Love's Mercy

EPILOGUE

Alfred awoke to the sun's light upon his face, and felt his arms had rested upon something. He moved his hand and heard a gasp beside him.

"I woke you, darling, I'm sorry..." someone said. A man's voice? He ran through the names of whom might have called to him; though none would do so with the word darling.

Giovanni? No, wait...

"Take to your sleep, I only meant to give you this," he said, and Alfred looked to his side. A glass were set upon a small table by the chair's arm, and away from it, a hand laden of rings retreated. Am I deceived? Was it this glass to catch the light, or, perhaps... Alfred was taken hold of a memory of the only man of whom were so loved by the colors of the light, as ever they caught the sunset's trace. The sunset, yes; it falls now, does it not? Alfred looked upwards at last.

A hand landed upon his cheek, but it were not bare as the only one he'd known for five years had been. "Forgive me, my love, I hate to disturb your rest."

The sunset, a hand beset of each finger by rings, my... my love...

"Lysandre," Alfred spoke. He reached forwards, reached his hand to the man's chest. Are you here? Is this true?

Lysandre regarded where Alfred had seemingly in a haze touched him. "Take your rest, sir, you mustn't have yet awoken."

"Do I yet dream?"

"No..." Lysandre smiled, took his hand, and twined their fingers all together.

Stones, Alfred thought. No, this is the weight of a diamond.

"I should hope you had no sweeter dream lest it were of myself."

Alfred lifted higher his eyes; his are green, like the sea once a storm has calmed. Is it truly him?

"Not a better one could be had, save if it were ever of you," Alfred replied, to be met with a lovely laugh he so dearly remembered. Is it real that I speak to him, that I say not these words to the darkness of my own dreams; that he might finally speak in turn to me as well?

"Alfred," Lysandre said, as if he'd perhaps never spent a day without speaking his name. He raised Alfred's hand, and kissed upon his fingers; Alfred found there was a ring yet upon his own- that of which lacked from Lysandre's. "Of your flattery, I'll never tire." He laughed, and Alfred felt he could as well.

"I always liked to," Alfred said, taking the moment to stand whereupon, now, his eyes cast downwards to the Prince.

"You say as if you had ever ceased? How is one to stand you, sir, when you are so pleasing?"

"I only ask that you will," Alfred said. The words seemed impossible to have been spoken aloud, how they used to. It felt not as strange as he thought it might be should he be chanced with his beloved's presence ever again.

"What luck, sir..." Lysandre's arms came upwards, and rested upon his shoulders where they could close around his neck, and Alfred's fell to join behind his back.

Is it possible? Alfred asked himself once more. Do I hold him, not as a phantom, but a man, as if I had never known the time in which I could not? He met his gaze with Lysandre's, and the world felt still. Yes, the half to my heart. He is mine, and he is here.

"...That there is not another," Lysandre finished. "Lest it be a shame I'd married such an impious man."

Married!