Mythas' Return: The Lost Princess

Chapter Thirty Five: Pelleas and the King

Chapter Thirty Four: Pelleas and the King

Tiam found himself falling into his feather pillows, tears welling in his eyes as he grew more and more anxious by the minute. The Glittering King. How could he be king? He did not feel at all ready, let alone to lead any sort of battle - or war, whatever was to come.

"Come." Pelleas called to him from the corner of his bedroom. "Look here."

The king slugged himself out of bed, sliding his clammy body out of the sheets and dragging his hooves across the tile. He watched as the dust swept away from his hardened feet, leaving a trail behind him. Pelleas beckoned Tiam to a framed mirror on the wall, where the elf was not visible in the reflection - only the faun stood to be seen.

The king looked himself over, his sinewy frame looked paler than usual, he seemed older than he remembered last. His eyes trailed up the wall, away from himself, to a painted portrait of his family that hung just above the mirror. Tiam had been a young boy when he was made to sit for the portrait, for hours that felt like years to a child. A small detail, Siphraig's hand clasped over the tiny prince's shoulder - and a smirk that was oddly prideful, even for the White Stag King.

"My son." he heard his father's poised tone ringing in his ears. "My boy. My only child, my heir...I can only thank the gods that it was not you who was taken from the tower...I could not bear to lose you again, for I nearly did when you were born. I will protect you with my life, until my heart beats its last. I love you, Tiam, so very much."

It was the only time the king could remember his father shedding a tear, ever.

Pelleas reached out to Tiam, attempting to comfort him - but he could not feel his touch on this plane of existence, only in dreams. "Rest, my friend. Let us discuss what comes next...while you restore your tired bones."

"Will it truly be rest, then?" Tiam chuffed sarcastically.

"Even closing your eyes is better than not a wink of sleep." Pelleas assured him. "Lie down."

It did not take long for the new king to find slumber, for he had not slept at all the eve prior - and had waited all morning for the return of his mother, then - discovering she would not step through the castle doors ever again, he furiously prepared to stake Nhymrin where she stood. Little was he aware of the fact that the vampire would be his last link to Ciqa, his last chance at hearing her voice. His final goodbye, something he did not have a chance to express to his father - to Kos the Kind, nor Queen Wrikazi. Entering the dream world felt like colliding with all of his inner turmoil at once, as if he had fallen from the top of the pedestal that he had been placed on as the Glittering King.

"Tiam." Pelleas' voice no longer echoed here, it was sound and stable. "King of Yagrivan."

"Please, Pelleas..." Tiam begged. "No formalities. We agreed."

"Apologies, my dear friend." the elf murmured.

The faun found himself surrounded by hundreds of white wildflowers, they swayed softly in the faux breeze. Cosmos, candytufts, cornflowers - which he had never seen in any color other than blue, white poppies, lilies of the valley. The aroma in the air was intoxicating, and the air felt familiar.

"Where are we?" Tiam queried, running his silver fingers across the petals of a flower.

"The White Plains." the elf explained. "It was always named this, even before the ice."

"Fitting." the king smiled. "And eerie."

"T'is a memory...of yours. From when you were so very young. You probably doth not recall." Pelleas sat beside him, leaning against the faun's back with his own - they supported each other's weight.