If only there would come a day when you would not turn from me...

[lone_must_stand]

[ n a m e ; ]	Aeriel
[ c a n o n ; ]	The Darkangel Trilogy
[ g a m e ; ]	in transit and transition

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[lone_must_stand]

There is no handling her, Aeriel thinks. Her gaze unfocuses, slips back to the roiling tank, the dark water hiding the bulk of the worm as it lashes about, though from time to time its segmented side brushes against the glass. It is too little space, she thinks absently; room enough for a school of gargoyles, but cruel to the cruel creature it now houses.

"I will not have you harm her in my name,"

she says evenly, warningly. She does not know what he intends, but she cannot stand the idea that this violence might continue, might be carried on and on.

[and_warrior_arise]

"Harm-" he says, suddenly, his eyes wide. "I will not - I would not harm her, not ever -" he continues, and finally shakes his head. "I am not the sort of man who would hurt someone for such reasons. I will handle her. I will be clear."

There are other things that Irrylath can hold over Oriencor, other things that he knows, other things that will keep her from another moment of lashing out.

[lone_must_stand]

She stares up at him, her gaze still hollow. He has, perhaps, taken that more literally than she meant it; though perhaps it is because Oriencor is not so vulnerable as she. To kill Oriencor's creatures would be an affront because they are her possessions; Aeriel sees hers as her charges, lives she is meant to protect.

Oriencor will not be handled so easily, she imagines. But she cannot say that, cannot voice that doubt.

[and_warrior_arise]

He looks at her for a moment, and then he crosses the space between them, he kisses her on the mouth, his hand in her hair, cupping the back of her head, and then he stops, and stares.

"I'm sorry."

He says it although he's not sorry.

[lone_must_stand]

It is the first time she has wanted to shy away from his touch; the first time his words have not rung true.

She doesn't pull back, but she turns her face so his lips only graze hers; there is something wrong about it. Perhaps only the way it intrudes upon her grief. Already she is beginning to come to herself; her fingers are still numb, but the feeling is coming back to her heart.

"What will you do?" she asks, as though he had not kissed her.