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It was a hidden nook; one so hidden by tall grass and flower stalks that no one but the king knew of its whereabouts. A small, shadowed grove at the base of the Silver Tree that perfectly fitted the slender body of the aging fae. Was it his own body that carved it out with the amount of visits over the years, or that their tree’s creator made it as a place of comfort?
It was another cloudless night that washed over the sterling kingdom, yet peace was far from being with the ruler. Another night of bad dreams, one could say. Horrors had flashed behind closed eyelids with such unabashed fury that it roused Elder Faerie in a shaky gasp and spilling tears. His bed, round and soft like a nest, no longer felt welcoming.
The halls were vacant as his tender footsteps followed through absent halls; each one guiding in a ghost’s memory. His wings, beautiful and delicately strong, dragged with heaviness at the base. Moon beams casted sweet kisses against the iridescent city as he gazed at it from spanning windows, yet the sight did not dissuade the growling swirl that gnawed at his chest like ants. Kerning it was, stewing worse with every passing second like alone.
Elder Faerie’s robes flowed behind him as he passed over picturesque bridges and waterways, but he paid them no mind. Though his wanderings felt aimless they always led him to the one place these pains could come without hindrance.
Silvery bark twisted upward at the center of his Eden, beautiful as it was a mockery. Pall, dusty blue gazed with tiredness at the sprawling venture, and sighed deeply as his wings unfurled from behind them. They were such grace, so vitreous that a master of stained glass would weep at the sight of them. Curled at the tips and blossoming like morning glories they carried the man from the steel arch to the island at the center. His features pinched as he did so, each flap causing the smallest of discomforts. His wings were tender from disuse, long had it been since he properly used them. Why would he need to display them if the one who truly loved them could not see so any longer?
Soft, lush grass was forgiving under his bare feet, and slowly he approached the base. Gilded archways framed the towering trunk like a halo as flowers peppered the grounds. Those vast, imposing vines hugged the wide girth with a tightness of sealed promise. How he wished to hate the sight, but how could he ever hate something his once love had created?
Elder’s shoulders hung low at the memories that had burdened him, that had woken him, and in remembrance he took shelter in the only place that felt safe.
Pressing past tall stalks and placed flowers was his haven; a place hidden that he would take solace in. Small was its size, curved was its shape, but all the same the fae king lowered himself to his knees to lay against it. A space between the roots just big and round enough for his aching being to curl into. Blasphemous to anyone who saw, but loving to the one who knew.
The bark was smooth yet cool at his dough, but he did not shy away from it. It reminded him much of the sensation of armor upon his hand, of touch long gone. Destitution may it be; it was comforting.
Long, white sleeves slid and pooled as he raised a hand to stroke at the large roots that he had wedged himself into, cheek resting as if to hear what whispers would never be heard again. His nightgown sparkled with the view of diamonds as the stars casted soundless wishes of peace to a mind so clouded. Elder did not seek peace from the prison itself, but the embodiment of its starting.
“My Salt…” His voice trembled in quiet, “Wishful thinking of the past has once again brought me to your grave…”
Words echoed at the night with no reply, yet he still let out a lackless, breathy laugh.
“Pathetic you would find me now, speaking to your prison, but I find no other comfort but closeness to you…even if it is in crumbled pieces.” Strands of silver were brushed back, “I miss your vitality; how I long to hear your sharp, silvery tongue…How I miss your touch…”
No one would ever understand.
His love, once a holy figure draped in snow’s hue, now lay chained and rotting in blacked steel beneath himself. This tree was a prison of the most vile of beasts, but His Salt did not deserve it. His fall, his corruption, was not earned.
“Even as ages pass…My love I can not rid your specter from my mind; I cannot rest in peace knowing that you can never have such the same.” Another confession to the empty dark, but it quivered in his lungs, “A yearning fool you would think I am if you could see me now, but I find that….” His voice trailed as dampness pricked at the corners of his lashes.
“Damn all that pushed you; that chipped at your armor and punctured your beating heart….” A broken breath fell from his throat, “Damn it be all those who took you from me!”
Elder Faerie Cookie’s chest seized as sobs so pitifully broken slither from his uncracking facade like a cracked vase of silver roses.
He had to always stay so guarded, so held back from those he protected. A king could not be weak, could not falter in their visage of strength and presence. Yet, here at the base of a once love, he was no king. He did not sit there as a great pillar, but as a lover broken. These tears were not for anyone to witness besides the Salt of Solidarity, but even that was a daft plea. That man no longer existed even in mortal memory.
Now such a shining, blinding commander would only be harshed as a beast.
Slaughter had tainted the flawless steel of his bestowed armor black with curdled jam and broken faith. It has been stained with betrayal, with regret…. Yet, it has been Elder Faerie that he had fled back to in his time of falling. Nothing could have unmarred the gauntlets that bleed spots over the unblemished grounds of the fae palace; no amount of love could bring back a man now lost.
Silent Salt, such a cruel name given to a man who wept the full nightfall at the loss of all he knew.
His own sobs now fell into quiet and rang out with no more force than the flitter of butterfly wings. Each one that slid and fell with gravity from his cheeks wettened the robe that held limb to wipe them away. He had no heart to rid his cheeks of such, not even as they graced the bark he had rested his head against. Elder wondered, if ever faintly, if His Salt could hear its presence from beyond the thick wood. Could he be just beyond the inner ring, or was he still just in ever once of his lasting strength to hold those chains at bay?
Such incredulousness he knew, but he was only a cookie deep down, one that once held the hand of a man turned devil. Was he not allowed to wish for the touch of his soulbound again? To desperately cling to the last reminisce of good they had before the world crumbled like brittle dryness? It was a wasted thought, but did not only flicker dead hope back in the dark edges of his damaged heart.
Dark fingers brushed at the ingrained textures of the tree, knees pulling close to his chest in vain to feel smaller. A habit he supposed, one forged back when what held him was not inanimate roots, but strong arms built from carrying the weight of the world. Warm they had been even cooled in bittering silvers, but by the Creators, had it been his salvation. Even after hundreds of years he could still faintly hear the heartbeat that had thumped against his ear as they had laid together during His Salt’s visits.
Foolish their futures had become.
Dullness finally let lashes fall into rest even if the embrace was cool without care.
“I only wish that you may one day find reprieve in rest yourself, my beloved Salt…”
It became hush after such a confession as sleep finally overtook the fae from exhaustion. His head of crushed moon rays found cushion upon the illustrious bark, and for what felt like a fated breath, the rooted cradle felt warm.