Ekleipsis (Fantasy Romance - LGBT, manXman)

9.7

When they were lying under the furs again, spent and exhausted, Ithildin asked suddenly, "You were crying when you found us in the snow. Why?"

The Arislani kept silent for a moment and then sighed and answered, "I was envious of your redhead. You would have walked on burning embers for him."

"Of course we would," Kintaro readily concurred. "The elf's step is so light, he wouldn't even singe his feet, and mine would heal in a minute."

"Capricious courtier. He doesn't deserve you. What's he got, except a pretty face?"

"A nice ass too, and shapely legs," Ithildin said in a serious tone, but with an impish look in his eyes.

Khattal snorted with laughter. "I never thought elves had a sense of humour."

"Elves also have a man who can hit hard," Kintaro grumbled, although he made no threatening moves.

"As if it's not true! Capricious and light-headed as a silly girl."

"Capricious..." the elf drawled dreamy-like, plunging into his memories as into warm, sun-heated water. "Spoilt, cynical, haughty..."

"Stubborn, saucy, bitchy," Kintaro joined in, with the same blissful look. "Redheaded, hot-headed, sweet..."

"Gentle, kind, passionate..."

"Educated, witty, graceful..."

"Trusting, warm-hearted..."

"Trusting? Gullible, more like!" Khattal chimed in. "You didn't mention brains, and rightly so! One has to be a total idiot, to make a deal with the Mistress of Illusions!"

"What was the deal anyway?" Kintaro couldn't help asking.

And Khattal couldn't help telling them.

"...So, in half a year, when the sun rose up again, he was happy as a child. Immediately took off the Ring of Truth and threw it out of the window. By the way, guess who had to go and look for it in the snow? Yours truly, who else! But there was nothing to be happy about yet. The contract had ended, the Ring of Truth had come off, go wherever you wish − from the World's Edge, that's it! My mistress laughed and said, "You should have learned magic, so you could be able to cast a portal!" He gritted his teeth and buried himself in books. In was a wonder to watch. Usually wizards spend five years at least learning the basics. Of course, they are learning everything in proper order, and that clown chose only what he was interested in. Picked up some scraps of knowledge, good only for showing magic tricks on a market day! The mistress said he would never be a real wizard. To become a real wizard, one should give up all earthly affections and love only magic as much as he had never loved anything before. And you both are like his ball and chain. She said: they weren't worthy of you, they didn't value you, they would see no difference between you and some redheaded catamite with your face and body. There is no Fate, no destiny, only yearning of the flesh, and were you a black-faced Banukheed, say, like Khattal the servant, neither pretty, nor charming, nor gifted, they won't give you a second look..." His voice faltered, as if he tried to suppress a sob.

Khattal climbed down from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Shortly there was a sound of splashing water.

"He is in love," Ithildin whispered almost inaudibly, his voice full of surprise. "Madly in love with us and trying to hide it."

The nomad put his arms under his head and looked at the ceiling.

"Sometimes I think we should take him with us and not one of Dame Tallian's dolls. At least there is nothing fake about him. You get what you paid for. Otherwise we can choose, and she would say: attaboys, that's the right choice! − and send us home with a fake. There is no solution, don't you get it?"

"There is, and I'll find it!" the elf said with certainty which was rather forced.

There were only two days left.

Khattal returned and crawled under the coverlet as if nothing had happened.

"Sorry if I've said something I shouldn't have. It's like you've screwed my brains out. Oh wait, you actually have!" And he snorted with laughter over his own pun.

Ithildin had a fleeting thought: wasn't it strange there was not Alva in bed with them, but Dame Tallian's servant, whom they'd known just a couple of days? Wasn't it strange that no one of the three Chevaliers tried to follow them and keep them company as the persistent Khattal did? Maybe because they didn't want them to. Or maybe the mistress of the house ordered so.

What's the matter with us? he asked himself. We've lost him a year ago and still are able to eat and drink, and there is someone else in our bed already!

But Khattal occupied the place in their bed as if he had every right to it.

In the morning (that was the time they woke up, because there was no other morning at the World's Edge) Ithildin asked Khattal to take him to the platform at the tower's top. He needed solitude to think. Wrapped in furs, the elf spent a few hours there, staring into the horizon with unseeing eyes.

He contemplated many things at once, as was the specific skill of the Ancient Race. He picked facts and assumptions, analyzed them, bound them together into theories. What is a person, if not a combination of a face, a body, a number of character traits, skills and memories? How is a person different from his likeness created with magic? When a person changes, what is left unchanged? Why do people feel so strongly about any changes in others and themselves? Kintaro had nearly killed himself after losing a hand. Alva wanted to have his beauty back so much, he had let a sorceress take advantage of him. Humans believe very deeply that if they lose even the smallest part of their personality they become unworthy of love.

On the other hand, isn't it true that we ourselves lock our loved ones in chains of our perception of them? Isn't it true that we instil in them the fear of changing and losing our love forever? Isn't it true we make them behave in accordance with our expectations? Why a person can be more himself than ever when he's wearing a mask, freer when he's cast aside his personality?

Do they really love Lielle and not their idea of him? Do they have the right to stand in Alva's path to magical power? And had they been still precious to Alva, what would he do to show it? What would he do if he wanted to be near them, knowing Dame Tallian wouldn't allow it? Who would he have become if he had to choose?

The answer came to him clear as a bell.

He would become someone who had resembled Alva the least. The rude dark-skinned Arislani, not a grain of elegance about him, his manner of speech unrefined and coarse, with a dreadful Arislani accent which Alva hated but could imitate quite well. The plain man in plain servant clothes, without any jewellery. The religious zealot who refused wine and gay sex (if only at first). The servant who could follow them anywhere and talk about anything he liked. The man who saved them in a snowstorm and spent nights in their bed. The man Dame Tallian promised to let go if they took him along.

People knew countless fairytales about love shattering magical enchantments, turning a beast back into a prince or a princess. Everything is possible in a fairytale: to recognize your lost love in a bent old man or a wild animal, to find your sibling with whom you've been separated at birth. But love is like magic all in itself. It changes with every passing moment and yet remains the same, as a river. As a garden, it blossoms with new flowers over and over again with every coming spring. And if a person changes, love changes with him.

After returning to their room Ithildin stood for a long time and watched. They fell asleep in each other's arms, spooning each other, how Alva always loved to sleep. But, unlike Alva, Khattal pressed himself to the nomad's back, and his dark arm lay protectively across Kintaro's stomach.

All this time they had thought their beloved Alva a capricious, spoiled child who was in constant need of care and protection. Dame Tallian almost had them fooled with her masterful fakes, full of charm and fire, beauty and glamour. But the real Alva wanted to care for his lovers and protect them. He was able to give up everything precious to him, only for the chance to be with them.

Now Ithildin was sure he had found the right answer. He stripped off his clothes and crawled into bed, pressing himself to Khattal's muscled dark-skinned back.