him, voice silent but presence not.
"Nothing holds me here," he said, to her perhaps. "I have no ties and Terebithna no reason to refuse my return. If the desire filled me to leave, it would occur simply."
Though he had rarely seeked to look at her, Siiryk turned his pale green face, the varience in his trianguarly colored eyes shifting with emotion. Jerlas thought it a terrible thing for emotions to be so blatent. Again, she stopped her rubbing fingers.
Did he even see her, with eyes so distant that the glaciers of Lalshi were closer? Could she be a maid, the quiet one that followed Leh'r, or a statue ove'run with moss, or any thing other than Jerlas, betrothed future queen? She hardly knew him, and while she could read the emotion across his twisted face, there was no certainty of which emotions they were. The doubt growled in her chest, but kept her face impassive.
"Do you not long for your home? Tell me - do the Mounts Never Crossed call you from our bay window?" he said harshly, face contorted in an effort to someone who would agree.
Jerlas allowed her fingers to probe the oldest tattoo, directly beneath her left eye. "Long have I been trained for participation in this event. My home across the Mounts was never eternal, and so I made no eternal ties. This," she said, still tracing her home tattoo, "came before knowledge of my destiny."
Suddenly, Siiryk's hands snapped out and grabbed her jaw, shoving it towards him and kissing her. It was rough - their teeth crashed and her lips, if not his too, were bleeding, bruised, or both. She tried to jerk away, but his fingers held her steadfast and firm. The distrubing feel of his actions frightened her, made her struggle, made her hands pull insistantly on his arms.
But her eyes were closed, and she knew not what that meant.
Siiryk finally pulled back, hands still gripped and stared hard at her face. "Tell me you felt our destiny. Jerlas - tell me that everything you've ever wanted lies here before you. Tell me you frolicked in your fields dreaming of my face and this moment where I would hold you tenderly in love. Tell me!"
He wanted pain, oh how he desired it. He wanted her to lash out in betrayal, anger, hurt. But Jerlas found herself with the knowledge that any of those would only give way to a larger fight and even worse, the evidence he needed as proof. He wanted them to be undestined. He wanted freedom.
"All I have ever wanted was to fulfill the path laid before me. Life here, away from my home, as a queen, as vessel to a former queen, as lifemate to you... I could foresee worse destinies to live." She watched him carefully. Siiryk was volatile and spontaneous - his next actions could vary immensely.
But Siiryk did not strike her, nor did he recommence his screaming. Instead, he let his hands gently trace her jawbone before releasing, and he stood in the fluid way only the Terebithnans posessed. He was leaving, and Jerlas could hardly believe the victory of their word combat had so easily been hers.
"I wake in the morning with memories I could n'er've had. I can work with my hands weapons that I have never seen. And when I look at you, all I can feel is some overwhelming, drowning emotion that would tear my throat if only to please you. Who I am has been stolen." He sighed, shoulders slouched and back turned to her. "If there is something worse, no being could ever imagine it."
He left her in the pooling afternoon light, and Jerlas felt her fingers moving back to the tattoo on her arm, the ink was to burning.
As was always, Jerlas took the news with grace, ease, and acceptance. Though in her simple acquiesence, all failed to notice idle fingers rubbing her arm where the inked word for destiny lied. Siiryk was unable to restrain his anger.
When the last vestiages of Siiryk's raging cooled, Jerlas found herself beside him, voice silent but presence not.
"Nothing holds me here," he said, to her perhaps. "I have no ties and Terebithna no reason to refuse my return. If the desire filled me to leave, it would occur simply."
Though he had rarely seeked to look at her, Siiryk turned his pale green face, the varience in his trianguarly colored eyes shifting with emotion. Jerlas thought it a terrible thing for emotions to be so blatent. Again, she stopped her rubbing fingers.
Did he even see her, with eyes so distant that the glaciers of Lalshi were closer? Could she be a maid, the quiet one that followed Leh'r, or a statue ove'run with moss, or any thing other than Jerlas, betrothed future queen? She hardly knew him, and while she could read the emotion across his twisted face, there was no certainty of which emotions they were. The doubt growled in her chest, but kept her face impassive.
"Do you not long for your home? Tell me - do the Mounts Never Crossed call you from our bay window?" he said harshly, face contorted in an effort to someone who would agree.
Jerlas allowed her fingers to probe the oldest tattoo, directly beneath her left eye. "Long have I been trained for participation in this event. My home across the Mounts was never eternal, and so I made no eternal ties. This," she said, still tracing her home tattoo, "came before knowledge of my destiny."
Suddenly, Siiryk's hands snapped out and grabbed her jaw, shoving it towards him and kissing her. It was rough - their teeth crashed and her lips, if not his too, were bleeding, bruised, or both. She tried to jerk away, but his fingers held her steadfast and firm. The distrubing feel of his actions frightened her, made her struggle, made her hands pull insistantly on his arms.
But her eyes were closed, and she knew not what that meant.
Siiryk finally pulled back, hands still gripped and stared hard at her face. "Tell me you felt our destiny. Jerlas - tell me that everything you've ever wanted lies here before you. Tell me you frolicked in your fields dreaming of my face and this moment where I would hold you tenderly in love. Tell me!"
He wanted pain, oh how he desired it. He wanted her to lash out in betrayal, anger, hurt. But Jerlas found herself with the knowledge that any of those would only give way to a larger fight and even worse, the evidence he needed as proof. He wanted them to be undestined. He wanted freedom.
"All I have ever wanted was to fulfill the path laid before me. Life here, away from my home, as a queen, as vessel to a former queen, as lifemate to you... I could foresee worse destinies to live." She watched him carefully. Siiryk was volatile and spontaneous - his next actions could vary immensely.
But Siiryk did not strike her, nor did he recommence his screaming. Instead, he let his hands gently trace her jawbone before releasing, and he stood in the fluid way only the Terebithnans posessed. He was leaving, and Jerlas could hardly believe the victory of their word combat had so easily been hers.
"I wake in the morning with memories I could n'er've had. I can work with my hands weapons that I have never seen. And when I look at you, all I can feel is some overwhelming, drowning emotion that would tear my throat if only to please you. Who I am has been stolen." He sighed, shoulders slouched and back turned to her. "If there is something worse, no being could ever imagine it."
He left her in the pooling afternoon light, and Jerlas felt her fingers moving back to the tattoo on her arm, the ink was to burning.