Melts like Candle Wax (Volfred/Oralech, 138 words, worksafe)
It is a cold morning on Mt. Alodiel and Erisa has left for her sunrise walk to tie her thoughts into braids and Oralech looks to Volfred reading his papers always reading his papers and says
I believe I love you
And Volfred looks over his papers with a strange sort of twist to his lips and says
I thought we had already established that
And beat beat pause until Oralech laughs in that beautiful way of his and crosses the Blackwagon in 3 big strides and kisses Volfred with a smiling sort of fervor and goes until Erisa comes banging in and when she sees the two in a barely tidied breath she rolls her eyes and bangs out again and Oralech kisses Volfred until his body melts like candle wax into a puddle on the floor.
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Two Old Men Sitting on a Bench (Volfred/Oralech, worksafe, 429 words)
What do we do when the end is near?
We address it when it comes.
The end is near.
The end is near and Volfred and Oralech sit outside and count their last sunsets. Hand-in-hand, fingers twisted like roots. Oralech rests his head on Volfred's shoulder, his silvery strands spilling over like the gleaming dawn to come. He closes dark eyes and says, What do we do now? Tears are only for sorrow. We have to address it.
Volfred watches wind wind through thinning trees. He captures the rumble of Oralech's graveled voice like a photo and folds it to square and tucks it into his heart. These things must be documented now, to be metered out with joy later.
The end is near and Volfred doesn't say anything.
Oralech squeezes Volfred's hand to ground the both of them, feels smooth wood, sanded down by years of touch. Volfred… tell me what you're thinking.
Sunset twists to twilight, twinkles the swell of a seawave of stars. It was different, last time. Volfred's voice floats, cloud-like, into the darkening sky. I was ready with him.
You must be ready now. A dull ache settles in Oralech's bones from being so long in the same position, but he stays steady as stone in place. We must be ready now.
We have some time, still, Oralech. Said with the ease of a man practiced with time. We do not need to rush this.
Oralech turns his face to rub against Volfred's square shoulder. The same jacket of black kept for many years, mended and reworn, because Oralech liked its texture best. We do, he says, and a soft sort of smile scavenges to his scarred lips. But you of all people know the benefits of being prepared.
When Oralech smiles Volfred smiles, and Volfred squeezes that once-clawed hand. Not tonight. Shimmering eyes find the sky, drink in a web of lights with a beaming moon in the center. It’s too nice of a night for that.
Oralech kisses Volfred’s shoulder and turns his face towards the wine dark sky. A chill crawls up his spine and settles into his aching joints, then digs deep into the ground and freezes Volfred’s roots.
You're right, Oralech says, his eyes tracing glittering links swinging from star to star. It's too nice of a night for that.
Dawn whispers something sweet from far off. The end is near and silence settles over them like cold bone. The end is near and there's nothing more they need to say. The end is near so they say nothing.
Grain by Grain (Volfred/Oralech, 317 words, worksafe)
It fell like time, at first. Grain by grain; ten years changed one in so many ways.
(ao3 link)
It fell like time, at first. Grain by grain; ten years changed one in so many ways. Ten years and ten lives and ten ways to do it wrong and make it right. Sometimes Volfred wondered how Oralech would have grown, twisted like every new blossom up walls of softened stone, had things been different, but that was a line of questioning only sought by fools. In the beginning and middle but never the end, stardust would catch in their throats often, make things red string tight, but then there would be that easy smile of Oralech's that shimmered even in the dark that Volfred could not resist but to kiss, and every pain like muscle, unknotted. Years, Oralech would be sleepless, drifting the night by in the grass, the moon melting across his features. Sometimes she sang her love and sometimes he sang it back, but only on nights so clear and bright that his heart could not help but sing. Volfred would know, every night, whether Oralech slept or woke, in a sense that came to him only by sewing their hearts together with the thread of love. How easily they melded together, copper to copper, how neatly they fit. Volfred knew Oralech, always, a spring in Oralech's clock, the thing that made every hand move and tick. Silence would flow through them like the night air, settle in their limbs. Words would come soft as cotton in sporadic bursts of sunshine; sunshine held promises they couldn't always speak and they sorted their saturation in colored rows for later times. Night, clouds would say their vows, and bloom deep within the roses of their hearts. A warmth would spring from the wind that danced against them, brew something tooth-quiet between them, push a little but not pull.
