#lilinorvan

The harsh cold wind was rustling through the long strands of his raven hair as he made his way through the unwelcoming forest. The weather was nothing to him, having withstood worse in his decades as a soldier; however, the hunger was starting to get to him, fast. He'd been in a hurry to reach the castle for the past days, so much so that he had apparently forgotten to eat. Absentmindedly, he picked a few herbs from the ground as he pushed forward, chewing on their bitter leaves.

There was no news of Raverne this time around, either. He feared having to deal such blow to his princess that herーtheirーbeloved remained missing; yet, he dreaded not seeing her for less than a second more. So he continued onward, belly barely satisfied by the weeds he had fed it. He could get more nourishment later. He had more pressing matters to attend. The crave in his abdomen paled in comparison to that in his chest.

What bothered him most was that he would have to bring such rotten news, again, to her. He was not sure how many more times he could bear to see the pristine skin of hers twist in such despair. But there was no one else he trusted with the search, and no one else he trusted with announcing its results either. He'd taken onto the duty himself, and was determined to see it through.

But oh, how twisted she became upon hearing she will not get to see the light in the eyes of her husband for another day. How twisted her pledges to her consort made him feel when he had no choice but to witness them. This, too, was part of the job he had taken on. This, too, was a sorrow he had to suffer.

He loved them both. That has never not been the sheer reality of his heart. Yet, with each moment of his missing, he could not help but hope her heart would open towards him more. It was a baseless wish, childish, even; there was no seat he could ever claim near the throne. There was no place for him at the castle, ever the misfit, ever the unwelcome. It was only by Maleanor and Raverne's kindness that he dared approach it, even now. Yet, how he yearned to stay by her side; how he yearned to damn it all and run away with her, full of promises of taking care of her and her unborn child, despite being the weakest of them all. He would protect them with his life for sure. But Maleanor would not leave without Raverne. Neither would Raverne without Maleanor. And neither would leave with him.

And still, that was nothing if the alternative was losing both. He had long since accepted the hierarchy they had going on. He gladly embraced it, gladly fed off the scraps both fed him. Will gladly continue to do so until his last night, as dismayed as he seemed now. As long as he kept lying to himself that all was good, he could survive this. He did not even have a chance not to; Maleanor needed him. He would cross mountains and swim oceans to be at her feet. This much was not a lie.

By the time he felt he could no longer bear the twist of his ravished innards, he spotted the imposing castle. Filled with relief, he surged forward, power suddenly returning to his limbs as adrenaline shot through his body. He had made it, once again. He got to see her face once again.

When his drained legs reached the gateway, he took a mere second to calm himself down. He needed to look presentable, lest Maleanor would scold him again for living irresponsibly; so, after putting together a plan, he hurried to clean himself and grab a bite of some grub as fast as his fae limbs made it possible for him to. He was in front of her gates soon after, arguing with the guards about the 'tantrum' she was throwing and how 'ill-advised' it was for the General to enter her bedchambers at such time. He had seen worse; this much, he could take.

And so he passed through, and there she was, magnificent as always. If he tried hard enough, he could perhaps pretend she was awaiting his arrival, he count perhaps mistake the worry in her sight as meant for him. Alas, some lies cannot fool the heart.

He needn't relay the news, she could already tellーthere was no need for words between them. From his demeanor alone, she knew her beloved remained without a trace.

First, he only felt the chambers tremble, before he could wrap around seeing the thunders of Maleanor's pain. Ruthless as she usually was, she never kept her emotions to herself; he liked that she was an open book, natural hazards regarded. His arms reached behind to close the gates, prepared to take in all of her. He did not feel like sharing.

The flesh of his skin ached with fiery dread, yet his heart ached for any touch, if inflicted by her. So, he strode forward, through the baleful striking light, until he was by her side. He touched Maleanor's arm ever the slightest, and it seemed to be enough to bring some tranquility to her pain ridden mind; maybe he could be bold enough as to believe it was his presence that brought her comfort.

Whatever it was, it had been fleeting. Sadness entangled with hunger as she invited him closer. She was using him. When it was the three of them, he had felt as an individual in their brushes; now, he was just a replacement. He would play the part, if that was what made her happy. It was enough to hear his sobriquet echo on her lips like a thunder, to have her mellow voice sing his name. Lilia. The most wretched word, yet it sounded ever so beautiful in the instances when it escaped from her, solitary proof that it was him surging heat in her body.

He had not given into the delusion that they were equals; yet, there had always been a part of him that yearned for it. That longed for feeling whole, as he felt when it was just the three of them, alone; it was a mere facade, a children's play they put on together as to retain the frail of the self. She was the heir; he, her husband; Lilia was as purposeless as the decor of the castle. No, even the decor saved a purpose to the Senate, he was rather a nuisance. Something to be destroyed. It was out of sheer stubbornness that he was able to remain at the side of his two beloveds for such long. It was all dust in the wind.

If anything, he could identify with Maleanor's apathy; everything felt different without Raverne, they felt incomplete. A gear was missing from the compound, they were struggling in vain. Yet, Lilia could not help but wonder whether the two ever felt incomplete without him. Not that he did not know the answer to that, not that he had not seen how they seem to fulfill one another when there was nothing to breach their intimacy. He was a breach; it was selfish of him to indulge into their harmonious bond; he did not care.

He, however, did not have anyone to replace Raverne with. That was bound to remain an emptiness inside him until (if) he would find his whereabouts. He dared not lose hope, not now. So, when Maleanor fell into slumber embraced by his weary arms, he reluctantly let go of her to resume his search. The Senate would not let him linger much either way. But Lilia would make sure to bring her husband back, for her sake. For the dread he himself felt in his absence.

Because he missed Raverne just as much. It was good that he was the heir's betrothed, truly, lest he would have no excuse to search far and wide for him while they were at war. But that was his beloved as much as he was Maleanor's. Lilia adores her feisty personality, there had never been such doubts, not since they were children; he had been enthralled by her viridescent eyes from the start. And yet. Yet he could not not miss the kind strokes of Raverne that contrasted hers in such warmness he could get drunk on the blend. He had gotten drunk from it one time too many, as such he was now haunting the lands like an addict that has been severed from his object of need.