A/N: Sorry but I forgot to mention that Blohein is the Rohvarmsi queen and Myra being her only relative is heiress to the throne. D'accord? And it's my two week holiday so I will be writing a hell of a lot!
Chapter 11 – Misconceptions.
It took Cierwan another 2 hours to reach the Rohvarmsi and in that time Myra had put on her white, elf-made dress – a present from Blohein – and had woven intricate wire and glass leaf ornaments through her hair; her overall appearance extraordinarily beautiful and unearthly. She walked into the main hall and curtsied to Blohein, who sat on her throne and offered her hand to Eamon and Ioan. "Well, Miss Myra, you have well adapted to the ways of court," Ioan remarked. Myra inclined her head, "One has to be knowledgeable in such trifles as court flattery, if one wants to move ahead in this world," she stated aloofly. Ioan and Eamon laughed and Myra moved off to greet other court officials when Cierwan entered the hall looking haggard and travel worn. Myra, unsure of what to do, walked back over to Eamon and Ioan. "What do I do?" she hissed to Eamon. "Nothing just yet, act natural." She watched as Cierwan hobbled to the dais and bowed to Blohein who in return inclined her head.
He turned around and searched the crowd and when he saw Myra walked slowly toward her. "Master Seer," Myra said nervously and curtsied. "Come now Myra, there is no need for that." She looked up and saw the love he had for her in his eyes, "I… I must …um… " she stuttered, tears threatening to spill, and ran out of the hall.
Leaning against a
tree, Myra took in deep breaths, trying to calm herself. Why did I run out like a fool? She asked herself. Why? "Myra?" a voice
called. She turned to find Eamon standing behind her. "Myra, my dear,
what's wrong?" Myra sobbed and Eamon took her into his arms. "Hey? Tell me what's
wrong."
"Oh Eamon!" she cried, "I love him so much;
I just don't want to be hurt. I'm so scared." Eamon hugged her tighter. "Shhhh,
Myra dear, it will be alright. I promise," he whispered. Myra was about to
say something else when a man's figure blocked their light. "Sorry to intrude,"
Cierwan muttered and walked past them. Myra looked
absolutely desolate and ran after him. "Cierwan," she yelled, "please wait!"
"Myra," Cierwan said
softly, after they had been walking side by side each other in silence for
sometime, "I am happy for you and Eamon. It couldn't have happened to a nicer
man." Myra looked slightly taken aback and stopped for a pause at a large
tree. "You know, this tree is called Armaël?" she laughed a little and leaned
against the mother-tree, "I guess you would. Blohein told me that you came to
learn from her once, so you probably learnt of the significance of Armaël. But
I wonder do you know my mother was called Armaël too?" Cierwan shook his head,
"My mother, Blohein tells me, thought she was protected against heart ache but
she wasn't. I've always known that I wasn't safe from such pain, it would seem
to me that my whole life has been nothing but pain," she paused and closed her
eyes, "Cierwan, I don't love Eamon and we certainly aren't lovers, though he is
an incredible tease, it's so hard sometimes to fight the temptation!" she
laughed at her own joke and shook her head to sober herself up. "Cierwan, it's
you that I love, it always has been. Can you not sense that?" she asked him,
her whole world riding on his response. Cierwan looked up, raw longing aflame
in his eyes, "I can't sense you anymore, Myra, you have
learnt a lot and you have hid your feelings."
"And a good thing, too!" she laughed, "otherwise the whole world would feel
what I feel!" Cierwan smiled wanly and gathered her hands in his, "Myra, I love you
too," he said simply and meaningfully. Myra sighed
contently and Cierwan pulled her into his embrace. "Don't ever leave me," he
whispered into her hair. "I won't."
Myra led him by the hand back to her apartments and sat him down. "Would you like a drink?" she asked nervously. "Myra," Cierwan said gently, standing up and taking the glass out of her hand and placing it on the table. Myra stared at the cup and Cierwan tilted her head up, "Relax," he whispered, and kissed her on the mouth. Myra lifted her arms up and wound them about his neck and kissed him in reply. Cierwan lifted his hand and tangled his fingers in her hair then Myra pulled away and looked at Cierwan, "I want to," she said simply and Cierwan raised an eyebrow, "Are you sure?" he asked. Myra nodded in reply and led him to her chambers where she took off her dress. Cierwan walked over to her and picked her up gently and laid her on the bed, kissing her face and neck. "I love you," he whispered as he cupped a breast and kissed it gently and whispered many more endearments into her skin. They made love, unhurried, as if time had stopped and savoured each caress and touch, each moan and I love you and it seemed that that very night, the stars danced high in the sky. (A/N: Hmmm, how was that? I think that sated my appetite for romance.)
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The Imrahid gathered around their floating orb and each extended a bony finger to the white sphere. Chanting a dark incantation, their arms raised as the orb flew higher up in the air, transmitting power to the four black-cloaked spectres until theirs eyes shone with deadly malice and venom. With out a single word, each brother left in the direction of their cardinal points- north, south, east and west; no-one was safe from the Imrahid.
Lord Aganet sat in his chamber, smoking Mena weed and leaned in toward his own magical orb as the Imrahid parted and went their own ways. "Tis done and what's done is done. Naught can undo such powerful magick," he whispered to himself, reciting a line from an ancient magical text.
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