It's too much to bear my darlin', the weight of the world
And I would carry it for you
Her words lodged deep. He felt the truth of the statement settle like a stone dropped into still water. “You didn’t.” he said quietly. “Not in any of this." He drew back just enough to look at her properly, glacier eyes searching her ruined expression. This was not a moment for sharpening truths into weapons. This was for holding them gently, even when they cut. This was not the time for his own thoughts, his own feelings, his own desires of her having never gone back to Sunjata. This was a time for him to be what she needed.
Noah shifted then, careful and unhurried, as if any sudden movement might send her scattering into the darkness like pearls from a broken necklace seeking solace beneath a dresser. Firm but smooth, practiced and deliverate, he moved her to keep her spine from breaking under the weight of her grief as she clung to him. He did not ask permission. He did not need to. The bond carried his intent clearly enough. One of his arms tightened at her back while the other slid beneath her knees. He lifted her cleanly from the couch. For a moment her feet left the world entirely, and he held her there, close to his chest, anchoring her against the solid line of his body.
He turned and lowered himself onto the couch, guiding her with him in a way that kept all of her fragility and all of her vulnerability protected. The cushions dipped under their combined weight, the room settling around them again. Noah sat with one leg braced and the other angled so that she could settle into him until her head found the hollow beneath his collarbone.
He drew her in without pressure, an arm coming around her shoulders, the other settling over his knee. He rested his chin lightly against the crown of her golden head. Each inhale and exhale was deliberate, an offering of calm through repetition. The couch creaked faintly as he settled fully, making space for her weight but bearing it without effort. Noah stayed like that, unmoving save for the rise and fall of his chest. He let her hear his heartbeat, breathing slow and steady until the rhythm found her again. A measured rhythm, like a drum keeping time through a long night march. He would stay until the shaking eased from something violent into something survivable.
The bond was steady, carrying only his presence, his steadfast and unwavering resolve. No rage bled through. No storm followed, despite the way it crashed and surged and raged within the depths of his chest. Instead, she would only feel the solid assurance of someone who would not abandon the post simply because the night had grown long, hard, dark and deep. When she spoke of staying, of being told to figure it out alone, Noah felt something old and aching stir in his chest. He understood that particular cruelty. He had lived in that limbo once, waking into a world that had moved on without him, leaving him to make sense of loss with no one left to ask.
“You don’t have to decide anything right now.” he said gently. “You don’t have to know where you’re going tonight, or tomorrow.” He would stay with her until she made her choice. He would not leave her alone. There was nothing else in the world that needed his attention more than her right now. He kept his focus there, pouring all of that love over the bond even though his brain raced with thoughts and questions. Had she written to Deimos? Would the Sword step through that door at any moment, only the lack of a compass slowing him down?
Whether or not her heart could ever be tied back to the frozen landscape he couldn't cut from within himself, he would still be. Homes could change, could fracture, could become unrecognizable ruins. But people could still be anchors. He stayed with her there, unmoving, sentinel to her grief. He would not force her down any of the paths that lay ahead. This was not time for that kind of love. The love she needed now was what he was giving her -- to be held, seen, understood, comforted with warmth and stone and promises kept. He would stay where he was, a fixed point in the spinning world, until she was ready to take a step that was hers.
And until then, there was this: his strength, and the unbroken truth of his presence. His arms stayed wrapped around her, warm and unmoving, knowing she might drift if he let go, unmoored from his iron grip.
Noah shifted then, careful and unhurried, as if any sudden movement might send her scattering into the darkness like pearls from a broken necklace seeking solace beneath a dresser. Firm but smooth, practiced and deliverate, he moved her to keep her spine from breaking under the weight of her grief as she clung to him. He did not ask permission. He did not need to. The bond carried his intent clearly enough. One of his arms tightened at her back while the other slid beneath her knees. He lifted her cleanly from the couch. For a moment her feet left the world entirely, and he held her there, close to his chest, anchoring her against the solid line of his body.
He turned and lowered himself onto the couch, guiding her with him in a way that kept all of her fragility and all of her vulnerability protected. The cushions dipped under their combined weight, the room settling around them again. Noah sat with one leg braced and the other angled so that she could settle into him until her head found the hollow beneath his collarbone.
He drew her in without pressure, an arm coming around her shoulders, the other settling over his knee. He rested his chin lightly against the crown of her golden head. Each inhale and exhale was deliberate, an offering of calm through repetition. The couch creaked faintly as he settled fully, making space for her weight but bearing it without effort. Noah stayed like that, unmoving save for the rise and fall of his chest. He let her hear his heartbeat, breathing slow and steady until the rhythm found her again. A measured rhythm, like a drum keeping time through a long night march. He would stay until the shaking eased from something violent into something survivable.
The bond was steady, carrying only his presence, his steadfast and unwavering resolve. No rage bled through. No storm followed, despite the way it crashed and surged and raged within the depths of his chest. Instead, she would only feel the solid assurance of someone who would not abandon the post simply because the night had grown long, hard, dark and deep. When she spoke of staying, of being told to figure it out alone, Noah felt something old and aching stir in his chest. He understood that particular cruelty. He had lived in that limbo once, waking into a world that had moved on without him, leaving him to make sense of loss with no one left to ask.
“You don’t have to decide anything right now.” he said gently. “You don’t have to know where you’re going tonight, or tomorrow.” He would stay with her until she made her choice. He would not leave her alone. There was nothing else in the world that needed his attention more than her right now. He kept his focus there, pouring all of that love over the bond even though his brain raced with thoughts and questions. Had she written to Deimos? Would the Sword step through that door at any moment, only the lack of a compass slowing him down?
Whether or not her heart could ever be tied back to the frozen landscape he couldn't cut from within himself, he would still be. Homes could change, could fracture, could become unrecognizable ruins. But people could still be anchors. He stayed with her there, unmoving, sentinel to her grief. He would not force her down any of the paths that lay ahead. This was not time for that kind of love. The love she needed now was what he was giving her -- to be held, seen, understood, comforted with warmth and stone and promises kept. He would stay where he was, a fixed point in the spinning world, until she was ready to take a step that was hers.
And until then, there was this: his strength, and the unbroken truth of his presence. His arms stayed wrapped around her, warm and unmoving, knowing she might drift if he let go, unmoored from his iron grip.
