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Description
His foot fell softly as is hit the wet leaves that littered the ground, barely breaking the blissful silence. Above him the tree's branches reached for each other, tangling together as if in embrace. Peace echoed through the isle of trees. Such peace that could be found nowhere else. He took another step, slipping his bare feet amongst the leaves to touch the earth. It would look strange to anyone watching. In full armour but he had left his boots at the edges of the trees. Here he could smell it, the rich scent of nature all around him, he could feel it against his feet, against his skin as branches brushed his face and tugged his braid.

"Oran," his name drifted across with wind. His eyes lifted to meet hers, dark to light.

She waited for him, amongst the trees. Her dress was a beautiful shifting colour, appearing white only to fade to a shade of pink of orange in the light. An ache blossomed in his chest at the sight of her. How he loved her.

He could remember meeting her, it seemed like so long ago that they had met yet it had only been a year. It had been hate at first sight. He could remember so clearly.

"You are wrong!" She stood from her place, knocking her chair back.

Her hands came down to the table in fists. He sighed, letting his papers fall from his fingers to the table. She was young, he could hear it in her voice.

He looked up slowly, calmly. "The facts are not in dispute, wrong doings have already been done. By both sides." His eyes found her quickly. She was young, probably only a hundred or so. Her hands were clenched upon the table. He lifted his eyes to seek her face. She was very beautiful, long, shinning, dark hair fell free down her back, bright eyes stared him down. He would not back down. "It was, is, if you do not allow this council to settle the matter, a war. People took the wrong path; death was met with death, pain with pain. I am only trying to bring to light what transgressed so that it may be settled and live may be spared."

"You accuse my people of actions that were fuelled by the desperation only war can bring. How can they be held accountable for what they themselves would not have done if your people had not started this war?" She spoke clearly but he could see she was forcing herself to be calm.

He tensed. She was insulting, insolent. But he had better control then she.

"The same way that in a moment, when I am done 'accusing' people, one of your speakers will do the same to mine."

She opened her mouth but before she would say a word her Lady held up but a finger and the woman was silenced. She sat, and stared at him from the rest of the council.

He had lingered, after the room was cleared. She had remained in her seat, no longer heading his presence in the room. He crossed the room to her, standing beside her chair. She glance up, a look of disgust on her face and pushed her chair away, making to leave.

He reached out and grabbed her arm, halting her. She spun, her hand raised. This too he grabbed as it came to his face. She was stuck in his hands. The women struggled but before she could cry out he spoke.

"Do not make the mistake of believing only your people have suffered in this war. My people have felt the same death and pain as yours." Without another word he released her and left the room.

"Oran," she called him again.

He came closer to her, his hands extending to met hers. Memories swan through his head. They fought, about everything, anything, but she never spoke against him in the council again. They fought outside the setting. A moments conversation became a debate. Something they both began to look forward to in the moments they spoke. She was a challenge, something he had not seen before, not like this. She was light and beauty. He wondered how long it had taken her to see him as something other than dark and death.

"You're here" he ran his hands gently up her arms.

Her skin like silk under his fingers, he would never tired of the sensation of simply touching her skin, of running his fingers fleeting across her cheek.

He had waited this day for so long it seemed strange that it should finally be here. The council was over, the treaty signed. The war over. It all seemed unreal, so false and yet so true that a smile warmed his face.

"Celebrating by yourself Councilman?" He to the voice. She leant against the doorway, not entering the balcony to stand with him.

"I am simply taking in that the war is over. That my people and your people, no longer fight for in a war no one remembers the origin of." He turned back to the night, to the stars. "Now that council has concluded I do not feel the need for formalities, Keeva."

There was silence for a moment, and then she was standing beside him. Her face lifted to the moon and stars.

"We are free." She spoke the words softly; as if afraid someone would hear but continued louder. "I have never been free in all my life." He saw her look at him from the corner of his eye. "Did you know a time before the war...Oran?"

"I was very young, much younger then you now. But yes I remember being free of the war, perhaps that is why I fought so hard to gain my freedom of it once more."

She turned her body to face him. "I never apologised for my outburst the first day of council, I am sorry now if I gave offense then."

He laughed softly. "I am sure that my grabbing you returned any offense you sought to give that day." He turned to her, his eyes finding the arm he had grabbed, though her skin was hidden behind the sleeve. "I hope I did not harm you."

It was her turn to laugh, "I may not look it but I trained to fight in the war with my brothers, my parents thought it more respectable to be in council so I was never put to use."

"I am glad they kept you safe."

They were silent. A rare occurrence. He searched her face but he could no longer find any disgust at being so close to him. Her eyes were settled on his face, he had seen eyes bluer before but never so bright. There was something about her that gave him hope.

"What you told me that day, that your people had felt death, were you speaking of yourself?" He smiled briefly at the boldness of her question.

"I was." He watched her face change, sadness gathering in its beauty. "My parents, both lost, and my younger brother, my elder sister nearly, she carries the marks to this day." He closed his eyes for a moment, seeing their smiling faces.

A hand cupped his cheek, soft and warm. He kept his eyes closed, breathing in her perfume. He placed his hand over hers. Keeping her to him. He could feel the pulse of her life in her wrist, feel the beat of it against the corner of his mouth. Forgetting himself he turned and softly brushed his lips against the pulse. His eyes opened as his lips touched her skin, he drew away quickly. This time it was she that made him halt. A smile on her face as she held his hand.

"Of course I am here Oran, my love." She rested her forehead to his closing her eyes.

He held her close, finding comfort in having her body against his, having her in his arms. He could smell her perfume, richer than any flower in the forest.

"I was afraid you would leave me." He confessed, closing his eye as well. Her breath tickled his cheek.

"I will never leave you, I am here." She placed her hand over his heart, "always." He was sure he could feel the warmth of her hand though her armour.

His eyes flew open, the trees fluttered in the sky above him. He tried to lift his head and groaned in pain. He lifted his hand, it was red with blood. He span to his feet, forcing away the pain that grasped his body. There was no one.

"Keeva?" He called her, she would answer him, she must answer him. "Keeva!"

He spun on his feet, there, he could see her. He ran to her, dropping to his knees. Her dress was red, but it should be white, beautiful shifting white. Wedding dresses were white, not red. He gathered her in his arms, holding her tenderly to his chest. He brushed her hair from her face. So beautiful.

"Keeva," he sighed, she did not answer. "Keeva?" His voice trembled.

Her eyes were open but the brightness was no more. They were dark and dead. He shook his head, this couldn't be real. It must be a dream. It must. His hand shook as he wiped red from her cheeks, brushing over her lips. Any moment she would wake, any moment. He collapsed to the ground, pulling him with her. Silent cries raked his body. There was only pain. Only death.

"Oran?" A hand brushed his cheek. He shrugged it away, holding Keeva to him.

"I will not leave her!" He bellowed at them. He couldn't leave her.

"My love," the voice spoke again, touched his cheek again.

He looked up.

She stood before him, her dress as white as fresh snow and as colourful as a sunset. He rose to his feet, pulling her into embrace. It was all a dream, a horrifying dream.

"I was afraid I had lost you," he whispered to her.

She pulled away, a hand over his heart. "Even as I saw farewell you will never lose me."

He looked at her in confusion as she left his arms and backed away, stepping over her body on the ground. She drifted into the trees as he fell to the ground and blacked out.

The ceremony was over, they were married. Bound by love and oath into life and death. He kissed her eyes, and lips, resting his forehead to hers. Together forever.

A flash of light caught his eye, he turned from her to see the blade of a sword cut into her and see her wedding dress bleed red.

Description
His foot fell softly as is hit the wet leaves that littered the ground, barely breaking the blissful silence. Above him the tree's branches reached for each other, tangling together as if in embrace. Peace echoed through the isle of trees. Such peace that could be found nowhere else. He took another step, slipping his bare feet amongst the leaves to touch the earth. It would look strange to anyone watching. In full armour but he had left his boots at the edges of the trees. Here he could smell it, the rich scent of nature all around him, he could feel it against his feet, against his skin as branches brushed his face and tugged his braid.

"Oran," his name drifted across with wind. His eyes lifted to meet hers, dark to light.

She waited for him, amongst the trees. Her dress was a beautiful shifting colour, appearing white only to fade to a shade of pink of orange in the light. An ache blossomed in his chest at the sight of her. How he loved her.

He could remember meeting her, it seemed like so long ago that they had met yet it had only been a year. It had been hate at first sight. He could remember so clearly.

"You are wrong!" She stood from her place, knocking her chair back.

Her hands came down to the table in fists. He sighed, letting his papers fall from his fingers to the table. She was young, he could hear it in her voice.

He looked up slowly, calmly. "The facts are not in dispute, wrong doings have already been done. By both sides." His eyes found her quickly. She was young, probably only a hundred or so. Her hands were clenched upon the table. He lifted his eyes to seek her face. She was very beautiful, long, shinning, dark hair fell free down her back, bright eyes stared him down. He would not back down. "It was, is, if you do not allow this council to settle the matter, a war. People took the wrong path; death was met with death, pain with pain. I am only trying to bring to light what transgressed so that it may be settled and live may be spared."

"You accuse my people of actions that were fuelled by the desperation only war can bring. How can they be held accountable for what they themselves would not have done if your people had not started this war?" She spoke clearly but he could see she was forcing herself to be calm.

He tensed. She was insulting, insolent. But he had better control then she.

"The same way that in a moment, when I am done 'accusing' people, one of your speakers will do the same to mine."

She opened her mouth but before she would say a word her Lady held up but a finger and the woman was silenced. She sat, and stared at him from the rest of the council.

He had lingered, after the room was cleared. She had remained in her seat, no longer heading his presence in the room. He crossed the room to her, standing beside her chair. She glance up, a look of disgust on her face and pushed her chair away, making to leave.

He reached out and grabbed her arm, halting her. She spun, her hand raised. This too he grabbed as it came to his face. She was stuck in his hands. The women struggled but before she could cry out he spoke.

"Do not make the mistake of believing only your people have suffered in this war. My people have felt the same death and pain as yours." Without another word he released her and left the room.

"Oran," she called him again.

He came closer to her, his hands extending to met hers. Memories swan through his head. They fought, about everything, anything, but she never spoke against him in the council again. They fought outside the setting. A moments conversation became a debate. Something they both began to look forward to in the moments they spoke. She was a challenge, something he had not seen before, not like this. She was light and beauty. He wondered how long it had taken her to see him as something other than dark and death.

"You're here" he ran his hands gently up her arms.

Her skin like silk under his fingers, he would never tired of the sensation of simply touching her skin, of running his fingers fleeting across her cheek.

He had waited this day for so long it seemed strange that it should finally be here. The council was over, the treaty signed. The war over. It all seemed unreal, so false and yet so true that a smile warmed his face.

"Celebrating by yourself Councilman?" He to the voice. She leant against the doorway, not entering the balcony to stand with him.

"I am simply taking in that the war is over. That my people and your people, no longer fight for in a war no one remembers the origin of." He turned back to the night, to the stars. "Now that council has concluded I do not feel the need for formalities, Keeva."

There was silence for a moment, and then she was standing beside him. Her face lifted to the moon and stars.

"We are free." She spoke the words softly; as if afraid someone would hear but continued louder. "I have never been free in all my life." He saw her look at him from the corner of his eye. "Did you know a time before the war...Oran?"

"I was very young, much younger then you now. But yes I remember being free of the war, perhaps that is why I fought so hard to gain my freedom of it once more."

She turned her body to face him. "I never apologised for my outburst the first day of council, I am sorry now if I gave offense then."

He laughed softly. "I am sure that my grabbing you returned any offense you sought to give that day." He turned to her, his eyes finding the arm he had grabbed, though her skin was hidden behind the sleeve. "I hope I did not harm you."

It was her turn to laugh, "I may not look it but I trained to fight in the war with my brothers, my parents thought it more respectable to be in council so I was never put to use."

"I am glad they kept you safe."

They were silent. A rare occurrence. He searched her face but he could no longer find any disgust at being so close to him. Her eyes were settled on his face, he had seen eyes bluer before but never so bright. There was something about her that gave him hope.

"What you told me that day, that your people had felt death, were you speaking of yourself?" He smiled briefly at the boldness of her question.

"I was." He watched her face change, sadness gathering in its beauty. "My parents, both lost, and my younger brother, my elder sister nearly, she carries the marks to this day." He closed his eyes for a moment, seeing their smiling faces.

A hand cupped his cheek, soft and warm. He kept his eyes closed, breathing in her perfume. He placed his hand over hers. Keeping her to him. He could feel the pulse of her life in her wrist, feel the beat of it against the corner of his mouth. Forgetting himself he turned and softly brushed his lips against the pulse. His eyes opened as his lips touched her skin, he drew away quickly. This time it was she that made him halt. A smile on her face as she held his hand.

"Of course I am here Oran, my love." She rested her forehead to his closing her eyes.

He held her close, finding comfort in having her body against his, having her in his arms. He could smell her perfume, richer than any flower in the forest.

"I was afraid you would leave me." He confessed, closing his eye as well. Her breath tickled his cheek.

"I will never leave you, I am here." She placed her hand over his heart, "always." He was sure he could feel the warmth of her hand though her armour.

His eyes flew open, the trees fluttered in the sky above him. He tried to lift his head and groaned in pain. He lifted his hand, it was red with blood. He span to his feet, forcing away the pain that grasped his body. There was no one.

"Keeva?" He called her, she would answer him, she must answer him. "Keeva!"

He spun on his feet, there, he could see her. He ran to her, dropping to his knees. Her dress was red, but it should be white, beautiful shifting white. Wedding dresses were white, not red. He gathered her in his arms, holding her tenderly to his chest. He brushed her hair from her face. So beautiful.

"Keeva," he sighed, she did not answer. "Keeva?" His voice trembled.

Her eyes were open but the brightness was no more. They were dark and dead. He shook his head, this couldn't be real. It must be a dream. It must. His hand shook as he wiped red from her cheeks, brushing over her lips. Any moment she would wake, any moment. He collapsed to the ground, pulling him with her. Silent cries raked his body. There was only pain. Only death.

"Oran?" A hand brushed his cheek. He shrugged it away, holding Keeva to him.

"I will not leave her!" He bellowed at them. He couldn't leave her.

"My love," the voice spoke again, touched his cheek again.

He looked up.

She stood before him, her dress as white as fresh snow and as colourful as a sunset. He rose to his feet, pulling her into embrace. It was all a dream, a horrifying dream.

"I was afraid I had lost you," he whispered to her.

She pulled away, a hand over his heart. "Even as I saw farewell you will never lose me."

He looked at her in confusion as she left his arms and backed away, stepping over her body on the ground. She drifted into the trees as he fell to the ground and blacked out.

The ceremony was over, they were married. Bound by love and oath into life and death. He kissed her eyes, and lips, resting his forehead to hers. Together forever.

A flash of light caught his eye, he turned from her to see the blade of a sword cut into her and see her wedding dress bleed red.