You wanna run away run away and you say that it can't be so //
You wanna look away look away //
But you stay 'cause it's all so close //
When you stand up and hold out your hand //
In the face of what I don't understand //
My reason to be brave
The question burned in his mind, a nagging discomfort that he couldn’t shake enough to focus. He knew he knew this man. He could feel it. He was grasping at faint threads, trying to come up with a name, an occupation, where they’d met, anything, but his mind just... blanked. Every memory seemed so fuzzy, so far away, and it bothered him. He couldn’t focus on a word the man said, just trying to remember. He had to remember.
“Thank you, Nortan.”
The voice at his side broke him out of his reverie, sweet and clear. Nortan. Yes, of course. He knew that, of course he knew that. Nortan, the... the...
His lips pulled into a frown as he concentrated. What was Nortan’s job again? Nortan. He had to remember that name now, so he could address him. How thoughtless of him, forgetting the man’s name.
A gentle hand upon his shoulder brought him back again, and he turned to meet her gaze. Now that was a face he could never forget: so soft, so warm, looking at him with nothing but love, acceptance, understanding. Like a lighthouse calling him home from the waves of a stormy sea, she gave him hope. His beautiful Essätha.
He took her hand gently, pressing a kiss to her knuckles with a faint sigh.
He’d be okay.
Amon sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair as he wandered down the hallway. It took longer, now, getting from place to place. He couldn’t remember having to account for his own walking speed before, but his body just... didn’t respond as quick as it once did.
He allowed his eyes to close for just a moment, thoughts drifting. He missed being younger, more able-bodied. He missed the adventures he’d taken, with Essätha at his side. He’d never felt more alive than he did back then. If only he could-
A sharp pain burned in his leg, catching him off-guard with the suddenness of its appearance. A pained cry barely made it passed gritted teeth as he slipped, staggering and nearly falling before he caught himself against the wall.
He cursed under his breath to himself, a hand pressing to the throbbing pain in his hip as he leaned into the wall for support. Where the hell had that come from? His head spun for a moment with sudden dizziness, and he was careful as he began to shuffle forwards. He could still make it. He was almost there, and he could lie down for a bit. Have a nap, rest his tired body. He’d probably just pushed himself too hard yesterday, doing... what had they done yesterday?
It didn’t matter. He’d think of it in a moment. He took delicate steps as he turned into his bedchamber, releasing a pained breath as he limped towards the couch. Just a little farther.
He’d be okay.
She’d been crying again. She’d been doing so much of that, lately, and he hated it.
The fact that it was because of him only made it so much worse. He knew she didn’t want him to feel guilty. It wasn’t really his fault. He was trying, he was trying so hard, but he kept slipping. Sometimes literally- he’d had a few near misses- but mostly just in his mind. Things had gotten so fuzzy, so hard to remember. His mind just... didn’t work the same anymore.
He did his best not to upset her. He didn’t complain, when she could hear it: not about the way his bones ached, how his joints creaked and groaned when he moved, about the fire that burned in his muscles when he spent too much energy doing anything. He didn’t complain about needing help getting up the stairs, or needing help getting his shirt buttoned when his fingers wouldn’t cooperate, or being unable to get in and out of the bath by himself. He didn’t bother mentioning when he knew he’d forgotten something, didn’t call attention to not remembering the names of his subjects, his friends, his staff members. He did his best to hide how aged he’d become, for her sake. She knew enough. She hurt enough.
As gently as he could, knowing his fingers were truly too rough to touch something so perfect, he brushed the tears away from her cheeks. He leaned in to place a kiss against her nose, whispering sweet nothings to her in the language of his ancestors.
“Do not cry my darling Essätha. My beautiful Essätha,” he crooned, moving a hand to brush her hair away from her face: still so dark, so beautiful, now woven with strands of silver among her black locks. She’d aged so well, her face now weathered with years of joy in place of the distance she once had worn. Oh, how she’d grown, not in body but in spirit.
“What can I do to take those tears away?” Amon sighed, kissing her cheek gently. “Whatever I can do, I’ll do it for you.”
She tried to pull away from him, but he held firm. Held her there, carefully, patiently, for her to turn back to him. It pained him so, to see her so sad. All he ever wanted was her happiness. He’d spent so long in search of fulfillment: he’d buried his nose in books upon books for wisdom and intelligence, gone across the country hunting beasts for strength and will, and found nothing in it worthwhile.
And then she came. Never had he felt more fulfilled than when he looked into that elegantly-sculpted face and found true, honest happiness. How empty he felt, seeing tears in her eyes instead. He laid soft kisses against her eyelids, her cheeks, then her lips before he rested his forehead against her own.
“I can’t stand it when you cry,” he murmured, watching the forced smile that pulled at her lips: an ill-fitting mask she tried to plaster onto her face. It didn’t suit her. He clicked his tongue in gentle scolding, his thumbs moving from her cheeks to gently tug her lips into a smile.
“That’s not a real smile,” he chided her, watching her expression soften. There was the smile he was looking for. It was soft and small, but there it was. His faced relaxed in an echoed smile of his own, and he kissed her gently.
They’d be okay.
It hurt to breathe. There was an ache in his chest as he sucked in air with a wheeze, trying to fill his lungs and never quite succeeding. The stranger standing over him shook his head gently as he pulled away from listening to his breathing, writing something down. The doctor. Yes, that’s who he was. The doctor. Had he seen this doctor before? He couldn’t remember. He was so tired.
His eyes opened slowly, trying to blink away the fog that clouded his vision. There she was. His beautiful Essie, seated on the edge of the bed, her fingers around his as she watched over him. He thought he could see other people in the room, but it was... hard to make out anything further than her. Why so many people? Was something wrong?
“What’s going on?” he rasped, his throat dry as he slurred the words together. He tried to squeeze her hand. He wanted to sit up, but his body wasn’t answering him.
“Nothing, my beloved,” she cooed oh so sweetly as she reached across to brush a lock of snow-white hair from his face. “Just close your eyes and rest for me, alright? I’m here.”
But... he’d thought he’d heard others, saw others. His gaze panned across the room, but his vision swam. He couldn’t make anything out. Were the lights out? It seemed so dark in here.
He grumbled to himself about the darkness, looking up at her once again before he sank back into the pillows with a sigh. His eyelids felt so heavy, and the bed was so soft... He wheezed in another breath, again unable to fill his lungs completely.
“Essätha?”
“Yes, m’lord Amon?”
All this time, and she still called him her lord. Hearing his name on her lips filled him with comfort: it was a different sound, when she said it. A wonderful sound.
“It’s rather cold in here,” he murmured, shivering from the chill in the air. The fire must have gone out, with the lights. He tried to open his eyes, but they were just so heavy. He tried a few times to open them, but he couldn’t keep them that way. He just felt so tired, but he didn’t want to sleep yet.
“Would you... mind?”
He hardly had to ask. She slipped into the bed beside him, pressing against his side. He soaked in her warmth, reveling in her closeness as he sighed in contentment. He thought he heard her say something, but he couldn’t make it out as he fought against sleep. He gave her hand a squeeze, and a thought jumped into his mind.
“Did I tell you you look beautiful today, Essätha?” he asked, barely able to string the words together. His body begged for rest. He needed to sleep.
“Yes dear. As you do every day.”
“Good… Good…” he whispered, his chest aching as he drew in more air to speak. “I don’t want to… forget that… I forget… I forget… a lot…”
He felt her press closer into his side, providing him her warmth and comfort. She squeezed his hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. He tried to squeeze back in answer, but his fingers didn’t respond. None of his body would respond. It was like... he felt like he was floating.
“I love you, Amon,” she whispered, her voice hoarse as she soothed him. His first attempt to reply came out in a grunt, his breath rattling through his teeth. At least it didn’t hurt to breathe anymore. In fact, he didn’t feel pain at all. How odd... how nice, too. He didn’t remember his bed being so wonderfully soft. Her words filled him with warmth, and a calm washed over him. He’d be asleep soon, he felt.
“I love you, too,” he murmured, as darkness filled his vision before he could finish his sentence. He was floating in an endless void. There was no up, no down, but he felt... calm. Warm. Without pain.
He could see a speck of light in the distance, slowly growing until it filled his vision. A porcelain face, with black eyes that led into eternity and painted red lips that curved into a gentle smile.
“Amon. Come to me, my sweet child,” a voice echoed around him; soothing, motherly. “I will take you home.”
He understood.
“Essätha...” he began to protest, feeling the warm embrace of midnight wings enveloping him.
“Hush. You are weary. I will give you rest. You will feel no more pain.”
Rest... yes, rest. He did not fight against the arms that wrapped around him, letting his head sink into the black feathers. His eyes began to close again without him willing them. He would rest now. His Essie was a strong woman.
Just two morons deeply and fondly in love, neither one giving in completely to admit to it- yet.
Between fighting their natural attraction and the chemistry that's created a lot of friction between the two, it's a wonder they haven't jumped each other's bones. Look at those libido's lawd
Trust love, open up your eyes, trust love,
The truth is there but sometimes in disguise
The way’s uncertain, but we’re together
Moving towards the light
When we trust in love
And open up our eyes
i sincerely look forward to / want to write a future moment of amon just staring deeply into essie’s eyes and hoarsely whispering how he wants to kiss her *w* and the stupid moment after the light tender kiss where they’re both a bit breathless not from the kiss but from the sheer overwhelming thrill of it and amon just huskily states how he’s wanted to do that for a long time
When people ask Ess’ what she sees in Amon she is Not Afraid to let you know becuz she is not threatened by the other idea of people loving him, adoring him, fawning over him, because she truly believes he deserves a world filled with people who love him and wish him only the best, and that is Precious.
He is such glistening star of hope, and he has drowned himself in remorse to snuff out his light. He feels he doesn't deserve his life.
But I will offer a hand of kindness and acceptance to help pull him back from the depths to the surface. Let him see his rippling reflection and know that he is still a worthy man; the brightest and warmest light in my life.
