Forbidden

Love is said to be able to conquer all; to be the harbinger of peace and overcome any obstacle.  Yet, it was hardly ever as simple as the tall fairy tale that romanticized love into a grand adventure of the heart.  Love was wrought with turmoil and tragedy that threatened to break it apart at every turn.  And nothing, not even love, could over power prejudice.

The scent of the forest filled the summer air.  Twisting trees and heavy canopies of leaves offered protection from the hot sun, leaving only muted daylight.  It was a perfect haven, a place where love was nurtured and explored for all its beauties and imperfections.  Each gentle touch Syrus laid upon Eloiny's soft, sage-colored skin was like a moment of pure bliss.  They moved gently together, making the most out of every moment spent in each other's arms.  Theirs was the love filled with tragedy and prejudice, their people hated enemies for reasons neither understood anymore.

"Syrus," Eloiny breathed out, the scent of her filling his nose and mind like a heady tonic.  He held her closer, tighter in response, lavishing her with gentle kisses that made the goose flesh rise on her skin.  The words that may have followed were silenced, each of them rocking in unison until they were both ravished by ecstasy.  Even still, they remained locked in each other's embrace, caressing gently as it should always be.

"You never let me speak when you want your way," Eloiny said in the primitive tongue of her people.  It was a language only used by the wild elves, seen as little better than verbose grunts by the high elves that Syrus called his kin.  He cared little for the stigmas of his people, however, learning the ancient tongue of the elves for Eloiny's sake.

"I don't recall stopping you," he teased back in the language she was so familiar with, placing a gentle kiss on her brow. She poked at his ribs in response, making him squirm in spite of his desire to stay pressed against her nude form.

"Rogue," she accused, making him smile even as she slid out from beneath him, drawing her knees to her breasts.  "I have something to share with you."

"I'm listening," he said, nibbling playfully at her toes.  She giggled and scooted away, slapping him gently on his shoulder.

"You're not!  Stop and listen!" she giggled as he grabbed at her again, this time nibbling near her navel and beneath the gentle curve of her breast.  She didn't stop him however, moaning softly as her desires were stirred once more by the warmth of his tongue. "Really… you need to listen."

"I am," he breathed out, loving the feel of her slender fingers in his hair as she held him to her like she would a babe.  He could hear her heart beating in his ear and cherished the sound.  What he wouldn't give to hear it every night.  But there was nothing he'd be allowed to give to have what he held most dear, so he contented himself with their brief rendezvous.

"Syrus," Eloiny continued, her breath heavy and full of passion as she guided his sensual kisses downward.  "I'm… you're to… to be a father."

At first, the announcement didn't register, Syrus' mind preoccupied with the soft moans coming from Eloiny's lips and the guidance of her soft hands to what she wanted most.  But the words spoken slowly replaced renewed passion with slight confusion until he looked up at her, frowning slightly.

"What?" he asked softly, making her smile down at him.

"Now you listen to me…" she teased, taking his hand in hers and placing it over her still-flat belly. "I am with child."

His confusion was replaced by shock and then rapidly melted to a joy he could not explain if he knew all the languages of all the nations.  It was indescribable, but something he wanted to shout to the heavens at the same time, grabbing her up in his arms once more and holding her tightly to him – hiding the creeping fear that threatened to kill his happiness.

*  *  *

Heavy footfalls echoed through the polished marble halls of the castle.  Each step was set down with purpose and determination that refused to waiver, drawing attention to the High Lord General as he moved.  Syrus ignored the looks, the glances and whispers.  In fact, he even ignored the closed doors to the Emperor's private study, striding in so suddenly that he did a near about-face when he saw what he had walked in on.

"Syrus it's alright, Matthis was just being playful," Aya giggled, hanging upside down over the Emperor's desk.  It was almost relieving to see his elder brother and sister-in-law behaving so freely with each other; it made them seem a little less deific than the titles that they normally carried portrayed them to be.

There was very little that Syrus envied of his brother.  The love he had from his wife, however, was one he had always envied.  She was filled with such a delicate grace and softness it made a man's mind spin.  It had taken very little effort on her part to enchant Matthias into her spell – something Syrus had witnessed from the beginning.  He had often found himself wishing that it were he at the center of such attention rather than his brother, fearful that he would never find such love.  But he had… and that terrified him more than anything.

"I've found a new conquest, little brother.  Do you see this rib here?" the Emperor asked with a broad grin as he poked gently into his wife's side, making her squeal.  "It elicits the most exquisite response! Better than gold or diamonds, don't you think?"

"A true treasure," Syrus agreed, glancing down at the pair with serious eyes.

"Matthis," Aya said gently, pushing her husband away.  "Stop, now, my love – Syrus has 'the look'."

The woman's aptitude for reading facial expressions was uncanny – something her son was rapidly inheriting and something that was more unsettling than having the spirits of the dead loitering about.  Still her intuition was not wrong, for Syrus had something of the utmost seriousness to share with the rulers of his nation – and hopefully something of great joy to share with his family.  Despite attempts to change things, there had always been a distinct difference between the two that Syrus cared very little for.

"Alright, Syrus," Matthias said, resettling himself at his chair, his wife sitting daintily on the desk to listen as well.  "Why 'the look'?"

It took some time for Syrus to find the courage and words to speak, swallowing hard at least twice before finally opening his mouth.  What came out was little better than a croak that made a touch of pink rise in his cheeks before he managed to blurt out his news.

"I'm resigning as High Lord General," he said in a single breathless sentence that was almost slurred.
"Come again?" Matthias asked, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.
"I'm resigning," Syrus repeated, stiffening his spine –and resolve – as he spoke.  "Eloiny is with child."

"Syrus that's marvelous news!" Aya exclaimed, relieving some of the tension if for a brief moment.  Syrus considered his sister-in-law to be a true sister even if they were not related by blood.  He treated her as a confidante and equal, often telling her things he would not dare speak of to his brother.  His relationship with Eloiny had been one of those very things.

"Who?" Matthias asked, confused and perturbed by Syrus' announcement.

"Matthis, I only want what's best for my child and I know that isn't going to happen if I remain as your general.  So I'm respectfully resigning."

It was not quite as simple as resigning, Syrus knew this.  The Emperor had final say in all decisions regardless of what the reasoning were.  If Matthias so decreed to have everyone walk around nude every fourth-day, then it would be so with very little in the way of argument.  If Matthias refused to accept the resignation, Syrus would have no choice but to remain – or be hanged for treason and abandonment of post.

"Who is Eloiny?" the Emperor repeated, noting the new position of his wife at his shoulder rather than his desk – a signal that he was not going to like what Syrus had to tell him.

"She's…" Syrus began, losing some of his resolve.  "A daughter of the Oaktyr tribe that lives in the Eastern Forest.  The daughter of the Oaktyr tribe.  Her father is the Speaker of the Clans."

The wild elves had no formal governments but the Speaker of the Clans was as close to royalty as they got.  But, titles did not matter to Matthias, that much was clear to Syrus.  The look of confusion and annoyance in his brother's eyes was replaced, instead, with cold hatred and anger.  If there was one thing Matthias was, it was unforgiving.  His nation flourished because of his law and his law had no room for the savages that plagued their forests; his law had no room for tolerance.

"Matthis," Aya tried, silencing herself as the Emperor rose from his chair to stare Syrus in the eye.  Matthias' gaze could turn a man to stone, his blue eyes as piercing as they were unrelenting.

"You sire a bastard child with some savage whore and expect me to accept your resignation," Matthias said harshly, making Syrus' heart sink and rage grow.  Emperor or not, it took all of Syrus' willpower to remain still rather than land his fist on his brother's cheek.  "Absolutely not, Syrus.  This fantasy of yours ends now.  Terminate it – or I'll do it for you."

"Matthias," Aya interrupted again, her voice harder than it had been before.  She was the voice of reason to Matthias' subtle tyranny.  But even her charms would not sway the Emperor, Syrus could see it in the firm set of his jaw.

"End it, Syrus," Matthias repeated, striding purposefully towards his door with his wife offering only a single glance of apology as she followed before the door slammed shut.