The Taste of Revenge

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"You would make friends of your own, don't be daft. You and I both know that you can charm whoever you wish." Ivory replied flatly, distancing himself more now as he adjusted his bag. His face twisted, though it could hardly be seen in the dim lighting of the moon. Sure, it was brighter than the lighting offered in The Dark but that was a low bar. Those mesmerizing eyes looked away from Elior, instead to focus on the door as amidst the silence he listened for footsteps - and while faint, they weren't faint enough for the former miner to hear.

As much ad hd wanted to grab by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, Ivory didn't hesitate to climb into the other's closet and close the door tight, blade ready as a guard lightly knocked on the Prince's door. A nobody in the grand scheme of things, someone that Ivory would feel little guilt in killing if he needed and his blade was getting thirsty. He blinked, desperate to focus himself and the task at hand.

"Are you alright, Prince Elior? I heard some yelling, don't mean to interrupt." Came the voice of a young guard, newly enlisted to help the royal family given what had allegedly happened to the King-to-be. The guard was oblivious to Ivory thankfully, though those large eyes darted between said guard as he opened the door carefully and to Elior himself.

"My apologies, your highness. It seems everything is okay then. Remember, no need to worry if anything happens. I will be right down the hall!" The guard offered, his chipper whispers and goofy smile only adding credence to his young age and lack of training on the proper behavior. Ivory almost felt sorry, though thankful that the guard left and the footsteps could be heard walking back up the marble staircase. His mind raced, hopeful he had closed the door to Elior's future wife's room.

"I… have to go. I can't stay here much longer." Ivory declared, his voice shaky as he looked around the room with newfound clarity. He looked down at the clean obsidian blade with shaky hands before tightening his grip on the hilt. His free hand moved to his face, rubbing it as a frustrated groan escaped all the while running a hand through his hair.

"Do you see what you do to me, Elior? I made up this elaborate and dramatic reason to return here, yet it was to see you. I… I can't live without you, not without losing my mind. I can't wait a decade hoping you will somehow remember me while you busy yourself with a wife and children, I cant-" his voice cracked, the smooth and calming tone breaking for the first time in awhile. "I'm sorry, I can't go back without something. It… isn't fair."
 
Under any other circumstance, the informality of the interruption would have ignited a rage within Elior. He would have been careful not to allow it to spill over onto his expression, the importance of maintaining an act around his staff and earning their loyalty through a kindness he honestly didn't want to have to show them encouraging him to forever hold back the more... natural response to had to their presence - a grimace, a dismissive roll of his eyes or a sharp comment.

He barely cared to endure the company of most guards that consistently interjected themselves into his desire for privacy, but the newest guard on the roster was... yet to fully grasp the magnitude of his position, at least in Elior's eyes. The informality and chirpiness were hardly appropriate, yet rather than reprimand him viciously for it and perhaps even use him as a figure to unleash his anger out on (rather than do so to Ivory), Elior had to force a smile; push aside all his offence in favour of the charm and the effortless kindness that his subjects had come to expect from him.

"No, I'm quite alright, thank you. Just a little nightmare is all; thought I would get out of bed and take in some air out on the balcony to calm myself-- thank you for your service, but I'm really in no need for help. Don't let me disturb you a moment longer," he responded swiftly, his voice light and airy, as though he wasn't currently inundated with a weight of emotional turmoil, his chest aching and head continuing to relentlessly pound, each wave of pain more intense and uncomfortable than the last.

His smile faded the instant the door shut and he was left, once again, in the sole company of Ivory - though now, he couldn't bear to try and be gentle with him. The interruption was far too close a shave for him to return to a calmer demeanour, one that helped deliver bad news to Ivory with gentleness. No, that desire had been torn apart, desperation to hurriedly resolve the situation before another interruption arrived to drag Ivory away t the cells being all he could focus upon.

"Life isn't fucking fair, Ivory. Get used to it. You should know better than anyone, being from The Dark, that unfairness is merely a factor in many people's lives; an immovable force you just have to get accustomed to. I will not abandon my throne; I am not leaving with you. Those are the blunt facts. I have tried to be gentle with you, but you are not listening to me," he exhaled sharply, reminding himself to keep his voice down and at a minimum pitch to avoid another guard making an unwanted appearance within the room. He turned back towards the balcony, opting to open the doors to take in the air, the lie he spewed to the new guard now seeming like a move he really ought to take if he wanted to alleviate himself of his steadily rising anger.

"...You need to leave, this minute. You cannot risk an attack on my father; not now we know for a fact that the guards are patrolling the corridors, no doubt on alert after hearing shouting. Just go home, Ivory. Either wait for me, for a chance to arrive in the future that would enable us to be together, or-- or move on. Those are your options. I hope you'll choose the former, because I love you, but... it is your choice," he concluded with a brief glance back at the other, his expression contrasting the emotional one on Ivory's face in its unreadable neutrality; a stoical mask that had been purposefully presented to hold himself together - considering how close he was to a breakdown, it felt like the best move to make.

"I really do love you," he murmured, unable to resist the temptation of delivering the remark. "I just can't... do what you want me to do. I belong here. In this castle; in this land. I won't abandon that."
 
"I-" Ivory paused, his fists gripped tightly on the handle of his blade. That urge; that pull to hurt Ivory pounded in his head loudly.

Just fucking kill him. Kill the whole family, and that wife. Who cares? If he killed the monarchy then perhaps there could be a chance at democracy to flow, right? And that was the main goal; Justice for his people. Justice and action, and having the King send advisors down to meet the Committee was hardly Justice. If he killed Elior then that's just another head cut off off the snake-

He blinked, blinking back the tears that formed. He replied with silence, at least at first, before opening his mouth to speak with a cracked but hushed tone.

"You can say that all you wish, but you're still marrying that woman, Elior. You will marry her, hsve children. You will continue to live your royal life, not a single thought directed towards me - maybe not tomorrow, maybe not in a month. It's a fact though, that you will come to forget me. Then, by the time your people are willing to give mine a chance, you won't even remember me. You will simply remember me as that shadow that kidnapped you so long ago, nothing more. Then you will laugh with that woman over your fancy meal as your children run about, sipping wine and enjoying yourself. You cannot look me in the eyes and tell me that isn't the case, Elior. I'm not an idiot."

His delivery was oddly calm, bar the occasional cracks in his voice. He set his dagger down to re-wrap himself, however desperate he was to pull the Prince into another kiss. He wanted a proper parting, something he could remember the other by if he was once again forced to experience heartbreak… however different this heartbreak was.

"If I get caught by your guards while killing your father, so be it. I don't intend for that to happen. I came here to convince you to leave your crown but I knew you wouldn't, deep down. So, I'm going to at the very least leave - whether it be this mortal coil or The Light, with the blood of a murderer on my hands. You can't stop me."
 
"Do you honestly believe I would forget you? You are many things, Ivory. Stubborn, cruel, somewhat scary right now if I'm forced to admit it, but forgettable? That is not one of them," remarked Elior with a faint twist of his lips, the expression occurring the longer he was forced to contend with Ivory's presence - and the considerable risks that threatened to arise up with it.

It didn't make any sense to continue with the plot to kill the King; not now guards were on alert amongst the castle's corridors, taking their duty of patrolling them with apparent dedication despite the late hour. If Ivory had any sense, he would acknowledge the hopelessness of the mission, with death at the end of the royal executioner's blade seeming far more likely than an escape to The Dark with the King's head clutched in his hands ever could be... but Elior wasn't naive. He could see that Ivory had no intention of leaving without making that attempt, regardless of the consequences that getting caught in the midst of the act would bring - and right now, it appeared more of an inevitability that he would get found out rather than a mere potential risk.

His love for Ivory may have been thrown into doubt in the other's eyes through his decision not to flee hand-in-hand with him to The Dark, but Elior was confident that his feelings were the real thing. It pained him to consider that Ivory might not believe that to be the case, but he wasn't prepared to plead pathetically, on his knees, for the other to see that fact when he was too emotional to take it in with any clarity. What he could do, however, was ensure that Ivory left before he embarked on a suicide mission, his features hardening in that newfound determination.

"I can stop you and I will. Do you hear me? You are to leave this second, Ivory; before you do something reckless and stupid. Now is not the night for this attack, it is too risky and I will not allow you to throw your life away like this. I love you too much to see you do that," he hissed beneath his breath, snatching Ivory's hand in an effort to physically pull him towards the balcony. The effort wasn't lacking dedication or desire but had been made in the assumption that he could overpower Ivory; that he could, with ease, pull him to the balcony without trouble.

He was left to angrily glare back at his lover when the effort inevitably met a stumbling block in the form of someone who had no intention of leaving.

"...Ivory, you have to go," he continued, the anger interspliced with a pulse of vulnerability, his voice breaking the closer he came to a breakdown. "I-I can't have you be killed for this, I won't-- I want to be with you, one day soon. When things work out for us, when I can abandon the charade of a marriage a-and focus on you, when it's accepted. I want that. S-So please, just-- just go home and-- and let that be a possibility for us. Don't throw the chance aside and do something stupid that'll get you killed because I won't-- I can't save you if you get sent to the gallows, don't you understand that? I won't be able to spare you."
 
Ivory's eyes were all that were needed to express his feelings as they swayed back and forth between anger and distress to sadness but, for the briefest moment, a spark of amusement could be seen in the shadows of Elior's bedroom.

In a more normal situation, he would use the failed attempt to pull him to tease the Prince. 'For all the sparring you do with all of the guards, I would think you would at least have gotten enough skills in your wrists.' He would say, his brows wriggling with emphasis. Then he would easily shove said Prince to bed to show off his own strength. He imagined some halfhearted whine of protest, he imagined Elior would make up some excuse as to why he was pinned underneath Ivory, though they would fall upon deaf ears as he took it upon himself to remove Elior's downright stupid pajamas.

Unfortunately for them, this wasn't the time. He wanted nothing more than to push aside all emotions, all stress and anxiety, and simply focus on being one, but the way his bag rustled with the crown was a reminder of why he really emerged from The Dark. He looked away from Elior as his free hand awkwardly tried to comfort himself in the form of rubbing his arm, though it didn't help much by the wrapped linen. He was willing to back down and allow Elior to pretend, if only for a moment, that he had power over Ivory.

He rustled through his bag and pulled out the crown, tossing what was otherwise perfection onto Elior's bed. As much as he hated the King, with the sight being a reminder to his fury, he didn't want something he worked so hard on to be damaged. It bounced lightly on the plush sheets and Ivory stared at it as it glinted in the moonlight before turning his attention back to his lover. He moved close, leaving little distance between them.

"I'm… willing to believe you, Elior." Ivory decided, his voice hushed; tired. He closed his eyes and moved to cup the other's cheek carefully, thr rough texture of the fabric lightly exfoliating the Prince's cheek. Despite his gentle touch, a darkness filled Ivory's eyes. "That being said, I have no intentions of waiting forever. If I learn that you've forgotten me - or rather, don't care about me anymore - I will return. I will kill your wife and your children. Keep your word, Elior. I'm serious. As for the crown, I do suggest you shove it on your bastard father's head the day he dies. You can lie and say it was from someone else. Deal?"
 
"I'm not going to forget you, Ivory," he repeated quietly, choosing to do so for emphasis. Nothing was more certain in his mind than the fact that Ivory would forever be present within it; a constant, regardless of the circumstances taking place in the world around him, and so, the idea that Elior would lose himself to the mundanity of married life, the boredom he assumed that and inevitable fatherhood would provide, and simply toss aside his feelings for Ivory until the man was little more than a distant, foggy memory was laughable.

For the past month, he had actively fought to remove Ivory from his mind in the belief that they were destined to never see one another again. It was torturous enduring the memories that came flooding to mind or dominating his dreams in his subconsciousness but even with a conceited effort, Ivory remained present in his thoughts, taking permanent residence within them.

But the situation was different going forward because rather than admitting defeat, Elior had some hope to cling to; a genuine belief that he and Ivory could one day be together. It required patience, potentially years of it, but he wasn't willing to dismiss the possibility of being with the man he loved if it actually had the potential to become a part of his reality. He was hardly likely to ever forget Ivory even without that crumb of hope to cling to with both hands, but, with that hope in his possession, his love for Ivory was only guaranteed to burn brighter, more ferociously, than ever; growing more intense as the time ticked away, counting down to the point in the future where they could reunite.

And not face the heartbreak of a departure from one another's lives shortly after it. That would be the time they could be together and never leave each other's side ever again, and though Elior wasn't naive to the fact it could take years for it to become true... he was willing to wait, for as long as it took.

And Ivory's confession that he would wait too, that he was choosing to believe Elior's insistence that he would do the same... it made him (regrettably) emotional, a faint huff escaping him in annoyance as he felt tears prick once more at his eyes. He used the back of his hand to wipe them aside before they could fall, distracting himself with the sight of the crown now upon his bed covers - further evidence, if any more was needed, that Ivory was being smart and choosing to leave rather than follow through on a plan that, with the current circumstances, would only result in his death.

"...Just because you cannot see your plan through tonight doesn't mean I can't see it through to completion on your behalf, Ivory. It's a great deal more risky for you to wander these halls than it is for me. I... let you down by refusing to leave with you, I hurt you by rejecting your plan to have us be together tonight and-- a-and that hurts me in response. I don't wish to be the cause of your pain, outside of the bedroom--" He paused to quietly smile at the quip, leaning into the other's hand and using the comfort it brought to ease the emotion once again threatening to bubble over into tears.

"But I can make up for it. I can... at least honour the other plan you had in mind; see that that has success. So you... go home, to The Dark. By morning, news should reach you that the King has met a... tragic end. I've dreamt of his death for years, Ivory; it's a desire of mine, and knowing it'd make you happy makes it sweeter for me. So... really, go before we get another interruption. I'll-- I'll sort this out; you'll at least have something to celebrate tomorrow morning, even if I... cannot celebrate alongside you."
 
"Oh, Elior…" Ivory replied, his voice barely above a whisper now as he watched with his own tear-stained eyes. The rough fabric gently brushed the other's tears away, however light they were, while his other hand moved to wipe his own tears. He couldn't hide his sniffles, nor the heaving of his chest the more emotional he grew - and how could he not?

Years he was expected to wait, years that not everyone in The Dark had. His job was far cushier than it had been in the past but at any moment that title could be ripped from him, if the need for miners arose. He had bore witness to miners losing their lives on the jobs countless of times. One moment they were there, chatting to Ivory about mundane things or their families, the next their bloodied corpses were rushed away from the tunnels, leaving Ivory to silence all but for the sound of his pick against the stone walls.

What if his life ended suddenly too? Had his family been cursed? His father was still alive but for how much longer now? He was getting old, they both were getting old. He couldn't recall how old his father was when Ivory was born, but it couldn't be far from his old he was now, right? So if his gradfather was evidence of anything, at maximum he had a decade left. Would Elior be able to meet him? Would he be able to show the man he loved more than a few ornate stones placed outside of their home? Some names etched on rocks, the words a bit wobbly each time from the tears in his father's eyes?

Ivory swallowed hard as the pounding in his ears continued. He wanted to scream, punch a hole in the fucking wall. He wanted to grab Elior and toss him over his shoulder like he did before and just book it. Where? He didn't know - but he glued himself in place as his body shook, despite how calm he was trying to be. He lowered the wrap just enough to expose his lips and offered a kiss to Elior's forehead. He wanted to scream and vomit and rip out his eyes and just do something - but he couldn't. So instead he tightened his grip on the other's cheek gently.

"If you're going to kill your father, I'd suggest you wait. You're tired, killing your father with a clouded mind could be messy," he murmured, having no need to raise his voice given their close proximity. "I believe you will succeed when you've.. got a clearer mind than I do."
 
He might yearn for the other's touch more than ever, wanting to envelop himself within Ivory's arms and remain within them for hours on end, but the kiss to his forehead only made him feel... worse. The tenderness of it, the love it contained, only served as a reminder of what was to be left behind, with the fact there was no certainty they would ever be given a chance to be together properly making Elior's stomach sickeningly churn.

There was far too much uncertainty surrounding the situation for his liking. He could combat that unsureness by simply abandoning his life in Hollowslocke and leaving beside Ivory, building a life with him that he could be certain of. He didn't care to make any friends but he could at least win the admiration and the adoration he desired so much from the public in The Light from those in The Dark; operate precisely as he did in his present life by building up support through his smooth charm. There would be the benefit of a release in the form of Ivory; the chance to abandon facades and be himself in the company of the man that loved him; they could have a home together, a life of their own, without there ever being a question hanging over it as a possibility.

But that question lingered ominously now Elior's mind had been made up. Rather than leave his life for the certainty he would possess in The Dark, he knew, deep down, he had to remain in The Light and... hope that a chance to reunite with Ivory came along. It wasn't guaranteed, the public's opinion of their counterparts in The Dark being so bitter in current times that Elior struggled to envision a likelihood where that hatred would ever soften - but he had to have hope. He had to believe -even delude himself- that their thoughts would change; that a time in the near future would emerge where those in The Dark could venture out amongst those in The Light.

A time where Ivory could return and, rather than hide amongst the shadows, be free to take Elior's hand; standing at his side as he ruled the kingdom he was born to lead.

Might it remain a dream never to see the light of day? Of course, there was a chance that the opinion would only sour over the years and make any reunion with Ivory an impossibility... but Elior refused to accept that. No, he clung firmly to the belief that he and Ivory would one day be together, even if he couldn't deny that it might take years before a suitable opportunity came along.

As such, the kiss to his forehead was... difficult to accept, the love it suggested making a tear fall from his eyes before he could act swiftly enough to halt its journey onto his cheek. The creak of the floorboards in the hallway beyond his bedroom brought him out of his distraction, the sound of light footsteps being all he needed to usher Ivory back towards the balcony.

"...I'll leave it tonight, but he will be dead by the end of the week. I promise you that much," he whispered hurriedly, restraining the urge to grab Ivory's cheeks and offer a parting kiss, fearing he might not ever let him go if he made such a move. "I... I will see you again, Ivory. We'll be together, one day. That also is a promise I intend to keep. I love you, I... I always will. Don't forget that."
 
"I love you too," he whispered in return as his eyes darted quickly to the door, the sound of the creaking floorboards only causing the young lapidarist to tense up. They returned to Elior not long after and, while he didn't ravish the Prince in another passionate kiss he did offer a tight hug. He wanted to memorize every detail he could; Elior's scent, the texture of his hair, the way his body folded in his grip-

If this was the last he was to see if the man he had fallen so dangerously in love with, he at least wanted to have something to look back upon when he was alone at night, craving the man's company. It would never compare to the real thing but he could at least close his eyes and pretend.

When the sound of footsteps approached once again, Ivory knew it was time to leave. He offered no parting words because he trusted the Prince to hold onto his promise, however naive it may have been to think. He could admit to his faults, one being his inherent naïveté, but that was just… how Ivory was. He knew he focused on the details of the plan rather than the plan as a whole. It was what made him such a good craftsman, one that offered such finesse in his products. Everything else didn't matter, as was evident by his poor planning to kill the king.That, or the poor decision to stop and see Elior.

He blinked back tears before heading to the balcony, peering down at the ground below as the moon shone brightly, offering a clear view of the pristine lawn. He swallowed hard.

"Do wish your wife the best of luck for me. I'm pretty sure she's alive, yeah? She put up quite a fight," he admitted, his voice low of course as he sat on the balcony's edge. He wasn't scared to murder the head of an entire country but heights? They were still a thing Ivory had yet to conquer properly. He glanced behind, his eyes glowing bright despite the sadness held in them.

As much as Ivory wanted to believe all of this would work out, there was a nagging voice that told him this was the end.

"Be safe, don't do anything I wouldn't do." He said as his parting before inhaling hard and jumping, thankfully landing in a proped roll rather than possibly breaking a leg because trekking the entire way back to The Dark with a broken leg? For starters, the broken leg itself might be a death sentence there but secondly, he couldn't deal with emotional and physical pain right now. He offered a brief glance back up at the balcony but didn't waste much time after to start his sprint, the sight showing off his physique well as he climbed the gate with ease.

It was almost like he had done this before, his own mind snarked.
 
Even as Ivory disappeared entirely from view, Elior remained stood at the balcony, eyes fixed on the point he had last seen his lover before he vanished into the darkness. As reckless as it might have been, an idea born entirely to longing and not to intelligence, all the Prince could do was hope that Ivory... returned; that he had decided not to take the advice given to him but instead opted to remain within The Light, to take on all the risks and the threats in order to prioritise what he and Elior had.

And what they had yet to fully enjoy and appreciate together, given the frequent hurdles blocking them from reaching that point.

Deep down, of course Elior knew that such a wish was ridiculous. If it wasn't, he wouldn't have ushered Ivory away as hurriedly as he had, desperate for him to leave before anybody could become aware of his presence - beyond Elior's prospective wife, at least, but she was easily threatened into keeping her silence, so much so that the Prince barely considered her a threat to his lover's safety. No, everybody besides her would have threatened Ivory's life; any pair of eyes that landed upon him within Elior's bedroom would have guaranteed Ivory a ticket to the gallows.

Yet, it didn't mean his heart didn't yearn for Ivory to appear on the horizon, heading not away from the palace but towards it. He wanted nothing more than to see the man he had increasingly fallen deeper and deeper in love with emerge from the darkness and climb skillfully up to his bedroom window; to hear him promise never to leave and to feel his arms wrap back around him; to share in his embrace and be comforted by the hushed nature of his reassurances--

But none of that was to occur. Ivory wasn't going to return anytime soon and every thought Elior had of holding him close, every desire that lit within his chest... all of it was destined to go unappreciated, ignored, until the time arrived for their reunion.

Not that that reunion was guaranteed to take place.

Forcing himself to move away from the balcony before his hopes drove him mad, Elior took a seat at the edge of his bed, at first determined to maintain his composure and comfort himself with the knowledge that the next time he saw Ivory, he would do so knowing that they could be together, out in the open and free. But then the negativity seeped in; the pessimism that scornfully reminded him that there was no certainty that he would ever see Ivory again; that he couldn't cling to a hope that relied on a population to change their mind on a people that they had, for decades, been encouraged to dismiss entirely.

Inevitably, those thoughts spoke louder to him than the efforts at remaining positive ever could, resulting in Elior collapsing back onto the bed with the pillow he had clutched for support to his chest now pressed over his face, the pressure encouraging him to let out his tears, a few sobs, in the safety that they would be muffled from whoever wandered the corridor outside his bedroom. Crying had been something he had only felt compelled to do since meeting Ivory, and it disgusted him that he was so prone to let the tears out as a consequence of sharing time with the other... but any desire he might have felt to foster a few negative feelings for his lover to help time pass easier in his absence fell apart whenever he considered the context of those tears.

He loved the man and no amount of trying to convince himself of Ivory's flaws (just so the years would fly by without his heartache paining him as much as it did) would alter that fact.
 
The trek back to The Dark was hard.

Why wouldn't it be? He was leaving behind someone important to him, someone that he saw as - well, Ivory didn't like using the word soulmate but it was certainly fucking close, his face stained deep with tears by the time he found the border into The Dark. He looked up at the mountain that trapped his people in their tombs, the same mountain that was worshipped, and said a quick prayer of thanks upon noticing no guards waiting for him with weapons to chop his head off then and there.

He unraveled the wrappings the moment the lights set up by The Light were gone, the dewy cave system leaving his skin soaked - whether that be from The Dark's natural moisture, his sweat, or the tears that still hadn't stopped pouring from those unmistakably large eyes. What he came to wasn't much different from a month prior; his father hadn't yet risen for work as the night soon turned to day so the house was silent. Despite that silence, Ivory's head was screaming. Screaming about how stupid he was for failing to do something so fucking simple. Elior had convinced him that the whole thing was essentially a suicide mission and he knew that, that was why he was doing it. As naive, perhaps short-sided as he could be Ivory was far from an idiot. He knew that the likeliness of surviving his goal of killing the King was slim in itself, but killing him and leaving to The Dark? He was more than ready to end his life if it meant seeing Elior again and seeing that bastard dead.

No, he was alive. Alive, laying on the cold slab that was his bed, cushioned by the fabrics his sister had made so long ago. He knew he ought to hush down as the folds of the bioluminescent mushrooms began to expand and expose their gills but he couldn't. He buried his face in his pillow, a pillow that was nowhere near as fluffy and comfortable as Elior's - or Elior's skin - to try and muffle them and avoid the awkward stares shared between both men but it was that crying that finally helped Ivory to sleep.

And that was how it would go. He woke up a few hours later to his father's stiff but gentle tough, his eyes laced with the faint semblance of concern. The two said nothing as they exchanged looks, though his father - a man who, prior to the death of his daughter, was a full supporter of The Light - couldn't hide the disappointment in what it meant because while the two rarely exchanged words, there was an unspoken understanding of what the goal had been - and his son had failed. His son had failed to get proper revenge on his sister, on his mother and grandfather. It was that look of disappointment that only added insult to injury, his hands - lightly scraped from Elior's suitor's attack, the skin an ashy gray - gripping into fists.

He would eat breakfast and the food alone made him crave Elior. Then he would go to work, silence shared between his father beforehand. That was what he was destined for, wasn't it? Get up, go to work - do exactly as his father and his father's father had done. Alone.
 
As tempting as it may have been to unleash his anger out on his father that very night, Ivory had been right: to do so when his emotions were running high was too great a risk. It was better to take the night to compose himself - the pain wouldn't ease or even ebb, but he would at least have gained the calmness of thought he needed to see the plan through to completion without risking discovery or arousing suspicion. To all the kingdom, he was a doting son to a grand King; a boy who had grown up loving his father, looking up to him and seeking to one day by as great a ruler as Aledeus was.

The truth could not have been further from such an assessment, with the depth of Elior's disappointment in his father having always been deep. The hatred wasn't a new emotion either, but it had deepened significantly since Ivory came into his life. He would never claim to be innocent of the things that Ivory held against the King, with Elior guilty of harbouring the same disparaging thoughts on his counterparts that his father inwardly held, but he wasn't the one guilty of restricting medicine to those in need, or dismissively exploiting those that worked their fingers to the bone for the sake of multiplying his own profits.

Would Elior have been capable of those cruelties had Ivory not entered his life? It was more likely than not that he would have exacerbated the cruelty and been a more ruthless character to those in The Dark than his father ever would have, but the course he had been headed on had been abruptly diverted once Ivory arrived. He wasn't suddenly a good person who sought only a path of kindness, of course - he still had ideas of conquest and riches, his ambition knowing no bounds, but... The Dark would be a sole exception to his megalomaniacal desires; a country that not only were exempt from his clutches but provided the aid that had long been refused to them.

Even if his public turned their noses up at The Dark, Elior was keen on maintaining the progress that had been made in dealing with their Council. He might not ever witness a time when the two nations were free to walk amongst one another, a time where he and Ivory could be together, but nothing would deter him from showing them a kindness his father refused to provide. Not when Ivory cared so deeply for them.

As thoughts of Ivory naturally circulated, so too did the animosity towards the King. As the hours slipped into days, Elior did well to keep patient; to play act as the doting son while his thoughts spiralled into dark places he always knew he was capable of but never imagined himself contemplating with a genuine intent on seeing them through to completion. But this time was different; this time, he was acting both for his own interests and for someone else's; a someone who deserved to have one thing go right in his life. If this was the final gift he could grant Ivory, it had to go right; had to be perfect.

The act itself occurred a fortnight after their departure from one another, a long two weeks in which Elior silently planned his father's demise. Seeds had been planted across that time to rid himself of the problem his mother's presence would cause, letting a comment or two slip here and there about his auntie, her sister, who they hadn't seen for so very long. It was inevitable that the seed bloomed, a decision being made by the Queen to visit her younger sister without it ever occurring to her that that hadn't really been her choice; that the decision was manufactured discretely by her son to get her out of the kingdom.

With that in place, the rest of the plan flowed with remarkable ease - avoiding the guards wasn't made too difficult when he knew them to be complacent in the later hours, movements and thoughts affected by their exhaustion. Slipping by them was far too easy and, though he was grateful not to have to justify his movements at such a late hour, dressed in simple clothing he could easily burn after the act itself, he was momentarily irked by the lack of a challenge; the inability to prove to himself just how intelligent he was.7

It might have been easier to simply poison the man but he didn't deserve that death. He deserved to go brutally, to suffer through every second and be emotionally pained by the fact his life was stripped from him by the son he loved and cherished. Even if Elior felt any regret during the attack, all it took was the thought of Ivory to see it through; to renew the physicality behind the savagery and restore the strength behind each forceful stab to his father's chest.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline rush to his head or sheer madness, but after a frenzied minute or two, Elior had quietly collected a shoebox from his father's vast closet and placed within it the man's heart, carved messily and without care from his chest. The action itself might have been committed in the heat of the moment, but he quickly found himself smiling to himself once another plan formulated; one that came with its risks but felt like a worthwhile set of risks to take.

A decorated ribbon neatly tied the box closed, containing within it not only the heart but a note; a note of a few short words and signed simply with Elior's initials-

'I won't forget you if you don't forget me.

Until I see you next.

I love you.

E.L'​

-before he quickly darted from the room, the box clutched tightly to his chest. Getting it to The Dark, to Ivory, wasn't a task that came without its risks either, the delivery reliant upon trust of a stranger and blind hope, but what choice did Elior have? He could hardly wander into the complex of tunnels and pray he made every correct turn until he found his lover - that was sheer stupidity. What he could do was, under cover of the peasant clothing he had purchased for the act of killing his father, anonymously employ a villager for the task of carrying the parcel, promising them further riches when they arrived back as an incentive. There was no guarantee they wouldn't simply toss the box in the bushes and claim the prize without doing any of the hard work, but Elior had to hope that they would be honourable; that they would sneak past the guards to The Dark and find someone to pass the treasured possession onto; someone who would pass it on until it fell, rightfully, into Ivory's hands.

All the while, Elior would return to his bedroom, burning his clothes in the fireplace and, once that deed had been accomplished, returning to his bed, pretending as though he had been asleep throughout the night while his father had been murdered and laid lifeless in his own.
 
Much like everything in The Dark that didn't pertain to the secluded country, news moved a bit slower than, say, that of The Light. For starters - and Ivory hated the term - people were more 'simple'. If there was news deemed not important, it wasn't news plain and simple. In fact, it was that 'simple' nature that left most of the country oblivious to the garnished wages or flat-out financial abuse of those in The Light. Why should they care? All they had to do was keep their heads low and survive, so talk of things like politics was spoken to a small few, such as Ivory.

That being said, a mysterious package handed down by some stranger from The Light? Now that was worthy of some curious listeners as they watched the poor stranger trudge through the Dark - well, until it became too dark and the parcel had to be carried onto someone else. A package meant to be delivered to the 'crazed extremist lapidarist' as many had called him. As secluded as Ivory tried to be in the month that he handcrafted the crown he hoped would sit on the corpse of the former King's head, he still had ears. Seeing the nervous eyes that darted away from him as he walked to work, or on the other hands the eyes of people who clearly adored him and what he had done for his people.

No matter what, his reputation had certainly turned. For the better or worse was yet to be seen.

The package would eventually arrive at his door, the package a bit beaten by being passed between hands similarly to how the original carrier had handed it over to the next. It was just... how it was, in the Dark; people didn't like to move from where they were born, with Ivory being one of the very few that ventured from his hometown deep within The Dark to emerge to the surface from just how far he had been born. Hell, there were plenty of Dark citizens who would never go as far as he currently rested, and that was okay. So to see a package had reached him, despite being a day or so late, the shock on the otherwise exhausted Ivory wasn't a subtle one.

The package was a bit beaten up and a bit water-damaged. Now that could simply be the doing of The Dark's moisture content and the fact that the package clearly came from the surface but that wasn't the case once he brought the package into his home. He was alone, his father having headed out to the closest thing they had to a 'pub' for the evening. Surrounded by candles not too dissimilar to how he had them lit in the abandoned house he shared with Elior, that shock didn't vanish upon reading the note - and, of course, the literal human heart that rested not far from it.

Perhaps Elior had taken a page from his father's book; such little words with so much meaning behind them. He held the heart carefully and, while the tears had finally began to lighten up, he felt them flow once again. He groaned in embarrassment as a smile grew, wiping his eyes quickly with his sleeve (without his hands of course). It was... he didn't know what to do. His whole goal in life, or at least originally, was completed. That in itself hurt Ivory. Sure, he was more than proud of Elior - hell, hos own heart swelled at the image of such a neat and suave man tearing his own father's out was at the very least admiral and the most incredibly attractive. A bead of sweat slowly slid from his cheek at the thought.

That being said, what was there to do now? Hope that Elior would come for him? The note was nice, somewhat reassuring even, but it made him feel worse. What was he to do now? Just become a part of the shuffle like his father and hope that he wouldn't be forgotten? What if he died before then?

The blade was still very hungry. It was kind of unfair that Elior was able to do what he had wanted to do for so long, the obsidian blade still clean and pristine within his dresser drawer.
 
In contrast to Ivory, Elior didn't find his days lacking in activity, nor did he find himself at a loss on how to proceed when everything he had ever longed for was finally kicking into action. The days were dominated by a flurry of activity after his father's body had been discovered, the kingdom thrown into chaos and disarray, panic and terror, which Elior would be remiss not to use as the perfect opportunity to instil belief and encourage hope. Was it draining having to play the act of the grieving son alongside the angelic Princely facade that everyone expected from him? Exhaustingly so but it was all worth it if it got him what he knew he deserved: his throne and the support of an adoring, supportive public, ready and willing to blindly and loyally defend the decisions he would come to make once he was King.

With everything moving as fast he did, he had a justification for letting Ivory slip from his mind - but that wasn't the case. At his father's funeral, Ivory remained the only present thought in his head. At the historic coronation, where he sat upon his throne, his crown atop his head as he observed his jubilant public celebrating his ascension to power, all he could do was think about ivory and how much he longed for his lover to be at his side. His praise was the only sort that emotionally impacted Elior; the only congratulatory, proud words that filtered through and registered with any fondness - and yet his was the only praise that the now King was destined to be robbed of. He had to endure the dignitaries and aristocrats lavishing him with their congratulations, reminding him how proud his father would be of his only son; he had to suffer through the endless line of his citizens, bowing before him in respect and amazement... and through it all, he just wanted Ivory. A second with the man was worth more than a lifetime with anyone else, and it was the hope of one day reuniting with him, one day restoring a positive opinion amongst his people regarding their counterparts in The Dark, that kept Elior going; kept him steady and composed even when he felt at his most vulnerable.

Inevitably, Ivory was in his mind on his wedding day a month after his coronation. He played the part of a doting husband well, his eyes filling with tears as his bride made her way down the aisle of the historic chapel, the hundreds of guests observing the exchanging of vows with eager eyes and whispers, most conversations following the same sentiment: it was a tragedy that the former King had been callously murdered, the perpetrator unknown and justice therefore never delivered... but Elior would no doubt be a wonderful ruler, with a Queen at his side who would bring the best out in him. Their relationship was deemed a fairy-tale: two soulmates who had met once as children and found their way back to one another in adulthood, destined to bring Hollowslocke, and The Light at large, into brighter, beaming pastures.

The truth couldn't have been more different, of course. Elior despised his wife for everything she represented, most notably for the fact she wasn't Ivory, and he had no desire to spare her his animosity when she knew the truth that laid at the heart of his facade. She had seen it for herself when they were children, when she found herself pushed into the icy chill of the pond with a smiling Elior doing nothing to try and save her from its depths. There was no reason to pretend he cared about her or doted upon her when she knew who he was at his core. That freedom was something Elior could at least appreciate, even if the freedom she provided him was far from the sort of freedom he desired. That could only come when he was with Ivory but, as the past few months of his time as King had proven, the task to change his people's minds wasn't just a challenging one.

It was all but impossible.

Their hatred, their vitriol, only seemed to intensify as the months rolled into years. Even with the freedom to help The Dark that being King brought him, Elior couldn't open up the borders and encourage the nations to come together when his public's anger towards The Dark remained at its peak. Nobody had forgotten the ordeal Elior had endured at the hands of a 'radical' Ivory and though no perpetrator was found for the murder of the former King, it was widely accepted that nobody other than a reckless citizen of The Dark could have the innate violence, the inherent cruelty, to commit such an appalling, 'unjustified' attack. Even with time, those wounds never healed - and Elior was subsequently left losing hope, growing more and more fearful that his reunion with Ivory, the reunion he had promised him, would never materialise.

And so even as his hope began to ebb, life... had to continue; his duties needed fulfilling, even if he had no desire to actively engage with them. That choice was taken out of his hands now he was King, with the responsibilities expected of him, the roles he had to fulfil to maintain his popularity, taking precedence over his personal thoughts and opinions. It was that need to fulfil his duty and be the King his public expected him to be that provided the kingdom with its heir: a son, inheriting his father's blonde locks and light blue eyes. A daughter followed a short year after, the celebrations just as raucous and jubilant for the young princess as they had been for her elder brother.

Fatherhood was... fine for Elior. The pride he often felt for his children -and admittedly, for his wife's strength in bringing them into the world- often shone when he least expected it to, but it was always immediately overshadowed by the love that arose shortly after for Ivory. Perhaps he did love his children, perhaps he did feel something for his wife that could constitute a fondness... but it all paled dramatically when he compared it to his feelings for Ivory. Their love was his priority; their relationship all he truly cared about, and yet it was the one thing he was losing hope in ever... having. Instead, he was stuck with a wife he didn't want and children who, though he knew he loved, were, and always would be, secondary to the love he had for Ivory.

Just as Ivory was in his head whenever he made love to his wife, the lapidarist was firmly within his thoughts when Elior found himself, five full years after their departure from one another, laid out on the ground of his kingdom, a hand pressed to his side to stem the steady flow of blood. Chaos unfolded around him, the screams of panicked citizens fleeing the gunfire despite the blooming grey smoke preventing them from knowing where they were actually fleeing to, but all Elior could do was stare upwards, finding comfort from the pain and the fear that each breath would be his last by thinking of Ivory. How he had ended up in such a position wasn't a surprise - an unsettled nation to the West had taken issue with the politics of dropping them as a trade partner in favour of another kingdom who provided more of an incentive to Elior to build connections with them. His decision to abruptly abandon the nation reliant on their trade for its survival had been welcomed in The Light, congratulated by advisors and the public alike as the ruthless decision-making that their King ought to possess... but this was the consequence, a discontented group from the abandoned nation taking it upon themselves to take revenge on anyone in The Light.

Elior wasn't the sole intended target of the violence, with anyone from his kingdom ultimately being under threat of the enemy group's wrath. If he hadn't been convinced to take his carriage out to celebrate his fifth wedding anniversary amongst his people, to drink in their support and make them feel special by sharing his precious time amongst them all, he would have been spared the bullet that shot directly into his side. He wouldn't have stumbled from his carriage in shock as his wife screamed for him to return to safety. He wouldn't have found himself amongst the chaos, thrown to the ground amongst all the panic and steadily growing colder as the blood drained from him, in spite of the fires set around the kingdom to maximise the number of casualties.

Five years. It had been five fucking years since he had last seen Ivory; five long years since he promised him they would be together when his people changed their opinion. No opinions had been shifted, Elior cursing himself for his naivety - and now this was how it was supposed to end; him alone on the ground, bleeding out?

No. No, fuck that.

If he was going to die from his injury, he would only do so when he had seen Ivory again. Only then would he accept whatever fate had thrown at him.

Forming a plan as quickly as he could, Elior took advantage of the continuing billowing clouds of smoke to push himself to his feet. Everything he had worked for as King, all those five years of dedication and hard work, of enjoying the power he was able to wield and seeing his ambition go from strength to strength... all of it meant the world to him and ideally, he would remain in The Light. The attack would be swiftly dealt with and he would undoubtedly use the situation to his advantage. His people would rally around their injured King and Elior would be able to amuse himself with their continued devotion while he also got to enjoy bringing hell down on those that targeted him and Hollowslocke - because nothing could really entertain Elior as much as a good hanging at the gallows could.

But none of that was to happen; not now he knew what he had to do and where he had to go; who he had to be with. In the midst of his panic and his determination to reach The Dark and to find Ivory before he bled out, the consequences of disappearing amongst the chaos was lost on him. In the days that followed his disappearance, he was inevitably feared to be dead; his body lost to the fires that ravaged a small portion of the kingdom's capital. Life halted for everyone in The Light as word spread that their King had been killed: the people lost their beloved ruler, a Queen lost her husband and two young children lost their father. The mourning period began immediately, the outpouring of grief as intense as the anger towards those that had taken Elior from the people and the land he had devoted himself to (with his selfish reasons for doing so -his love of power and desire to see his ambitions come to fruition- unknown by all that admired him).

As they mourned, Elior's days had been spent in what felt like literal hell. In his head, it couldn't have been that difficult to manoeuvre the paths of The Dark. It wouldn't be easy, but surely, after an hour or two, he would make some progress and find himself... somewhere near Ivory, right? It was a naive thought, as the days spent wandering aimlessly amongst the narrow, cragged tunnels served to prove. By the end of those few days, Elior was barely clinging to what life remained left in him. Not only was his wound fierce, but he was now hungry, thirsty, sleep-deprived and emotionally wrecked - and that was without mentioning the fresh injuries gained from trekking the difficult passages of The Dark, painful cuts along his arms and legs having arrived from tripping and stumbling in the dark. Eventually, he found himself resorting to what he could only call savagery as he tore the leg of a cave spider and ravenously feasted on the flesh. It was undoubtedly his tiredness that encouraged him to laugh to himself as he took in his actions and how sharply they juxtaposed his time with Ivory all those years ago - he had been reduced to nausea at the thought of eating spider, recoiling with a grimace, and yet here he now was, having brutally killed one with his own hand and spared no seconds in devouring as much of it as he could.

The laughter died down as the hours passed. It had been days since he entered the cave complex but it felt like an age. Every step he made was agony, his lungs burning with the effort it took just to breathe but he kept going, kept fighting against his body screaming at him to just stop and shut his eyes, to just give in and slip away-- until he couldn't walk any further. He slumped pitifully against the rocky wall and let his head fall forward, his chest heaving with the continued effort just staying conscious, alive, brought on. He knew he could always retrace his steps (as best he could) and return to The Light; to the luxuries of royalty. He could have a hot bath and a large meal, a glass of chilled wine and his comfortable pyjamas. His kingdom would celebrate for days on end at his miraculous return and never again would he have to work hard to keep their support - after his ordeal, their love for him would be a guarantee for decades to come.

But if he did that, any chance of seeing Ivory would disappear into the flames. Seeing Ivory now was a long-shot -he snorted under his breath as that fact settled into place- but if he remained in The Dark, Ivory would at least know that he had tried to find him.

That, even after five years, he had fought to honour his promise to him.
 
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Five years had been long enough.

Five years ago, Ivory lost a man he saw as someone very special to him. Five years ago, Elior was taken away from him. The now calcified heart hadn't moved from his dresser in those five years, the only exception being for Ivory to observe it when his own heart felt heavy. Five years ago since he lost the man he had to nervously admit he loved.

Ivory did his best to keep everything together; his own sanity, the appearance that he was doing great! Not long after he had received his special present, Ivory had noticed his father's health begin to decline. The similarities between he and his grandfather were so sickeningly close yet still somehow strikingly different. When his grandfather was forced to retire from his position, he instead took it upon himself to tend to the children. He was a happy man, at least to Ivory, though that simply could be the fact that the other men (man) in his life was far from chipper.

When his father retired, the man became steely; made of stone, a brick wall to any sign of emotions except anger. Every day Ivory would return home from one of his jobs - he was still a lapidarist, one that was praised for his skill amongst The Dark citizens as well as the daring few customers from The Light willing to wear a 'rebel's work', but he had also offered to lend a hand in mining now that his father had grown sick. It was one less hand to work and Ivory offered himself, insisting that he could handle the extra work.

It helped alleviate the thoughts of Elior just enough to continue on. The loud pounding from working hard against the cave walls would ring in his ears so loud that he couldn't hear himself think; a brief respite to the otherwise screaming thoughts of his many mistakes. When he sat down to work with jewelry, he could use that artform to express those feelings and make a profit. With only a few hours of sleep, there wasn't much time to dream - but fuck, it was always of Elior. It almost became annoying, having his mind so focused on someone who became less and less obtainable.

In one of the few talks he and his father had, said man questioned about grandchildren. 'Why haven't you found someone, Ivory? Do you intend this family to die out like all the others?'

Yes.

He didn't say that though. At the time, he simply explained he was too busy, and it wasn't a lie. It was the whole point, actually. He didn't have time for love or sex or anything other than the fleeting moments he would lay in bed, staring at the stone ceiling of their home. Some nights he would hold the preserved heart to his own and imagined it beating, picturing Elior there. Some nights (most nights in the beginning) he would close his eyes and listen to the heart beat within it's drawer, touching himself in tandem as he pictured Elior instead. Some nights he would use the blade meant for Elior's father on his own skin - first as a need to stave off curiosity before he found himself enjoying the hidden cuts and bruises. His blood seemed to illuminate even in the dark of his bedroom, blood he would have to rush to wash off in the stream he washed himself as well.

Five long, grueling years of all the same, each news of Elior's life hitting him hard. The catalyst for it all was the death of his father.

He would never admit it but there was a feeling of relief once his father finally passed. Nothing was said between the two but Ivory would never forget the vice grip his father had on his hands and an unrecognizable gaze. Was it disappointment? No, he had seen that plenty in recent years. Sadness? No, he had seen that too. Fear? Fear. He had watched as those fearful eyes took him in before, as his father was known to do, he passed without even a whimper. Watching his corpse, donned in the finest of bouquets and jewels, take the same journey down the river that his other family members had over his lifetime was the breaking point for the lapidarist.

He was alone now. There was no Elior coming for him, whisking him away to The Light. There was no family to turn to, to express his feelings to. There was nothing left for Ivory. Over those five long years, the obsidian blade had only had the smallest of taste of blood from Ivory but the man was ready to feed it fully now as he trudged from his home, dressed in his nicest attire; a ring or two on each finger, ears pierced multiple times to hold his own earrings. His body was wrapped tightly within his sister and mother's fabrics, the capote layers keeping him warm but didn't cease his shaky hands. He tied his hair back, the messy black locks having grown just enough to be annoying. He tied back that annoying hair as best he could before he made his trek back to the home where he and Elior had spent their time together, however short.

He would do The Light a favor and put himself out of his misery. If his body were found, he knew he would be given a nice funeral like his family. If it wasn't he would make a very pretty corpse, covered in his best work -

Well, he would have and fully intended to, but the sight of a rather milky white figure caught the lapidarist's attention because he was either going absolutely crazy or some Light citizen had gotten terribly lost. He was ready to open his mouth, scold the person, until his eyes landed on the bright red that mixed with the various shades of brown the tunnels had left Elior's otherwise white shirt. Kneeling down, he tilted the man's face as carefully as he could. He paused, his breath leaving him.

"Elior? No... N-No way - holy shit," he babbled as he scrambled to help the crumpled body up. When it didn't seem good enough, he didn't hesitate to lift the form into his arms completely, his eyes wider than they had ever been. "... Shit. Shit, shit, shit shit..."
 
It might have been ten minutes since he slumped to the cave floor and accepted that he couldn't venture further - or it may have been an hour, even another whole day, because ultimately, Elior didn't know. Time had operated differently as he stumbled among The Dark, the determination that initially encouraged his movements and provided him the motivation to press forward despite his agony eventually becoming desperation, the quiet confidence of every step forward becoming frantic and panicked the longer he ventured on without ang sliver of hope arriving.

It was the panic that led to mistakes, resulting in him taking turns he would have otherwise known he had taken before; doubling back on himself or simply limping in circles - and the only thing he received for the effort was further exhaustion and continued, throbbing pain, the bullet still lodged firmly in his side becoming more of an aggravating presence the longer Elior was forced to exist with it. The wound it had caused may have stopped steadily leaking blood but an infection threatened in its place, the ever-existent, throbbing pain an ever-present note within Elior's mind.

But the panic he fell into, the desperation that pushed him into delirium, had resulted in other injuries. Ordinarily, even the smallest of scrapes among the sharp rocks that lined the tunnels would be enough for Elior to whine aloud in distress, a pout no doubt arriving the instant his perfection had become marred. He didn't mind bruises if they were the result of activities in the bedroom, with the ones Ivory had once gifted him having been observed proudly during their short time together - but he absolutely detested any bruise and any cut that stained his skin beyond that exception.

He didn't know how bad his injuries were but, before the desperation kicked in and clouded all coherent thought, he had been aware that it wasn't good; that his body bore the brunt of every trip, stumble and fall that had taken place over the last few days. Even with those cuts and gashes aside, he had spent days wandering in The Dark, deprived of water and food.

One cave spider might have provided a little energy and filled his aching stomach but it wasn't enough to counter the days of hunger and thirst that had taken place before it. His throat burned, swollen and painfully dry, but he found himself mumbling incoherently in spite of the pain, nonsense spewing from cracked lips as he finally knew he had no choice but to give in. He had given it his best shot but he couldn't go any further, not when every fibre of his being cried at him to let go; to shut his eyes and embrace the peace that eternal sleep would provide--

Was he being moved? Was this... it, then? Was this what happened after death?

The latter thought, that he had finally fallen to his injuries, encouraged him to open his eyes and peer up at whoever had lifted him from the cold cave floor. Those eyes landed directly up at Ivory, locking firmly on the face of the man who had dominated his thoughts for five entire years. The length of that time apart did nothing to dampen his love for him - if anything, it burned brighter, more fiercely, than it ever had done. Even in the midst of his exhaustion, even if he was perilously close to the spark of his life being extinguished, Elior found himself quietly laughing, both in disbelief and euphoria. He didn't care if he sounded as mad as he probably looked: the laughter, before it was interrupted by a croaked cough, only rose, echoing in the narrow tunnels.

"Either I am dead or y-you actually-- you found me. It... matters not, if I've passed or if I am alive, because you're here, you're-- here. I found you. In death or in life, you're here," he managed to murmur, a hand grasping the fabric of Ivory's shirt as firmly as he was capable of - which wasn't firm at all, the strength Elior possessed -a strength that had only built up since he had become King and taken part in obligatory training- having abandoned him the instant the bullet entered his side, with the days aimlessly wandering The Dark, hope leaking from him with every step, having done little to help.

"...You look older; rugged. It's unfair how unfathomably hot you are," he continued with another laugh, though this one concluded with a pained grimace, his free hand returning to rest firmly over his blood-soaked side. Even with a remarkable clarity of thought having returned, it was painfully brief, incoherence worryingly dominating once again. None of what he began to mumble about made any sense, either a result of the memories flooding his brain or recollections of hallucinatory visions he had frequently witnessed over the last day or two - not that he knew them to be hallucinations, with every incident being as real to him as his current situation.

"Tell Ivory I tried, won't you? That I tried to find him? He'll need to know that."
 
"It is no time to be waxing philosophic, Elior. You are hurt, incredibly so." Ivory replied, his voice rushed as he held the man close. He took in the area, that of which was really not more than a mile or so away from his own home town. He would be impressed if he weren't fucking terrified.

"I'm… going to get you home, okay? Then I can call upon the doctor to address your wounds. I - I have a lot of questions that you're clearly not fit to answer right now," he continued, his tone firm and his voice cracking as he struggled between breaking down and keeping himself together. This was a lot to handle right now - he couldn't let that distract him though, not when a life was on the line.

Funny, given he was just about to end his own. Haha.

Holding onto Elior tight, he made a 180 turn away from his destination, his feet - bare, calloused - moving skillfully down the makeshift path his ancestors had made hundreds of years ago. He had been down these tunnels his entire life, he knew how to maneuver them - and the dark they brought - with ease. Elior? The thought that his lover had made it so far in what barely could be considered light was impressive and he would no doubt offer the praise once said man wasn't straight up delirious. No, what mattered was getting Elior some basic necessities.

"Pardon the language but why the hell are you here, Elior?" He asked, his voice so similar to the way he spoke nearly half a decade ago, though there was a gravelly edge no doubt. He hoped to whatever higher being he no longer believed in that it was the only thing he inherited from his father.

His questioned had no intentions to actually be answered, half expecting that his beloved had already passed on. He blinked hard, avoiding any matching gaze in fear that he would receive the answer he didn't want. No, he kept his eyes locked forward as he ducked carefully under cave ceilings - his feet moved quickly though the longer he held Elior tight in his arms.


His town wasn't exactly known for much. Mining of course, that was a given, and Ivory was a well known lapidarist now, but otherwise? It wasn't common for people from The Dark to visit, so the owlish eyes of Ivory's neighbors landing on Elior in confusion came as no surprise for said man. Ivory moved on nonetheless, only stopping upon seeing a family friend; a woman who had watched his family grow and be cut at the root all the same. He told her to retrieve the local doctor immediately with a firm glare and a near snarl, his body tired from a lack of sleep. He simply reminded himself that Elior was far worse to motivate him.

Returning home was awkward, to say the least. He didn't dwell on it though, instead rushing quickly to lay the injured Elior down on his father's old bed. He wrapped the other tightly in blankets before lighting the candles that lined the floors. He scrambled to grab water soon after, finding some well worn glass and fetching the water from the stream a few houses down. Once returning, he held it to Elior's lips with one hand while the other nervously ran through his hair (and subsequently pulling it out of the small bun).

"… you're really here, aren't you? That's - you're…. You're absolutely mad, you know that?" He whispered finally.
 
Admittedly, Elior was in no fit state to tackle any questions - especially ones that would only take an emotional toll on him. When his mind returned to him, he would be left to deal with the wave of guilt that came with knowing he had wasted five years of Ivory's life, making him wait an entire half a decade for a future that was destined to never naturally arrive for either of them. He promised him that there would come a time when those in The Light would understand their opinions had been passed down to them from hardened ancestors; a time when they would be free to interact without the weight of judgement and criticism following them.

But that time never seemed likely, hope vanishing from Elior the longer the years ticked on by. Were it not for the bullet reminding him how short life truly was and kicking him into making the sacrifice he should have made five years ago by choosing Ivory and a life with him, he would probably never have gathered the confidence together to... abandon The Light; to leave his throne, his wife, his children and power for the only shot at happiness he was ever likely to have. It was a damaging thought, but he knew in his heart he would never have found the guts to tear his life apart to be with Ivory, instead clinging to the hope that a miracle would occur and his people would see sense.

Five years was nothing in comparison to the decades that might have passed them by had his wound not jolted him into making the needed sacrifice, but it was still five fucking years. A substantial time in which he had made Ivory wait for him and in which he had been... miserable. He had had everything: a loyal wife, content children, power and riches and adoration, but none of it could match what Ivory provided him.

It was another of Fate's cruel decisions to finally provide him with the bravery needed to abandon The Light when he was literally now on his deathbed. How was it fair that he had waited all these years to be with Ivory and yet they may only have a few minutes together before he died and left him all over again?

For the duration of the journey to Ivory's home, Elior was already convinced he was dead. Despite still miraculously clinging to life despite all signs pointing to the fact he should have perished from his wounds days ago, he resided in Ivory's arms with a strange calmness - because in his delirious state of being, he was reassured that there was no more suffering to be had; no more pain to endure. The only pain he would feel in death was knowing he had left Ivory, but he was in the other's arms, cocooned by his presence. No, this was the afterlife and Ivory was there with him, destined to make up for the five years apart by spending the rest of eternity at his side.

That belief crumbled the instant he felt a cup pressed to his cracked, dry lips, his eyes blearily opening to take in the water offered. His thirst demanded that he gulp it down, a shaky hand reaching to steady the cup as he drank back every last drop - but he knew instantly from the water alone that this wasn't the afterlife; that he remained alive and breathing.

If this was the afterlife, he assumed he would be treated to fabulous wine rather than fucking stream water.

At the acknowledgement that he was conscious and alive, all the pain he had managed to block out came rushing back. His body burned in response, his eyes clenched shut in an effort to deal with the agony - though even if he longed to keep his eyes shut, the risk that he wouldn't wake up was one he refused to take. It may have seemed like a blessing a few minutes prior, but that was when finding Ivory seemed an impossible task; when he had reached his limits and death's embrace would be the only relief he was able to find.

But now he had Ivory; now he had found him. Even if it exhausted him, even if the pain became unbearable, there was a reason to fight against it; a reason to try and keep living.

"...I think I went a little mad. There was so much smoke a-and... a bullet-- can you believe somebody actually shot at me?" He grunted through pained breaths, his eyes slowly shutting to acclimatise -as best he could- to the pain, though he was quick to open them again, reminding himself that he had to fight against the temptation. It was why he attempted a smile after the dramatic nature of his comments, a faint chuckle sounding soon after.

"...It was the only chance I had to leave; to find you. They will think I'm dead; they won't... search for me. I... saw an opportunity and I took it. Would have got here sooner if your people installed signs around this country, or lit those fucking tunnels. It's a literal deathtrap out there," the King continued to dramatically mutter, his hands grasping bunches of the blankets surrounding him in order to cocoon himself within their warmth. Despite a renewed clarity and a coherence of speech, those good signs were vastly outweighed by the worrying ones: his shivering and the deathly pale of his complexion, sunken eyes and infected wounds... though if Elior was aware of how close to death he was, he didn't indicate it.

If these were his last moments, like hell was he going to spend them crying to Ivory, making him witness such emotional scenes as the last moments they would spend together.

"Do you know I had to eat a fucking cave spider? Cracked it open and ate it raw. Remind me never to complain about your cooking again, it's bound to be a feast compared to what I had to eat out there," he continued in that vein, a weak snort escaping him. "...You do look older. Sound older, too. Whereas I'm the image of youth, a few grey streaks in my hair aside-- you must despise me for that."
 
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"I can absolutely believe that someone shot you, Elior. For multiple reasons." Ivory replied quickly, his tone calm. There wasn't much else he could do at that point after all, other than continue to offer the water and wait for the doctor to arrive. He carefully brushed back the other's hair with his hand, the cool of the metal rings no doubt not helping the other in his chilled state so he popped them all off to set neatly beside the other's head for now.

Despite the other's attempt to lighten the situation, it was hard for Ivory to produce a smile. He thanked the low light, though he was certain Elior's eyes had adjusted at least a little to the darkness now. Still, it had only been a few days and not the decades, centuries, his people spent amongst it. He couldn't allow that happiness to show, not when there was a chance that he was being taunted with getting a taste of Elior, just for him to be taken away again. The thought made his stomach churn, so much so that he had to pause his gentle petting of his lover's hair to steady his it in fear of adding bile to the bed that had just been cleaned after his father's funeral.

He had cleaned the house, as was tradition. Every room, even his own, had been stripped of bedding and scrubbed until Ivory's arms hurt. He had to admit, the cleaning products that The Light always offered such an interesting smell but it gave him such a headache - a headache he did his best to ignore now -but nonetheless, the house was cleaned properly. Hell, even the fireplace was sparkling clean as the memories of his family surrounding it burned strongly in Ivory's mind. It was tradition, of course, but Ivory wanted the house clean in hopes that a new family might also move into the home, pristine and lacking the smell of death.

No, it only smelled faintly of roses. Roses, something that wouldn't last a day in The Dark otherwise. Haha. A snort escaped Ivory.

The darkness that surrounded the lapidarist's eyes only seemed to lighten up at the mention of the cave spider, his eyes widening in shock. A quiet 'huh' escaped as he continued the gentle strokes to the other's light locks. A smile did manage to crack, however small, at the image.

"I've certainly gotten better, yeah. Not great, I can admit to that, but Aleyn and Kingfisher have helped hone my skills just a bit. There's been a new species of fish found in Gryndul's Abyss, so I've been trying to use that - it's better than the fish in the can from The Light," he explained quietly, before biting his lip. "I had to get better at cooking for my pa, when he got sick. Couldn't feed him anything but the best, as the doctor said. Son of a bitch died anyway, huh? Maybe it was my cooking that did it." He teased, all the while his eyes darted quickly to the door. "Speak of the Devil."

"Ah, oh - oh my," began the doctor, his own large eyes glowing, beaming, in excitement as he hurried to Elior. No one from the surface had ever gotten this far before so it was no surprirse that the doctor was more than eager to drop what he was doing and find out for himself if the rumors were true. To take in the blonde and gray hair, porcelain skin - and it's greyish hue from the subsequent sickness. Two vibrant pairs of nervous eyes met one another as Ivory found himself falling back into that silent pleading once more. Fuck.

"This is..." Ivory began, hesitant. As oblivious, if not indifferent, as many of The Darks' citizens were to The Light's politics, the name Elior wasn't one easily ignored. He couldn't simply stand up and shout how The King of The Land of The Light was in his home, nor did he want to. Thankfully no one - especially not citizens so deep within the cave system, had ever seen him, or anyone from the surface for that matter. He cleared his throat, hoping his acting hadn't diminished. "This is Lucien. He told me his name when I found him halfway into the tunnels. He has a pretty bad wound on his side, I need you to get whatever is going on there out a-and- "

"Ivory, relax," the doctor interrupted, that concern only growing as he took his eyes off of the strange man for a moment to instead take in who was once a lively young man. Even in the dark, he was sure Elior could see the tears that were finally staining his cheeks. "I know that your father was laid to rest today. This... is incredibly admirable, to help a stranger like this. Please, just get Lucien more water, maybe something to drink - boil him some tea as well."
 
Not much of what Ivory responded with actually registered to Elior, the brief moments of awareness interspliced with unconsciousness. He jolted himself out of it each time, his eyes only remaining shut for a few seconds before he shot awake once more and tried to focus on clinging to that state, but it was easier said than done. Despite having something present to direct his focus towards, a reason to grasp the sliver of life left within himself with both hands, his exhaustion was intense, his eyes only receiving comfort from the burning when he allowed his lids to shut; when he enabled his head to switch off from registering the pain his body had had to endure for days on end--

He forced himself to wake up once again after a few seconds of silence and stillness, though any groan that threatened to break at the constant throb at his side faded; crumbled away the instant Ivory mentioned his father. It was one statement that managed to pierce the fog of Elior's mind, his expression faltering in response to the news.

He may not have much love for either of his parents -the fact he brutally murdered his own father serving as proof of his cold, unrelenting opinion- but he knew Ivory differed from him in that regard. He bit the inside of his cheek hard in an effort to comprehend the information, though inevitably, all that settled alongside the enormity of his sympathy was... guilt.

Nothing he could have done would have altered the course. If he had been present at Ivory's side for those five years, the other's father might still have gotten sick and died from the complications - but at least he would have gone to death knowing his only son was happy; that he wasn't left alone. Even with that aside, Elior wanted to have met him. He may not care about his own parents but he wouldn't have ever objected to meeting the man that raised Ivory.

He didn't have the luxury of time to devote to offering his condolences when the Doctor made his appearance, but Elior managed to quickly rest his hand upon Ivory's, a squeeze offered to say what his words currently couldn't.

Even in the midst of his pain, even when he was struggling to cling to the clarity that emerged through the fog, the similarity of his situation to Ivory's first time in The Light wasn't lost on him. Ivory had been gawped at with severe interest, the many faces around the dining table in awe at a being so alike them in many ways but still so different. The way the Doctor eyed him, with that same excitement, brought Elior back to that time five years ago, though he was quick to dismiss it from his thoughts.

The less he dwelled on how much time had passed with the sacrifice they both made being for nothing, the better.

"Yes, I'm... Lucien," responded Elior, having to force himself to grunt out the name ascribed to him, though he made sure to send a glare in Ivory's direction regardless. If he had to be granted a new name in order to disguise the truth, he at least wanted the chance to gift himself a name he approved of; something that still spoke to his regal ties, even if he had chosen to abandon the life that personified them. Lucien was hardly a horrid name, and he would have been in favour of it had he been the one to suggest it.

"There's-- a bullet, i-in my side. Tried digging it out myself but-- the act made me throw up so I stopped attempting it," he admitted as his eyes warily darted to the Doctor. He didn't want to judge the only man capable of actually helping him, but he couldn't stop himself regarding him with distrust and a great deal of caution - because he hardly looked to medics within The Dark as being at the top of their fields. Circumstance perhaps prevented them from reaching the standards that their peers in The Light were able to reach with the privileges granted to them, but the understanding of those contextual factors wouldn't put Elior at any ease--

He stopped himself from judging the other too harshly and worrying himself because of it. No, the man was a Doctor and that was good enough for him.

"I also ate-- raw cave spider, will that kill me? It can't be good for me, my stomach is rather used to finer foods," continued Elior amongst pained grimaces, his shaky fever having only continued to rise in spite of the water in his system and the warmth he was enveloped within. The severity of his situation, the precariousness of his own life as it hung in the balance, wasn't enough to stop him from being dramatic, of course, his greatest fear being how his body reacted to the horror of the spider he had ingested.

"Really, I think I can survive the bullet but my system might not survive the spider. I'm rather delicate like that, Doctor," he emphasised as his eyes desperately sought out Ivory. He knew the story given to the Doctor was that of one stranger coming to the aid of another, but he couldn't just... emotionally detach himself from the man he had missed for five years; the man he had yet to even properly welcome back into his arms.

"...Am I going to die?" He proceeded beneath his breath once he was sure Ivory was out of earshot, his blue eyes fixing steadily on the glowing ones of the nearby medic. "Because I... I'm not sure I can stay awake a second longer and I fear I may not wake if I do... sleep. And I... cannot die, I'm not ready to. I... I have someone who needs me."
 
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