Clouds of Yesterday || Owen x Arya (feat. Aulus/Sekhad)
He was a statue, cast in a single moment upon the blank horizon. One hand on the trunk of the willow as the razor-sharp seabreeze cut through the landscape, augmenting his cavalier aspect, yet doing nothing to rattle the look of longing upon his face.
Yes, he thought. I must let her, too, go. Owen nearly laughed, a barking sound as he watched his ship sail away, gifted, now, to another. His mission was over: that mission, anyway. He’d found them all – all those left to be found, at any rate. His mother was not the only soul surrendered to the sea. Owen inhaled deeply and, slowly, his hand fell away from the biting bark. He turned slowly back towards shore: he had a new mission, now, and he would not fail it, either. Once, he’d thought perhaps with the search all over, he might retire from his duties, might sneak away to the comfort of a little cottage by the sea…but that hope had failed him, like every other. What had he expected?
Owen strode forward; stopped, abruptly. His heart was in his throat, choking him. For a moment, a strange hope bubbled up – gods, had she sought him out? But then there was the echo of the same shock written upon her features, those sweet eyes flung wide, lips parting softly, and he was a statue, one more, paralyzed by astonishment.
Yet, she said his name and, like a spell, he was freed. His gaze flicked to a new motion over her shoulder. A handsome young man looked quizzically back, a shock of black hair, burning eyes, and a sardonic smile that seemed to express a kind of contempt for everything around him. Owen returned the look in a more pointed way and, to his surprise, the other man laughed.
“Well, Your Highness,” began the man, quirking a brow at Arya’s back. “Who the devil is he?”
Owen glared and, also turning his attention to Arya, he arched his brows. “I find I must ask the same.”
“Oh,” replied the man, grinning bemusedly. “I’m afraid the answer to that is dreadfully complicated.” He smiled, tight-lipped yet mischievous as if making a joke with himself for himself.
Then, he added with a sigh and decidedly different tone. “Not that complicated at all, really. I’m Aulus Acheson, aren’t I?”
A beat. The laughing tone again. “Prince of Arkhadel, for all intents and purposes…but far more interesting than that.”
Owen felt strange, off-kilter. If he were in earnest, he’d pictured a half-dozen potential reunions with her, exploring each in his mind: perhaps she’d been carried off and he’d rescue her; perhaps he’d come upon her of a sudden, having forgotten a childish romance that he was; perhaps he’d meet her married and happy with children but happy, at least to see him; perhaps he’d come upon her swimming up to his ship, having searched half the world to find him…Yes, there were a thousand scenarios, indeed, but somehow a strange, off-putting conversation with an odd gentlemen who seemed to be largely conducting a conversation with himself, hadn’t figured greatly into his imaginings and certainly hadn’t overtaken the opening moments of their reunion.
Frowning at the gentleman, Owen turned to Arya. He felt breathless, giddy, half a boy again, but he pressed back and back and back, and he breathed deep of the sea air. “I…I confess, I didn’t expect to see you…here…”
“Ah, and where did you expect to see her?” inquired the dark gentleman, smirking. “But I suppose our princess has come a long way to be here.”
“Princess…? I–” Suddenly, Owen turned to look at her again, eyes widening. This man had proclaimed himself a prince and she a princess – could it be she was married, after all? He felt ill. He looked quickly away.
Anger. A wall of it. Dark and clangorous. His gaze sharpened, turning on the other man. “What do you know of this lady, sir?”
The man laughed, then, suddenly, his expression took on an entirely different visage. He looked…tired, a touch exasperated. He held up his hands. “Sir, I do not claim to know you. I am very sorry for any offence we may have caused. It seems that you know the princess, already, and I think perhaps our–my–presence is an intrusion. Your Highness, shall I…walk a few paces that way? You can call me, of course, if you wish, but…perhaps some privacy may be in order?”
A moment later, the expression changed, entirely. “Pishposh! This situation has just become interesting – a few paces that way decidedly less so. What do you say, Arya? Would you really send so delightful a being as myself away when you had the option not to? Unthinkable.”
Owen stared. “Are you mad?”
The eyes were the same now – laughing and tired, all at once. “Oh,” said the voice. “Quite.”
It took strength unlike any Arya had ever thought she could hold to keep herself rooted to her place instead of doing as her heart desired and running to Owen with arms flung wide so he could pick her up and kiss her as he had that day so long ago.
She stared at him with irises blown wide and mouth ever so slightly agape. What was he even doing here? He was so far from his home, had.... had he known she was here? Had he been searching for her?
Yet the princess shook herself from her reverie to the bickering of the two gentleman she found herself between. Aulus certainly seemed to be enjoying himself with his back and forth routine as always, but there was a glint in Owen’s eyes that spoke of violence.
It would be a falsehood to say that a shiver of thrill ran a course down the young woman’s spine at the look. Perhaps... Perhaps she was not the only one who had harbored something soft in the corner of her heart all these years?
“Of course... My apologies to you both. Certainly, I must make introductions.” Arya stepped forward, very pointedly placing her body between the two and raising a warning brow to Owen before gesturing to Aulus. “Ow--Mr. Clarke, may I introduce His Royal Highness, Prince Aulus Acheson of Arkhadel--” With the mention of his name, she turned slightly and gave the man a pointed, slightly teasing, slightly rebuffing look of a friend telling another not to screw this up for them. “Which he has so rudely pointed out on his own.” The princess could not help the small smirk of a smile that crossed her lips, though. He truly was incorrigible.
She turned her gaze back to Owen and felt a slight flush come to her cheeks at the intensity of his stare. It was like a roaring bonfire both in heat and her inability to look away. “You’ll have to excuse him. He is like this with everyone. How I have managed to get in his good graces is surely beyond my knowledge. I shall have to attribute it to my unending list of charms.”
“And, of course, Your Highness, may I present Owen Clarke, my--” The princess faltered, her hand hanging in the air outstretched halfway through her gesture of introduction.
What should I introduce him as? Friend, perhaps? I suppose that is true, though it has been quite some time. Acquaintance? No, no, no. That is certainly not what we are. Oh, bollocks, I have been standing like this for over a minute now, haven’t I?
“M-My childhood fr--acquaintance...” She finally stammered out. Another flush came over her cheeks, though this one was clearly of deep embarrassment. “He is a... sailor, and a Captain as well, if I recall correctly. At the least I do remember Mister Clarke having a ship of his own.” She looked between the two men but her gaze lingered a bit longer upon Owen, a touch of pride in her tone at the mention of his ship. “We met in Harmanil and became... quite close when I was younger.”
The sound of Arya clearing her throat rang like a bell, matched with the snapping shut of her parasol which she used the tip of to prod at a very intriguing pebble upon the path. “I must admit I had not expected to see you here either, Mister Clarke. This is quite the pleasant surprise. I--I had thought we would not meet again after our last encounter. It has been so very long, I thought you had quite forgotten me.” She glanced up very quickly to take account of his features when suddenly Aulus began another one of his jokes.
“Aulus!” The name hissed quietly between her teeth. “I promise you I shall come to no harm. If you would step away for just a moment, I... I would like to speak to Mister Clarke privately for a moment.” Her tone softened a little then, a small friendly smile creeping back to her face. “After all, we both know you shall have much more fun eavesdropping than you would sincerely participating in the conversation. Besides, Jahnara will be here soon, if you could... please... well, distract her? I shall owe you a favor if you do.”
The delight in Aulus’ eyes at the thought of a favor was enough of an answer for Arya. She turned back to Owen, the sea crashing in her ears, gentle tears begin to well in the corners of her eyes, and a sad smile beginning to cross her lips.
“.....Hello again, Owen. I cannot begin to tell you how wonderful it is to see you.”
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