For Larten, it had not been the past days or the past weeks that had been unbearable, it had been verging on years. The feeling of dim dissatisfaction had crept inside him five years ago, and it had built and built to this unbearable sensation of being trapped. It had all started one night in Berlin, cold and alone in an abandoned apartment block, searching fruitlessly for a vampire who did not particularly deserve to be tracked down. He supposed he might have been able to find the rogue faster had his heart been in it. Respect had still meant so much to him then that he eventually forced himself to capture the younger man, little more than a half-vampire really, and drag him back to the Mountain to face the obscure justice dished out by the clan. All the child had really done was take a brief walk on the wild side. Not only did it feel, when they executed young Nikodim, like a terrible waste of a life, but it also felt like a terrible waste of his time. He spent so little time with his friends or his mate, so occupied with earning a better place in the clan, that he began to feel his ambition a little pointless. When he had stopped wanting to push himself any higher, those around him had taken over the task. He of all people knew how hard Arra had worked for the respect she'd gained – how could he explain to her his ingratitude?
That was what had bothered him the most when he had risen to leave. Relieved as he was to be free of the constraints of his job, finally, he felt more like a coward than ever for having failed to tell Arra about his change of heart. He knew too well that she would never appreciate how much he needed to escape, and he knew that whether he told her or not she would consider it a betrayal. He still loved her, certainly, and he was sure, deep down, that he would never find anyone to replace her. But, as awful as it made him feel to think about it, she was trapping him too. It had been nearly thirty years now for them, and though they had often argued, they had never substantially morally disagreed about anything – but he had watched her fight to become a General, and take so much pride in her hard-won achievements, that he knew that this would be the fatal exception. He toyed with the idea of telling her plenty of times, but he never seemed to manage it. Most of all he couldn't bear the thought that she would resent him forever, but however long he mulled it over, he knew there was no way out of that. Occasionally he entertained the idea that she would come with him, and at first he had been convinced that he wanted that. He imagined them leaving this hierarchical system behind together in favour of something freer, perhaps leaving to explore the world and travel more extensively, as they had done years ago when they hadn't been so occupied with their respective duties. But the longer he mulled it over, the more he realised that he could not imagine them together outside of this system like he had been able to before. She was irreversibly tied in with the way of life he no longer desired for himself. Perhaps, even as much as he knew he loved her, Arra's role in his life was entirely intertwined with his role as a General.
He had not hidden it well at all, he supposed, from the way he had noticed her behaviour begin to change. She had become constantly interested in his whereabouts in a way that she would have disapproved of had he demonstrated it to her, even more interested in his investiture and his plans for the years ahead, and steadily more affectionate in a way that did not resemble her at all. He hated himself for it, but there was nothing he felt he could do but offer her the reassurance she constantly asked for. She was somehow even lovelier than ever when she wanted to hold his hand everywhere they went, and perhaps it was a mixture of that and his own reluctance to destroy their relationship before it was entirely necessary that kept him leading her on.
There had been one night where he had come close to revealing his intentions. He had convinced himself that it was the right time, one night after pretending to work for seven hours while she trained a few of the young vampires who intended to be Generals ahead of their first few challenges. He had slipped into the Hall behind her and stood next to the grand stone entrance, watching as the new potential Generals fenced, honing their swordsmanship skills. Afterwards, he listened to her explain to the six boys the prestige of the position they would hold if they managed to pass the tests the Princes were going to set them. The devoted way she spoke about it just reinforced the way he felt; the way she emphasized not only the importance but the necessity of well-trained and loyal Generals for the continued success and even existence of the clan made him feel a little bitter, watching the faces of the young men who listened to her and wondering if any of them would regret undertaking the position the way he did.
It was only when she dismissed them that she finally noticed him. All of the youngsters knew of him and respectfully bowed their heads, which made him feel a little worse still, and his mate bowed low in a mockery of the formality the boys used to address him, smirking. The others filed out after putting back their weapons, all nudging each other and mocking each other's performances in their training session. Larten waited until the last of the six had scuttled past, and then cleared his throat, staring straight ahead rather than meeting his mate's eyes.
"Arra," he had sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily. There had been the worst lump in his throat, he remembered, but he had battled through it, convinced that he was doing the right thing. "I really need to speak to you. Would –"
"Catch!" his mate had interrupted, and his head snapped up just in time for him to grab the handle of the sword she had sent hurtling towards him. In shock at how close she had come to slicing off one of his arms, he let out a bark of laughter, forgetting for a second the importance of what he had been about to tell her. It was just like his old Arra again, before everything had become serious – tricky and playful and pleasantly unpredictable. She laughed as well, from the other side of the Hall, and slipped off the heavy knitted jumper she had been wearing, stepping onto the mat and brandishing an identical sword.
Larten had rolled his eyes good-humouredly. "I want to speak to you, Arra," he said seriously, though he was charmed by the entire display. "I would rather speak to you without either of us brandishing a sword, if that is alright by you."
She let out a derogatory pfft at that, rolling her eyes and shifting from foot to foot in anticipation. "Don't be so boring and old about it," she told him, one hand on her hip. "You used to love playing games."
It was true. Years ago he had loved the occasional sparring match with Arra, though they had scarcely been fairly matched. He felt bad for it, but he remembered the days where he could have beaten her with one arm tied behind his back very fondly indeed. There was so much less charm in it now that they were serious warriors – when did they ever fight these days if it wasn't to kill? – but he had never been particularly adept at refusing any request of Arra's, and so he stepped up to face her.
The fight resembled one of theirs from decades ago, but only because she forced it to be so. Arra had trained for years solidly, focusing more on her skill in battle than on any other facet of her career, and Larten knew now that she was probably his superior in this environment. She had been studying this for years, and he had watched her take down others on strategy and technique alone. This time, though, she was not focusing on her footwork. She was irresponsible with the risks she took as she darted forwards and back at him, leaving ridiculous gaps in her defence, practically dancing around him. As much as he made the effort to keep his mind on what he had intended to tell her in the first place, it was more difficult than he could have imagined when she looked so cheerful, daring him to strike back at her. When he finally did, he only struck at her playfully. It was all too clear that she knew something was wrong from the way she revisited the way they used to play-fight, as if delivering him a subtle reminder that they were still the same people they had been all those years ago when he had first fallen for her. However much Larten knew they weren't those same two people anymore, and however well he could see straight through her intentions, he still felt a little rush of pride when he disarmed her and pressed her back against the wall, blade against her throat. He knew consciously that she had let him win, but all consciousness was overtaken by the way she chuckled and let her head fall back against the stone, trusting him to move the blade a fraction so as not to cut her. There was a brief moment of silence as they tried to catch their breath, but he kept the sword against her skin all the while.
"Only ever turn your back on a corpse," he joked breathlessly.
"I'm sure Vanez would be flattered to learn in how high a regard you hold his advice," she shot back, oddly comfortable underneath the sword when she had so much trust in the wielder. "I'd have thought you would have outgrown those elementary lessons by now."
"I would have thought you would have known how to fence properly by now," Larten remarked. By now his original purpose was nothing more than a niggling worry in the back of his mind that he hadn't quite said everything he wanted to, and for now it did not bother him. "Perhaps I should ask Vanez to revisit those beginners' lessons for you sometime."
"Perhaps you should," she said, and then her bright eyes flickered downwards for a second. "I sometimes think," she said softly, no longer baiting him. "That it wouldn't be so bad to go back to those old days, once in a while."
He chuckled, and relaxed his arm, letting the sword slide away from her throat. He tossed it on the ground next to them, barely noticing all the noise it made. "I am afraid I have not perfected time-travel, Arra," he said, a little sadly, and made to step back, clarity on the situation beginning to flood back to him. "Nothing is like it used to be. I suppose we are too old now to carry on playing silly games."
About to launch into the one thing he had wanted to tell her all night, he was interrupted again by her hand on his neck. "Just pretend," she half-coaxed, half-begged, and pressed her lips to his.
He could have told her that he had grown sick of pretending, that he was constantly pretending, and tried again to tell her, but with her hands running the length of his chest and back it had been increasingly difficult to concentrate. He couldn't decide after that whether he resented her for making it so impossibly difficult to deliver her the news she was so clearly trying to avoid or whether he simply resented himself for being such a ridiculous coward. And though he'd been able to tell Gavner the next night, and even Seba the night before he left, he had kissed Arra just before she fell asleep knowing that when she woke up he would be gone, unable to disappoint her like he had disappointed his friends, his colleagues and his mentor.