After he had spoken he lapsed back into silence. Stillness. His hand remained on the captain's shoulder, resting lightly like a tether to keep her from drifting away on the tides of her distress. He was patient, willing to wait while she came to terms with what they had been through, or at least had a chance to begin processing it. There was nowhere else that he needed to be, and now that the Void Guardian was dead the swamp was slightly less inimical than it had been before. They had as much time as Thalassa needed, and the King was comfortable in the quiet that fell between them.
And when she did speak her first word froze him so that he could not have spoken even if he had wanted to.
Maea.
Dead.
Or if not dead, then missing. Lost.
His fingers closed more firmly on Thalassa's shoulder, a flexing of shock. Of dismay. But he kept both from his face, his expression unmoving as the mask held steady even in the face of nightmare. And he listened as she continued, laying her own heart down between them, naked and vulnerable in the mud of the swamp. All he could do was stay beside her while the words scraped against his ribs, hollowing his chest.
He did not know Thalassa well enough to hug her; was not certain what she needed. Or what he needed, in the harsh light of her revelation.
But Maea had trusted her. And she had come close to dying in defense of Torchline, fighting against the Void that had corrupted their neighbors. Regardless of what she thought she had done... "Maea made her own choices. Always." Quiet words, spoken around the weight in his throat that threatened to drown him. "Whatever happened... remember that." He could not say it was not Thalassa's fault when he did not know what had happened, but he could take a deep breath, mastering the wave of grief that might yet prove premature. The pale Ancient had come back from the dead before, after all.
Twice.
His eyes focused on the woman before him, Maea's fellow Ancient and perhaps friend, and this time the flex of his fingers on her shoulder was deliberate. Comforting. But also commanding. "Survive."
And when she did speak her first word froze him so that he could not have spoken even if he had wanted to.
Maea.
Dead.
Or if not dead, then missing. Lost.
His fingers closed more firmly on Thalassa's shoulder, a flexing of shock. Of dismay. But he kept both from his face, his expression unmoving as the mask held steady even in the face of nightmare. And he listened as she continued, laying her own heart down between them, naked and vulnerable in the mud of the swamp. All he could do was stay beside her while the words scraped against his ribs, hollowing his chest.
He did not know Thalassa well enough to hug her; was not certain what she needed. Or what he needed, in the harsh light of her revelation.
But Maea had trusted her. And she had come close to dying in defense of Torchline, fighting against the Void that had corrupted their neighbors. Regardless of what she thought she had done... "Maea made her own choices. Always." Quiet words, spoken around the weight in his throat that threatened to drown him. "Whatever happened... remember that." He could not say it was not Thalassa's fault when he did not know what had happened, but he could take a deep breath, mastering the wave of grief that might yet prove premature. The pale Ancient had come back from the dead before, after all.
Twice.
His eyes focused on the woman before him, Maea's fellow Ancient and perhaps friend, and this time the flex of his fingers on her shoulder was deliberate. Comforting. But also commanding. "Survive."
