He smoothed his clawed hand softly and reverently against the glass. He didn't have a care for sparing the luminescent crystal prison. His hand pulled away from the cold surface, crimson eyeing the crystal with renewed venom, if brute strength had been a solution than he would have shattered it many years ago if only to release the one inside – Silmeria Valkyrie.
No, he was left suffering a different kind of torment, watching and waiting for some solution, some spell to shatter the barrier betwixt them. He had been defying and tempting fate from the very beginning, he'd also been way over his head. Silmeria had known that, she had always done anything to safeguard her Einherjar. They had been something more between them, in the beginning it had been respect and later it had been a mutual bond of animosity towards the black justice branded upon neglected, subjugated Midgard by its "gods".
The two of them had parted ways, he had chosen to ally himself anew with the undead a path she would not or could not follow. That had not made them enemies even then though by every right it should've, they united to make one last stand against the divine tyranny – neither had been victorious. Silmeria was recalled, subjected to the Sovereign's Rite and he, he had been without her.
In the long years since he took Silmeria back from Odin in Dipan, Hrist Valkyrie had tried many times to reclaim what she christened as his "trophy" but Silmeria was so much more than that. She would not be bound to Odin's curse for eternity but nor would be allow her to ignore the existing emotions between them again. He had allowed her to choose once and he'd sorely regretted it, he should have NEVER let her return to Odin after their shared transgressions. Silmeria had not only borne the weight of her own "crimes" but also his, especially his. She served this punishment for him.
"It's my turn to save you…even from yourself…," he turned, hearing the approach of one of his undead subjects before they even traversed the entire expanse of the hallway leading up to the throne room. He turned to at least face whomever it was, knowing that he was guilty of brooding on the dilemma of the frozen Valkyrie. A dual dilemma as it would be considered: how to free her and how to KEEP her.
A matronly face greeted him, she held a serene immortal beauty but some wrinkles marred her as if showing in ancient shadow within. Almedha – his dam – the "sire" of his vampiric heritage and one of the few that he felt he could, irrefutably trust without reservation, "I should've known I would find you here," she sounded too tired to be properly exasperated anymore, like a female who was well about to give up, "Brahms, you have got to stop doing this: to yourself and to her."
Brahms knew whom she spoke of, his mind turning to the thought of "her". Sid'ren was, in name alone, his bride by an arranged marriage which had been a reluctant necessity for him a hundred and fifty years previous. She hadn't been his bride in literal terms; their union had been purely political devoid of any need to exercise consummation of the union. Sid'ren had come from one of the wealthiest and most influential vampire lineages, her support and that of her family had been crucial in establishing his power base when he'd first ascended as Lord of the Undead.
A hundred and fifty years ago, it was hard to believe it was that long; he had been quite young and weak as an undead. He returned to the castle only salvaging Silmeria, barely saving her from the Sovereign's Rite cast upon her not by Odin this time, but by MORTALS. He had quickly slain the fools who had fancied themselves true undead after ingesting ghoul powder. His crimson eyes glanced at the female before him and he berated himself for again allowing thoughts of Silmeria to drive his attention off course.
"You can keep doing this, abandoning your people and making her rule in your stead. It's her son's birth date, Brahms. You aren't there for her or him," Brahms knew Almedha was right. It wasn't HIS son, but Sid'ren's, from her first husband. It was time for her sole heir, her beloved son to come of age and he had abandoned her in the middle of her own glorious celebration, he did feel guilt and it must have been visible because Almedha sighed, "Brahms….I am not without pity, I know you don't LOVE her but we made the match with Sid'ren to your mutual benefit and consent. The least you can do is stand at her side, it's where you belong. Today we celebrate you freeing us from Hel, a fond memory of freedom for the people but you need to stop living in the past gazing at the memory overhead," she gestured to Silmeria, "something you will always desire but never possess. Do not humiliate your mate any more than you have, stop abandoning your present and future to chase after a specter of your past. When you lose sense of the present and anticipation for the future THAT is when you will cease to live, Brahms. Value what you have rather than rue what you cannot. Sid'ren is not a perfect match but she is a fair one for you."
Brahms knew she held a grain of truth to her counsel even as every bit of him wanted to rebel, to say that acquiring Silmeria was NOT an impossible task. Almedha was right; there were worse matches than Sid'ren. Sid'ren had been in love previously and she had no designs to take him for her own. She was accomplished in both mage craft and swordsmanship – a warrior in her own right. Yet she was perfect amiable, popular with the nobility as well as the lesser undead, in more than one instance she had defused dangerous situations from arising that could've led to an uprising or assassination for him. Almedha had chosen well since she was accomplished and ambitious but not a grasping female devoid of virtue or valor. He was sure that Sid'ren knew that no future or love match lay between them now or ever however still Almedha seemed to hope he might make a permanent match of their Covenant. Brahms couldn't deny it, not outright; he nodded and gave a grim smile to Almedha following her back, this was the least he could do to honor her loyalty. It took every ounce of discipline not to look back and gaze at Silmeria once more.