The Taste of Revenge

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Ivory listened, silent on his end. It was how he found himself most days after all, but unlike the past few years those were filled with silence that felt more like a muzzle rather than the peaceful silence of good company. When his father was alive, it felt like there was so much left to say, but both men held back. Now? Now, Ivory was happy to lie back with his eyes half-lidded, listening to Elior continue on as the sound of the nearby river added some ambiance. His fingers were gentle as they slowly but rhythmically ran alongside Eliot's palm, drinking in his skin as much as possible.

He didn't respond for a moment. He allowed the sound of the river fill the room for a moment before sitting up with a groan. His joints cracked loud enough that they blocked out the sound of thr rushing water, however briefly. With the same subtle smile and half-lidded eyes, Ivory had decided to climb on top of his lover. His knees straddled Eliot's legs with some hesitance but he didn't hesitate to place his hands besides the other's head. What light that may have glowed from the candles lit on each side of the bed was blocked now, those glowing eyes being at least some source of light.

"May I be honest with you, Elior?" He asked after a brief clearing of his throat. A hand gently grazed Elior's cheek with the back of his hand. "I could not be happier with how things played out. I… was losing hope, Elior. I was beginning to think you and I would never be together again like this; you were a King. When you and I first met, we were young, filled with such overwhelming naïveté. As I grew older, a part of me knew the chances of us seeing one another under a… happy circumstance were low."

He offered gentle kisses along Elior's forehead, then cheek, and neck. He made sure the kisses were feather-like, barely touching.

"Sure, I would have loved for you to be a bit better, physically. Beggars can't be choosers though, hm? I'll take the fact that you're alive and you're here." He murmured between the gentle kisses, none of which moved past Elior's collarbones. He knew he was pushing it, perhaps being a bit too tantalizing even, but he could control himself. He had been for the past few years. Once he offered the peppering of kisses, Ivory carefully climb from the bed to leave, however briefly. He returned with a tunic and layers of shawls.

"You'll look quite handsome. My mother and sister, before they passed, were fantastic fabric makers. My father and I kept all of the shawls they made, the prints haven't faded whatsoever. I'm sure they would be honored to have you wear them - and I advise you do. It can get quite cold here, especially when you're wearing such ratted clothes."
 
The silence wasn't a cause of concern for Elior. Even though it succeeded his words, there was no feeling of hurt or irritation at the lack of a sufficient response - because if there was one thing he knew about Ivory, it was the other man's propensity -and probable preference- for quiet. Were the silences uncomfortable, perhaps Elior would have more of an issue with them, particularly with how they seemed to fall over them arbitrarily, with no indication of them appearing - but frankly, it couldn't form a problem for the man when there was no discomfort to be found.

He could lie for hours on end in that same silence if it comprised of him doing so besides Ivory, soaking in nothing more than the feeling of being so closely located to the person he loved. No silence could ever be uncomfortable when that fact was at the forefront; when proximity with Ivory and the love he held for him ensured that every second spent at his side was one he treasured, not regretted, even if that time was spent in quiet rather than full-flowing conversation.

Besides, it wasn't as though Elior was a quiet person - he more than made up for Ivory's quiet with his tendency to talk, even if much of what he spouted often comprised of meaningless gossip, self-entitled whines or pleas for attention. He didn't always know when to enjoy the silence, often obliviously indulging himself in conversation - but now was one moment where he seemed to take the hint and allow his words to trail off; to allow himself to enjoy the sound of the flowing river beyond the home as his fingers lightly latched onto Ivory's, an occasional glance being sent sideways at him to satisfy his need to soak up his boyfriend's (in his opinion) perfect features.

Sensing movement, Elior sighed and allowed his eyes to shut in the assumption that Ivory was shifting himself up off the bed - because how could he have drawn the conclusion that rather than move away, Ivory intended to get closer? With his injuries as severe as they had been, not helped by the starvation, exhaustion and thirst, he assumed Ivory sought to be careful with him; not risk tearing a stitch by positioning himself over him, however gentle said positioning was.

Though his head told him to gently ease Ivory off, to ensure an accident didn't occur and the tender stitching didn't come undone, Elior's heart said otherwise - and it was the latter that dominated as his eyes locked onto Ivory's, an unmistakeable sparkle arriving within them as he bit hard on his own bottom lip in a desperate attempt to hold back the wave of desire that threatened to flood him. He could enjoy the proximity but allowing it to transition into anything more was reckless, and he was trying -however hard the challenge was becoming- to at least keep those actions at bay.

For now.

"I can't blame you for losing faith, I... took my time getting to you, didn't I? I also should have made an appearance years before this, so we had more time together, but... better late than never, hm?" He offered quietly in response, his chest raising and falling slowly in line with his deep, anticipatory breaths-- only for all expectation on his expression to part in favour of childish annoyance when Ivory broke the proximity and shifted off the bed entirely.

Though petulant, Elior didn't hold back on the annoyed groan that escaped him once he was left alone on the bed, doing all he could to brush aside the stirring desire as best he could.

"Yes, well, I am the honoured one to wear those clothes, Ivory, I truly am excited to be able to show them off-- but can we return to your selfishness for a moment? Your abhorrent cruelty in teasing and taunting me as you do? Peppering me with the lightest of kisses, knowing I long for more, and depriving me of it after such hints?" He questioned with an arched, unimpressed brow perked upwards, his lips pulling into a scowl. "I know I am in a feeble state but still, it is rather mean of you to tease me like this."
 
"You know, hearing that groan of yours almost makes up for you being so late, my dear. Almost." Ivory replied, his tone light as he straightened the fabric on the bed. Of course Ivory could see the distinct colors, bright and vibrant to the eye of a Dark denizen even in the dim light. That being said, to someone from the Light would barely be able to make out the intricate floral designs; designs based off of centuries of descriptions of flowers from the surface.

"I promise that I won't let a single stitch to get out of place, at least not by my hands. Now whether or not you personally decide to do something as stupid as venturing into The Dark alone, that's not for me to decide," he continued and offered a curt laugh. He took a seat on the slab of a bed and very carefully let his hand touch the King's hair, watching as the greasy locks rustled between his fingers.

"… perhaps these readings are your punishment," he eventually spoke, though only after a moment of silence. "Maybe seeing you like this, so desperate for my touch when you and I both know you can't submit to your desires? It makes my heart swell to see you so desperate, Elior. Now I'm not a cruel man, you know that I will give you everything you desire once you've properly healed… but that doesn't mean I won't make your life miserably by teasing you in the meantime," he explained, a crooked grin on his lips.

"Ah, how exciting! You will suffer daily by my hand until you're healed. If you had asked me how I would have tortured the King of The Light, it wouldn't be tasting his skin and leaving my mark. I suppose it isn't much different from my initial plan," he teased, joined with another chuckle. "Not only that, but to dress him like a doll? I would be lying if I said I wasn't the most excited I've been in years."
 
"Dressing me up like a doll is hardly a punishment -I'm rather in favour of the devotion it'll involve- but receiving that pleasure after countless days of torture you intend to put me through isn't... fair. It's not a worthwhile gift for the stamina you expect me to show in resisting your teases. It has been years without you, Ivory. Is it truly fair for you to dangle your touch over my head, knowing you don't intend to provide me with it until I'm healed? A process that may take weeks, might I add," countered the King sharply - or at least, with as much sharpness as his pained voice-box was able to provide. Raising a hand to his throat to provide a little cool to the pain of the swelling within it, he took a moment to gather himself, to calm his growing sense of bitter injustice, before he allowed his eyes to drift lazily back to his lover.

He understood the reasons for his hesitations; would practise similar restraint were the situations reversed. If Ivory had been close to death, with his injuries still threatening a possible infection were he to push himself more than necessary, there was little doubt in Elior's mind that he would restrict himself from his desires; place them on the backburner until it was certain that Ivory had the strength to engage with them without risking further harm.

But it wasn't... easy, accepting that fact when all he wanted to do was pull the other down beside him, wrap his arms around his shoulders in order to keep him close. He wanted to feel his body pressed against his own, pepper his face, his collarbones, his body with kisses-- but when just moving an inch provoked a sharp pain in his side and allowed nausea to bubble up in response to such instant agony, the likelihood of him being able to see through a passionate night of love-making was slim - to the point of it being an impossibility.

It wouldn't stop him from protesting, of course, his whines accompanying a disproving scowl.

With eyelids growing heavier by the second, beginning to burn in their effort to remain open and keep himself alert, Elior eventually caved to the need for rest and settled back, trying to convince himself that he was cocooned in the thick duvets and warm blankets that decorated his adored bed back home - though any time he moved against the hard slab beneath him immediately disrupted the effort at self-delusion, a frown pulling at his lips in disappointment. Just because he had chosen to leave his kingdom and everything he held dear there didn't mean he wouldn't miss it.

Granted, much of what he missed consisted of objects and items; things that leaned into Elior's materialism and desire for luxury - but when he lacked it considerably in The Dark, when he would never again feel pampered by all the luxuries that made his life so enjoyable, wasn't he justified in mourning it as deeply as he did?

Ivory was worth the sacrifice - but it would never stop Elior from wishing they could be together in The Light, surrounded by every indulgence that Elior had come to expect and believe himself entirely worthy of.

"...Can't you at least lie beside me while I sleep?" He eventually requested, tilting his head up to cast Ivory a glance, no words necessary to express the desperation the look alone contained. "You may be restraining yourself from my touch, but... can't we at least snuggle?"
 
Placing a finger to his lips in feigned contemplation, a hum escaped Ivory as he continued to feel the now former King's locks. He wanted to take in every strand, enjoy every lock even in its messy and matted form. He didn't answer Elior immediately, instead briefly moving away from his lover to rummage from his father's old side drawer to pull out a crude but clearly well-loved comb.

"I suppose I can grant you that pleasure," Ivory decided as, with a soft groan, he scooted onto the admittedly large bed on the other side of Elior. Sitting up, he dared to very carefully move the other's head to rest on Ivory's leg. With one hand neatly combing through the mess that once was the King of The Light's hair, the other was used to absently wipe any remaining sweat the other may have faced from the straining procedure.

In the years alone, the years spent dedicated to his work, touch had become Ivory's primary love-language. It was often seen in form grips of shoulders or hugs to his acquaintances but Elior? Elior was more than a mere acquaintance. To soak up in something seemingly so simple as skin, Ivory found himself picturing what it would be like to skin his lover after his death, dry it out to keep by his side -

…. Blink.
Those thoughts, they had been rare in recent years. He still resented The Light as much as he could being the lover of the (former) King but that rage, those aggressive and violent thoughts, had all but been projected onto himself. Instead of picturing an annoying client's head crushed under his feet, he pictured bashing his own head against his work table. Intrusive thoughts that he rarely acted upon but thoughts nonetheless. To have those return was… mildly concerning, but Ivory kept quiet. His lips pursed in the glow of the candlelight, unbeknownst to Elior.

It was best not to dwell on them. Evidently, his father had one good bit of advice.

"Oh, you're downright disgusting, aren't you? Tell me - as I'm sure you're bound to be thrilled to do - what was the surface like while you were King, Elior?" Ivory asked, his voice smooth like the pebbles he often collected as a child along the riverbanks. He spoke quietly, hoping to help lull Elior into sleep and proper rest. "Or would you prefer I speak? I ought to be concerned if the great Elior doesn't want to babble on," he teased, those owlish eyes locked onto Elior with the clear sense of concern, despite his confident smile.
 
Even after the traumatic experience of wandering the maze of tunnels within The Dark, growing more tired and collecting more injuries the longer the time ticked by (with the pre-existing ones doing little to help but rather serving to hinder his progress), Elior ought to have been too exhausted to hold a conversation for too long, let alone actively seek to do so. He had sustained a gunshot wound and followed up the immediate trauma of it with days upon days of starvation and suffering, with the emotional turmoil of his hunt for Ivory's location being just as painful as the physical ones were--

But nothing could ever stop him from indulging in a topic that not only involved him, but was solely about him and his various successes. Even if he knew that delighting in the topic of his rule over The Light risked bringing to attention the years he had spent experiencing moments of joy while Ivory was suffering, there was little point in pretending that he hadn't found the experience of ruling thrilling. It might have been tainted by his longing for Ivory, and the growing depression that came with realising that waiting for things to change was a hopeless endeavour, but he had had everything else he had ever wanted. He had had power and adoration, with his materialistic tendencies tended to without hesitation.

He wouldn't be himself if he declined to boast about it when asked.

"Oh, it wasn't as enjoyable as it should have been when you weren't at my side, my love-- but I can't deny that I enjoyed myself. How could I not? My people adored me, they would line the streets in their hundreds just to catch a glimpse of me within my royal carriage. They would shower the steps of my palace with gifts, shout and scream their support for political ambitions," he hummed in return, tone and expression matching in their wistfulness. Recalling the time he spent on the throne he had desired and dreamt of obtaining for himself since a child naturally brought with it fond memories - but it also brought pain to the forefront, the realisation that he had abandoned all he had worked for and was destined to never return to it stinging more than he wanted it to.

It was a decision he wouldn't regret, not when he had Ivory at his side, but it still hurt to have had to make the choice when he had so strongly believed that the alternative -that his people would gradually come to accept their counterparts- would be the actual basis of their future together.

He exhaled a breath slowly and adjusted his head a little in the other's lap in order to stare up at him, a smile tugging at his lips as Ivory came into view. It was easy to dwell on what he had given up but he could eradicate the sadness that clung to it when he reminded himself what he had given it all up for - because all the luxury, all the worship and adoration, paled dramatically in comparison to the feeling Elior gained when he was with Ivory. He was worth far more to him than ruling The Light and it occurred to him in that moment that it would be wise to remind himself that he was lucky to have the chance to live a life with the man he loved; that that was all that mattered.

"...As I said, with utter sincerity, I couldn't enjoy it to its fullest without you with me. Each day concluded with me lying in bed, wishing you were beside me. The Queen could only do so much to satisfy me, the children were nuisances-- no, I went to bed utterly pining for you. I'm sure that strokes that ego of yours rather considerably, to know that a great King like me often cried into his pillow each night over you."
 
"… considerably, yes." Ivory admitted after a feigned pause to consider, though they both knew it wasn't necessary. A snort escaped the man's lips as he moved his hand from Elior's hair to his chin, his fingers ever so slightly tilting the other's head forward just a sliver more once feeling the shift on his leg.

Due to their vantablack like skin, it was often hard to tell the aging of a citizen of The Dark unless you physically felt their skin. Despite that, despite looking just as he had a decade prior, there was still an air to the lapidarist. While, bar the fact his black locks had grown a bit, Ivory may seem like a young man, there was a clear exhaustion in his energy alone as he took in every line that was beginning to form slowly on Elior's face; searching both the other's skin as well as his mind, trying to compare the distinct image he had of the former Prince and compare it to the modern (ex) king.

It gave him comfort, taking in the subtle details. Of course, quite a bit of it was obscured by injury which left Ivory's brown furrowing still with a mind concern despite being visited by the doctor. Deep down inside of him, Ivory almost felt the urge to cry as he stared into Elior's eyes, his own casting a faint glow on Elior.

"So you produced children? That means you have an heir, at the very least," he reminded, before lowering his voice. "I know it isn't a monarchy, but perhaps The Council will think you're a good ruler despite being from The Light and have you join them? That is, unless they realize who you are… news spreads quite oddly here in The Dark. On one hand, I received your father's heart not long after you cut it out, I presume. Meanwhile there are still people from The Dark who don't realize what I had done," he admitted, to another snort.

"People keep their heads down, I suppose. Mind their own business and all that. To, I would say… 80% of The Dark doesn't care about The Light in any capacity. The 20% who do still want to see your kingdom destroyed. Let them. What matters is that you're here, so let them burn it away. You and I will be safe, warm and cozy." He hummed and and allowed his eyes to drift away from Elior finally to instead take in the candles that burned along each bit of the home to allow the untrained Elior to their home.

"… do tell me to shut up, Elior. I know you're sore, I… am just so happy to be with you again, my love. This hasn't just been me not speaking with you, it's just been s very… ah, quiet. Filling the silence is so pleasant, I can't describe it."
 
"I don't particularly care about there being heirs to the throne, now I'm no longer a part of The Light's future. For all I care, the kingdom can, as you so delicately put it, burn. I only cared for its success when I was at the helm. No, the children can do as they wish when they come to rule, I've no doubt that they'll struggle to live up to the legacy I created. I would pity them, living in my shadow-- but alas, I can't find it in me to care all that much," shrugged Elior dismissively, any indication that he was uttering such disregard to his own children for Ivory's sake not seen-- because it didn't actually exist.

He might have had a few brief moments of enjoying having the children around, looking to them with something more akin to pride at his success in producing them rather than love, but they didn't mean that much to him, or he would never have abandoned them to return to Ivory in the first place. His wife might have fallen immediately for the children, cherishing them with protestations of unconditional love and murmurs that she would do all she could to protect them, but to Elior, they were just... necessities for the greater good of The Light; burdens he had to endure for the sake of the throne's security.

He was hardly incapable of feeling love, of developing strong emotions that made him feel vulnerable in their sincerity-- but much of that (or more accurately, all of it) was reserved for Ivory, who remained the sole benefactor of Elior's love even if he had children out in the world who ought to have received a little of it.

"If I am to be a resident here, then The Dark's success, its future, is what I care about. The Light is irrelevant to me; I'm more than happy to switch my allegiance and fight for The Dark if this is to be my home. If The Council are to have me, I suppose that might be a worthwhile use of my time-- considering how inept they are to deal with. No, someone needs to whip them into shape, get them to take their roles seriously. Why shouldn't that someone be me?" Elior proceeded as he absently rested a hand over Ivory's, his fingers slotting into place amongst his own to entwine them in a loving embrace. A casual suggestion on Ivory's end had now -perhaps inevitably- ignited Elior's interest, the thought of regaining his importance, of possibly even marking himself out as someone who everyone knew (albeit with a different identity) who was worthy of praise and admiration unsurprisingly stroking his ego.

If there was a chance of putting himself in a position of relative power whilst also doing something to improve conditions in The Dark for those within it, wouldn't it be inconsiderate of him not to grab it with both hands?

"--Hm? Oh, not at all, talk away, Ivory. Don't leave it to me to chatter so incessantly; you're welcome to do so, share the burden," hummed Elior in return, a teasing smile pulling at his lips at the choice of words, given how little of a burden it was on his end to fill the space. On the contrary, nothing really appealed to the former King more than holding a conversation and filling a space with his words-- particularly if they allowed him to boast of himself and his endeavours.

"I am tired, however - and now you've got me interested in possibly joining The Council, I do think I'll need my sleep; to recover so I can charm them into accepting me, hm? A little beauty sleep ought to help, I'm aware I look... frightful at the moment."
 
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"You're lucky, Elior. I believe that I am the only citizen of The Dark to have witnessed you face-to-face, so we simply will have to come up with a good story as to why you decided to stumble down our little hole. Not only that but then want to stay here…" Ivory began, the fingers that had entangled carefully within his lover's hair tapping ever so slightly against his head in contemplation. It wasn't something he couldn't do, right?

Elior was only a whisper amongst the citizens of The Dark after all; a name to be hated over dinner, or praised while at the market. He may have come up with an alternative name but would it stick? And would Elior remember? Not to mention Ivory was older now, would he himself remember his line in their act? The fingers entangled in Elior's hair moved to rest on his own lap, sharp nails no longer carefully massaging a scalp but now dug deep within his thigh.

Thankfully the dark hid Ivory's expression and where his hand had gone, but it took the lapidarist a moment to close his eyes and calm down before he blinked, taking in where he was again.

"You really ought to rest indeed, love," he agreeed after a soft chuckle. Despite the chuckle, the energy shifted drastically. "Just know that if you do not wake and succumb to your injuries, I will have us both sent down the river. I will simply seem like a mere pauper but I will make sure you will look beautiful. Ideally we will avoid that though so… do rest."

Despite his grim words and threat, Ivory offered the gentlest of kisses on Elior's head before leaning over the man carefully to blow out the candles that offered the dimmest of light. There was much to do and Ivory knew this, but was it so cruel to enjoy a few hours of just them? He wanted to, for the first time in half a decade, simply close his eyes and sleep soundly.

He knew he wouldn't be granted the latter given the fact that at any moment, Elior could succumb to his weakness… but he crossed his fingers as he pulled the blankets over them both snug.
 
"I won't perish in my sleep, do stop being dramatic - but if I do, your plan is to, what? Join me in death; voluntarily end your existence? Oh, Ivory, that's... not something I should encourage, of course, but I can't pretend not to find it romantic.. The idea of either one of us alive while the other is dead doesn't-- quite sit right, does it? No, rest assured, if you were ever to leave this mortal coil, I would gladly join you," responded Elior as a sliver of a smile danced on his lips, his eyes, though tired and desperately in need of rest, locking firmly on his lover, sparkling at the depth of his feelings for him.

The behaviour wasn't something he should encourage. Deep down, he knew he ought to dismiss any idea of Ivory giving up his life if Elior were to slip away into death, to instead encourage him that he had plenty to live for and shouldn't tie his own self-worth to that of someone else. He was his own person and he could make a life for himself without Elior's presence, however difficult it may initially seem--

But Elior didn't do that. Perhaps it was toxic, perhaps it was selfish, but he found himself encouraging the mindset-- no, more than that, he actively chose to feed into it, promising with entire seriousness that he would adopt the same plan, accept the same fate, were the situations reversed.

He may have brushed it off, dismissed it with a roll of his eyes, but the idea that he might... simply not wake up was partly the reason Elior had been so intent on keeping the conversation going for as long as he could, until the burn behind his eyelids became too unbearable to ignore a second longer. It was unfeasible to resist sleep and recognising that, though the fear existed, the former King chose to settle back; to switch off from everything around him and slip off into a restful, necessary slumber, comforted by the presence of Ivory at his side.

The relief that hit him when he woke in the morning was instantaneous. At first, his eyes fluttered open, a groan leaking from his lips at the usual aches alongside the more searing stabs of pain-- but at least he was alive, ready to take on another day. In fact, there was more optimism on his end than ever, given this was his first real day in The Dark.

The first real day of the rest of his life.

There might not be much he could do whilst still recovering, but Ivory's promise of accompanying him to the river to clean resided notably in his mind. It wasn't much to look forward to in the grand scheme of things but, dirtied from wandering aimlessly in the tunnels, nothing appealed more to Elior in that moment than simply getting clean; bathing beneath cold waters and emerging refreshed and more like himself.

Running a hand down his face with a yawn, he attempted to sit up, to gather as much strength as he could to start making movements on his own accord, without assistance. He knew he couldn't jump up and wander about-- but he could at least push himself to sit upright, eventually managing the feat with a triumphant smile. It wasn't much, but it was a success nonetheless; something to be proud of himself for.
 
While there was no obvious day or night in The Dark, the bioluminescent mushrooms were the closest anyone could rely on regarding the concept of 'morning' versus 'night'. They opened their almost clam-like bodies to expose the bright blues and purples, colors and brightness notably not too dissimilar to the citizens of The Dark's own eyes.

So, while there was a layer of light to the world similar to that of the sun right before it dipped over the horizon, it would still startle the average person if they spotted the way Ivory watched over Elias. He held a mug in his hand, a cup of tea long forgotten and as cold as The Dark itself was. The hearth was alight and offered some respite from the dimness but it's embers we're fading, much like Ivory's hope of Elior waking up.

He held his head with his free hand as his knee shook, clearly impatient as time went on and the dread that had loomed dangerously close to his shoulder slowly began to creep. Despite his vantablack appearance, his eyes - that of which were nervously moving from the ground to Elior and back- showed enough emotion in them as is. Ivory had sat in a chair beside the bed for hours now, waiting for something to change. And deep down, a part of him truly believed that Elior wouldn't wake up and he would go forward with his plans -

To hear the groan of his lover as he stirred from sleep caused a feeling inside the lapidarist that he couldn't quite describe. Anger? Fear? Overwhelming joy? Whatever it was, Ivory found a smile grow nonetheless as he moved to carefully cup his lover's cheek.

"Did you sleep the most pleasant of dreams, my dear Elior?" Ivory questioned in a whisper as he offered a kiss to the man's forehead. "Are you hungry? I can work on cooking something delicious for you. Then we clean you up, of course, then we can move you to my room if you're willing to walk?"
 
"I could eat-- as long as whatever you make is cooked through thoroughly. I'm not sure I can stomach anything crunchy after the... cave spider," replied Elior quietly, a surge of nausea coursing through him at the reminder. He had only himself to blame for the images that subsequently raced to mind as he recalled the desperation that had flooded him as he wandered the tunnels in search of Ivory, of anyone, to come to his aid; the hunger that felt all-consuming, aching every part of his body.

He didn't necessarily regret tearing into the spider in the manner he had done, because for all he knew, the energy it provided had been the catalyst to keeping him alive for several more hours; enough for Ivory to stumble upon him and race to save his life before he succumbed to his exhaustion. But with hindsight, now he was in a safe place and actively making progress to restore himself to his full health, Elior was left to grimace in embarrassment at his actions - and to feel nauseous, sickened to his core, by the incident, both what he had (at the time) unapologetically eaten but also the savage, crazed manner of it.

It had been a far cry from the formal approach he took to all his meals, with the vast array of cutlery upon the table gradually being worked through as the night progressed. No, his hands had been the only tools at his disposal as he cracked the spider's exterior shell, torn ravenously into its flesh, scooping up handfuls to force down his throat--

Shuddering viscerally at the memory before working hard to shove it to the farthest corner of his mind, the former King reciprocated the immediate show of affection by returning a kiss to Ivory's cheek, a faint dusting of pink settling unsubtly on his own at the easy show of intimacy. It had been all he had hoped for as years without Ivory passed him by, longing more achingly with each of those days to simply have the ability to hold his lover; to do something as natural, as easy, as press a kiss to him without secrecy or fear. Being in possession of that ability now was still bewildering to him, as though something might arrive to disturb them; to tear them apart from one another once again.

But he had to abandon that paranoia. Everyone in The Light thought him dead, and those in The Dark would know him by a different name; would hopefully come to admire him as he regained his strength and put himself to work in their land.

All while building a life with the man he loved; an opportunity that had taken years to be achieved but, now he had it, he wouldn't ever let it slip through his fingers.

"Then we can get to the river; get me cleaned up, nice and proper. I would like to try and walk, build up my strength-- though I'm sure you can scoop me up into your arms should I require assistance, yes? I don't wish to make you cart me about constantly, my love, but I'm still weak, aren't I? I might need you to carry me for awhile-- this isn't an excuse for me to have your strong arms envelop me, of course not! This is necessary, my legs are still shaky, my bones so fragile," he dramatically sighed with the back of his hand pressed to his forehead to conclude the moment with a little theatrical flair. Breaking character with a grin, he couldn't resist the temptation to loop his arms around Ivory's shoulders, bringing their bodies close with a hum.

"I kid, of course; I'll do my best to walk, to get moving. So do try to resist scooping me up; carrying me about. I know it's tempting to gather me up and ravage me, my love, but... let me try and rebuild my strength first, hm? I'm no use to you, to this land, if I'm reserved to this bed, am I?"
 
"If I must I would happily make you a walking stick. There is rarely wood in The Dark, lest you venture further towards the surface and dare to traverse the abandoned mines there. It's dangerous but that is the main source of wood; I believe they're the root of trees. I would happily venture close to the surface, risk my life, to make you a proper walking stick," Ivory admitted, his voice soft and powdery as he set his tea down to take Elior's hand in his and absently played with the pads of the other man's skin.

It was so coarse compared to the skin he remembered. He could do vividly recall Elior's skin being smooth to the touch and finding so much joy in digging his own sharp nails into the other's flesh when they first made love, but now? The owlish orbs took in every detail of scrape and bruise, the bumps and rivets in otherwise perfect, marblesque skin angered the lapidarist in a sense. It wasn't fair.

If anyone were to break such a beautiful piece like Elior, it was to be him. Blink.

A clear of his throat, Ivory nodded and offered a gentle peck to Elior's forehead once again. Cooking would be a fantastic distraction to the anger that simmered just below the surface. An anger to whom? Well, he supposed the people who caused the near fatal wound to begin with, but he digressed. He needed to focus on feeding his healing lover-

But not before offering to help him sit up a bit, folding the many fabric to make a few pillows upon watching Elior make his own attempt.

"If cave spider isn't your taste, would you be willing to try their eggs? They're quite delicious scrambled," Ivory suggested as he briefly glanced back at Elior, a glint of mischief in his eye. "I do say so myself, they're delicious with some provisional herbs and rice in the morning. That being said, cave spider is the main source of protein - unless you enjoy mushrooms."

His tone darkened, as did his downcast eyes once turning away.

"You must never eat a mushroom without checking me or a neighbor, understood? I know it is hard for you to see here and what one mycelium may be edible cannot be said for another. Just - I want you to have many more years with me, Elior. To lose you to something so small as a mushroom? Perhaps your eyes will adjust in time, but in the meantime I advise you simply trust me."
 
"Do you honestly believe I would pluck a mushroom from the walls of this land and consume it without it first being dutifully prepared and seasoned for me? Do behave yourself and use common sense, Ivory. What is it about me that would make you worried I would do something like that? No, no - put your fears to bed, my love. I won't eat anything that hasn't been made by your hand first, I reassure you. I may no longer be King, but... well, these hands are not suddenly going to be put to too much work, let's not be under any illusion about that," laughed Elior in response, finding a little too much amusement in the idea of himself wandering amongst The Dark and foraging food for himself, lining his stomach with raw mushrooms he collected along the way when, ideally, he would never have to provide for himself whatsoever.

It was a weighty expectation to harbour, born from his own arrogance, but he didn't expect to prepare any meal for himself whatsoever, assuming without appealing to Ivory first that his meals would be cooked and handed to him; that Ivory would take up that duty - because it was a wise assumption to make, even if Elior put aside the arrogance that quietly demanded his desires be tended to. No, if he was expected to pitch in with cooking duties, then Ivory didn't know him at all and was only encouraging forth a disaster.

"I don't know my way around a kitchen and have no idea how to cook - I have never so much as boiled an egg for myself, Ivory, so really, your worries have no need to exist, tormenting that head of yours. Anything that passes my lips will be approved by you first, no doubt because your cooking is truly all I intend on consuming," he proceeded with a little more seriousness, the amused laugh eventually dying down when he took note of the genuine concern creasing his lover's features - and the heartfelt reasons that had spawned them. Spending a lifetime in The Dark would have appalled Elior in his younger years, making him feel nauseous at the prospect of the rest of his years without the sun kissing his skin and all the luxuries that his privileged life had once afforded him--

But now? Now, all he could ever want was a life beside Ivory, and if that was in The Dark, then so be it. Frankly, he had given up caring where their time together would be spent, so long as they actually had that time together. Like Ivory, he longed to spend the rest of his years at the side of the man he loved, and if Ivory's fears could be put to bed, if he was reassured that Elior wasn't about to bring his own life to an untimely end through stupidity or lack of awareness, then the former King was quick to bring him that.

"...We'll have years upon years together, I promise you I'll be smart and rely upon your wisdom for guidance, okay? Really, Ivory, I... I'm going to be okay; we're going to be okay," he emphasised quietly, his eyes locked intensely on Ivory's in an effort to convince him of that fact. To make that success a little more likely, he adjusted his position a little to allow him to loop his arms around Ivory's shoulders, bringing him in as close as he could with a growing grin.

"Can you promise me you won't worry so much? You look splendid with a few lines on that face of yours, but let's not add them unnecessarily, shall we? I... truly have no intention of leaving you alone, my love. No, you're going to have to deal with me pestering you for decades to come, okay?"
 
"… perhaps you're already adjusting to the dark, or maybe I'm aging faster than most. I've been told that citizens in the Dark age well. I must be the exception." Countered Ivory as he rested his hands carefully on the other's arms, taking in the sweaty skin. He made a note to definitely have Elior take a wash in the stream and for a brief moment it appeared the man grew distant, thinking of the best time for them to wash with the most privacy.

After all, no one deserved to see Elior period let alone while he was injured. In Ivory's eyes, the world only should see the visual perfection that Elior presented; not some weak and injured Light citizen. In fact, he wanted to keep Elior to himself and no one else -

Blink. He needed to start making some food.

"Now I cannot begin making us breakfast if you don't let go of me, Elior," he reminded, a smile emerging as the pearly whites contrasted his void skin. "Then once we both have had something to eat, I can help carry you to the river. You can marvel at my strength now that you're fully conscious as I easily lift you. I may be getting old but I can assure you, I won't disappoint."

He offered another gentle kiss, this time to the other's lips. The feeling of strange domestication was odd to Ivory but it was a feeling he didn't want to leave. If he closed his glowing eyes for a moment, shut off his senses other than the touch of Elior below him, he could - however briefly - pretend that his life was what he hoped it would be a decade ago. He was still a lapidarist, this was true, but his home was more than a bed and a kitchen. The silence he had to endure from his father was unbearable but now he had Elior, someone to fill the room with his voice.

Fill the home with the light that had been missing for so long now.

Ivory couldn't have his fairytale, not yet at least. No, Elior had to build his strength up. A faint huff escaped, disappointment in having the brief moment of peace taken from him as he observed once more and assessed the injuries. He chose not to dwell on it though, instead very carefully moving back to head to the kitchen. He rummaged through the icebox, humming all the while in a strange glee he hadn't felt in ages.

"I can make you some more tea, help build up your immune system. I can cook us up something quick and perhaps I can try baking us some bread? My sister had a brilliant recipe but I've always been too afraid to try it," he admitted as he absently pulled his messy locks up. "I know you'll be honest with me and my lack of baking skills."
 
It wasn't Elior's first experience of a life encompassing some level of domesticity when he had been married (and still technically was) but it was at least the first time in which the simplicity of a domestic setting could be enjoyed. His life had been far from simple in The Light when he was its leader and ruler, but Elior, in typical fashion, had adored the constant throng of activity when most of it guaranteed that he would receive almost constant, undying attention from all that came into contact with him.

Yet, in the privacy of his home, separated from the loving public and eyes of his servants, the domesticity he was supposedly meant to treasure as a release from the strains of life in the public eye was a prison to him; a reminder, visceral and painful, that the wife he had taken and the children they produced would never ever meet the standard that Ivory had set. The nights when the children would be put to bed and Elior would see beside the fireplace in one armchair with the Queen in another were often endlessly tedious - and would have been painfully awkward had he cared about the woman's impression of him whatsoever.

His life now seemed destined to be far more simpler than he had ever envisioned it would be and, were he with anyone else, it would seem guaranteed to unsettle him; set his nerves on edge, his mood to deteriorate, as he tried to comprehend an existence where he wasn't surrounded by material wealth, with every want and need catered for before he even had to voice them. But he could sacrifice all he thought he wanted with ease because he knew that all he really needed was Ivory.

And the fact he was content with the simplicity of their domestic setting was a testament to that, with Elior surprising himself with how fond he was of the idea of Ivory baking some bread for him. It warmed his heart more than he cared to admit but, beyond that, the scene itself was... cute; warm. He didn't think he would ever embrace a lifestyle like it, but if Ivory was a part of it, then Elior realised, with striking clarity, that that was a lifestyle he wanted.

"I'd honestly love nothing more than for you to dabble in making bread. I know you have berries here, so perhaps you can even attempt a jam of sorts? Wouldn't that be exquisite? Waking up to fresh bread and jam in the morning, taking our little meal outside and enjoying breakfast overlooking the scenery-- whatever scenery The Dark has to offer, I've not really had much of a chance to take it in as of yet," he snorted quietly, his eyes following Ivory out of the room before he chose to take advantage of the moment of solitude to push himself and his body to a level he doubted Ivory would be comfortable with.

He knew not to push himself too much, lest he only succeed in haltering his chance at a quick recovery, but there was only so much feeling weak and fragile he could endure. As honest as he was when he claimed with a smile that having Ivory carry him around was ideal, he didn't want to have to rely upon it; to have Ivory constantly see him as a shell of the strong, capable King he had once been. No, though his limbs burned and stitched wounds stung, Elior had to push himself a little harder than he claimed to Ivory; had to speed along his recovery so he could be the partner Ivory needed him to be.

"I hope you're getting started on that tea? I could do with it," he called out as he pushed himself to the edge of the bed, shakily exhaling a pained breath as one hand raised to wipe his brow free of sweat. The fact he was using up so much energy to merely sit up out of bed when he used to be capable of so much more was demoralising and, frankly, embarrassing, Elior caught up in the weight of the emotions for a beat too long as he stared quietly at his hands, fingers cut and calloused from the days spent wandering aimlessly among the rocks and craggy surfaces.

"I-- I-I really would like some tea," he repeated in an effort to make up for the silence that had persisted, his voice perhaps a bit too chipper in the desperation of that attempt. "Maybe-- Maybe make it sweet, if that's possible. I think I could do with the, ah... the... comfort of it."
 
"Really? I would imagine all the time you spent wandering about the caves that you would have gotten plenty of the scenery," came Ivory's voice with a snort as he rummaged through the many bottles hand blown from glass just a few settlements down. There was a brief pause for two things as his hand hovered over the jars of loose ingredients.

He hesitated first from the sudden wave of guilt that hit him as he took in the bottles. He knew they were prized possessions of his mothers, given to her as a gift for his parents' reunion. Over the years - long before her passing - they had been decided to be the designated herb bottles yet no less than 48 hours he was going to leave them, abandoned in his childhood home.

That thought then trailed onto the other signs of life on in an otherwise lifeless home as his eyes took in the plants resting on the window. His father had always been a man's man, preferring the company of those who shared the more stereotypical masculine interests. That being said, nothing brought more joy to his father (other than his mother) than growing the plants that lined the window.

When his father grew ill, Ivory took it upon himself to keep the sturdy plants alive. They were all pure white, due to a lack of chlorophyll, their ghostly petals almost glowing from how bright they were in contrast to the dimness The Dark offered.

His attention was able to be brought away from his drifting thoughts and cruel memories to focus on the sound of Elior's voice. His brows raised at the sudden insistence on tea, but the tone was… strange. It wasn't pompous or demanding, as he would expect from Elior. No, it was desperate and broken. Clearing his throat, Ivory grabbed the kettle as he lit the hearth where he would boil the tea. In the meantime, the lapidarist glanced back at the bedroom.

"I can make it sweet, yes. We do get some imports. I don't know who had sent it down but I was able to try honey for the first time… ever? There are few things that make me envious of The Light, but having access to honey is one of them." He admitted and knelt down to grab the jar of aforementioned honey. "
 
Though he knew Ivory was speaking, filling the silence, none of the words were actually taken in by Elior - he could hear his lover's voice break through but the actual words used, the content of the conversation, remained entirely lost to him. In fact, Ivory himself sounded as though he were miles from him, voice muffled by the pounding that had erupted within Elior's own head.

That alone was probably a sign that he should accept when he had pushed himself as far as he could and return to lying in bed, the pressure removed from his overexerted muscles and his body allowed the chance to rest, with every fibre and sinew screaming at Elior to listen as they sought a respite from his abrupt decision to push himself-- not only to the edge of the bed but beyond it.

It was the shaky rise to his feet that had encouraged the pounding of his blood in his ears, blocking out all noise other than the timbre of Ivory's voice - but the former King, determined not to back down now he had made a good deal of progress, ignored the red flags and took a step forward; urging himself to at least make it a few steps into the room before he could consider turning on his heel and returning to the comfort (or as much comfort as The Dark was capable of, he presumed) of the bed.

Whether it was the all-encompassing dizziness that halted him in his tracks or the searing hot pain in his side that did it, who could say. Ultimately, it was probably a combination of the two - the latter caused Elior to grimace as a hand rested upon his stitches, fearing the pain was a result of them threatening to come undone at his physical movement, whereas the former caused him to panic: the blurriness to his vision as his head proceeded to thud, thud, thud more loudly with each passing second left him, unsubtly, gasping in desperately for a breath, as though that alone would correct him.

Turning quietly, he couldn't consider offering a word to Ivory in the effort to keep the other in the dark; prevent his inevitable worry. It had been the intention when the pain in his side emerged, hoping to keep Ivory engaged in the conversation long enough for Elior to return to the bed and leave his lover none the wiser-- but then the dizziness arose, the panic that ensued as he feared he was about to faint understandably putting all other intentions to the wayside.

With an arm against the wall, his head propped against it, dipped a little, in the effort to calm himself; to take in deep, steady breaths and force himself to take his time, however tempting it was to abandon all caution and fling himself to the bed. Doing so would undeniably tear his stitches and such a rapid movement was perhaps even likely to cause him to faint before his body could even reach the bed-- so though it made the nausea swirl within him, he took his time, dedicating seconds to simply leaning into the wall, taking in cool breaths and hearing his heartbeat relax from its panicked frenzy as a result.

That, at least, was one less thing to worry about.
 
Now a brief moment of silence from Elior alone was strange, having fully expected the former King to babble on as well.

It was for the first time in years that Ivory's home was filled with conversation rather than the overwhelming silence the lapidarist was used to. It was the fact that he was so used to that silence that Ivory didn't dash over initially. In his defense, Ivory was tired.

Emotionally, physically- the last three years especially had been a constant state of overwhelming exhaustion. His father's passing was just another weight that broke him, leading to his plans to end it all. His body was feeling the effects of years of physical labor as well as the shock that was felt after still being alive - not to mention that during Elior's slumber, Ivory hadn't slept a wink.

Was it a bit creepy in theory, the image of your lover staring with glowing eyes over your body for hours? Perhaps - but Elior was in a fragile position. What if something tore while he slept? What if there were complications and the love of his life died suddenly in his sleep? A sick, twisted part of Ivory hoped that would be the case so he could finally Rembrandt death himself; be able to be with the people he loved, the people who loved him.

He was alive though, his mind growing a bit blank as he added just a dab of honey. It was when far too much time had passed that the wires in Ivory's brain sparked once again, leaving him to set the two mugs of tea down as carefully as possible before making a hurried scurry to the bedroom - fast enough to get there quickly, but slow enough to have deniability of Elior were to say he was being dramatic. To see Elior in such a struggled state but still conscious ignited new fears and exhausted others as he quickly moved to support his lover from the side of the stone walls.

He said nothing at first as he helped Elior back into bed, moving as slowly and as carefully as possible. Once Elior was back in bed Ivory wasted no time in scanning the stitching in the brutal wound, all the while silent and emotionless.

It was all just flashbacks to his father and the man's poor health. He knew he couldn't react with the emotions he was feeling; anger, frustration, distrust, fear - no, Elior wasn't well and what mattered most was making sure he was okay, not letting the emotions that had fueled so much of his younger years take hold.

"… why did you get up?" He finally asked after covering Elior in the blankets when there seemed to be no harm to the incision bar some irritation. "Elior, I was making your tea. Why did you get up?"
 
Whether it was the embarrassment that came from needing Ivory to rush to his side that rendered Elior silent and unresponsive, or the guilt that arose when he could feel the other's worry leaking from him, it didn't entirely matter - because either way, regardless of if there was a solitary cause or a combination, the former King refused to answer, instead choosing to turn onto his side and press his face down into the pillow beneath his head.

Even if he couldn't sense the frustration from Ivory, it wasn't difficult for him to come to the conclusion that that was the case; that he was continuing to pile on further stress onto his lover's shoulders and leave him more exhausted than he ought to be. Even though Ivory's expression had been emotionless as he dutifully tended to him, Elior wasn't blind - all it took was a quick glance to see the concern in his eyes, the disappointment, the anger.

It was understandable, of course, but it didn't make Elior feel any better when he already felt like a burden. He would get better with time, he knew that a little patience and working with his body rather than against it would get him back on track and aid his recovery in no time, but he was impatient: he didn't want to constantly rely on Ivory when the other's exhaustion was as evident as it was.

And, perhaps stupidly, he didn't want to have to have Ivory constantly witness his injured state; constantly see the lack of ability that Elior currently possessed when, back when they first met, when their eyes first locked, he had been capable of so much more. It was infuriating to be reduced to a state where just moving wrong brought agony-- but beyond that, he just felt pathetic.

So why would he ever want Ivory to see him like that if he couldn't even bear it himself?

"Doesn't matter; I couldn't go further than the fucking wall so it doesn't matter," he mumbled in response, words muffled by the pillow but the tone -bitter, angry, embarrassed- remained sharp, cutting through the barrier with ease. With a quiet groan (be it from the pain or the continued sense of humiliation from failing as dramatically as he had), he turned onto his back and, after gathering himself, shot a darted look over at Ivory, hoping to be met with a little more emotion that wasn't solely angry and disappointed in nature.

Because, as much as he understood the presence of those feelings, it hardly made him feel any better about himself.

"I don't want to go to the river. I don't want to go anywhere. If all I can do is fucking lay in this bed, then that's what I shall do. I'll-- I'll stay here all day and sleep and waste away, because I can't do anything else by myself, can I?" He proceeded with a twist of his lips, more than aware that he was being petulant and childish but the idea of Ivory having to help him with each step he took, perhaps even having to carry him, no longer held the appeal it had the previous night. Then, he had looked upon Ivory's assistance as an extension of his love; a physical marker of the dedication that his lover had to him.

Now, he just wanted to spare Ivory the exhaustion and spare himself the humiliation of being cared for in such a manner.

"No, that is-- that's settled, I'm going to stay here, in bed. You can go out if you'd like but I have no desire to join you. I just want to stay in and... and sleep," he declared with a nod in finality, turning back onto his side to make his intention clear-- though it had mostly been put into action to avoid having to look at Ivory.

To avoid the guilt that would come if he stared at him for so much as a second longer.
 
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