Forsaken by Shadows 70: Breathless

~35. Breathless~

Mazira ran.

How could she not, with Dreder's words rattling around her head?

Maybe he's loved you so long, you just got used to it.

His voice rent her heart like cat's claws, painful in the most blissful way.

He's loved me... so long...

Could it really be true? Could Dreder have actually been speaking the truth?

Of course, why would he lie? He gained nothing out of it. Well, nothing except her heartache if she was wrong and she made a fool of herself with what she was about to do. And, maybe she might have believed that's what he wanted, but for his apology.

That awkward shuffle, that inability to look in her eyes when he'd said it. She'd seen that before. On Rismyn, when they were small and he was trying to comprehend what to do with the foreign feelings her kindness evoked.

She burst out laughing, which didn't help her breathlessness as she raced through the streets, but she couldn't hold it in. Launa was working its magic on yet another broken soul, and Rismyn loved her.

Or at least, she was pretty sure he did.

She had to find out. Right now. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, it would all have to wait. They were going to talk before the light cycle was over.

Unfortunately, finding Rismyn proved to be more difficult than she anticipated. When she raced through the doors of Solaurin's house, she found it empty.

Where had everyone gone? Where had Rismyn gone? There was no Militia training and Jasper's shop would be closed, like Solaurin's, in the wake of the Festival. So why wasn't he home?

She hovered on the threshold of his empty room, debating whether or not she should wait for him or go looking. Waiting was the smart, responsible thing to do. She was supposed to rest, after all. It's what Mother Lara had instructed her to do.

But how could she rest? Her heart hammered so hard it threatened to crack her ribs.

She ought to go look for him. He only had a few haunts around town. He should be easy to find.

But she had told the Reverend Mother she would rest...

Biting her lip, Mazira stormed to her room, but she stayed only long enough to slip out of her religious uniform and into something else. A new outfit, one Ti'yana had made for her now that her scars had been expunged. It sported a modest, yet lower neckline, one that she never would have dared touch before, when the tips of her acid brands would have peeked above the fabric. The skirts were long and divided, paired with matching breeches. All black with lavender accents. Drow colors, but in a good way.

It made her feel pretty. She hoped Rismyn would think so, too.

She pulled her shoes on as she left the room, taking the stairs two at a time before returning to the streets. Three usual haunts, Rismyn couldn't be that hard to find.

And yet he wasn't at the Cove.

He wasn't visiting Jasper.

And he wasn't at the Sunglow Tavern.

Dejected and frustrated, Mazira bade farewell to the acquaintances she did find at the tavern—Rismyn's patrol friends, taking their usual midday meal where they could harass the mercenaries—and returned to the riverwalk. She'd never seen so few people on this street, and not a single one of them was the elf she wanted.

How did this keep happening? Everytime she thought they might finally connect, something always got in the way. A change of subject, an interruption.

Toloruel.

No. He would not take this from Mazira. He would take nothing else from her, ever again. She just had to think. Where else might he have gone?

"Oh," she mumbled, as she passed by a trio of mercenaries with hardly a glance, too distracted to remember to be afraid. "Eilistraee have mercy..."

She meant it more as a gripe, repeating the exasperated phrase she so often heard from Solaurin, usually accompanied by an eyeroll in the direction of Ti'yana or Rismyn. But as the words left her lips, she froze.

No... he couldn't be... could he? Would he have gone there on his own volition? She didn't think he would, and yet the more she thought about it, the more the idea compelled her.

Where else would Rismyn go, if he was craving peace as much as she? Certainly not to the temple, where someone might witness him. But there were other religious locations in the Launa...

Making up her mind, Mazira turned abruptly and strode toward the outskirts of the cavern.

***

The hike up to Eilistraee's Sacred Pools wasn't as miserable as Mazira remembered, despite the almost vertical incline up. Perhaps that was due to the training Rismyn had put her through when all she had asked for was to learn the sword.

She'd hated every moment of the exercises, but smiled fondly at the memory. He hadn't been wrong; the exertion was good for her. He was good for her. She prayed her wild idea wasn't off course, that for some inexplicable reason, she would crest the ledge and look down to see him silhouetted against the moon-glowing waters.

A tiny gasp escaped her lips as her mental picture materialized in the realm of reality. She wasn't accustomed to her prayers being answered verbatim. Yet there he was, in the flesh, standing before the gently lapping pool, a dark form against the silver light.

Skipping stones.

That was probably some form of blasphemy, but Mazira didn't care. She'd found him, and he was alone, and a storm of emotion swelled inside of her.

"Rismyn!" she cried, as her feet plunged her into the cavern.

He turned abruptly, ruby sparking in the shadow of his face as his darkvision flared.

"Rismyn!" she called again, as gravity assisted her in picking up the pace.

Only as she reached the halfway point of the downward slope did she realize her error. Rismyn had once come tumbling down this hill in exactly the same way. But he was a warrior trained in the art of balance.

She was not.

A small avalanche of loose gravel rolled under her feet, and it was all Mazira could do to keep herself upright. Her arms waved in little circles as she struggled to keep on her feet, and whatever aspirations she had of skidding to a dramatic halt in front of him and declaring her affection went right out from under her, just like her feet were threatening.

She collided into him, and though he grunted, his arms going around her as if he had braced for this, her momentum was too great for him to bear. They tumbled together straight into the surprisingly lukewarm water of Eilistraee's sacred pool.

Mazira gasped, another mistake, as she swallowed water. Rismyn's arms loosened around her, and she flailed to find the surface which was, embarrassingly, not far. The pool was shallow, and she pushed herself upright, spluttering and coughing.

And straddling Rismyn's lap, as he surfaced as well, shoving the wet locks of his hair from his eyes, and muttering a few choice and colorful words.

"Are you alright?" he said. "What's wrong? Is everything okay?"

"I-I'm sorry," Mazira wheezed, still trying to clear her airways of their liquid invader. She coughed a few more times, aided by a few firm pats on the back from Rismyn.

She almost forgot what she had come here for, until his hands settled on her waist, and she realized hers had landed on his chest.

The brisk cavern air wasn't cool enough to chill the sudden flush of warmth that washed through her, and she stiffened, looking him in the eye.

Dripping wet. Wine red irises. Mercy, he was beautiful, even with the scar tracing his left check. It wasn't fair.

"R-rismyn," she peeped, trembling from more than just the cool air on her wet skin. She'd had a speech prepared, hadn't she? One she had rehearsed all the way here. Something sweet and romantic.

Well, so much for that.

"What's wrong?" he asked again, in that low, serious tone he adopted when ready to fight. "Is it him? Did he—"

"Do you love me?"

Rismyn went very, very still, his lovely eyes widening. "W-what?"

"Do you..." It was hard to speak when she could barely breathe. "Do you love me?"

He stared at her, aghast, and Mazira's confidence shook. She had chosen her words carefully, using the same Common word for love she had taught him all those years ago. The one that meant dramatic, ultimate, unconditional affection.

The one her parents had always used for her and each other when they said, I love you.

Perhaps she had come on too strong. Perhaps she should have used a lesser form of the word, one that wasn't so intense. One that was less demanding.

She looked away, her eyes burning with her cheeks. "S-sorry. What I meant was—"

"Yes."

She froze.

The knuckle of his index finger found her chin, tipping her gaze to meet his.

"Yes, I love you," he said, with an implied intentionality as he spoke the words slowly. "I think..." He broke her gaze, looking down. "I think I always have. I just... haven't always known how."

Dreder was right. He had loved her so long she'd gotten used to it. Even when he was young and cruel with his words. When he was older and desperate, approaching her under the only context he understood, making the best of what he knew would be the death of him in his mother's house.

He'd always loved her.

Her mind emptied of thought. There was no room for such details in the tempest of emotion that swirled there. Bewilderment—could this be real? Elation—it was real! And, surprisingly, a shock of anger. All this time. All these days of pining for him, of mourning the loss of his love, and it had always been right there, right in front of her.

She was mad he never told her. She was mad she never noticed.

"Then why didn't you say so?!" she cried, shoving him in the chest with more gusto than she intended.

Rismyn fell back into the water again, and this time he thrashed, bucking his hips and knocking Mazira back into the water herself.

They both surfaced on their hands and knees, with another round of coughing and spluttering.

"Stars, Mazira!" Rismyn said, sitting up on his knees. "What was that for?!"

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" Mazira said, grabbing a fistful of hair and wringing it out. "I just—I'm feeling... wow. My heart." She fanned herself with her hands. "Big feelings," she muttered, more to herself. "Big feelings..."

Rismyn stood and shook the water off, splashing her in the process. Mazira didn't complain as she shielded her face. She absolutely deserved it. When she lowered her arm, she found his hand extended to her, offering to help her up.

She took it, reveling in the feel of his skin on hers. They'd held hands hundreds of times before, but his admission gave the sensation a whole new meaning. There was none of the skin crawling Vaylan made her feel. There was only bliss.

"C'mon," he grumbled, leading her out of the water. He patted her shoulders awkwardly, as if his soaking hands could dry off her saturated clothes. "How did you know to find me here, anyway?"

"I... just had a hunch. You weren't anywhere else. Wait, no!" She grabbed him by the tunic, which now hugged his muscular frame. She truly hadn't appreciated his Festival attire as much as she should have. "Don't change the subject! We always do this. Avoid it. Find something else to talk about. Rismyn, I love you, too."

Again Rismyn stilled, all but the bob in his throat. He reached slowly for the hands gripping him, but didn't remove them. Instead, he covered her hands with his own.

"R-really?" he asked, in the smallest of voices. "Are you... sure...?"

By way of an answer, she threw her arms around him. It was the coldest, wettest, most miserable hug she had ever endured, and she relished every moment of it as he wrapped her in his own arms.

"Nin enethril nín," he murmured into her hair, an Elvish phrase which translated to, my beautiful one.

Mazira couldn't have smiled any broader. Drow, in practice, tended to only use elvish for sacred moments. Usually religious rituals or texts. His use of it now warmed her soul like the dawn.

With great reluctance, Mazira pulled back, her fingers finding his face, tracing his jawline. His arms never left their circle around her, though they loosened to give her room to move.

Unlike Vaylan. Who had held her tight against her will.

Mazira's smile iced over and she dropped her hands.

"What's wrong?" Rismyn asked, dropping away from her and backing up. "Did I do something wrong?" He looked downright stricken. "I'm sorry. Just tell me, and I won't—"

"No, it's not you," Mazira said, shaking her head. She stepped back into his space spreading her fingers over his chest and resting her forehead just below his chin. "Vaylan... tried to kiss me earlier."

His muscles tensed beneath her, and his arms came around her, though she sensed reluctance in the looseness of his embrace. "Do you want me to break his nose?"

Of all the ways she expected Rismyn to react, that was not one of them. She giggled, a giddy sound that caught her off guard, and gripped his tunic. "No, no, please don't. It's alright he—well. Actually. I don't want to talk about him right now."

"Alright," Rismyn said, though he sounded disappointed. He at least tightened his grip on her. "What do you want to talk about, then? Anything you want."

She thought for a moment, but piecing together coherent sentences was still proving rather difficult. Euphoria had that effect, apparently. There was so much to talk about. Like where they went from here. She had no idea where to even begin.

Wait, that wasn't true. She knew exactly where to begin. Leaning back in his arms, she peered up at him, his scraggly hair framing his sharp elven features perfectly.

"Nothing," Mazira said, with a dreamy cast to her voice.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," she affirmed. "I want you to kiss me."

Again his eyes went wide, and again, his throat bobbed.

And once again, Mazira's confidence wavered. "T-that is, if you want to..."

"Oh no, I definitely want to," he said, and was it her imagination, or had his voice risen an octave. At least a fifth, if not a full octave.

Yet he still didn't move.

"Then... what is it?"

"It's just..."

His hands were on her waist again, and it made it hard to breathe. When was the last time she'd gotten a proper breath today?

"It's our first kiss," Rismyn said. "I don't really have a lot of experience in this art. What if I mess it up, and it's our last kiss?"

Was that all? Mazira laughed. "It's just a kiss, Rismyn. I don't think it's that hard."

"Oh?" He arched an eyebrow, and there was something mischievous about the way his lip quirked. "So you're an expert now, eh?"

She flushed. "N-not practically," she said quickly. "But, y'know, in the poems—"

"Ah, yes, the fabled high elven romance poems," he said. "Setting standards we common elfmen can't aspire to."

"How would you know?" Mazira shot back. "Have you ever read them?" Her brows shot up. "Have you ever—tried?"

This time it was Rismyn who flushed, his complexion darkening. "We're getting off topic again. So. Us. Kissing."

"Yes," Mazira said, though a tiny seed of suspicion had burrowed deep within her mind. He hadn't denied her allegations. "Well?"

"Well what?" Rismyn asked. "We established you're the expert. So, go on then. Tell me what I'm supposed to do."

"Oh Rismyn," she said, but he stubbornly set his jaw. "Fine."

She sighed, biting the inside of her cheek as she considered. What did she know about kissing? She'd only read about it, and turned abruptly away when people in the taverns connected. Launa had loose opinions on what affection was appropriate to display in public. Something about basking in Eilistraee's freedom.

"Uhmm... I think... first you have to hold me properly..."

His hands slipped from her waist to her back before she could define what she meant, and any gap that had existed between their bodies vanished.

"Like this?" he murmured.

A tiny gasp escaped her throat. "Y-yes... I think that's it..."

"Okay. Now what?"

An excellent question. One difficult to consider with his body pressed against her. "I... uhm..." She bit her lip, trying to recall the romantic plays her family put on so long ago. Or the way her father kissed her mother. "I t-think you close your eyes..."

His eyes snapped shut, and her shivering became trembling. This was really going to happen.

Just breathe. What had she told him? It was just a kiss...

"And then... tilt your head like this..." She gently turned his face to align his lips to hers. "And then you lean in and—"

She cut off as her lips became suddenly occupied with Rismyn's, his presence warm and soft and wonderful. Her own eyes shut and she clung to him, determined to wring every bit of joy out of this moment as she could.

Because what if Rismyn was right? What if this was their last? What if Toloruel did take him from her, before she ever got to kiss him again—

He broke the kiss, then came back for another one, immediately shattering that fear. For a boy who made her walk through the steps, he certainly learned quickly, as he rained kisses upon her lips. He kissed her until they were both breathless, until she was weak in the knees and not sure she would remain upright if not for his arms around her.

"Nin enethril nín," he murmured again, pecking her nose, a small action that sent bubbles to the furthest reaches of her extremities. "Nin enethril nín..."

He pressed his forehead into hers, and Mazira lifted her hands to touch his face again. She tilted her lips toward his again, hoping for more, but he closed his hands around hers.

"I really, really want to continue this conversation," he said, sounding pained. "But it is really, really cold since someone shoved me into a pond."

"Sacred pool," Mazira corrected with a giggle.

"Right. Yes. It's cold. Can we go home and change? And... er... talk?"

Talk? What was there to talk about? They were in love. He had kissed her. She didn't need anything else.

But he made a good point. Without his kisses to distract her she became aware of the bone-chilling air clinging to her soaked clothing. So, she relented. "Yes, let's do that."

His grin returned, and before Mazira could say anything else, he scooped her up in his arms and kicked off the ground, levitating them up to the cavern entrance, either not trusting her with the slope or in a desperate hurry to talk.

Disclaimer: Forsaken by Shadows is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.