//AN: Pic is a depiction of Yveira.// 

 The rain has stopped.

Den notices this fact rather lazily, still a bit too focused on being tangled up with Yveira to care overmuch about other things. She's halfway asleep, and Den has to admit that she's adorable. He rather likes her, he decides.

But then, he already knew that.

He folds one arm beneath his head, staring up at the paper lanterns hanging from the cavern ceiling. He's been here for several hours already, and he really should go. The longer he stays, the more likely it is that Ian Reos will escape--or die.

Neither would be good.

Not that he needs the money, but... Den doesn't like going back on his word. He has a reputation to uphold, after all, and he still hasn't found his client's estate. Which is annoying.

His mood, at least, has improved considerably since he entered the hot spring. He feels slightly bad about taking it out on Yveira, but she didn't seem to mind.

He finds himself absently tracing circles on her stomach, with no desire to go anywhere despite the urgency of the situation. Yveira makes a sleepy sound, reaching over to take his hand, stilling his motions only to start playing with his fingers.

He huffs in amusement, watching the way the lanterns drift along the ceiling of the cavern. In the distance he can hear the roar of the waterfall, and he admits--though only once--that the girl was right in her assessment of the mood in this place. It's rather romantic.

Several minutes pass in comfortable silence before Yveira speaks. "You know, in the ten thousand years since I last saw you, I still haven't come across a better lover."

Den chuckles. "Should I be offended by that?"

"No dear, it was a compliment," she says, and he glances down to see her batting her eyelashes at him. He grins wryly.

"Ten thousand years isn't a very long time."

"No, not at all," she agrees.

"Hence," he says, poking her stomach playfully, "I'm offended."

"I'm nearly eight million years old," she teases him, poking him back. "I've had many lovers from many different worlds. You didn't think you were the best that has ever existed in any world, did you?"

Den snorts. "You overestimate my arrogance. I've known several who are actually better than me." His eyes go back to the ceiling, a flash of nostalgia echoing through him for a moment.

Yveira lifts herself up to look into his eyes again. "Men or women?"

Den laughs. "I was trained as a courtesan from the age of twelve. My circles are wide."

She lifts a strand of his hair--which he really, really does need to cut--and twirls it around one finger. "Your parents sound as horrible as mine."

Den makes a thoughtful sound. "Yes," he agrees. "Though I wasn't forced to suffer them for as long as you have been."

Yveira sighs heavily, the burden of those years on her shoulders. Den starts tracing circles on her skin again. "Sometimes I think Malik had it easier, dying when he did. A day doesn't go by in which I don't miss him."

The nostalgia. Den can almost taste it. He's silent for a moment, because he doesn't know if he should say what he's thinking of saying.

But then, why would it matter if he did? He's the only one left who even cares.

"I had a younger brother whom I loved," he says, softly. "And my sisters weren't awful--nor was my aunt."

"Had?" She asks, thoughtfully, and now she's tracing circles on his chest.

Den says, "They're gone. My entire race, in fact, is gone. I'm the only one left." His tone, though quiet, is casual. It wouldn't be a lie to say he didn't care about his people--he would have killed them himself had someone else not done it first.

But sometimes he misses them.

Yveira makes that thoughtful sound again. "I'm sorry you had to lose people you cared about," she says, then pauses for a moment. "I wish something would wipe out my race."

"No," Den says. "You don't. Not all of them. Not every last one." His hand stills. "It's very... lonely. And they were not all bad."

"My family then," she amends.

"If I could help you with that, I would have done so already," Den says, his tone darker around the edges than it was before.

Yveira takes a deep breath. "If I could have done it, I would have done so already. For everything they did to both my brothers... my friends... my..." she pauses and blinks, then straightens a little to look more clearly into his eyes. Den arches a brow. "Uhm... Den, there is something I have to tell you."

"I'm listening...?" He isn't sure where she's going with this, but she looks almost... flustered.

"In my defense, I have been looking for you for the last ten thousand years... you are not exactly the easiest person to find... or else I would have told you sooner... but you know, things came up, and--"

"Yveira," Den interrupts, amused and a bit wary at the same time. "I didn't want to be found--for good reason. But obviously, you can tell me now, so get to the point--please."

He adds the 'please' as an afterthought, but at least it's there.

Yveira bites her bottom lip. "Well... uhm... there is no easy or gentle way to really put this... but... we have a son."

Den blinks.

And stares at her for a moment. Everything is very quiet inside him, so quiet that he's sure he heard her wrong.

"I'm sorry, say that again? I think I misheard you."

Yveira frowns at him. "A son. You know, a boy that gets born after a man impregnates--"

"Yes thank you," he interrupts. "I understand the semantics." He sits up, setting her far enough away that he can rub his face. He would very much like to believe that she's not telling the truth--but he doesn't think she's the type to do that, and she has no reason to tell this sort of lie.

He says, "...how? It's not exactly easy for either of our races to have children." His brows draw together. "And my sound acts as a barrier to ensure that kind of thing doesn't happen." In fact, he takes great pains to ensure that doesn't happen.

He's well aware of how dangerous it would be for him to start leaving children in his wake.

Yveira nods. "Imagine my surprise when I found out I was pregnant. I'm one hundred percent certain he's yours... I hadn't taken any lovers besides you for at least four years, and well, you are the only elf I've had in hundreds of thousands, and Ri has little pointy ears." She reaches up to touch his ears as she says that, and Den is very glad of the iron guards he never takes off.

Turning into a mindless beast is the last thing he needs right now.

Den rubs his face again. He has no idea how to feel about this, or what he's thinking, or...

Stars. He has a son?

He says, tentatively, "Ri?"

Yveira smiles softly. "Urijah Calden Mi'antiae De'nerian," she says. "But Ri for short."

Den barks out a rather short laugh. "Calden?"

Yveira nods and ruffles his hair. "Had to name him after my two favorite boys."

Den finds himself amused--or maybe that's the shock hitting him. "De'nerian isn't a family name," he tells her, shaking his head once.

"I don't particularly care."

He snorts. "Then you should know what it means, at least."

"What does it mean?" She asks, her tone curious.

Den wonders if he should give her the short version or the long version, and can't decide, so he says, "Among my people, only one name is given until the child comes into their Given power at the age of one hundred. It's only then that a naming ceremony is performed, and the name given is generally meant to encompass the child's personality. 'De'nerian' doesn't have an expressly translatable meaning in your language, but its dual meanings are 'silence' and 'determination'."

He's rambling. This is wonderful. Den rubs his face again.

Yveira smiles at him. "Well, in that case, it suits him as well as it does you. Except, sometimes it's very hard to shut him up."

Den barks out another laugh, shaking his head. His thoughts are an absolute chaotic mess, and he can't even begin to make sense of them, so he doesn't try.

"They called me that because I refused to speak," he says, and isn't sure if he's amused or nostalgic or some combination of both.

"Hmm. Ri needs lessons."

"What..." Den has no idea what it is he's trying to ask. He opens his mouth again, but no sound comes out. How can he have a son?

A son. Who... is all grown up already. Who has a life, and a personality, and... and Den missed it. He missed all of it.

"Does he..." Den takes a deep breath. He has to get his thoughts in order! "Does he know about me?"

Yveira gives him a look that seems to suggest he's an idiot. "I named him 'Calden' and 'De'nerian' and you think I haven't told him about you?"

Den possesses just enough soundness of mind to realize that he's grinning like a fool.

"Can I... can I see him?"

Yveira grins broadly. "I'm sure that can be arranged... however, you may want to avoid the Lescaean palace... there is an order to kill you on sight." Den figured as much. It's why he's been laying low. Stars. "But, I can send Ri to a location to meet you?"

"Yes," he says, instantly. "Anywhere."

"Hmm, it should be somewhere where there isn't much Lescaean influence... and it would be better if I didn't know the location... perhaps you can give me a note to pass to him, telling him where to meet you?"

Den's thoughts are a mess of inside and out and upside down. Stars, he wishes Eilon were here. Eilon would know what to do.

"He can manipulate portals?" Den questions, unsure if the family ability would have been passed on since his son--stars, his son--is a halfling.

Yveira nods. "He can."

Den nods in return, thinking paper. Where do I get paper...

He forces himself to breathe. Calm. Thinking. Thinking is excellent.

He snaps his fingers, manifesting a piece of paper and an inkpen. Quickly, Den scrawls a set of coordinates on the paper and folds it, then hands it to Yveira. Not that she has anywhere to put it, being that they're both naked in a hot spring.

Brilliant.

Yveira takes the paper and pats Den's face. He eyes her warily. "What...?"

"You're adorable." She's smiling brightly. Den doesn't know what to make of this.

"I... can honestly say that no one has ever said that about me before," he says, a bit nonplussed. At least, no one has ever called him that in seriousness.

"I can't see why," Yveira says. "You really are so cute."

Den finds himself amused again. "Thank you?"

She grins at him. "You're very welcome."

He sits and stares at her, still trying to process what exactly is going on. He can't make sense of anything.

He can't remember a time in his life--ever--when he was this... flustered.

"What..." He takes a breath, pauses, forces himself to think. This doesn't end, it can't stop with just one meeting. So he needs to think. "Where do we go from here?" He asks, frowning faintly at her.

Yveira looks thoughtful. "Well you can't come live with us because they'd kill you. If Ri leaves my protection they'll kill him. If I leave my father will personally hunt me down, take me back, and then kill Ri."

Den rubs his face again, frustrated now. "Eilon has managed to stay hidden," he suggests, waving a hand. "As have I."

"Need I remind you how quickly you found him?" He opens his mouth, but she speaks again before he can answer. "My father isn't that concerned with finding Eilon because Eilon is the second child he's had that has a mind ability. He believes he can easily get another one, so at this point, he merely wants Eilon dead, but doesn't care enough to devote all his resources to ensuring that outcome. With you, well, the order is merely to kill you if seen. No one is actively looking for you. When it comes to me, however, my ability hasn't shown up in Lescaean history for... well, they can't even remember anyone who has had it before me, nor has anyone been born with it since. My father would spare no expense or resource to find me, and would kill anyone I care about for my defiance. Keeping Ri at court is one way for him to ensure my cooperation. Ri can leave for periods of time... but he needs to come back, or they will hunt him."

Den rakes a hand through his hair, hating--absolutely hating--the familiar sense of powerlessness. It's like Enna all over again. It's like being trapped for three hundred thousand years with no way to even move. It's like breathing.

Breathing is all he can do.

He closes his eyes, lets everything go quiet. When he opens them again, he's calm.

He survived three hundred thousand years of stasis, in utter silence, unable to move even his little finger--unable to do anything but stare at a cavern wall. He survived watching the woman he loved tortured and killed. He survived the death of his entire race. He survived Yesmine leaving.

He can survive this.

He can survive anything.

"How often can he leave without arousing suspicion?" He asks, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"Well, he simply has to be back after at most ten years away... and has to stay for at least a hundred before he can leave again."

Ten years every hundred years. Neither is a long period of time--which he knows from experience.

But it's better than ten thousand years. Stars, he missed ten thousand years of his son's life.

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Yveira says, "You really should make it

easier for me to find you."

Den nods slowly, thinking. A moment later he snaps his fingers and a small, round disc appears in his palm. It looks like tarnished silver, inlaid with veins of white gold. The familiarity of it hits him for a moment, the memory of the last time he held a disc like this--when Yesmine told him she never wanted to see him again.

Den shakes off the thoughts.

"It's starsilver," he says, handing it to Yveira. "It acts as a healing agent, but is a property of my body, so you'll be able to contact me through it. Just talk to it." One corner of his mouth twitches into a smirk. "And don't take it places where I won't want to hear what's going on."

Yveira strokes her chin thoughtfully. "How am I to know what you won't want to hear?"

Den arches a brow. "Things you don't want me to hear, then."

"You're going to have to be more specific, love," she says, teasing him.

"Do you require a demonstration?" He asks, his smirk widening.

She appears thoughtful, moving closer to him. "I think I do," she says, nodding. Den chuckles low in his throat and leans into her, placing a kiss on her collarbone.

"Really?" He murmurs, trailing more kisses up the line of her neck. She climbs onto his lap, and he lets his hands fall to her hips as he moves his mouth to her ear. "Unfortunately," he rumbles, nipping her earlobe, "you are going to have to wait."

Both of her brows arch. "Oh, am I?"

Den nods once, pulling back. "Yes. I have work to do, and you have a note to pass on."

Yveira, however, shakes her head at him with a smirk, and Den almost sighs. "Oh little Den--" he takes offense at that, "--you really don't know me very well." She slides her hands up his chest to his shoulders. "You see, I found out something interesting raising our son. Want to know what that is?" Her voice dips a few octaves, and Den doesn't think that he does, in fact, want to know.

By the time he's realized that she's reaching for his ear guards, she's removed them.

Den moves backward, but her hands are on his ears, and he can't move. Holy stars.

He groans, the sound half dragged out of him. He's worn those guards for so long that he forgot what the air feels like against his most sensitive skin. Her hands...

"What were you saying about making me wait?" Yveira asks, her tone too innocent by far. Den groans, but he can't make himself move, can't make himself focus on anything other than the motion of her hands.

"Yveira," he warns, but her name comes out as a growl more than anything else.

She continues to stroke his ears as if she has all the time in the world. "Hmm?"

Den gives up on leaving before morning.

Den gives up on leaving at all.