It's too much to bear my darlin', the weight of the world
And I would carry it for you
She collapsed in on him and Noah felt it. He felt what it was before him, her brokenness and her truth, and he felt it in memroy. He felt it in her hand grasping his as they ran through the streets of Snowcloak to rid themselves of their home for the safety of others. He felt it in the way he had cradled her screeching, sobbing body as lamplighers waged war on her mind. Noah did not pull away when she collapsed into him. He felt it mirrored back at him, when he was the one broken and small and bleeding before her with his soul bare and nothing to lose, nothing to give.
He folded around her, arms coming up like Halo's gates closing against a whiteout blizzard, anchoring her shaking weight to something that would not move. Her sobs tore into his collarbone, hot and broken, and every sound was a blade he forced himself not to flinch from. He let her cry. He let her cling. He let her be small while he stayed unyielding. He listened as she spoke of blood and lost seasons, of gods and bonds and impossible choices, and of the one who promised against this. He was patient as she worked back over her words, letting her take all the time she needed to regain any ground. His jaw tightened once, just once, but his arms did not loosen. He absorbed it all, a breakwater against a sea that had already taken too much from her.
Inside him, the bond howled.
Rage surged like wildfire through dry brush, violent and consuming, visions flashing sharp and bloody and unforgiving. Sunjata’s name scraped raw across his thoughts, something feral rising with it—an instinct older than mercy, older than gods, that demanded retribution. Noah felt it coil tight in his chest, a predator pacing behind his ribs, teeth bared and ready.
He did not let it touch her.
With a practiced, silent brutality he closed off that part of the bond. Not severing it, never that, but shaping it down, narrowing it until only what she needed could pass through. He would never leave her without him, would not forsake what she had earned from him through running through hellfire together. But, he walled away the war inside him, the fury and the grief and the violent need to hunt, until all that remained was bedrock. Strength. Vigilance. The Sentinel. The quiet, relentless presence of someone who would stand watch through any night.
What reached her was steady as stone for her feet to stand firm, unshaken.
He breathed evenly, warm against her glowing hair. One hand slid across her back, broad and firm, fingers splayed as if to remind her that she was held, that she was not falling, to forbid her from jumping, from leaping into the darkness forever. “I’ve got you,” he said, his words both comofrt and oath. “You’re not alone in this. Not now. Not ever.” Because he knew what it was like to be alone. He knew what it was like to wake up from being dead -- or, from the death any other would hace succumb to. his awakening had left him without a wife, her's without a fiance. Grief pulsed and he swallowed the lump down in his throat.
When her voice broke again, Noah dipped his head, resting his forehead against hers. His presence pressed close through the bond, calm and immovable, a sentinel standing between her and everything that threatened to tear her apart. "Look at me, Ru," he said, glacier eyes softened, but not wavering, despite the tears that had clearly abandoned their post and made lines down his own face. “You’re here. I see you." No matter what war raged within him, that part of him -- this part -- did not bend. “Sometimes,” Noah said softly,“people don’t choose what’s right. They choose what hurts less in the moment.” He brought a hand up to her swlloen, red face and brushed the river cutting over the snowcapped mountain away. That doesn’t make it fair. And it doesn’t make it true. He finished over the bond.
He folded around her, arms coming up like Halo's gates closing against a whiteout blizzard, anchoring her shaking weight to something that would not move. Her sobs tore into his collarbone, hot and broken, and every sound was a blade he forced himself not to flinch from. He let her cry. He let her cling. He let her be small while he stayed unyielding. He listened as she spoke of blood and lost seasons, of gods and bonds and impossible choices, and of the one who promised against this. He was patient as she worked back over her words, letting her take all the time she needed to regain any ground. His jaw tightened once, just once, but his arms did not loosen. He absorbed it all, a breakwater against a sea that had already taken too much from her.
Inside him, the bond howled.
Rage surged like wildfire through dry brush, violent and consuming, visions flashing sharp and bloody and unforgiving. Sunjata’s name scraped raw across his thoughts, something feral rising with it—an instinct older than mercy, older than gods, that demanded retribution. Noah felt it coil tight in his chest, a predator pacing behind his ribs, teeth bared and ready.
He did not let it touch her.
With a practiced, silent brutality he closed off that part of the bond. Not severing it, never that, but shaping it down, narrowing it until only what she needed could pass through. He would never leave her without him, would not forsake what she had earned from him through running through hellfire together. But, he walled away the war inside him, the fury and the grief and the violent need to hunt, until all that remained was bedrock. Strength. Vigilance. The Sentinel. The quiet, relentless presence of someone who would stand watch through any night.
What reached her was steady as stone for her feet to stand firm, unshaken.
He breathed evenly, warm against her glowing hair. One hand slid across her back, broad and firm, fingers splayed as if to remind her that she was held, that she was not falling, to forbid her from jumping, from leaping into the darkness forever. “I’ve got you,” he said, his words both comofrt and oath. “You’re not alone in this. Not now. Not ever.” Because he knew what it was like to be alone. He knew what it was like to wake up from being dead -- or, from the death any other would hace succumb to. his awakening had left him without a wife, her's without a fiance. Grief pulsed and he swallowed the lump down in his throat.
When her voice broke again, Noah dipped his head, resting his forehead against hers. His presence pressed close through the bond, calm and immovable, a sentinel standing between her and everything that threatened to tear her apart. "Look at me, Ru," he said, glacier eyes softened, but not wavering, despite the tears that had clearly abandoned their post and made lines down his own face. “You’re here. I see you." No matter what war raged within him, that part of him -- this part -- did not bend. “Sometimes,” Noah said softly,“people don’t choose what’s right. They choose what hurts less in the moment.” He brought a hand up to her swlloen, red face and brushed the river cutting over the snowcapped mountain away. That doesn’t make it fair. And it doesn’t make it true. He finished over the bond.
