#it's still august somewhere | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aphelea · 2 years ago

Text

like forever (in a day)

Written for @tiertice-week-2023. I chose the prompt goodbye, because angst.

Summary: After Prentice is arrested, the Council keeps him in a cell to await trial. A certain Black Swan member (who may or may not be in love with him) attempts to break him out.

@gay-otlc @cogaytes @arsonistblue

Ao3 or read under the cut.

The thirteenth sunrise of Prentice’s imprisonment comes and goes without anything quite remarkable occurring.

Honestly, if it weren’t for the window in the corner of his cell, he doubts that he would have any idea of the time passing; the gnomes here bring him food at seemingly random hours, perhaps with the intention of throwing him off balance before the Tribunal.

Their efforts are needless, anyway. Prentice would lose the Tribunal even with the best lawyers the Lost Cities has to offer. And he doesn’t even have that—he has Leto in a mustache, under another stolen identity.

It’s almost laughable, really, how completely and utterly doomed he is. This Tribunal is merely a formality, a way for the Council to act as if they are not as merciless as they are.

And Prentice thinks he might go mad well before the Cognates formally break him, at this rate. He’s spent nearly two weeks in this crystal hell, being fed food fit for a verminion on a diamond-studded plate while the crystal shackles around his ankles chain him to the floor.

“Prentice?”

Maybe he’s already going mad. Surely that isn’t Tiergan’s voice, echoing in his cell. Surely he cannot be so lucky.

“Prentice!”

There it is again. The voice of his best friend surrounds him, like one final taunt by his jailers, pushing him just slightly over the edge until—

“Prentice, look up here.”

Prentice does so and almost bursts out laughing at the picture above him. His best friend’s face is pressed up against a vent, and he’s frowning at Prentice through the ceiling. It looks severely uncomfortable—as one would expect sitting in an air vent to be.

Prentice snorts. “What, was using the door not dramatic enough for you?”

Tiergan rolls his eyes as he works to remove the screw holding the vent in place. “I’ll have you know that my plans aren’t always about drama. I’m up here in the air shaft for purely logical reasons.”

“Right. And surely not because this is exactly how the heroes of your favourite heist novels always attempt to break into buildings.” Prentice pauses, his own words suddenly setting in. “Wait. The Council doesn’t know that you’re here, right?”

Tiergan snorts. “If they did, I’d be chained up right beside you.” He slowly slips the newly loose vent off and drops a rope ladder to the ground, while staring at Prentice expectantly.

But Prentice can only stare right back in shock. “Please tell me you’re not here to break me out.”

“What else would I be here for?”

Prentice has to concede that the man makes a good point. “A mission,” he muses, “perhaps to send me information? Something that isn’t as recklessly dangerous as breaking me out of prison a mere twenty-four hours before my Tribunal.”

Tiergan’s eyes darken. “I’d have come earlier if I’d managed to perfect my stunning bullets more quickly.”

Stunning bullets. “You’re serious about this, then? You want me out?”

It’s a preposterous idea.

“I couldn’t live with myself if I let them take you.”

Prentice’s shackles bite at his legs, cold crystal and metal woven together in some unbreakable, restricting bond. He can only meet Tiergan’s expectant smile with pity. “You’ll have to learn to live without me,” Prentice says. “As much as I am happy to see you earlier than expected…I can’t go with you, Granite.” He swallows, and finds that his throat is paper-dry. “Am I right in assuming that Forkle has no idea that you’re here? Physic? Wraith?”

“They don’t know I’m here,” Tiergan says, “but that hardly matters. What do you mean you can’t go with me? What’s keeping you attached to this lonely, dusty cell—which, might I remind you, is luxurious compared to what you’re about to see in Exile?”

Prentice scoffs. “My reputation, maybe? The safety of my family, my son, my friends, my—you?” He doesn’t think about why friend and Tiergan are two distinct categories. He can’t, not right now. “And I’m well aware of what I’m about to face, Granite. The Cognates made my fate very clear when I refused to tell them what they wanted.”

Tiergan’s face softens at this, and he turns away.

Truthfully, their relationship has been…tumultuous, lately, especially in the midst of all the lies and deception that surround both of their jobs. But they will always be best friends, Prentice knows this, even when he has no wits about him or even a memory.

And though he wishes that he could confess the truth to Tiergan—the truth that has permeated years of unspoken tension and drunken nights—Prentice knows that he cannot be so cruel. To leave his best friend, his heart, with concrete knowledge of the truth only so soon before his inevitable demise?

It would be hell for Tiergan, and an endless what-if for Prentice.

So, no. He will not be so cruel.

“Still,” Tiergan says, his voice soft and like lavender honey, “that doesn’t have to be your fate.” He steps forward and offers Prentice an arm. “Run away with me, Prentice. We can leave all of this behind.”

Prentice sucks in a breath.

It’s a tempting idea.

Awfully tempting, really, and given all the duties he has to his family and friends here and his connection to his home, he should be saying no far quicker than he is.

But instead, a tense silence hangs over the two of them, as Prentice eyes Tiergan’s outstretched arm.

“I…I can't.”

“You can’t?”

Prentice holds his best friend’s gaze, solid and resolute. “Neither can you, Granite. We have lives here—you, more so than me, now, I suppose.” He chuckles, but the joke falls flat. “And if you and I are gone, what will happen to Wylie and Cyrah? The Council will find a way to punish us somehow. You know they will.”

“I’d kill them if I could.”

“I know you would.”

It’s both a promise and an answer—Tiergan must know how ridiculous this whole situation is. The two of them, both doomed in vastly different ways, exchanging what could be their final words to one another in the dark of this crystal and iron cell—it’s painful, and it’s everything, and it hurts.

“You know, the Tribunal is tomorrow,” Tiergan says, after a long moment. “And my stunning elixir lasts for eight hours exactly.”

Prentice raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“And,” he continues, “the day is still young.”

Hints of weak sunlight seep through from the tiny window above. “True.”

Tiergan offers him an arm once again. “For eight hours, nobody will try to find you. We could taste freedom. Just for a day.”

Prentice smirks. “You want to take me on a day trip, Tiergan Alenefar?”

He notes his slip-up with the name too late. Ah, well, there’s no guards around to hear them. (Not that Tiergan has been particularly careful himself—showing up in a Council facility, discussing Black Swan information publicly without his Granite disguise? It’s a blatant disregard for his own safety, but they both certainly love doing that.)

Tiergan grins. “I’ll fit forever in a day for you.”

“Forever in a day?” Prentice repeats, matching his best friend’s grin. “How romantic.”

Tiergan falters at the words, a movement so small that Prentice nearly misses it. Does that mean something?

“Maybe,” he replies, but his voice is weak and there’s something off about it that Prentice can’t quite place. “Anyway. I stole the keys to everything in the cell, so…freedom starts now, I suppose.”

Prentice snorts. “You couldn’t have started with that? I’ve been sitting here shackled to the floor for ten minutes for no good reason.”

“I needed some reason for you to keep me around.” Tiergan shrugs, but a smile dances across his lips, and Prentice knows he isn’t serious.

“I would always want you around. Even if you were the one locking me in here.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Tiergan snaps. “I would never—”

“I know. I’m just teasing,” Prentice replies, with an attempt at a calming smile.

“Hell of a thing to be joking about,” Tiergan says. He pauses, for a moment, and Prentice swears he hears a sniffle.“Honestly…I don’t know how I’m going to live without you. Somehow, it’s like knowing what’s coming for you only makes it worse.”

“I know.” Prentice sighs. “Sometimes I wish they had just taken and broken me immediately; it would save us all this marination in our sorrows.”

Tiergan attempts to discreetly wipe his eyes, but Prentice notices anyway. If he could, he would cry right with him, but he’s cried the last of his tears during these weeks in this cell. There’s nothing left to grieve.

Tiergan steps forward and unlocks Prentice’s chains without a sound, as if even uttering a word would break the carefully crafted silence that lingers between them. Truth be told, neither of them have ever been men of many words. This—silent touches, quiet intimacy, unavailing attempts to avoid looking at the other’s lips—this is what they are, and have always been. Quiet friends, and quietly pining lovers.

Prentice mentally chides himself. They aren’t lovers, no matter how his heart runs wild in such close proximity to Tiergan—and they can’t be lovers, not when he’s set to be as good as dead in just a day’s time. And despite his selfishness whispering in his ear, Prentice has to hope that Tiergan will move on from him while he’s gone.

It’s the only way he can justify still feeling this way, after everything.

Tiergan’s cool hands brush against Prentice’s wrist as he unlocks the final cuff, and Prentice can’t help but shiver at their proximity. Tiergan’s fingers are long, and they move with the dexterity of an artist, wrapping themselves around Prentice's arm like a snare meant to trap him.

And if he wants to trap Prentice, well….Tiergan has certainly succeeded, a thousand times over.

Tiergan pulls him up, slowly, and Prentice finds himself shaking on weak legs. It hurts. Everything hurts.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s transmitted the thought until Tiergan replies, Do you want me to carry you?

Prentice is tempted to disagree, to protest and say he’s fine even though he knows it’s a lie. But he can feel the pain and fatigue settling into his bones, and he knows from experience that Tiergan’s mental concentration is more than enough to control him. Just help me, he says, and within moments Tiergan’s arm is around his shoulder, guiding him toward the rope ladder hanging from the vent.

Tiergan smiles apologetically. “It’s not the ideal escape method,” he admits, “but I’ll be honest, I didn’t think much of this part through.”

Prentice snorts. “I can tell.”

Tiergan rolls his eyes affectionately.

After a wobbly climb and a rather cramped, twenty minute adventure crawling through the vents, they emerge at the back entrance to the building and levitate to the ground.

Prentice revels in the fresh air, his first step outside in nearly two weeks. The adrenaline hasn’t quite set in yet, but he knows it will soon enough. I just escaped one of the Council’s cells. Illegally. Very, very, illegally.

Tiergan grins at him, and he’s entirely more radiant in the morning sun. “What do you think?” he asks, re-adjusting his ponytail.

“It’s gorgeous,” Prentice says, and he’s not sure what exactly he’s referring to. Everything. The sunrise. Tiergan.

Tiergan smiles softly—almost lovingly. “I’ve always hated this city,” he muses, “but sunrises in Eternalia…they’re beautiful. I can see why a Councillor would choose to live here.”

Prentice is inclined to agree. The sunlight reflects through this crystal city unlike any other, and even despite all of its issues, Prentice finds himself falling in love with the city more and more every time he visits.

Tiergan leans against a balefire lamp. “So. We only have seven and a half hours left, I think.”

“Still trying to fit forever in a day?” Prentice teases, and Tiergan rolls his eyes fondly.

“I was trying to be poetic.”

“Aww, just for me, darling?” Prentice grins as a blush rises to Tiergan’s cheeks, and he turns away with an exasperated smile. Tiergan is hard to fluster, usually, and Prentice takes pride in it whenever he succeeds in doing so.

Tiergan clears his throat, but remnants of his giddy smile remain. “I was thinking we could go to Atlantis.”

“Atlantis?”

“The Council has no eyes there. They rely on—well.” The name goes unsaid, but Prentice understands. Quinlin Sonden, the Council’s little spy. The man who will be responsible for locking Prentice away in the depths of Exile.

He reaches forward and intertwines his fingers with Tiergan’s, as the two of them have done since they were kids. The only difference now is that Tiergan’s hair is longer and Prentice’s legs are weaker and they’re both scarred beyond what most elves can even dream of, but Prentice likes to think that somewhere, deep down, those two kids that met and befriended each other in detention are still alive.

Maybe not for much longer, if the Cognates get their way.

(These days, Prentice cherishes every memory he has. Stars know he only has them for so long.)

“Let’s go,” he tells Tiergan, and follows him into the light.

The whirlpool to Atlantis proves to be a slight issue with Prentice resting almost entirely in Tiergan’s arms, but somehow, they make it to the bustling streets below. Immediately, Tiergan shrugs off his coat, and wraps it around Prentice’s bare arms.

Prentice doesn’t know how to interpret that. So he doesn’t. “Where are we going?” he asks instead, and Tiergan gestures toward North Street.

“The café,” he says, and Prentice has never been more in love.

The Alexandria Café had once upon a time been his and Tiergan’s favourite meeting spot, for what had originated as tutoring sessions and quickly became friendly dates. Mostly because Livvy had worked there for a few summers, and she’d enticed them all to come with the promise of free pastries.

It’s been years since Prentice visited the café. But with his newfound fondness for old memories, he finds he doesn’t quite mind returning.

“Sounds great,” Prentice says, after realising that he hasn’t responded. “Lead the way.”

He and Tiergan begin their journey down toward Alexandria’s, and Prentice mentally retraces the route to his old apartment. It’s just a few blocks away from here, and even all these years later, Prentice is certain that his mother’s harsh words have tainted every wall of that house.

“Are you thinking about your old apartment?” Tiergan asks, and god, Prentice is in love with this man.

There’s no use denying it, not when they so obviously understand each other so well.

“Yeah,” Prentice replies, with a rueful smile. “Hell of a place, that was.”

“I figured you would want to avoid walking near that road.”

Prentice squeezes his hand. “Thank you.”

When they open the door to the café, they’re met by a familiar face—one that Prentice hasn’t seen in years.

“Well, if it isn’t the two little troublemakers!” Lark calls from behind the counter. “Not so little anymore, though.”

“Hey, Lark,” Prentice greets. “It’s been a long time.”

“I almost got used to seeing this one without you,” they reply, tilting their head towards Tiergan. “Thought you two had broken up or something. Say, weren’t you in the news scroll yesterday? I remember seeing your name. Can’t remember what for, though.”

Prentice chuckles awkwardly, and discreetly elbows Tiergan to say something, please.

“Uh…Prentice built a garden. You know. In Eternalia. For the Council. Because he’s…a famous gardener. Yep, that’s him, my favourite gardener guy.”

Really, Tiergan? A fucking gardener?

Hey, you used to be really good at Agriculture.

Prentice sighs. Sometimes he wonders how Tiergan has survived years of espionage for the Black Swan.

Lark smirks. “You two are still as bad at lying as when you were kids. But I’ll let it slide.” They chuckle at their own joke, and Prentice and Tiergan share a look of relief. “Anyway, kids, what do you want? Store’s about to get busy with the morning rush.”

“A cherry ripplefluff for me, and a caramel custard burst for Tiergan,” Prentice says instinctively, and Lark smiles.

“Same as always, then. You two have a seat, I’ll bring them to you.”

Tiergan grabs them a seat in the corner, out of sight from any curious passersby looking through the window. There’s still a chance of Prentice being caught here, even though the exact details of his arrest have yet to be revealed to the public.

The Council wants a dramatic Tribunal, tomorrow. An example to warn anyone else with rebel sympathies to stop in their tracks.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you,” Tiergan says, resting a hand on Prentice’s knee. “The Tribunal.”

Prentice looks away. He can’t meet his best friend’s eyes, right now, not like this. “I’m fucking terrified, Tiergan.”

“You know, my offer from before still stands.”

“I know, I know,” Prentice replies, wiping away a stray tear, “but what I said—it was true. If I run, then the Council will be watching you, Cyrah, and Wylie. I can’t put any of you through that, and besides, it would put the Black Swan at risk.”

“Forget the Black Swan, forget about me and Cyrah and everyone,” Tiergan says. “What about you? You’re going to Exile, Prentice. There’s no way back from that.”

“If we did our job right, then there should be.”

Tiergan frowns. “The Moonlark won’t be powerful enough for at least another ten years. And we can’t rely on a child to solve our problems.”

“No,” Prentice agrees, “we can’t. But if I run away, then the Cognates will stop at nothing to find her. I’m just one Keeper, Tiergan, I’m not foolish enough to think that my life is worth more than the Moonlark’s.”

“Of course it fucking is!” Tiergan whispers, leaning further over the table until his face is a mere inch away from Prentice’s. “Damn it, Prentice, I wish you would stop sacrificing yourself.”

“And I wish you would stop worrying about me. I’m doing what needs to be done for the greater good.”

“Of course I’m going to worry about you!” Tiergan’s eyes are wet. “God, Prentice, don’t you get it? I fucking lo—”

“—Got your order, boys,” Lark says, sliding a tray onto the table. The two of them spring apart, and suddenly the distance between them feels like miles.

“Thank you, Lark,” Prentice says, and he forces his voice to remain steady. What was Tiergan going to say?

They eat in silence, but Tiergan’s hand remains in Prentice’s, and neither can bear to move away.

Six and a half hours remain on the clock by the time they leave Alexandria’s, and a thick tension hangs in the air between them.

“I’m sorry,” Tiergan says, as they step outside into the biting Atlantis cold.

“For?” Prentice rests his head on Tiergan’s shoulder—the one positive of Tiergan having three inches on him.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you. I trust you, more than anyone, and I should’ve trusted you to make your own decisions.” Tiergan sighs. “I’m just—I’m afraid.”

“I know,” Prentice replies quietly. “So am I. But at least I get to spend these eight hours with you. That’s all I would ever want.”

They walk in silence for a moment, until finally, Tiergan says, “You know you’re my best friend, right?”

“Of course.” Some things are just facts of the universe: Alden being a bitch, Livvy’s masquerade masks absolutely not hiding her identity, and, above all, Tiergan and Prentice always being best friends.

Tiergan hums. “Let’s go home.”

Home.

They wander around Atlantis for another half-hour, pointing out old haunts and old friend’s homes and the places that had defined their childhoods, before finally using Tiergan’s leaping crystal to leap to the towering stone castle that they both call home.

Solreef stands as tall and isolated as ever, but compared to Prentice’s cell, it’s beautiful. It’s as much home for him as his and Cyrah’s apartment is—but honestly, any place where Tiergan is counts as home.

“Six hours left,” Tiergan announces, lowering his wrist—but not before Prentice notices what’s on it.

“Is that my watch?” Black with tiny flowers inlaid in gold, a gift from his father when he had graduated his Elite Levels.

Prentice hadn’t been allowed any jewelry except his registry pendant when he was arrested. In a way, it’s comforting to know that his prized possession—a gift from someone who loved him—is in the hands of someone he loves.

Tiergan begins to unclasp it, and Prentice rushes to stop him. “Keep it,” he tells him. “I’ll have no use for it, anyway.”

They hold each other’s gazes for a long moment, and Prentice suddenly realizes that he’s still holding Tiergan’s wrist. At some point, he must have unconsciously pulled him closer, too, because they’re standing a mere hair’s breadth away from one another, and Prentice can feel Tiergan’s cool breath on his skin.

I love you I love you I lo—

He can’t force the words out of his mouth.

Tiergan steps back, and the moment breaks. “I’m, uh…I’m going to go check if Cyrah and Wylie are inside.” He spins on his heel and runs toward the door without even so much as a goodbye, leaving Prentice alone and confused in his wake.

What was that?

Sometimes he feels like Tiergan might feel the same way about him. And maybe it’s a little hypocritical to try and protect Tiergan from the pain of loving only hours after yelling at him for being too overprotective of Prentice, but…he can’t hurt Tiergan anymore than he already has. No matter how much he desperately wants to.

Tiergan returns a few minutes later with a frown.

“Everything alright?” Prentice asks, to which Tiergan only shakes his head.

“They aren’t here,” he says, voice quiet. “They’re visiting Cyrah’s parents…who really don’t like you right now.”

Prentice scoffs. “I suppose the arrest has only given them more fuel for the fire.”

“Something like that,” Tiergan replies. “They’re not quite fans of your rebel sympathies, as it stands.” He pauses for a moment, as if contemplating whether he should say his next words. “Your father…isn’t much a fan of you, either.”

Prentice raises an eyebrow. “You have conversations with my father now?” He chuckles. “I’ve only been gone two weeks, I didn’t expect the world to turn upside down.”

“Hey, I’ve made conversation with your father before,” Tiergan protests. “It’s only Cyrah that he doesn’t like. For some reason.”

In some ways, Prentice is glad that Cyrah can’t be Exiled along with him, because he knows that neither set of Wylie’s grandparents would be willing to take him in. Prentice’s father has never approved of Cyrah—for reasons yet unknown—and Cyrah’s parents are much too involved with the Council to ever forgive Prentice for the crimes he’s committed.

At least Cyrah will always be here for their son, even when Prentice cannot be.

“Yes, well, maybe I should’ve married you instead of Cyrah. Then I’d have full parental approval,” If only.

Tiergan laughs, and the sound is like a melody. “From both sides, probably. My mother would love to have you as a son-in-law.” He wrinkles his nose. “You know, excluding the fact that we’re both—us.”

Prentice has always admired Tiergan’s ability to skirt around the topic of the matchmaking system would never allow us to get married and the Lost Cities hates queer people.

Really, it’s a skill.

“Do you want to come inside?” Tiergan asks. “It’s cold out here.” He shivers, as if to prove his own point.

Prentice pulls Tiergan’s jacket tighter around him—it’s slightly loose, but it’s broken-in leather and it smells like lavender, like Tiergan. Part of him wishes he could take it back with him, when he returns to his cell, but he knows that he can’t.

Like every memory made today, he can only savour it while he has it.

Prentice follows Tiergan to the living room, using the side entrance to avoid the long, ridiculous stairs to the front door. (Why the Alenefar family had ever installed those stairs is anyone’s guess.) He sprawls out on Tiergan’s massive living room sofa, the most comfortable seat he’s had in weeks.

“Tired?” Tiergan asks, amused. Prentice rests his head on Tiergan’s shoulder, to which Tiergan responds with an arm wrapped around Prentice.

Sometimes, Prentice marvels at how the two of them fit together, like a puzzle piece. Maybe years of friendship have molded them to complement each other, like salt and pepper or night and day.

Or maybe it’s just his imagination.

“I don’t sleep much in the cell,” he admits, tracing circles in the fabric of the couch. “It’s too...fake. Unsettling.”

Tiergan hums. “It definitely doesn’t look like the coziest of places.”

“I think that’s the point.” Prentice snorts. “I can’t even remember the last time I slept…I try not to let the strange food schedules get to me, but honestly, whatever they’re doing is working. I almost didn’t realize today was the last day before the Tribunal.”

Tiergan pulls him closer. “Maybe you should sleep now.”

“Now?” Prentice says. “I only get so much time with you, Tiergan, I can’t—”

“—You can,” Tiergan cuts him off. “Prentice, you need it, and you can’t get your mind broken with no sleep or food in your body, you’ll die.”

Prentice raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“I’m pretty sure I do.”

Tiergan sighs. “Okay, fine. I just—I don’t want you to force yourself to stay awake and be happy just for me. Just being beside you, seeing you one more time…that’s enough for me.” He looks away, blinking back what Prentice suddenly realizes are tears. “You’ve always been enough for me, Prentice. Just you, as you are.”

“You too,” Prentice mumbles into Tiergan’s shirt—or something close to it. Truthfully, the longer he stays on this comfortable sofa, warm and safe in his best friend’s arms, the more he finds that the fatigue of the last two weeks is weighing on him. And even as he protests Tiergan’s insistence that he nap, he feels his blinks becoming longer and longer and a yawn building in his throat.

“Wake me up in a little bit,” he tells Tiergan, and he hopes it’s comprehensible through his tired, lazy voice.

Prentice doesn’t hear the answer, though, as his eyes flutter to a close, and he finds himself drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

When he wakes, there is moonlight streaming through the windows, and he is in Tiergan’s arms as he was always meant to be.

Wait. Moonlight.

Prentice shoots up, knocking the knitting needles out of Tiergan’s hands. “Shit, shit, shit, we need to go—”

“You have thirty minutes,” Tiergan says, as if that will calm him down.

Prentice turns to face him. “I told you to wake me up!”

“I did, and you were crying,” he replies, and Prentice realizes belatedly that Tiergan is crying too.

“...Oh.”

Tiergan sighs. “Yeah.”

“Still,” Prentice says, “we should go. I don’t want to risk you getting caught on your way out.”

Tiergan looks pained, at this, and Prentice wishes he could wipe the anguish off his face. But he can’t, and they will leave this room with words unsaid, as they always have.

“You’re right,” Tiergan says, and his gaze doesn’t meet Prentice’s. “Yeah. Yeah, we should go.” But he doesn’t move, and neither does Prentice, and two are left there on the couch, facing each other with matching expressions of sorrow.

I could tell him.

But the words don’t leave his mouth, even when he tries.

A stray tear makes its way down Tiergan’s cheek, and Prentice instinctively reaches up to wipe it away. Then Tiergan leans into the touch, and suddenly they’re closer than ever, arms pressed together and eyes locked mere inches apart.

“Can I say something stupid?” Tiergan asks, so soft it’s almost a whisper.

Prentice grins. “Go on, love.” The name slips off his tongue as if he’s said it a million times before—and maybe he has, in another lifetime, but in this one, it’s like they’re seeing each other for the first time again, with new names and faces and minds.

“I’m not really a poet,” Tiergan says. “I can’t…I don’t know how to say it right—”

“Tiergan, I’m in love with you.”

Silence.

Did I miscalculate? Prentice is ready to get up and run back to his cell right then and there.

And then Tiergan spits out a rushed, “We have fifteen minutes left and I’m in love with you too.”

Fuck.

Prentice wants to kiss him.

But what he wants to do is not what’s logical, right now, so instead he leans into Tiergan’s embrace and says, “I think it’s time we say our goodbyes, darling.”

Tiergan grabs a leaping crystal from his pocket and presses it into Prentice’s hands. “I wish we didn’t need to.”

“I know.” Prentice intertwines their fingers. “I wish we didn’t, either.”

With joint hands, they walk towards the door, and once in view of the moon, they raise the crystal to the light.

As they approach the back entrance to the cell, Prentice cautions, “You shouldn’t follow me. It’s not safe.”

“I won’t,” Tiergan promises, but he doesn’t release Prentice’s hand, and Prentice doesn’t release his.

And so they stand there, in the dark, two elves with a world of tragedy awaiting them tomorrow, and all Prentice can think is I’m sorry I have to leave you.

It’s okay. I understand, is the response that rings through his mind, in Tiergan’s crisp voice. You know I won’t stop loving you, no matter how broken you are.

I think I’ll love you even when I don’t know what love is.

Tiergan sucks in a breath. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, into the open air, and Prentice wonders if this is a dream.

“Of course,” he says. And then Tiergan pulls him closer, and their lips are meeting, and they hold each other as if everything is right with the world. Tiergan’s lips taste like honey, sweeter than a final goodbye has any right to be, mixed with Prentice’s own salty tears. He could stand there forever, in his lover’s arms.

Prentice hates to be the first to break away, but he has to.

“I love you,” he whispers, one hand in Tiergan’s hair. “I’ll love you forever, darling, and I’m sorry.”

Beneath the moonlight, Tiergan’s tears glisten like jewels of his grief. “Goodbye, Prentice,” he says, voice as soft as the wind.

It takes all of Prentice’s resolve not to kiss him again, right then and there. He steps away, as if the short distance could quell any remaining urge to stay in Tiergan’s arms forever, far away from the Council and the Black Swan and anyone else who could separate them.

“Goodbye,” he says, a rueful smile on his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow, darling.”

#tiertice week 2023 #tiertice #okay you know what it's still january 22nd somewhere let's pretend i'm not late #i dont perfectly remember who said they wanted to be tagged so i'm very sorry if i forgot you #august's writing!#kotlc

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