[Mkguild] Dream's Aria: Repudiation (2 of 2)

[Ryx]

Raising his free hand Dream lightly touched the side of Egland’s strong cervine 
muzzle.  “You’ve here, ts’amut.  Service and purpose can be found later but for 
now you’ve this place.” The musician crooned softly as he stroked the elk 
knight’s jaw.  “And me.”  Egland turned his head into the touch and closed his 
eyes.  Dream leaned close to raise his muzzle toward one of the road, scalloped 
ears and whisper; “Weep, my friend, none here shall gainsay your sorrow.  Let it 
free.”
Egland’s tall ears slowly backed and his head dropped to Dream’s chest.  With a 
single strained gasp for breath the elk clutched at the minstrel and wept as he 
had not done so since learning of Namir’s death.
 
When he returned to himself the room was dimly lit by the last fading rays of 
sunlight dropping behind the western peaks.  Dream was stroking his upper back 
lightly with one hand while his other supported the elk’s head against his 
chest.  Egland found his nose buried in the cream hued fur of Dream’s chest and 
the musician’s scent filled his breath.  The marten smelled of florally fragrant 
soap foremost with the dryness of fur underlying that.  Hints of a deep, earthy 
musk tickled Egland’s sensitive nose; a masculine scent.  Mingled amongst the 
lot was the acrid odor typical of all mustelids.  As a bouquet the musician’s 
personal scent was not unpleasant.
Egland blinked and raised his head slowly.  “I’m sorry.” He croaked ashamedly 
with grief-roughened voice and released his drowning man’s grip upon the 
marten.  He saw dark stains upon the fine black silk from his tears and damp 
smears upon the marten’s roughed chest fur.
“Do not be sorry for grief, Yacoub.” Dream lightly stroked the elk’s 
tear-stained cheek fur.  “Grief withheld leads to nothing but a cancer of the 
spirit.”
Egland turned his head into the touch and took a deep, shuddering breath.  “I 
have not – allowed myself that weakness in many years.”  His body felt drained 
and boneless, weak from the mightiness of his released sorrow.  “Your robes –“ 
The marten’s whiskers tickled his nose.
“Can be laundered, and fur washed, ts’amut.” Dream admonished gently and 
inclined his head to brush fine whiskers and soft fur across the elk’s nose and 
lips.  Egland shuddered.  “You do no one service by not allowing yourself to 
grieve, Yacoub.   Even if you only do so in empty solitude.”  The marten’s short 
cheek ruff and stiff whiskers crossed along the line of the elk’s jaw slowly and 
Egland raised his hands to Dream’s upper chest in a futile gesture to push 
himself away but could not find the strength.  “That is what your Bishop is very 
likely doing, hiding behind his fear and grief in the solitude of his recovery 
room, brooding upon it and allowing the dark wound to fester.”  Dream drew his 
head back and raised his gaze to meet Egland’s, nose to nose.  “It is for him 
you should embrace your own grief, gain strength from it, and be there when he 
can no longer hold his to his breast and needs someone to help him release it.”
Egland stared into the minstrel’s gentle brown eyes and heard his words but felt 
no comprehension.  His ears slowly turned back and a quickness that was not 
grief stole into his breath.  The hands lain against Dream’s chest to push him 
back turned to catch at the open lapels of his robe.  One of the marten’s hands 
raised to rest lightly in the center of the elk’s upper chest.  Egland leaned 
close against the pressure of Dream’s hand while using his grasp upon the 
musician’s robes to pull him in.
The elk’s kiss was rough, desperate with the intensity of urgency for the 
pliant, compassionate musician in his grasp.  A pained moan escaped Egland’s 
throat as their lips met and his hands released the silken fabric of the 
night-robe.  Without breaking his kiss, breath gusting swift and hot from his 
nostrils, his hands slipped under the silk.  The texture of Dream’s fur was as 
silken as his robes, deep and lusciously dense under Egland’s fingers as they 
slid up across Dream’s shoulders.
“No.” The word was as gentle as the marten’s touch, muffled by the rough 
intensity of the elk’s hungry kiss and went unheard.  Egland’s hands slid over 
Dream’s shoulders and drew back the neckline of the robe spilling it down the 
marten’s back.  It pooled at his elbows and waist, held only by the knotted sash 
about his midriff.  Dream’s hand pressed more firmly at Egland’s chest but 
beyond that he made no attempt to break the kiss or escape.  “No, ts’amut.”
Whether heard or felt the second utterance of the word found its way into the 
small corner of Egland’s mind that had not become totally lost in the 
overwhelming physical responses and need burning through him and the elk thrust 
himself back with a snort.   With eyes white-rimmed and his ears rising and 
falling in confusion Egland snorted heavily.  “No?  NO?” he groaned and clutched 
his head in both thick fingered hands.  “Will e’en you refute me now?  You turn 
me away?”  Aghast and ashamed at the shreds of dignity fast being stripped away 
by his tumult of emotional loss and physical need Egland turned to rise but the 
marten was more swift.
With his night-robe still hanging akimbo about his waist Dream leaned forward 
and pushed Egland back down with a strong hand upon his shoulder.  Before the 
elk could break away again the marten moved to straddle his thighs and captured 
his powerful muzzle with both hands.  “No, my ts’amut, no.” Dream held the 
cervine muzzle and looked once again into Egland’s sorrowful eyes.  The elk 
could not return his gaze, rolling his eyes away and dropping his hands weakly 
to the cushions afraid to touch the minstrel, not trusting himself.
“What you feel, ts’amut, you feel not out of desire or love but grief and fear.” 
Dream said gently with his muzzle close enough for Egland to smell the tea on 
his breath.  “Never passion in the depths of grief, dear one.  It serves naught 
but to cut deeper though you think it assuages your agony.”  He shook his head 
slowly, “It is a false vessel into which to spill your pain.”
Spiraling once again into the dark abyss of despair Egland moaned, “’No’, you 
said.” He countered, trying to turn his head away but the marten’s gentle grasp 
was too strong.  “You desire me not!”
As if to deny the claim Dream kissed the elk.  Not with the furious intensity of 
urgent need but a more tender caress of lips.  “Nay, Sir Yacoub Egland Knight of 
Yesulam, nay.” He smiled and shook his head, “I desire you very much.”  His 
hands caressingly stroked Egland’s muzzle.  “But t’is you I desire, not the 
heedless grief that burdens your heart.”
“What, then, shall I do?” Egland groaned in sorrow, “I know nothing but this 
burning sorrow.” He sighed sadly, dropping his head between Dream’s forearms to 
get away from that kind and gentle kiss that still burned upon his lips.  “And 
fear, Dream, this terrible black fear.”
Dream kissed the top of his nose once more before sidling back and standing.  
Without repairing the spill of the robes that exposed him to his waist he 
extended one hand.  “Firstly, my handsome young friend, you sleep.”  Egland 
looked at the lounging couch upon which he sat with a moue of consternation that 
caused Dream to chuff.  “And you shan’t sleep in my parlor!”  Dubiously Egland 
accepted the hand and carefully stood to his hooves.  Dream retrieved the cane 
from the floor where it had fallen and passed it to him before walking toward 
the curtained archway.  He shouldered the robe loosely back into place as he 
went and drew the tapestry aside.
The room beyond was darker still than the now dim receiving room as there was 
only a single narrow casement in one wall.  Egland followed Dream into the 
shadows and gauged the room by the deeper shadows within the murk.  Most 
dominant was the looming shadowy hulk of a canopy bed against the far wall but 
not one but three wide wardrobes along the left most wall.  A broad desk, or 
vanity, at which Dream stood striking a flint to the wick of a lamp, dominated 
the right wall near the casement.  Near the archway was a hearth not currently 
in use or laid ready.
A moment later the lantern sputtered to life and a warm yellow light chased away 
the shadows when Dream set it in front of a polished reflector.  Crossing toward 
the wardrobe he passed Egland who still stood a pace within the room looking 
around and traced his hand across the elk’s chest in passing.  “The bed is right 
there, ts’amut, make use of it.”  He smiled and waved his other hand toward the 
huge canopy bed.  Egland looked toward it dubiously even though it did look more 
comfortable even than the lounge had been.  He felt terribly self conscious and 
lost.  Dream went to one of the wardrobes and began ruffling through the crowded 
rack of garments.  “I have to go out, Yacoub.” He said while selecting an armful 
of clothing.  “The night is young and a musician has to earn his coin.”  Egland 
watched the busy marten as he carried the neatly folded heap of clothing over to 
the vanity to drape over a chair.
Despite being intimidated by the opulent excess of the marten’s taste Egland had 
to admit that the events of the day, more especially the last couple of hours, 
had left him so exhausted he feared he would fall on his muzzle very soon.  With 
a faltering shamble he crossed to the bed and noticed that it was actually 
elevated on a pedestal that he had to step up onto just to reach it.  The stone 
of the pedestal was warm under his hooves, heated by some mechanism beneath the 
floor he did not know, but it was not hot.  He sat down upon the edge of the bed 
and rested his elbows on his knees to watch Dream because his mind was slowly 
shutting down bit by bit and he could not contemplate any other course of 
action.
The musician’s vanity was dominated by the single largest mirror Egland had seen 
outside the parlor of a King that threw back the light of his single lamp and 
sketched half of the marten’s frame in shadow.  Dream removed his night robe and 
deftly folded it into a loose bundle and set it aside and stood before the 
vanity to examine the fur of his chest.  Egland merely watched dumbly without 
feeling even the slightest stirring of either self-conscious shame or interest 
in the ungarbed minstrel.  

Dream glanced in the mirror and caught his empty stare.  “Doff your tabard, 
ts’amut, and lay down before you fall.” He admonished gently at the reflection 
in his mirror.  Taking up a brush with short bristles he dipped it into a nearby 
basin and scrubbed at the fur of his chest lightly.  Egland looked down at his 
tabard, at how the yellow light turned the green to a muddy brown and the white 
to flat gold, and let out a slow sigh.  A touch upon his face brought his 
attention back up to find Dream standing before him, now fully garbed and the 
room considerably darker. 

 “You’re dozing where you sit, Yacoub.” He pointed out with a gentle smile and 
dropped his hand to move slightly toward Egland’s side.  Drawing back the heavy 
down coverlet he patted the silk sheets, “Sleep, ts’amut, stop fighting it like 
an unruly child doing war with naptime.”  With a yawn Egland did as he was bade 
for there was little else he could do.  Dream captured his shoulders as he 
turned and deftly unlaced the stays of his tabard to draw it off and let it 
drape over one of his arms while Egland stretched out onto the inviting soft 
coolness of the silken bed.
                “And might I tell you something, ts’amut?”  Dream leaned over 
once Egland had let his head drop to one of the many pillows.  The elk nodded 
slowly up at the shadowed face leaning over him.  “What you did, I caused you to 
do, okay?  Think on that as you sleep, and what did happen in the end.”
                Egland narrowed his eyes slightly as that percolated through the 
morass the stresses of the day had left of his thoughts and emotions.  “I 
almost…” he started to say but Dream laid a staying finger upon his lips.
                “Exactly, ts’amut, almost.  Twice, almost.  You fear that you’re 
losing yourself, the core of what defines you, but you are not.  Twice you came 
close to violating those vows, and twice you stayed yourself.  Do you 
understand?”
                “But,” Egland tried to formulate a cogent response but the room 
was steadily growing darker and the weight of exhausted sleep was pressing ever 
more heavily upon him.  “What if… if I had not listened to… your… ‘no’?”  He 
yawned again trying to keep his eyes open.  Dream laughed softly and leaned over 
to lay a hand upon his chest and touch his lips lightly with a kiss.
                “My second appellation is Serpent for a purpose, handsome.” He 
winked, “Sleep now, I shall return… at some point.”  Dream swept away with a 
swirl of his dark cloak carrying Egland’s tabard and disappeared through the 
curtained archway.  On the vanity the lamp guttered with the merest hint of a 
flame while pale moonlight defined a ghostly line across the foot of the bed.  
Egland watched the flickering wick of flame until the darkness of his falling 
eyelids doused it.
 
Fin.


      

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