Warriors

Chapter 8

Micah had gone and explained the plan to the Princesses. They'd brushed up on the finer details and made a final, but tough decision. He wanted to be the one to break it to them. His stomach was a huge, nervous lump and his hands were trembling slightly. He clasped them together tightly and breathed slowly as he tried to soften the tremors. Even his legs were feeling a little shaken up while he made his way through the large theatre, with lush, wine red velvet smothering every nook and cranny.

He had mixed feelings about vast theatres like this one. On one hand, way too much red and gold. On the other, in big performance spaces like these, you could imagine the audience sitting and gossiping in hushed voices or squealing about the show then you could imagine the lights dimming and the curtains pulling apart somehow silencing the hundreds of voices. You could imagine the beautiful and sometimes happy sometimes tragic sometimes intriguing story being painted by the actors onstage. Then the audience stands up and you could hear the whistles and claps. It was eery yet bewitching.

He had finally found his way backstage, to the rehearsal studio where a certain extravagant performer was switching through personalities and costumes with only a script as their prompt. They were captivated by their own spell, taken in by the magic of the stage. So captivated they didn't notice him slip open the chipped, scarlet door with a light squeak or his quiet but not completely steps brushing on the smooth, oak floor.

The studio had a musty smell of sweat and feet. Realistically speaking studios never smell nice, they smell of hard work and endless torture performers put themselves through to provide a truly entertaining show. The wooden floors had been worn down by countless dance rehearsals and actors practising for their latest premiere. There were shining, dusty mirrors, only a little smudged by hand prints along the bottom from eager, excited children whose busy parents had to bring in the theatre. Around the mirrors was a strangely not battered wooden pole.

"Hi lizard." He wrapped his arms around them as he creeped up from behind. They were so cold. He wanted to warm up their frigid skin. They were cold blooded but still.

"Hello there love." They smiled warmly (warmer than their skin anyway) at him through the mirror. "Any particular reason for interrupting my rehearsal?" Double Trouble's tone was playful and sweet. They didn't mind impromptu visits from him, they never minded visits from him. In fact it was what they hoped for, fighting Horde Prime was taking up a lot of quality time.

"We need to talk about something. It's about the thing that happened in the forest." It was only then that they noticed his dainty, shaking hands and tightening grip. His face was buried firmly in their shoulder and not just because of height difference. They gently moved his arms and turned to face him. Then nodded slightly as if to tell him to go on.

"In the forest, I met a powerful sorceress but she's really really young for such power. And she told that we're 'ancestral rivals' and said I would be the last Lapis seer and-" He exhaled shakily. "I need answers. Since she's a sorceress she must have roots in Mystacor. So I'm going there with Micah to use my Farsight to find those roots." He couldn't look them in the eyes. They weren't going to be happy with the final decision he had to make.

"So we're going to Mystacor? When?"

"No Double Trouble." He gripped his hands together again but his intertwined hands just shook harder. "I'm going to Mystacor. You have to stay here."

They weren't sure what to feel. He wasn't exactly abandoning them but it still didn't give them a great feeling. Were they angry? Sad? They felt a little left out but also very very confused. Was he leaving?

Their growing silence was more heart wrenching than words. He would have preferred a wrath induced outbreak. "If Horde Prime ambushes us while traveling, it's better if he catches the least people possible. The war is going to be harder this time. There's too much we don't know. How fast Horde Prime is regaining his technology. How he's still alive. Who that sorceress is. How he's blocking Farsight. It's going to be harder than ever. The Alliance needs you at Bright Moon." They still said nothing. "I hate this decision as much as you."

"Are you...leaving?" Their hushed croak was barely audible. They had fixed their vision onto the battered, oak floor. It was all they could do to not cry.

"No. This is isn't goodbye." He unclasped his trembling hands and clasped theirs instead. "It's more like, I'll see you later." It brought them a slither of comfort but that did nothing against the overwhelming feeling they couldn't even name. He could see it. He could see right through them. It was strange to be the one being read for once. They couldn't decided if they despised or adored it.

"On Etheria there's a tradition between...married couples." His cheeks flushed for a moment. "Give me one of your gloves."

"What?'

"Just do it."

"Is this a marriage ritual? Don't we need to discuss tying down a fabulous free spirit such as myself." They could still find enough words to joke around even if their soul wasn't feeling humourous. He simply fixed his piercing, sapphire gaze onto them and they quickly gave in. It was hard to refuse those soul searching eyes of his.

They slipped off one of their gloves and handed it to him. He slipped off one of his and put it on their bare hand then took theirs and slipped it on his. "The tradition is swapping an accessory. I like to think it's a way of binding lovers into each other's lives. Like here is a piece of me and now I'll look after a piece of you." They were both somehow grinning, hands intertwined. "I promised I would never leave you and I'm not leaving you." He caressed their hand wearing his satin, ivory glove. "I will always be with you." He wasn't breaking his promise. He had made a promise to them and to his heart.

He wasn't breaking his promise. The gloomy feeling looming over them and leaving shadow on their thoughts had been outshine by a very different feeling. A feeling of light. A feeling of more than just hope. How many years had it been since they'd felt true happiness? "Oh sweetheart." They put a hand on his lower back and pulled him in. Each touch was like fireworks sparking across their skin even after countless times of having him this close. They placed their now white gloved hand on his almost divinely sculpted jaw. "You are an incurable romantic."

"I love you too." They deliriously pulled him into a soft kiss. They would never leave each other, as promised. A long, ebony glove and a short, white glove. Two halves of different souls. Bound into each other's lives.