The following morning dawned sharp and cold. Riven woke to the subtle sounds of Vaelorian preparing to leave. His lover was dressed in the heavier, formal clothes reserved for the Imperial Palace—a stark contrast to the rougher camp training gears. The tension in the room was palpable, the silence heavier than usual.
Riven sat up, watching Vaelorian stash his twin swords under his clothes. He had spent the last few hours of the night curled securely in Vaelorian's arms, savoring the warmth and the promise of their trip to his home.
Vaelorian finished dressing, then turned to Riven, his expression serious. "I have something to say, I need to know you'll take this seriously my love."
Riven nodded, pushing his own needs aside for the moment. "Alright, I'm listening."
"While I am gone, you will not only attend all of your analysis classes but you will double your required study time, voluntarily," Vaelorian instructed, his voice gentl. "I want you to use the library every night. Read the histories, study the maps. I want to see that you understand the need for control isn't just for the training yard, but for your personal life by the time I get back."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping slightly, though the seriousness of his words remained. "And my love, please do not start any trouble. No challenging your instructors to spars, no unscheduled late-sneaking around, and no attempting to 'help' Willow or Barron with their own punishments, if given. Hold your fire. Be the ice, not the fire, until I return."
He placed a hand on Riven's cheek, his thumb tracing the line of the younger boy's beautiful face. "I need to know you are safe and sound here, within the camp grounds so I can focus on what I must do there. Can you promise me that?"
"Ugh! You sound like my mom. But fine, I promise, I'll hold my fire." Riven whispered, meeting his eyes with genuine sincerity. The promise of their journey home were enough to anchor his impulsive nature.
Riven and Vaelorian walked to his private study, where Sir Eryndor was already waiting, standing beside a small pile of papers. Sir Eryndor, Riven knew, was not just an imperial knight; he's Vaelorian's personal bodyguard and his good friend. A very gifted warrior, known for instantly bridging vast distances with his gift.
Vaelorian embraced Riven one last time before kissing him deeply, a kiss that was both farewell and reassurance. "I'll miss you, my love. Be good. I'll see you soon."
"I'll miss you too" Riven replied, involuntarily clutching Vaelorian's robe. "I won't forgive you if you get hurt."
"Nothing will happen, I promise," Vaelorian replied with a gentle smile before stepping back and standing beside Sir Eryndor, who collected the Prince's travel bag with a polite nod.
Sir Eryndor raised his right hand and placed it on Vaelorian's shoulder as the older boy smiled and gave Riven one last nod before the air around them swirled, distorting the familiar image of his lover into a rippling haze. In the blink of an eye, Vaelorian and Sir Eryndor vanished, along with their belongings.
Riven was left standing alone in the private study, the scent of pine and the breeze of teleportation residue hanging in the chill morning air. The silence felt heavy, immediate, and empty.
Vaelorian was gone, off to deal with the politics of the Imperial Palace, leaving Riven with nothing but a strict schedule, a promise, and the echoing mantra: Be the ice, not the fire.
The words—Be the ice, not the fire—felt impossibly heavy. He knew he should head to the library, but the coiled, restless energy Vaelorian's healing had gifted him, combined with the sudden ache of separation, was too much to contain.
Vaelorian wants him to sit still and read. He wants him to be good. But the only thing that sounds good right now is sweat and steel. He promised not to cause trouble, not to challenge instructors. A solo session is different, right? It's control, not rebellion. If he doesn't bleed off this energy, he'll go mad sitting still in a library.
Riven waited until mid-morning, completing only his most essential rotations, then slipped away to the old training toom for some privacy. He stripped down to his pants and grabbed a heavy steel blunted sword. The silence was his only audience.
He didn't practice new drills; he focused on sheer, brutal endurance. He ran through forms until his arms burned, using his energy as a battering ram against the solid stone walls, shouting with effort. He was fighting the silence, fighting the distance, fighting the need to be with Vaelorian. He was a hurricane of furious motion, driven by the thought of Vaelorian being away from him. He was pissed at himself. When did he become so needy?
He kept going till the door opened. It was Barron, his friend who eventually found him after looking everywhere. Since Barron was the only one of Riven's friends who had the real knowledge of their relationship, he knew his friend would be restless. Barron stood silently in the doorway, letting the clanging of Riven's sword against the floor ring out a few more times before speaking.
"You'll break your hand before His Highness returns," Barron stated simply, stepping into the training room.
Riven paused, the sword tip resting on the ground, his chest heaving. "I'm working on my stamina. Vaelorian wants me to stay out of trouble while he's away. This is the only way I know how."
"He wants you to be safe," Barron countered, his eyes sympathetic but mischievous. "Sir Eryndor ran you ragged last time so you would rest for a few days without causing trouble. Vaelorian wants you in a library, not bleeding in this old empty training room while he's away."
Riven threw the sword down with a crash. "It's easy for you, Barron! You don't have to go back to an empty room!" He immediately regretted the outburst.
Barron just nodded slowly. "I can't stop you from training. But I can keep you busy so you don't overdo it. I know already know this, but Vaelorian asked me to watch out for you." Barron grabbed a heavy weight from the corner. "We can move stones for the new barrier wall. It's practical. It's hard. And it's not a violation of your promise to stay out of trouble. Come on."
Riven stared at his friend, recognizing the lifeline. He knew this was Barron's way of ensuring he burned off the restless energy without truly breaking his promise.
"Fine," Riven conceded, grabbing a towel. "But if I drop a stone on someone's foot, I'm blaming you."