The water's temperature was perfect and the faint smell of roses was even better. Darion sat in the tub with his legs crossed, making space  for another set of legs. Hernon sat across from him, reading through the book of elemental magic he'd picked up.

"This seems easy enough," Hernon said, setting the book aside on a chair he'd brought in earlier. He rubbed his hands together. "Okay. Reach out, feel the magic, draw the heat; simple." He closed his eyes and held his hand above the water, ready to extinguish any flames that may run amok.

Darion waited for something happen--for heat to radiate from the man's hand, for a spark to appear; something--but nothing ever did. He could see that the other man was getting frustrated, furrowing his brows at the lack of a fire. Hernon snapped his fingers like he saw Darion do, yet nothing happened.

"Why isn't it working?" Hernon asked. He gave up trying to summon a flame and returned to the book. "I'm doing exactly what the book is telling me to do!"

"You can't learn magic from a book," Darion said.

"Isn't that how you learned magic?" Hernon asked.

"Yes, actually. Let me rephrase that. You can't learn magic from a book alone." Darion's mind was searching for the words to explain what he meant. Hernon was looking at him, waiting to be told what to do. Darion never saw himself as a teacher, but here he was trying to teach someone how to summon fire in a bathtub. 

"When I was learning magic, I could read any book of spells I wanted, remember all the potions and all the words, but nothing would work unless I allowed my fascination to take control. By that, I mean that I summoned with emotion, not my mind. I had loved the fact that magic was something I could control and that feeling of control is what made me happy and is what allowed me to cast spells and whatnot. And as you may have noticed, sometimes I get... angry and I try to use that as well." Hernon was silent for a moment, looking at his hand. If Darion were to be honest with himself, he was embarrassed. "Don't listen to me; that probably didn't even make any sense."

"No, I get what you mean," Hernon said. "I'm just trying to find what that means for me."

Darion could only think of one emotion that could even come close to describing Hernon.

"Have you tried love?" he suggested. Hernon absently smiled at the suggestion. He looked back up at the man across from him.

"I haven't, actually." Hernon bit his lip in thought for a second. "Do you think you could help me with that?"

Darion rolled the idea around in his head, wanting to help, but not really knowing how to. Suddenly, the solution came to him.

"Come here." He opened his arms for Hernon. 

The water lapped against the side of the tub as the man moved into Darion's firm--yet nurturing--arms, getting as comfortable as possible. Darion leaned forward, settling his mouth close to Hernon's ears. A  chill ran through Hernon as the other man began to speak.

"Close your eyes." He obeyed. Darion's voice resounded like a deep rumble in Hernon's head. "I want you to think of love; what it means to you, when you've experienced it in your life, and I want you to hold on to these thoughts."

Hernon couldn't put "love" into words; not even for himself. He could think of when he'd experienced it in his life, though. Bedtime stories and kisses on the cheek from his mother began floating around in his mind--he never knew how much he'd wanted to go home until that moment. His thoughts shifted from nights with his mother to days practicing his archery with his father.

"Is there a warm feeling in your stomach?" Darion asked, his voice seemingly distant. Hernon could feel the warmth. He nodded. "This may not make sense, but I want you to direct that warmth from your stomach to your hands and then imagine the warmth as fire."

Hernon directed the warmth up to his shoulders and then sent it down his arm. As the warmth traveled, more memories began flashing through his mind. Cooking with his parents, the first time he discovered the Fab community, meeting Darion, then his brother. His little brother. Little Eric. He suddenly remembered why he never went home; he knew Eric wouldn't be there to meet him.

He couldn't face his parents knowing that he hadn't been able to protect his own little brother.

The warmth turned into a heat and it became easier to imagine the feeling in his body as an actual flame curling around his arm. Hernon snapped his fingers. He kept his eyes closed, not knowing what to expect.

"Good job," Darion said.

Hernon opened his eyes to see a small flame burning over his finger tips. Instead of singeing his fingers, the flame hugged him with a comforting warmth similar to what he felt in his body. He shook his head as it began to throb. His vision began to blur and a ringing rose up in his ear as the flame began to splutter.

Darion quickly pushed the flaming hand under water. "That's enough magic for you, today."

The world slowly began morphing back into its original state. "Does that always happen?" Hernon had to lay his head back on Darion's shoulders, his eyes shut.

"Only when I exert myself too much," Darion said. "For example, when I took control of the flames on the scaffolding last night, I had a headache for hours." Darion paused, debating the validity of the example with himself. "Though let me warn you; you won't be able to do anything like that for a while, and even if you did somehow manage to pull it off, you'd most certainly die. The more you practice, the less it affects you, so don't worry."

"It didn't seem like you had a headache to me," Hernon said, looking up at Darion with a smile.

"I'm not going to respond to that," Darion said with a smile of his own.

They stayed in the water for a while longer before getting out, returning to a world of anything but warmth and the scent of roses. Now dressed, Darion went to work in the kitchen making a breakfast fit for a king. Dishes with shredded potatoes, scrambled eggs, and bread were placed on the table along with cups of freshly squeezed orange juice.

"My God, you're perfect, aren't you?" Hernon said, practically drooling as he looked over the food choices. "Where did you even learn to cook?"

Darion didn't even try to hide the smirk on his face. "Diana taught me many things." He sat down across from Hernon, picking up a fork and digging right into the meal. Hernon followed suit without a second's hesitation, his fork moving faster than Darion had thought humanly possible. He and Diana had never used extra plates when they had food spread out across the table like they did now. Darion's brows furrowed a little as he thought about what he was doing with Hernon while she was across town all alone. Hernon's fork slowed.

"What's wrong?" Hernon asked before taking a bite of bread.

"Nothing," Darion muttered. He knew he wasn't fooling anyone so after a second's pause to get his thoughts together, he altered his statement. "It's just that I kind of feel guilty about leaving Diana alone to spend my days with you. Not that I don't like your company."

Hernon, beginning to adopt the habit from Darion, took a second to gather his words--he discovered he actually liked the habit and would actively try to implement it into his daily life. "I think it's normal to feel guilty. Love is something sacred--I guess you'd say. When you go behind the back of someone you love, you kind of feel guilty--no matter what you're doing. Love's weird."

"I doubt 'weird' is the appropriate word."

"Fine; it's different, special--dare I say--exotic."

"I think there's only one word that completely describes love: love."

"Well that settles it; love is love," Hernon said, diving back into his meal at full speed.

"Love is love," Darion repeated. He smiled at the phrase, imagining it as something that'll render all forms of love valid; no matter what the appearance, background, class, or gender. Darion hoped that people would be able to see that love was just that: love.

"Tell me about Diana," Hernon said. 

Darion was taken aback. "Why do you want to know about Diana?"

"She's important to you, so I want to know about her." The reasoning was so innocent that Darion felt a little bad for even asking why.

"I met her at the market; I'd never seen such beauty before in my life. I then proceeded to make a fool of myself and then she gave me bread and after that, I looked for her until I could 'run into her' again." Darion was already smiling thinking about how they met. "The second time, we had a picnic, the third time I met her parents. What we had was new to me and I was the happiest I'd ever been.

"She was there with me through the darkest moments of my life and was the reason for the greatest. Diana is all that kept me from burning out--quite literally--when my dad died and I was enlisted into the guard."

The wind picked up outside throwing leaves through Diana's opened window. She left her book in the chair, her page marked, as she went to investigate. She hadn't even gotten to the window when Darion flew in, crashing to the floor in a heap.

"Darion!" she shouted, running over to the crumpled man. "Are you okay?"

Diana pulled the big man up into her arms, trying in vain to force his head to face her so she could get a good look at him. His skin was so hot she almost dropped him, but she held strong; she wasn't going to let him go, no matter what.

Diana finally got Darion into a position where she could see his eyes. His cheeks were stained with tears, something Diana had never seen before and had never thought possible. When he opened his eyes, his pupils swirled with reds and oranges as if they acted as a window to a fire roaring inside of him.

"He's gone," was the only thing Darion said. Diana knew that he wasn't such a mess from whoever was gone--whatever that could mean--the magic required to get him up and through that window had taken a toll on him; he wasn't yet strong enough to perform the magic he just did, he'd only taught himself when he got bored after all.

"Who's gone, Darion? Talk to me, you have to talk to me." Diana tried to keep her voice from wavering.

"My father," Darion said, the words falling out of his mouth as if he'd given up. Diana wouldn't let that happen.

"I'm sorry, Darion, I really am. You're going to get through this, I promise you."

"Diana, he's dead. He didn't just go to another kingdom, he died!" There was anger in his voice, but Diana knew it wasn't directed at her; it wasn't directed at anyone, he was just angry. "I'm not going to be okay."

"You know that's not--"

"First my mom, then my dad, and now I'm being forced to join the guard to take his place." The energy the anger had given him was fading; his words were losing strength and her fear grew with every passing second. "I don't want to be here anymore. I just want to join them."

"Don't say that, Darion." She couldn't imagine a world without him.

"What's wrong with speaking the truth?" The words affected her more than she knew they should've.

"Diana! What's going on?" Diana looked behind her to see her father, ready to fight with his sword drawn and a face of determination.

"Dad! Darion needs food and water or he'll most surely die," Diana said, looking back to the man who made her days better. She was surprised with the power she'd put behind her words, but that didn't matter now. Diana didn't even have to look to know that her father wasn't in the doorway anymore.

Through tears, Darion repeated the same seven words: "I don't want to be here anymore."

"I owe that woman my life." Hernon had finished eating and now studied Darion's face with a deep interest. Darion's food sat on his plate, half-eaten.

"If I've learned anything in my life, it's how to recognize love, and what you have with her is nothing but love." Darion's hands were resting on the table; Hernon put his own hand on top, hoping to bring the man out of the trance he seemed to be in.

Darion looked at Hernon with so much emotion that Hernon almost gasped. "Then why do I find myself thinking about how much I love you?"

Hernon, for the first time in his life, was completely lost for words. He couldn't believe that such a confession, that deep of a question, and so much raw emotion could all be shoved into one sentence.

"Well--I...love is...complicated." He felt like he was repeating himself, not being helpful in the slightest. He took a deep breath and gave himself a second to think. "It's possible that you could love more than one person equally; love is different for everyone and isn't as black and white as some people like to view it."

Darion had averted his gaze, staring at the bread instead of Hernon. He gave no response and although Hernon dislike when he closed himself off, he couldn't help but be secretly thankful; he didn't think he could answer another question.

Something came to Hernon's mind; something he believed would help Darion with everything he was feeling and possibly more.

"Come on, I have somewhere I want to take you," Hernon said, standing up.

Without a word, Darion followed.