Prologue
A/N: Not a standalone book. Books 1, 2, & 3 MUST be read first.
Second Age; Year 145; 5 years after Zelphar’s ball in Zyavel
Julius departed the underground cavernous temple of Filivendor’s cathedral, thoughtful after his long and timeless conversation with the Eldar Titan. The Eldar Titans were similar equivalents to the Archangels, in that their power was unimaginably vast.
The only difference was in utilisation of such powers. Archangels channelled theirs into the War against the Drakan. Eldar Titans channelled theirs into maintenance and care of the land.
Julius ended up walking through Kethari for a short while in his scholarly disguise, which – as the years went by – began to feel more and more comfortable and natural. He could understand why Revven and Zelphar walked through the world as such, as it allowed them to see the world they ruled, governed and protected, through the eyes of civilians.
It was wholesome, natural and warm. It opened Julius’s eyes and perspective to the view of a world he never considered before, for he spent the majority of his life and time within the Weave.
He paid a visit to the city’s garrison, observing it from afar, and was pleased to see it orderly and as strong as the last time he visited. They were rigid the previous time, for he had come officially.
But this time, Julius was just a normal Angel, a normal man, a bystander who was watching and listening from a distance. He could hear and feel their laughter and banter amongst each other through the Weave.
He smiled faintly, and continued his stroll through the streets, watching Angels fly overhead, and all manner of races walk the pavements, stopping for conversation, peering into shops, or rushing about their business. Naturally, people still glanced at him, especially the women. But none recognised him, and very few approached him.
Julius wondered what Celledon, his wife, Yvannia, and Beralin were doing, and half considered paying them a visit, given the two had the same tour of duty and annual leave pattern.
For all official business requiringJulius’s presence in a city, he took the pair of them with him when he could, as they were the only two who understood best this disguise. Likewise, they had become familiar and comfortable with speaking to him as a normal individual in this appearance, and in all honesty, Julius cherished it.
Instinctively, he sought them out in the Weave. Yvannia was practising with the philharmonic Empyrean Orchestra in the concert hall. Celledon was not even on the same hemishell, it turned out, having gone to Sabal in South Sol to visit his brother-in-law.
Beralin on the other hand, was along the outskirts of Kethari, up on a ridge of surrounding mountains, far away from anyone.
Curious, Julius could not help himself, and Warped up to her location, where he stepped out of the Weave quietly behind her. The wind blew from the front, masking his arrival entirely. From this altitude, the wind and air was cold, despite the brightness and warmth of the sun.
Julius wrapped the Weave around him to shield him from the bitterness of the wind and its colder temperature, but noted Beralin had not done the same. For some aspects of the Weave, primarily anything combat and martial-arts related, she picked up quickly. But the more subtle manipulations of the Weave, she struggled with.
Thus, she wore a coat.
Beralin was surveying the city of Kethari from her high vantage point, with analytical eyes. She held a small notebook in her hand with a pen. He enjoyed seeing her quiet thoughtfulness, for despite her humility, the spark of intelligence in her eyes was a deep one.
A great deal went on in her mind, he knew, and though he wished to know what, he could not. Asel did not allow her to answer on many occasions, which kept her thoughts locked within as a result.
Julius mused over her shoulder from where Beralin’s head was lowered down as she concentrated on something she was writing or drawing. She was so lovely. It brought an overwhelming warmth and simple joy to see her, whether she was smiling, or frowning.
He tapped her shoulder lightly. “Bera.”
Beralin jumped with a startled gasp, losing grip of her notebook and pencil as it went flying. As for Beralin herself, she spun around instantly, alarmed, and struck out to strike him.
Julius dodged her first strike, not expecting her reaction to have been so quick and startled. Julius barely had time to counter and catch her blow from hitting him in the face.
He destabilised her footing, catching her arms and held her firmly.
Such a position was dangerous. Not because they were balanced precariously on the edge of a steep drop, but because they were so physically close.
It took the full force of his mind and willpower to resist, to hold his ground, despite how much his heart raced and demanded he pull her into his arms.
It was only then that Beralin’s startled shock transformed into a different kind of shock, as her eyes finally landed on his face and recognition flashed through them.
Her eyes widened, and her lips parted in horror as she gaped.
“Highlord Haelsen?” She wheezed. “Oh good God!”
Julius chuckled, despite himself. “I am impressed. This is the first time anyone has come close to elbowing me in the face in many centuries.”
His eyes flickered to her elbow, held barely half an inch from his jawline.
Beralin’s face paled. “I am so terribly sor –”
Julius smirked. “At ease, Bera. As I just said, I am impressed you came this close,” he assured her and let go of her arms once he straightened her from the edge of the ridge. It took more effort than he realised to be able to let go of her.
“Besides, if you were able to kick me in the shin in your youth, this near miss should be nothing.”
Beralin pressed her hands to her face in mortification. “That’s not the point,” she groaned. “In that time era, you were my family. In this time era, you are my Highlord. It is entirely different!”
Julius grinned. Her reactions were so wonderfully innocent.
“Hardly,” he said, recollecting her notebook and pencil through the Weave and materialised them back in his hand. It had fallen sixty metres down the mountain side.
“I am still a Highlord in your original time, even if I do not use the title anymore, for whatever reason we still don’t know of yet.” He lowered her hands, and held her belongings back out to her.
“Yes, but I didn’t know that,” she sighed.
She glanced up at him, colour returning to her cheeks, and she quickly looked back down again.
“Thank you, Highlord Haelsen,” she thanked softly, taking her notebook and pencil back.
“Julius,” he reminded her. “What are you doing so high up on the mountains?” He then asked, saving her shyness by not lingering on the feeling they both felt, yet could not act upon, regardless of how much he wanted to.
Beralin peered back up at him, squinting through strands of her black hair which came free from her braid and whipped in the wind.
“I can ask you the same thing, Julius,” she countered carefully, always cautious at first when she switched to using his first name.
Beralin had no idea just how happy it made Julius when she simply used his first name. Her caution was utterly wasted.
Her counter had him smile. “Fair question. I had come to speak with Filivendor. Every now and then the Archangels speak with the Eldar Titans, whether it be for advice, wisdom, or general conversation. Conversation is often lacking however, as the Titans speak very slowly.”
An amused smile graced Beralin’s face. “Sorry. It is quite easy to imagine an Eldar Titan speaking slowly. I imagine they speak even slower than the Walking Eldars, of which the latter are the only ones I’ve ever spoken with.”
Julius nodded, sharing her amusement. “Indeed, they speak slower, thus the Titans and Archangels tend to communicate in a slightly different sense than through articulated words.”
Beralin tilted her head with curiosity. “How?”
“Through thought and esoteric concepts.”
Beralin blinked, and glanced towards Filivendor’s location, where his great branches reached high above the hills and rocks he resided beneath.
“Like God,” she murmured, sounding troubled.
Something about her tone struck a nerve of unease in Julius’s chest. It was unexpected, and Sudryl’s words echoed in his mind.
“You are Asel’s Vessel, Julius. To bear the power of Asel, is to be alone.”
His eyes flickered beyond Beralin’s shoulder to the horizon, where the Tower of Asel loomed in the distance.
“Well, as for me, I wanted to survey Kethari from above,” Beralin continued and turned her attention to the city. She briefly lifted her notebook. “Well, it started off as drawing specimens of rock, crystal, and whatever form of plant can survive up here. Then I thought about analysing the lay of the city, in the hopes that maybe I can find a way to warn –”
Beralin cut off sharply as the Aether of the Weave both struck her mind sharply, as well as stole her breath to silence her words. She flinched, badly, enough that she turned away and almost slipped off the side of the mountain.
Julius caught her in a heartbeat, pulling her back, and she dropped down onto one knee, bowing her head forward and pressed a hand to her face.
“Bera!” He said sharply, cocooning her within his protective Weave to shield her from the buffeting wind. Asel’s influence and warning was gone as quickly as it came, and Julius felt an unexpected burst of anger.
Does Asel have to strike her so hard? He thought with angry dismay.
He knelt down to Beralin instantly, instinctively cupping her face to raise her head to check how dazed this latest strike rendered her.
Julius was not expecting to see fresh crimson trickling from her chin behind her hand, and he gasped.
“You’re bleeding!”
This strike did not daze her as much as some of the previous ones. But this was the first time there was blood.
“Let go. Your sleeves will get stained,” she said, trying to pull away from him so she could dip her head again and let the blood drip onto the ground and on her own lap.
Julius did not let go. He pulled a handkerchief from his dress-coat’s inner pocket instead with one hand, while with his other he took Beralin’s wrist, lowered her hand down, and gently, but firmly, pressed his handkerchief to her nose.
“Wait, Julius –”
“It is fine, Bera. I may walk around always looking clean and dignified, but I am a combatant as well. And this is not the first time I’ve had your blood on me.”
He fed the Weave through her face, carefully knitting the popped vessels back into place. It was minor, therefore the Weave could heal it without any hassle.
Beralin blushed heavily, warming his heart, even while she blinked and frowned in confusion.
“When was the first time?” She asked, her words slightly muffled through the handkerchief.
Julius’s expression softened. “After Tesilon stabbed you,” he murmured. “When I found you outside the garrison, I caught you as you collapsed. There had been . . . a great deal of blood,” he said heavily.
It was an image which haunted him.
Beralin winced upon remembrance, and was quiet for a long moment. Her silence stretched on longer than he expected, and Julius felt a thread of worry wiggle into his mind. He inhaled a lungful of air to speak, when she spoke.
“Thank you, Julius, for everything you have done for me.”
Her thanks caught him by surprise, and he stared at her. Beralin’s thanks to him always caught him out, because it was different to anyone else’s. Hers conveyed a great depth of fathomless knowing. Because to her, he had in fact done a great deal for her, even though for him, he had not yet done a quarter of what she knew and felt in her heart.
Every time she thanked him, Julius both heard and felt her care for him. It was not a thanks to him as an Archangel. It was a thanks to him as a man, as Julius, to the man she knew as well as she knew herself.
Julius did not realise how trapped he had become within her emerald gaze, until Beralin reached up and took the handkerchief with one hand, and lowered his hand with her other.
The touch of her hand was like lightning through his body, but one which sent his senses aching and tingling to feel more, to touch her in return, even if it was just to hold her hand. He wanted her in his arms, like the ball once again in Zyavel.
Beralin lowered the handkerchief carefully, gauging whether more blood still fell.
None did, and she sighed quietly with relief. “Good. It’s stopped. Sorry for bloodying your handkerchief. I’ll clean this up and return it to you when I come back for my tour of duty.”
She wiped the lower half of her face with the back of her hand, taking note of the blood stains, and she exhaled. “I need to clean myself up.”
Julius recovered himself, and caught her bloody hand in his with a firm grip. Her calm eyes flashed to his face from where they still knelt opposite each other.
“Does it not anger you, when Asel silences you so harshly? This has been the worst one.”
Because it angers me, he thought to himself. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
The silencing strike from Asel came from within Beralin. If it came from outside, then Julius could block it. But he could do nothing against an internal strike from the depths of her actual soul. An Archangel, Drakan Lord and Eldar Titans were the greatest entities on Sol. But they had no jurisdiction over the soul of an individual. Only Asel possessed such reign.
She opened her mouth to reply, when her expression distorted into mild amusement. “Can I answer that later when I don’t have half a face stained with snot and blood?”
Julius’s intense expression cracked, and his anger vaporised unintentionally. He laughed quietly from her words, shaking his head with subtle disbelief. One would never pin Beralin as a humorous type at all. Yet on some rare occasions, she said something like this which was somehow funnier than it should be.
He loosened his grasp on her hand, so he held it delicately. “Visualise the coordinates and vectors for your apartment, and I shall Warp you back.”
Beralin’s eyes widened. “I can’t have you step into a studio apartment,” she balked.
“Why not?” He countered coyly. “Because I'm an ‘Archangel’ as you so often like to remind me?”
“Well, yes. It is beneath you.”
“I have quite comfortably and happily adopted a normal civilian’s role as my own, thanks to you,” he said dryly. “I have had my fair share of sleeping on the ground with the grass as my mattress, a rock for my pillow, and the elements of the sky as my ceiling. Nothing is too beneath me nor above me.”
“But –”
Julius raised an eyebrow. “Stop worrying, Bera. Allow me to be a gentleman to you, for once, rather than you always serving me as my subordinate.”
Beralin stared at him for a moment, before her expression softened.
Just that softening alone, almost unravelled him.
It was only when she scoffed quietly and shook her head at herself in disbelief, that Julius managed to catch himself from kissing her suddenly, never mind the blood on her face. Blood, mess and dirt could not hide how beautiful and lovely she was, both physically and internally.
“In that case, may I be so bold as to invite you for some tea? Not as commander and subordinate. But as two friends with no titles?” She asked.
Despite the nervousness of her tone, her voice was steady, and it was Julius’s turn to stare at her with amazement. In actuality, he hadn't given her a choice. But Beralin – ever polite and mindful – transformed his friendly order into a request of her own to benefit the both of them within the confines of etiquette.
Julius smiled. He had received many an invitation from others. The only ones he accepted were from the other Archangels, for that was how he portrayed himself to them and could speak his mind freely.
Around others, it was impossible – except around Beralin.
As a result, his heart warmed, as if it melted entirely and his body felt so light he feared he would disappear into the air.
“I would be delighted,” he answered her.
Beralin grinned as some of her rigidity fell away from his answer. She took his hand in return, and Julius gathered the coordinates from the impression she projected out through the Weave. He caught the impression, translated in his own mind, and Warped them into the apartment she had lived within for the last fifteen years.
As always, Beralin did not let go of his hand immediately, as she gathered her dizzy bearings. This time, Julius risked a little more by supporting her shoulder with his other hand, using any excuse he could think of to just touch her a little, but still within the limits of propriety.
It was just a few seconds before she blinked heavily the haze from her eyes, and clarity returned to her vision. They let go, and Beralin stepped back.
“It's not much, but please do take a seat or bear with me while I quickly get cleaned up,” she said sheepishly, before quickly retreating.
The first thing Julius noted was how the studio smelt like her, like blossoms, yet with the hints of medicinal scents mixed in. It was a floral, sometimes bitter, and clean scent.
The studio itself was a large space, with kitchen on one side including an open-plan dining area, and then living area to the other side, with a sofa, simple armchair and low drawing table. A desk and desk chair was set up in front of a vast window, and tall bookshelves lined half a wall. Small stands stood various plants. Some of the shelves possessed vials in between books.
Her felyn tree from Chamuel, stood white and healthy within the sunlight streaming in through the windows.
Beralin herself had retreated to the end, where the bedroom and bathroom were through the door as a separate room for privacy.
Julius surveyed his surroundings with curiosity. He'd never actually been in a studio apartment before. He thought it would be cramped. But Beralin laid and decorated hers simply, yet elegantly, which projected an illusion of greater space when there in fact was not. It was remarkably quaint, in such a way to match just how lovely and graceful Beralin herself was.
Julius meandered his way to her bookshelves to see what books and tomes she kept. There were texts on poison and medicinal studies, of which he expected. There were tomes on history, even geography, and then novels. Something else caught his eyes.
“Does my selection surprise you?” Her voice caused Julius to glance behind him.
Beralin approached him with an open and curious smile on her face, nodding at the bookshelves. Her face was clean again, and she had removed her coat, of which she held in her arms.
“No, it does not,” he said, and then chuckled as he pointed to a volume on the Art of Sorcery. “Though this is a surprise. Are my explanations not clear enough?”
Beralin shook her head. “Your explanations are crystal clear. But as you and I know, the Sorcery aspect of the Weave does not come easily to me. During our training sessions, it's fine because you are there. But when I'm practising by myself, I need to refer to books like that one, and notes of my own to help remind me of where to put my frame of mind.”
Julius frowned. He was about to say she could always ask him whenever she was unsure. But then stopped, because her Weave was still a secret to the world. She could not approach him with questions at all unless it was during their specific training.
Although, what suddenly did make sense is why she always asked him Sorcery related questions during their sessions.
“Allow me to take your coat,” she said, interrupting his thoughts.
Her gesture was unexpected, though why he found himself surprised was a surprise in itself. Her manners were impeccable.
It seemed odd to have a friend ask and take his coat, rather than a servant.
She watched him with amusement as he hesitated, before he slipped his coat off.
“You may dress like a simple gentleman, but your mindset is still that of an Archangel and a military nobleman,” she mused, taking his coat and then went over towards her front door, and hung them up on a coat stand.
Julius watched her. “I've never actually asked you. We just assumed, given your mannerisms, but are you a noblewoman yourself?”
She could never answer such a question in front of anyone else, because only Julius knew she'd come from the future Third Age. Therefore it was only Julius who could ask, and only Julius who could hear the answer.
“Were,” she corrected with a shrug as she stepped lightly into the kitchen area to boil water. “I was born into the highest of elite society. The rank that came with my title was certainly convenient, but not necessary unless I was attending events. Beyond that, I was just an ordinary Angel.”
Julius was reminded of the first time he saw Beralin as a noble, at Nalael’s dinner. Her attire, the way she had carried herself, and her conversation, all matched. Even more so during the ball. Despite her humility, she had the presence and air of an Archangel during the event. And everyone knew it; Nalael and Julius most so, because they understood the true rank that came from being a Weaver.
“Lady Beralin then,” Julius concluded, rolling the title upon his tongue in conjunction with her name. It had a fitting ring to it.
Beralin opened a cupboard and brought out two mugs made from the glass sands of Sabal.
“Funnily enough, no. I went by my family name. In the . . .” she paused, and turned to him slightly, peering at him with squinted eyes of thoughtfulness.
Julius peered back. “What is it?”
“Not sure if this will work, so I will say it slowly,” she said cautiously, and pulled at her sleeve to cover her hand, then raised it to her nose.
Julius realised what she meant and he shook his head once and firmly.
“Don’t, Bera,” he said, raising his hand to indicate she halt what she was thinking. “You do not need to say it. You only announced it once upon your first meeting with the others and I, but I still remember your family name, Lady Atherton.”
Beralin lowered her hand, placing them both on the counter-top and bowed her head with a sigh. Her shoulders fell.
She smiled faintly. “A different time; a different world,” she said, and then chuckled, raising her head and moved to another cupboard. This cupboard contained a multitude of glass jars and vials with various dried flowers, leaves, twig, bark and roots. Beralin brought two down.
Naisha petal and ari leaf.
“Highlord, have you tried ari and naisha tea, or even as a tonic?”
It was a question she had asked him on the Ievos Plains after Julius began to first teach her to Warp.
“I guess it's the same with you,” Beralin continued. “In this Age, you are an Archangel and Highlord. In my Age, you do not possess that title.”
Julius ran a hand across his head, leaning against the counter and turned his gaze to the windows, where he stared up at the sky.
“I still cannot fathom why,” he murmured. It troubled him.
“Neither can I,” Beralin echoed softly. “Fifteen years and I still don’t understand what I’m supposed to be doing.”
There was a slight undercurrent of a grumbled frustration within her tone, and Julius brought his eyes back to her, watching as she took a pinch of naisha and ari each into the mugs. Her flick had the tiniest tad of force, and a small scowl touched her brow.
Julius raised an eyebrow, finding her expression and tone of voice - and even the subtlest of frustrations in her physical actions - wonderfully comfortable to see, because it illustrated her own comfort and familiarity of his presence. She was normal here. Not a rigid solider, or a polite noble.
Just Beralin, who allowed her emotions to show without as much rigidity as usual.
He ended up smiling. “You are here to learn, Bera. As to what you are supposed to be learning, I know not, but I am fairly sure a great deal of it hangs on Weaving, otherwise Asel would have prevented you from the beginning.”
“True,” Beralin concurred. “But it would just be nice to have a bit of guidance, you know?” She poured the hot water into the mugs. “Like ‘why’?”
Julius snorted. “Asking ‘why’ is the most important question, thus you will never have it answered. The Archangels are no different in that regard either. We ask many ‘why’s’ but the ‘why’ is the one question which is never answered.”
Beralin exhaled a grumble. “Helpful. This is where I wish I was like one of my old friends.”
She handed Julius a mug and took another, sitting down at the dining table. Julius followed suit, intrigued as he sat opposite, for there were no rules to follow here. There was so much freedom that he did not know what to do.
Beralin was correct. He may walk around in his disguise and enjoy the simplicity of not being recognised, but he had no idea how to actually be a normal man. Besides now, the only other time had been the first day in Celledon and Yvannia’s house.
Beralin raised one knee to her chest as she sat on the chair.
“He used to say 'Ah, the thinking. Dangerous for a soldier to do too much thinking. It’s why I make such an excellent soldier myself. No thinking.'”
“He's not wrong,” Julius mused, chuckling from the simple and blunt wisdom, yet also from the complete opposite.
Beralin rubbed her eyes. “But dear Asel, it was because of his ‘no thinking’ attitude that he got us into so much trouble.”
Julius tilted his head. “Us?”
Who was us? Because he could not see himself getting into trouble.
“The rest of my friends. You never made a fool of yourself, Julius, which now suddenly makes sense.”
Julius smiled as he dragged his eyes down from Beralin’s face to the tea. He inhaled the steam, intrigued by the aroma. It smelt refreshingly sweet, yet with a bitter, leafy undertone? He recognised both of them, but it was a first to inhale the scents together.
“I have made a fool of myself before, but alas, that was when I was younger,” Julius admitted. “Pride without wisdom is a recipe for many embarrassing mistakes.”
Beralin’s head popped up, her eyes expectant and hopeful.
He smirked. “Perhaps another time,” he answered her unspoken request. “My pride still exists. The only difference is I now have the wisdom to back it.”
She deflated. “Fine.”
Beralin then hesitated, before she spoke. “Are you certain this is alright? Sitting here, having tea, I mean? Do you have time?”
Julius chuckled from her reaction. “Relax, Bera. I have time. And I appreciate this gesture.” He tapped the mug. “This is a new experience for me.”
“Are you sure? Because you always say ‘I’m fine’, or ‘it’s fine’, when often you have far more on your shoulders and plate than you will ever admit to anyone.”
Her words pinned him like a throwing knife that caught his clothes and stamped him to the wall. He rarely used either of those words to her. But he had spoken them to his subordinates many a time, of which they accepted without fault or question. And indeed, Julius always had a great many things upon his shoulders he never spoke of to others. It was easier to deal with them himself.
Beralin’s words revealed more to him the extent of how she well she knew him.
“I assure you, I have time, honestly,” he reassured her. “I do not like to be caught out. Therefore everything is in order.”
Beralin’s analysing squint relaxed upon his words with recognition. “I know,” she said kindly.
It was unfair. Beralin knew so much of his character already, yet Julius himself was still learning about her. He wanted to know everything. But it was easier said than done. He was a friend, not an interviewer.
“Why do you never speak to me with this much ease while in training?” He questioned her instead while he cooled his tea slightly with Sorcery through his palms.
Beralin blinked, caught out by his question, and her cheeks flushed slightly.
Julius took a sip of his tea, using it as a courtesy to save Beralin’s dignity from subtly, once again, bringing to the table her feelings for him. Raising the mug to his lips hid his smile.
Julius ended up being surprised by the tea itself. It was a bitter tea, with a sweet after-tone, which left an unexpectedly sweet and refreshing aftertaste. Their entire conversation from the Ievos Plains came back to him, and he stared down at the tea in his mug. Now he understood the question she'd asked, as well as the slight changes to her expression when he spoke of the benefits of bitter tastes, and his younger sweet tooth days.
Beralin knew he would enjoy such a combination tea.
Though he did not let it show, his chest ached.
She really is lovely. So lovely, he thought heavily. Oh how he wished he could lean across the table at this moment in time and kiss her.
“During training, it is different,” she said, looking down at her own mug so she did not have to meet his eyes while she struggled to cool the rising heat in her cheeks. “We are teacher and student, commander and subordinate, Highlord and Angel. But here, I am in my home and not on duty, and you are just Julius. I never thought – ” she suddenly laughed and shook her head in dismay. “My apologies. I never thought it would be so easy to fall back into conversation with you, like this.”
“You do not have to apologise, Bera,” Julius said softly. “This is exactly what I wanted when I asked you to use just my first name while not on duty. Friends are not easy to make and, these forms of interactions, even just sitting here with a cup of tea, is astoundingly lightening for my mind and shoulders.”
Something flickered through her eyes, a flash of remembrance. Julius had come to recognise it now over the years.
“I have said something similar to you before?” He pressed carefully.
She smiled sympathetically. “Why do you think I asked you earlier if you were sure you had time? Because you always say ‘I’m fine’, when you often have more on your plate than you show.”
By answering his question with one of her own, she had unwittingly pinned him again. No one had the power, nor authority, to do such a thing, besides his own father and mother, Nalael and Chamuel.
But Beralin did, without even realising it, because she was one of the rare few allowed to see behind his titles to just him at his core. It was not even that she was allowed. It was simply that she knew him well enough to bypass his defences as if they were nothing.
And so, astonishingly, Julius was not afraid. He felt entirely safe and at ease with her. He felt and knew in his very core, that he could shut his eyes and even fall asleep within her presence, and know she would never harm him. Beralin would watch over and guard him.
And I will watch over you in return, he thought in silence.
How on Sol was he going to be able to hold himself back over the coming years when his interactions with Beralin were so overwhelmingly heart-warming? What did Asel want with her?
Surely the best way to keep her safe from any coming misfortune and this unease, was to be close to her? The closer Julius was to her, the easier it would be to protect her.
Why did I never think of this before? He thought, kicking himself as he came to realise it was the most obvious epiphany he ever had.
Something unrelated flashed through Beralin’s eyes. “Ah, there's something I would like to try and show you. Don’t move,” she suddenly said, standing up and took a quick sip of her tea at the same time. “Hot!” She hissed quietly with a wince.
She went over to her coat, and as she collected something from her coat pocket, Julius reached across the table with ease and touched her mug, where he fed a tingle of cooling Aether into her tea to cool it down enough so it was bearable.
When he glanced behind to see if Beralin saw, he spotted her standing by the coat stand with her notebook in her hand, with a troubled face of hesitation.
“What is it, Bera?” He asked.
Beralin turned back to him, holding her notebook up. “You asked me earlier what I was doing up on the mountain. I cannot tell you –” she stopped abruptly, raising her hand to her nose to check.
There was no blood. But Julius’s expression hardened nonetheless.
“Bera, if this is going to hurt you, don’t do it,” he said firmly.
He could not tell her at this stage that it pained him to see her in pain. One day, he hoped he could tell her as friend to friend, if not more.
But it was impossible for Julius to tell Beralin as her commander, because she was of his Division. She was going to get hurt regardless, as was the nature of being an Angel. She was a weapon of Asel. They all were.
Beralin shook her head and came to sit down on the chair next to him this time. Her expression was serious, which was astounding, because having her sit next to him sent his heart racing. His senses heightened, so attuned to her presence that he could even smell the lotions to have washed her hair. It was as if she herself was a force of magnetism, pulling him naturally without being fully aware of it.
He had to steel himself to focus on her words, rather than her presence and form so close to him.
“But it’s important,” she said, her voice as firm as his with a waver of worry. The worry brought his attention back.
His eyes flickered back up to her face with concern. “Is it so important to risk another telepathic strike?”
“Yes.”
Beralin was not looking at him, as she was flipping through the pages before she then found what she was searching for.
“There,” she said.
Hesitantly, she lowered it to the table in front of him, her eyes nervously flickering between him and the pages, watching to see what may happen. Yet what Julius deduced from her nervous flicker was she was not worried about herself.
Beralin was watching him. Nervous of his reaction.
She was close to him, hovering from where she sat and leaned close with a protective and worried energy quietly coiling from within her aura. She feared something would happen to him.
“I cannot say anything. Therefore I'm wondering if I can still get the message across if I show you via this diagram I made while up on the ridge,” she muttered, chewing her lip nervously. “But I am concerned it might hurt you?” She paused. “Actually, no, I don’t want you to see –” She took the notebook back swiftly.
Except Julius caught her wrist. He held her gaze firmly, trapping her within his eyes, as well as his physical grasp.
“Bera.”
Reluctantly, Beralin relinquished the notebook to him. The spark upon their physical touch was most definitely felt, but both said nothing.
Therefore Julius complied, and directed his eyes from her own and down to the open pages.
Indeed there was a diagram. A complex one, a hand-drawn map, outlined with vectors and annotated.
But Julius could not see it clearly. The image was blurred to his eyes, as if a film coated his vision, a heavy one. He blinked, but it did not help, and then he rubbed his eyes and squinted.
His head was aching, and it increasingly grew worse on a quick, exponential curve the more he tried to see.
And that was when Julius realised how Asel’s binding curse affected him just as strongly as Beralin.
He had to look away with a slow hiss as he exhaled with disbelief. He pressed his fingers to his closed eyes, focusing on processing the pounding headache which had grown in his head.
“It affects you too. You can’t see it,” Beralin said with mortifying concern, snapping the notebook shut instantly. “What hurts? Yours eyes? Your head? Let me get a cold face towel. I knew I shouldn’t have –”
Julius caught her arm again as she rose, still with his eyes shut, instinctively knowing where every part of her was.
“It is fine,” he said with a slow breath. “The ache is already subsiding.”
And it was, as he opened his eyes again, squinting slightly at first as he blinked. It was the first time such an unusual phenomena happened to him. When he squinted up at Beralin from where she stood, he realised her face was paler than usual. She gripped the notebook hard in the hand farthest from him.
“You are paler,” he noted instantly with controlled alarm. Had Asel still struck her even through this?
“I don’t like seeing you in any sort of pain,” she said bluntly and honestly.
Her words had been instinctive, because the minute they left her mouth, Beralin’s eyes widened upon realising what she just said.
Her care, and her worry for him, was so warming, it was as if she had hugged him. Contrary to his alarm and unease over Asel’s binding, Julius found himself smiling with innocent joy.
“That is incredibly hypocritical coming from you,” he mused. “Sit down, Bera. It's alright.”
Warily and stiffly, she sat back down. It was only when she was seated that Julius let go of her arm, once he was contently convinced she was not going to suddenly bolt.
“How is that hypocritical?” Beralin asked.
“Asel’s bind comes into effect the most when you are around me. I have watched you wince and flinch – and now bleed – from Asel’s curse for the last fifteen years. I am honoured you feel comfortable around me to speak freely enough that you forget such a bind exists. However, it also brings me pain as a friend to see it.”
So much for not saying anything, he thought to himself with defeat. Yet it did not bring grimness to acknowledge his lack of caution. It brought a small thrill to bubble within his chest.
Beralin’s eyes widened as she listened, understanding dawning in her clear and endless eyes, as well as a realisation that Julius’s words were a metaphorical sense of him taking another step closer to her in heart.
Her nervousness suddenly became clear, and oh how difficult it was for Julius to not pull her into his arms and embrace and kiss her.
Therefore he saved them both by taking her mug from where she had originally sat, and brought it to her.
“Friends are the family we choose for ourselves,” he said gently. “Regardless of military ranks, you and I are friends. And I’d like to think such friendship goes a long way.”
It took visible effort for Beralin to haul her gaze away from Julius’s face and to her mug. She set her notebook down furthest from Julius on the table, before wrapping her hands around her mug and stared down at it.
“It does go a long way,” she said softly. “And I am grateful, truly.”
She glanced up at him, and in that moment, they both shared a smile of mutual understanding, greater and clearer than any words could convey.
Julius felt contentment in his heart. Her own heart was never going to change. He knew that within the depths of his soul.
His own challenge was debating when and how he would be able to tell and/or show Beralin that her feelings were reciprocated and not one-sided. She had never pressured him, nor even mentioned it. Not once.
It was one of the many reasons why Julius realised he loved her so.
However, until he could discover a safe way, he had to swallow his feelings back down, quietening his heart’s furious protest.
One day. I promise, he vowed to himself, as well as to Beralin.
Julius nodded to the notebook, breaking the tension. “Indeed, I could not see it. Not clearly, at least.”
Beralin took a gulp of tea, likely using it to calm her nerves, because her hands were still trembling, and she took a quiet, deep breath of which she hoped he did not notice. Julius played along.
“Could you see any of it?” She pressed.
“I can see it’s a map, which I assume is of Kethari. With vectors, and many annotations. But I can:t read the details at all. It is blurred. Asel will not allow me to view it.”
Beralin rubbed a hand over her face and exhaled heavily. Her gaze turned to the window, becoming distant. It was the same look in her eyes as whenever she regarded the Tower of Asel.
Haunted and sad. And afraid.
“Bera, you are troubled in more ways than one,” Julius said softly.
She took a sip of tea, her eyes remaining on the window with fathomless thought.
“It's fine. I will figure it out.”
Julius raised an eyebrow. “It's fine?” He repeated.
“My hypocrisy, I know,” she sighed with a defeated laugh.
He could not imagine what it was like, to have so much to say or need to say, but being unable to. Whatever went on inside Beralin’s head was not ‘fine’. She had been displaced so far from her original time. Though she learnt far more than whatever her history originally taught, there were clearly some things still bothering her. Likely events to come she could not speak of.
“I know this is difficult, and frustrating, including for me, but despite Asel’s curse and bind, you know you can always talk to me, right? I know there is something you want help with, and I am here to help. Regardless of whether I am Julius, or Highlord Haelsen at the time, you can always ask me.”
Beralin dragged her gaze from the window, back to him, surprised by his words. And a warmth glittered in her troubled eyes, diffusing away much of the stress which had been twisting in her aura. Julius’s words meant more to her than she could ever say.
The stress did not disappear entirely. It never would, but the fact his words and offer left such an impact upon her, was all Julius wanted to know and sense.
It reaffirmed in his heart his feelings, as well as sensing her own for him.
“Thank you,” Beralin said warmly.
“You are welcome,” he replied, feeling giddiness flutter in his abdomen. “But understand you actually have to ask me.”
She grimaced. “I think I already ask too much.”
Julius shook his head, holding up one finger as he took a sip of his tea, feeling its warmth spread through his body.
“You have only asked for my help once. And that was to sign the declaration for the bank to prove you were real.”
Thinking back on it, was a humorous memory.
“That was incredibly difficult and embarrassing,” she said, diverting her gaze to the ceiling with another grimace.
Julius smirked with an amused snort. “And I have not had to deal with a bank directly in centuries. It was a unique experience for us both in different ways.”
Beralin scoffed. “First time for everything.”
“Indeed,” he agreed. “Given you were a noblewoman, I take it you kept accountants?”
“We kept one, shared between us, one butler, one cleaner and one gardener. No servants,” she said simply. “Despite living in a manor, our way of living was simple and homey. It was nice, and most of all, meant the power of my rank never went to my head. Which is why I am quite happy to live in a studio apartment like this.”
She waved her hand at the surroundings, an open-hearted expression of simple, but genuine delight, upon her face.
Julius knew he should have also surveyed her humble abode to make the comparison between noblewoman she was, to the normal Angel she had become.
But in all truthfulness, he kept his eyes on her, because surroundings did not matter. Beralin suited whatever situation she was in, because she was sure in herself. She was content and happy.
He chuckled. “Seeing you downgrade with such ease, is reassuring. I will have to use you as an example for when my time comes, because at the moment, it is still quite a difficult concept to wrap my head around.”
Beralin tapped the rim of her mug to her lips, thinking. “Well, you could experiment by going into a café for tea and scones and do some people watching. Or a tour around a museum. Or a picnic in a park.”
Julius raised an entertained eyebrow. “People watching?” He repeated.
“Yes! You do it all the time, except you are watching the Division and overall world politics as a whole. But what about just sitting down for half an hour and simply observing the every day people go about their lives and overhear their conversations?”
“Yes, I watch the world, but I'm not snooping,” Julius said incredulously.
Beralin just grinned at him. “Why not? It is very insightful!” She exclaimed. “Best thing I heard was while on public transport in Kethari. A small child, perhaps about four years of age, asked her mother ‘how are babies made?’”
Julius laughed. “It's a reasonable question.”
“It is!” Beralin agreed. “And so did everyone else think so too. Therefore we were very interested to see how the mother would reply. Poor woman, she was ever so embarrassed by the audience she suddenly had.”
Now Julius was, in fact, interested. “What did she say?”
“Well, she tried to tell her daughter she will answer the question later. But her daughter was very insistent. So she said ‘babies come from Mama’s tummy.’ Then the daughter asked ‘but how does the baby come from your tummy?’”
Julius listened, intrigued.
“The mother then said ‘it's a present from Papa’, which I confess, had some of us giggling, because she’s right, but the wording is funny regardless. Typically, the daughter then asked again ‘how?’ And the mother was at a loss for words. Thankfully another woman stepped in at this point and said to the girl ‘babies are made when a mama and papa love each other very much. They hug each other, close their eyes, and make a wish. And then the baby begins to grow in Mama’s tummy.’”
Julius blinked. “I am impressed.”
“Me too,” Beralin admitted. “Turns out, the woman was a midwife, so she knew the correct words to say. If a child ever asks me something like that in future, I’ll remember the midwife’s words.”
Julius had never heard of, nor even considered such conversations or interactions before. It was yet another reminder of the stark differences between ordinary civilian life, and the elite life of upper Angels and Archangels.
It was one Julius suddenly found himself wanting to bridge. And Beralin was the bridge.
“I shall have to take your advice,” he mused. “And experiment with some people watching.”
Beralin beamed, her eyes sparkling with mischievous excitement. “Sounds like an excellent idea.”
He had never seen this glint in her eyes before, and it genuinely delighted him, because more of her rigid barriers were coming down before him.
“You are more than welcome to come alo –” Julius cut off as he sensed one of his Generals request his presence. His presence was always in demand, but there was a particular form of calling in the Aether, which were the few times Julius knew he had to answer, while he could ignore the rest to allow them to improvise and grow their skills while under pressure.
As a result, Julius sighed with disappointment. “It appears my time is up.”
Beralin visibly deflated, before she caught herself and chuckled softly with a small shake of her head at herself. “All good things must come to an end.”
His heart swelled. “Only temporarily,” he assured her, and finished the tea. “Thank you for the tea, and for this very normal chat,” he said, sounding surprised even as he said it. “It has been an enlightening experience.”
“A positive one, I hope,” she said nervously.
Julius rolled his eyes. “Of course it's a positive one. It has given me a lot of food for thought.”
He stood from the chair. His body felt heavy, reluctant to leave. Being within Beralin’s home and with her in it, felt so homely. Julius felt more content than he could ever admit. It felt natural. He felt like he could lower absolutely every guard he had around him while here, where here was as safe as his own hidden manor.
The only two differences were size, and heart to fill it.
Beralin also rose, taking the two empty mugs over to the sink, while Julius collected his summer coat.
“I'm glad,” she said with relief in response to his earlier statement. “I know it's not much, but you are welcome here, Julius.”
Julius swept his coat on, and turned to her simultaneously upon the offer within her gesture. Her expression was steady, though her eyes were nervous once again, as she had carefully tried to navigate her words into something simple, meaningful, yet open at the same time.
It was a monumental offer of friendship, to be allowed into one’s home. She was careful not to link it to her romantic feelings, keeping it contained to ensure under no circumstances did Julius ever feel pressured.
She had made it clear from the very beginning that such feelings were to remain separate. And though she had never said it, Julius could sense Beralin did not want her feelings to be acknowledge or returned just for the sake of it.
Good grief, Julius thought to himself. I am going to really struggle to hold off . . . I know it.
“That is incredibly kind of you, Bera,” he said warmly. “If I have any ‘normal’ requests, I shall come to you.”
Her smile was a bright one, and one of relief as he had worded his reply as carefully as she had worded her offer. Chances were, she had no idea what to do if he did return her feelings. And what she most certainly did not know, was it was not ‘if’, but ‘when’.
“Is there a way to warn me in advance? I’d rather not be caught on the throne if you suddenly did Warp in.”
“Throne?”
“One of my old friends’ name for the toilet.”
Julius stared at her, before he burst out into laughter and raised his hand to his mouth. “My apologies for laughing, Bera. I have not heard this one before.”
Beralin blinked in astonishment. “Really? When you walk around the garrisons, you don’t hear the soldiers use such terms?”
“Oh I have heard plenty of terms, all of which are fetchingly colourful. The ‘throne’ is not one I have come across, but it is equally fitting.” He managed to bring his laughter under control and school his expression again. “But yes, there is a warning I am able to project to you. A telepathic touch which will be more than clear enough.”
Her eyes widened. “You are telepathic?”
“Yes, only Sudryl and I are, in addition to the Drakan Lords. But we do not read thoughts. We merely communicate through telepathy to others.”
Questions exploded in Beralin’s eyes, and she ground her teeth together with a growl. “There is so much I want to ask, but I must let you go. I think I've held you up enough already,” she said heavily with defeat.
Julius smiled. “You can ask me as many questions as you like when you return to Onvyr.”
He liked it when she asked questions. He always had done, since the beginning. Back then, it was purely because her questions were intelligent and reasonable. It did not take long for him to realise he also enjoyed her asking questions, because it was an excuse for him to talk to her in return.
Beralin nodded, her familiar, sheepish smile gracing her beautiful face. “Thank you, Highlord Haelsen,” she thanked automatically with a salute.
Silly woman. It is I who truly thanks you, for landing in my life, quite literally as a star fallen from the sky, he mused to himself with honesty.
Julius held his hand out to her, and she raised her head uncertainly. She took his hand tentatively.
“Not Highlord Haelsen here,” he said, holding her hand up kissed the back lightly. Both of them felt the tingle of energy rush through them from the touch.
“I am just a guest today,” he murmured. “And as a guest, I thank my host.”
The colour returned to her face, made so easy to read due to the natural milky paleness of her skin.
“Y-you’re welcome, J-Julius,” she mumbled, her words stumbling over the other from the effect of his touch.
Julius smirked ever so slightly. He could not help himself. He wanted to see her flustered by his words and actions, he wanted to see her reactions to his touch. His mind continued on ahead of himself, imagining more.
“I shall see you next week then,” he finished.
Beralin nodded, a wise move, given she was currently speechless.
And with that, Julius Warped from Zyil, and back across the world to Onvyr, Shifting his clothing from his civilian’s attire, to that of his robed uniform of his rank as an Archangel.
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