I was privately amazed when he went quiet; he almost never did as I said when I was frustrated. He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the sky, looking as relaxed as a necromancer can. I shifted in my own seat and rested my head in my hands. There was so much for me to consider, so many details that needed to be kept in order, so many lives that could be endangered if I made the wrong decision.

And now I couldn't think coherently because of the man sitting next to me.

This wasn't his fault; it was my own, I knew. It wasn't his responsibility to dictate my reactions to him, but I still persisted in placing some obscure blame on him. Him. Hondo. The man that I had, through no conscious choice, fallen in love with. I'm sure that whatever deity looking down on the situation right now was laughing. The sheer improbability of such a thing happening-the faerie queen falling in love with a necromancer-could be amusing to some, I suppose.

I didn't find it funny.

If it hadn't been me, I might have marveled at the unlikelihood. I might have chuckled at someone else's attempts to make things work. But I was in the situation, not someone else, and I had no idea of what to do about it.

This was something that rankled me, I will admit. I was considered to be intelligent--wise--clear-headed--practical. I always had an answer-- except for this predicament. What do you do when you've fallen in love with someone who, except with those he trusts, doesn't display emotion? What do you do when the one you care about isn't supposed to know how to love?

I wished I knew.

I was aware of him shifting in his chair, then of his gaze moving over to me. He didn't speak, and neither did I. Perhaps he had nothing to say or didn't want to interrupt my musings, and I knew that if I tried to speak, my voice would have given way before I had even said two words. This wasn't always the case; he had long since become used to my long-winded speeches on inconsequential things. I was used to speaking to him, and I knew he would reply honestly--maybe not always tactfully, but always honestly. It was one his most admirable qualities and one I valued greatly.

Exactly how long we spent in silence I don't know. Finally, he smiled and asked, "Done thinking yet?"

"I haven't even started yet," I moaned--a small lie. I had been thinking, but not about the upcoming battle, that's for certain. "I just can't think, Hondo. I can't think." I drew in a deep breath, attempting to regain both my composure and a regular heartbeat. "All right. I'm better." I wasn't, really. The fact that I had managed a sentence that was understandable was remarkable. "You don't have to stay, you know," I said after a moment.

"I know," he answered calmly.

I blinked at him. "You're sure you don't want to go?"

"I want to stay, Coralinn."

There wasn't much I could say to that.

Silence fell again. I wondered what it was that was making things so uncomfortable for me. Things weren't normally like this; I tended to not pay attention to the rampant urges of others around my age, and Hondo was not one given to physical contact or any feeling of a more sensual nature. It was highly unusual for me to feel this way, and it was odd to see him smiling. Perhaps that was it, his smile. It was my favorite expression of his, mostly because of the rarity of it. I was far more used to seeing his scowl or glare, and the fact that his smile was now directed at me--well, it had an effect. Namely, the blush that immediately flooded my cheeks.

"Care to take a stroll with me?" I asked, desperate for a change in the direction my thoughts were currently taking.

He rose and pulled out my chair for me. "I would be honored."

I fell in step with him as we walked around the council glade. The grass brushed against our feet, and the cool breeze gently blew through the leaves of the trees. No more words passed between us; for me, his presence was enough. I wondered if he knew how much strength he had and how much that strength meant to me. He was my support when I needed it, a steadying hand in times of trouble. He knew more about me then almost anyone, and he trusted me. He trusted me. I'm not sure that anyone else understood how important that was. Hondo never gave his trust lightly, unlike I, who would give my trust to anyone. He knew me. He had seen me at my best and at my worst, and even when I told him I was a faerie and the faerie queen, not human like I had said I'd been for all those years, he still trusted me.

I heard a slight rustle then, but it was not the soft rustle of clothing. I glanced up, and a smile crossed my face. Ignoring Hondo's "What is it?" I all but ran to my tree. My trouble-tree. It was a childish name, I knew, but that was what I called it when I was young, and now I wouldn't think of calling it anything else. It was an oak, gigantic with age, with twisting branches that stretched up to the sky. Moonlight fell on its leaves now gold with autumn, which seemed to rustle a greeting as I neared. I put my hands on its rough gray-brown bark and hummed a little to myself.

This was my tree, my sanctuary. I had always gone here when I was in trouble or hurt and didn't know whom else to talk to. The tree had been my comfort after my parents' death and when Arestar's attacks began on my country. I had spent hours at a time in its branches after my coronation, when I was still a child who didn't understand how to handle the burden of being the queen. I think it was the fact that it had stood for so long and through so many things that brought me peace and comfort. I rested my forehead against its trunk and murmured, "You thought I'd forgotten about you, didn't you?"

"You're talking to a tree," Hondo said from behind me. When I glanced back at him, I noticed that one brow was arched.

"How do you know it doesn't talk back?" I replied.

That brow didn't lower. "I'm not going to dignify that with an answer."

I smiled and turned to face him. "Even a queen needs her getaway place. This was mine. My trouble-tree."

He started to laugh at the name but he turned it into his clearing his throat halfway through. Hondo was like that sometimes. He shook his head then placed a hand on the trunk. "I can't believe you never told me about any of this," he said softly.

"There are a lot of things I've never told you," I answered, then cursed myself for giving him an open invitation to ask. There were things that I never told him that I wasn't sure I was ready to tell him--like the tiny fact that I loved him, for instance.

He had me almost pinned to the tree now, one hand on either side of me. There were so many interpretations to that simple action, but I didn't think that Hondo would have any other purpose in mind other than asking me what I had neglected to divulge. My mind raced regardless of what I tried to tell myself, and I could scarcely understand my own thoughts.

"I propose a trade of secrets," he said after a moment, smiling wryly. "One of mine for one of yours."

If only he knew. I tried to find a way out. I couldn't say no; he'd want to know why, and with my current position, I wasn't sure if I could control my tongue enough to make up some excuse. If I said yes, I couldn't very well lie to him, nor could I say something different, some childhood secret. It went against everything I had been taught as a Fae to make up something when the only true secret I had left was begging to be said. I couldn't see a way out, so finally I said, "All right."

"I'll go first." He eyes grew distant for a moment, and then he smiled warmly, his cheeks coloring slightly. "When I was a boy, I used to make- believe that I was a knighted hero of Corphone, and I'd come in and rescue my mother from evil pirates." He laughed then, softly, gently, and I realized suddenly how hard it was to picture him as a child. "Your turn," he said.

I honestly could not think of anything to say. He was so close to me; I could feel his breath and the slight heat radiating from him. His dark eyes were gentle, and that smile was focused solely on me. He was taller than I, and he had to bend slightly to look me in the eye. He was different from all the faeries in build, with strong arms and broad shoulders. This was a man you could picture in armor and not find anything wrong with the image. His proximity was affecting me, and I found it was difficult to draw in a breath. "I can't breathe," I managed.

"Not much of a secret," he teased, but the joking look faded into concern. "Coralinn?"

I forced back a sob. "Hondo--" I began, then stopped, unsure of whether or not I could finish the sentence without losing whatever remnant of control I had left. What was I thinking, crying over something like this? I had kept it hidden for years. Why would it be making me hurt now? I would not cry.

"Hush," he said softly. "It's all right."

The touch of his hand on my cheek was unexpected, and I flinched. "Sorry," he apologized with a slight laugh. "Necromancer's hands. They're a little rough."

"No, it's not--" I babbled, and then I stopped, surprised at myself. What was it that was making me lose control?

"Hush," he murmured, and he rested his forehead against mine. "Coralinn, it's all right." It was not, and that was one of the worst things he could have done. "Just take a deep breath and--"

"I love you," I whispered.

He didn't move, didn't respond. I didn't dare to look him in the eye. After a brief moment, I gathered up what remained of my courage and went to kiss him.

"Coralinn." His fingers on my lips made me stop, and when I looked at him, there was a strange look of pain in his eyes. "Coralinn, I'm sorry--"

I knew what that meant in blunt terms--'I don't love you.' Ten thousand things rushed through my mind, but only one managed to be said. "I don't understand. . ." Anger, sorrow, tears. . .

"I am a Starlancer. A necromancer, Coralinn. I'm so sorry. . ."

I would have given anything to be anywhere else at that moment. I would have given anything to know how to react. I could hit him, I could cry, I could scream and rage, but what would those things accomplish? He pulled me into an embrace then, and I tried not to think. If I had thought for half a moment, I would have cried, and I was too proud to do that.

Someone cleared their throat, and I heard Iremos ask, "Ah--am I interrupting something?"

I pulled away from Hondo and tucked a piece of hair out of my face, trying to control my expression.

"I was just, uh, wondering," the elf went on awkwardly, "considering the message I took off the dead Kabrim and delivered to you, and the ordeal we all went through concerning the Mobdrans, I deemed it wise to inquire if there was any sort of facility nearby that dealt anything with alcoholic qualities."

"You're saying you need a drink, man, is that it?" Hondo asked him, stepping away from me.

"Elf, actually," Iremos corrected meticulously, "and yes, that's what I'm saying."

"I think we all need a stiff drink," I put in, striving for a light tone and a regal look. "Including me."

"That's a new one," Iremos commented, raising his eyebrows. He turned back to Hondo, inquiring, "Well, what do you say, mate? Drinks all around?"

Hondo nodded and murmured something that I guessed was an agreement and, with a bow, left hastily.

Iremos didn't seem to know what to make of things. He stared after Hondo for a moment, then at me. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Nothing's wrong," I lied, attempting to smile and failing. "Everything's fine." I hated myself for lying, but I didn't want to talk about it. "Why don't you go to bed, Iremos? It's very late."

"All right," he replied. "Aren't you going to go to sleep?"

I shook my head again. "I'll stay out here awhile. It's lovely out; I want to enjoy the moonlight." Another lie. I did intend to stay here, but I didn't care about the moonlight at that point. I wanted my tree.

Iremos sighed and, with a shrug, left, saying, "All right, then. Sleep well."

A weak smile touched my face before I turned back to my tree. I put my hands where Hondo's own had rested minutes before, and I was slightly surprised to find that the places were still faintly warm. I stood there for a long while, letting numbness wash over me. After a bit, I sighed and sat down on the grass beneath the tree, my back against the trunk. I pulled my knees up to my chest and rested my head on them. "Of all things," I muttered bitterly. "Of all things to happen now. . ." I laughed at myself, but my chuckles were mocking.

I did not cry.

A/N: All right, I realize that most of you all are probably very confused by now. This is a scene from a story that Ireth Palantir and I are writing. No, it is not up on FictionPress right now. It needs some editing. hoists Editing Axe O' Doom In the story, everything is told from third person, not first, and this little scenelette came about from my wondering, "Hm, I wonder what they were thinking?" If you have any questions, please feel free to ask. I will answer to the best of my capabilities. (Bear in mind that if you ask anything impossible, my answer is most likely going to be, "Urm. . .uh. . . Because the purple monkeys said so," which is an inside joke and shows you that even people who can talk like forty-year-olds can still be quite immature.)

Oh, and the "Necromancer's hands" line? That was originally. "Sorry. Necromancer's hands. I know they're rough." Ten points if you can guess why I changed it. (It wasn't my fault! It was three in the morning, and we were watching "Pirates," and Ireth was writing, and. . .I'm making feeble excuses, aren't I?) Also, Iremos is an elf, as I'm sure you picked up. He's a bit of a goofball. As Ireth says, "Think Jack Sparrow + 21 + pointed ears." Fangirlish, yes, but a fairly accurate description.

Most of the dialogue is Ireth's. She wrote the scene, and I took it from the first person POV. The actions and descriptions are mine, but the spoken words (that I didn't write in the first place or tweak) are hers.

Here, Ireth. These scenelettes were put up at your urging, so have fun.