[P] A Dance with Dragons

[Isorath]

I S O R A T H — you will ache as I ache— tenderly, tragically, beautifully. Crying had never suited him, Dragon's do not cry. They do not shed tears and let others see their weaknesses, their fractured bodies or their frustrations. They bottle it, they swallow it down and make it insignificant to their existence. Crush it beneath talon and dragon flame and let it serve as a warning. But there is something in the audacity of it all, the situation he had found himself in. The ridiculousness of it all, that forced the tears out of him without permission. Let them come out as wretched and horrible. The Prince is embarassed most of all, at how sudden he had plummeted toward the earth, unable to catch himself before he inevitably crumpled into it. How dare, he wanted to rasp. How dare he be brought down from his throne. How dare they try and smudge his immaculate visage with dirty smears. They do not get the pleasure to watch the hairline fractures opening up upon his immaculate visage, and for that he is grateful. He will pour molten gold into them and rise because he must, because it is not in his nature to lay in his own ruin. But it is hard, right now. In the maelstrom of it all. It started with the delicate, soft touch of a tail against his hind leg, and instinctively his own leonine tail coiled — searching until it found, and wrapped itself around Vaella's own. A familiar song is hummed to life between them all, and it brings memories of nights spent curled up in chambers with his cousins, restless and energetic until one of the adults had come to them and sang them the very same song. It's a comfort, and for a moment his tumultous heart slowed it's lament within his chest. Instead, pressed against the ivory bars to better hear the sweetness. Skittering skin is calmed by the feel of a small body pressed against his own, soothing and warm and gentle. Jude is rose petals in summer, the cherry blossoms over the water gardens in spring. Water color paintings carefully breathed to life. Isorath's eyes remain squeezed shut all the while, not daring to crack open. Not yet. In the self-made darkness things are better. Never in his life has he been more grateful for them, how effortlessly they float to him to pick him up. To return the love and protectiveness he felt for them so openly. His heart sighs and his breathing stuttered, as Jude's words reach his delicately curled ears. They pick the shards out of his skin with such care, tell him that he's firespun and greater than the muses. A part of him wanted to quip, you flatterer, in his usual tone. He can't, not quite yet. Even as he tried to get up, his eyes do manage to finally open and stare into those spring green hues that the blush kirin has. Wings spread wide and smirking, for we all know you are never without a quip or retort. A snort of amusement finally broke through the sobs, and the larger kirin moved to pull Jude into a full embrace. Coiling around the smaller body and allowing his rivers of silver hair to pour over them both, a white wing wrapped tight around the petite frame as he smiled. And smiled. And smiled. A shattered thing, but there are cracks of sunlight there. Lilac is brighter now, even if the white around them is red, the color of wisteria flowers in the sun. His face felt puffy and blotchy, but he cannot bring himself to care. Later he might. "...Perhaps you know me a little too well..." Isorath breathed, fond and tired. A wing tightening it's embrace around Jude for a second before it relaxed once more. "But, dear Cousin..." He began in the next hastily sucked in breath, his words aren't even, nor are they perfect. They do however, carry a shred of his usual cadence and for that he is grateful. Urged by the love he is surrounded with, he tried. "I have no bad sides to capture. I'm flawless head to toe, fortunately." He noticed how Jude did not include himself in his paintings of the Royal kirins in his presence, and his face twists. Jude is near and dear to them both, he cannot ascend both of them without expecting them to exalt him in return. "And you, you are the gentleness of spring." Isorath began slowly, as he mulled over his words in his fractured and scattered mind. "The blush which coats pale petals, the dew upon the grass. Dawn as it wakes on a cloudless day upon the water. The smell of blossoms and fresh honey, and watercolor paints upon the canvas. But you are also her ferocity, the thorns hidden beneath the rose, the spines upon a delicate stem, unafraid to bite if you must." Again he smiled, and it's faint and gentle and unlike the sharpness of him. "I will make sure you have your gardens again, and your paintings." His gaze turned to Vaella, his tail giving hers a gentle squeeze as it curled around hers further. "And I will make sure that we practice like we used to out in the courtyard, with our swords and magic. It will not be home...but we will make it work."    NOTE; woops. TAGS: @Jude @Vaella "this here is your speech colour!