07-19-2017, 07:46 AM
(This post was last modified: 07-19-2017, 07:54 AM by DrinkToMeOnlyWithThineEyes.)
Erumollien shook his head, "Why though? I have already passed many years, you are still a child in my eyes, you do not know me nor I you." He spoke simply as he got up off the grass and walked towards the edge of the pool where his sister often would have him sit so she can speak with him without leaving the water.
Kneeling down, he pulled at some of the grass, imagining his mother's guiding hands as she taught him how to care for the flowers she so loved greatly. "I...wish to apologise." He drew his strength from his lessons in diplomacy, recalling how Glandur excelled in that topic and spoke calmly of how a king or prince must act, his pale haired brother was everything he cannot be.
He was more feeling, more kind and gentle. He was silver-tongued and easy to love.
"It has come to my attention that I have been acting...horribly in a fashion unbefitting of my station and upbringing." If he closed his eyes and pretended, he would be able to hear his brother's voice coaxing him to continue, "I should have been patient, taught you how to act rather than criticise you and never show you how to improve." Airemana always told him his weakness was that he never was one to spoonfeed information, but his father pointed out that it can be his strength as well.
He hated telling people what they've done wrong. Or what he expects from them. But he was a king and he learned to do everything he hated.
"I cannot promise you that I shall teach you, I haven't the time." It was true but his sister and brother would still steal him away from his study, even his father would summon him so they may spend time together.
But his consort? He doubts it. His consort was too subservient.
"Beriadan can be your tutor or Mellimeldisiel." He sighed and rubbed his face before adding, "Be careful with your words, my people still are watching you to make a grave insult. I have received fifteen proposals to legitimise a law pertaining to the king taking a mistress and I've received five proposals from varying lords and ladies to fill the role of a better half." He was warning his consort out of duty, he cannot see himself loving this man.
He brought a hand upon his pin and recalled the burns on Airemana's hands, the proud yet exhausted smile on her face, her beautiful black hair all mussed up from the hours she spent at the forge.
She had studied under a dwarf and she took to crafting the pin with determination. He knew it was not the best quality a dwarf will see that from fifteen leagues, but he loved that pin.
"Treat Beriadan with respect, though feel free to scold him when he gets too much." He spoke once more, his gaze blank as his consciousness retreated away into his own memories, "He is like a brother to me." But Glandur was always far more completing for him. His younger brother who chose peace and healing over the pain of steel and shrieks of death.
Beriadan was the older brother that had taught him swordplay and to walk the pain off when he gets harmed.
"You cannot say you love me," He said blinking and forcing his gaze to focus on his consort, "For you do not yet know me. Love is built upon through trials, pain, joy, courtship, laughter, tears, rejoicement, grief, family and friends." He placed a hand upon his chest, his eyes closing as he ignored the flare of pain he felt when he recalled his parents, "Love is not found easily. But love can be made and nurtured." He was echoing his father's words when he spoke of his desire to find that perfect love like his parents, "And when made to bloom in its strength, love is hard to extinguish even beyond death." He remembered how much his father loved his mother, that even after her soul had sailed, her father still loved her and would still go to the pools to lay down her favourite flowers.
He doubts such a love can be given to him.
Kneeling down, he pulled at some of the grass, imagining his mother's guiding hands as she taught him how to care for the flowers she so loved greatly. "I...wish to apologise." He drew his strength from his lessons in diplomacy, recalling how Glandur excelled in that topic and spoke calmly of how a king or prince must act, his pale haired brother was everything he cannot be.
He was more feeling, more kind and gentle. He was silver-tongued and easy to love.
"It has come to my attention that I have been acting...horribly in a fashion unbefitting of my station and upbringing." If he closed his eyes and pretended, he would be able to hear his brother's voice coaxing him to continue, "I should have been patient, taught you how to act rather than criticise you and never show you how to improve." Airemana always told him his weakness was that he never was one to spoonfeed information, but his father pointed out that it can be his strength as well.
He hated telling people what they've done wrong. Or what he expects from them. But he was a king and he learned to do everything he hated.
"I cannot promise you that I shall teach you, I haven't the time." It was true but his sister and brother would still steal him away from his study, even his father would summon him so they may spend time together.
But his consort? He doubts it. His consort was too subservient.
"Beriadan can be your tutor or Mellimeldisiel." He sighed and rubbed his face before adding, "Be careful with your words, my people still are watching you to make a grave insult. I have received fifteen proposals to legitimise a law pertaining to the king taking a mistress and I've received five proposals from varying lords and ladies to fill the role of a better half." He was warning his consort out of duty, he cannot see himself loving this man.
He brought a hand upon his pin and recalled the burns on Airemana's hands, the proud yet exhausted smile on her face, her beautiful black hair all mussed up from the hours she spent at the forge.
She had studied under a dwarf and she took to crafting the pin with determination. He knew it was not the best quality a dwarf will see that from fifteen leagues, but he loved that pin.
"Treat Beriadan with respect, though feel free to scold him when he gets too much." He spoke once more, his gaze blank as his consciousness retreated away into his own memories, "He is like a brother to me." But Glandur was always far more completing for him. His younger brother who chose peace and healing over the pain of steel and shrieks of death.
Beriadan was the older brother that had taught him swordplay and to walk the pain off when he gets harmed.
"You cannot say you love me," He said blinking and forcing his gaze to focus on his consort, "For you do not yet know me. Love is built upon through trials, pain, joy, courtship, laughter, tears, rejoicement, grief, family and friends." He placed a hand upon his chest, his eyes closing as he ignored the flare of pain he felt when he recalled his parents, "Love is not found easily. But love can be made and nurtured." He was echoing his father's words when he spoke of his desire to find that perfect love like his parents, "And when made to bloom in its strength, love is hard to extinguish even beyond death." He remembered how much his father loved his mother, that even after her soul had sailed, her father still loved her and would still go to the pools to lay down her favourite flowers.
He doubts such a love can be given to him.