He walked away, his silk robe swishing softly. He liked the feel of the cool silk against his legs, against his arms. She watched him walking away with the silk wrapped around himself. It was a bluish purpley colour, contrasting nicely with the creamy white of his skin and the pure silver of his hair. She liked watching him like this, in the morning, before he had thrown his guard up, before he had hidden away inside his heart, and behind his walls. He reminded her of the outside world, reminded her that there was a reason they were hiding, that they were running from the wars. She wanted nothing more than to leave this little hometown farm, to go back to her world, her family. Instead, she had learned to spin wool into yarn, and then to knit and to sew, because the couple they lived with did not understand their ways, and could not be told, not in these dangerous times.
These dangerous times, when to be seen with them was to invite death into your home, and ask Him for tea. She would not put either of them in danger like that. Not with a third on the way. She could not get over the way the colour of his robe set off the colour of his eyes, making them seem, almost, almost blue, though she knew they had no colour, they were like his hair, like his rings, they were only silver, ever shifting, ever changing, but never kind.
He watched her watching him, a smile nearly on his face, coming out as a smirk, never faltering as so long ago it had, that first night when he had cried, falling to pieces and not knowing how or why to stop it. She knew nothing of that fight, within himself, to allow her to see this mess he had made of himself. To trust her, to want her to see the ends of his capacity, to see just how far he could be pushed, what price he could be asked before he said "enough" and the world listened. She would not know that he had come so close to leaving, come so close to throwing it all away in order to keep her safe... In order to stop the bonds that were forming. But he could not. If they had asked just one more thing, he would have broken free, but he had stopped them, and he had paid the price. A price, which, if she had only known, she would never have asked. But she was allowed, her and her alone, was allowed to ask any thing, any price of him, and he would grant it, not having a choice, not being able to say no, not being able to break those bonds.
Those bonds of silk wrapped iron. Never chafing, never hurting, but always there, always holding on. He had watched, as another broke free, broke was a good word, because that's what had happened, he had become a pale shadow of himself, and there was nothing that could be made of him. But he had picked himself back up, as he watched her come back, when the bonds had returned, fiercer, stronger than before, and nothing would break them this time. Nothing would stop her from chaining them together, because he, the High lord, would not break, would not be brought low.
