[P] A Dance with Dragons

[Jude]

My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel. Jude has had different perceptions of Isorath through the time they’ve known each other.. But this, this is never something he has seen before. Tears are familiar.. But not on the features of his sunburst prince. He can remember that smile.. That smile that could shine so brightly it would render Caligo terrified, light that the sun envied. Now.. He is draped in starlight and darkness. Darkness doesn’t suit Isorath. He is gilded and shimmering, sunlight spun into white. Divinity isn’t even a word that comes near the beauty of Isorath, but Jude is not a poet.. But Jude has certain things he can fathom. As he watches the feral fire of Isorath simmer down into an ember gasping for air, he draws onto his own memories. He is accustomed to being porcelain and easily shattered.. But he becomes an ironhide. He lifts himself from the baths and lets the water drip off his hide. Jude shakes and then doesn’t waste time moving towards his friend, even as he splurts out a weak attempt at a joke. For a moment he considers focusing solely on Isorath, to fully give into his need to nurture and care.. But he instead nods and moves to be near his friend, moves to bury his tiny body into his larger one.. I am here… I am here.. An unmuttered promise, a unspoken vow.. He is there and he sees Isorath, every gorey bit with the smoke and splendor peeled back. Jude has never been brilliant. He is a stitched something with bleeding edges.. And he bleeds in a way so different than each of his companions.Both are proud, stalwart figures, whilst he crumbles at the wrong look. The moments of razor blade edges have always been few and far between, but his friends are the fastest way to sharpen his temper. “I will paint you so magnificent that the stars will be shrouded,” Jude whispers, “Capture every edge of your firespun self..” He isn’t good at offering distraction, so instead he offers weak attempts. “Make it something to rival the beauty of the muse.” He looks down at his friend and then reaches to offer a brush against the side of his face, a tender brush of his lips. He continues speaking, letting his voice be the distraction, to try and pull Isorath out from whatever webs clamor over him. “I think clothed in sunbeams and starbursts is the only appropriate way to depict you, no?” He looks at the prince and smiles, tender.. Tender and soft as he is. While Isorath thrives in rage, Jude thrives in his weakness and it shall all he knows.. And he knows the vitality of weakness.. That is now a lesson he wishes to teach. All he will offer is the safety of his small embrace and the brush of his lips. “I think as well I will paint you on a backdrop of the morning sun,” Jude says and looks towards Isorath. “For darkness doesn’t suit you, Isorath.” He offers the smallest ebb of a smile, “you are far too bright.. It will help you stand out against the shadow of your king.. And then I will capture Vaella.” He says and smiles towards his other  friend as he tries to keep his voice going, keep the sound of a distraction. “You I think are suited for lavender sunset, the hues of a final light casting on your white flesh. Wings spread wide and smirking, for we all know you are never without a quip or retort.” Yes he can keep talking, of course he can.. He can keep his voice steady. “You’re not sunbeams but you are twilight.. Beautiful, resonant, and a mirky in between.” He says and keeps his eys on Vaella.. But internally he can’t help but wonder.. What is he himself exactly? LAYING ON MY BACK WATCHING STARS COLLIDE @Isorath @Vaella

space