She was not supposed to look so gaunt, so haunted. Amalia was the quiet, pious girl who worried, yes, and held her anxieties close, but she cared for herself and others in ways both great and small, even if only to keep her grandmother's ghost happy.
This Amalia looked more than half ghost herself, and Jigano drew in a sharp breath as she hugged herself and accentuated just how thin she had become. Irrational though it was, guilt struck him. Guilt for being blighted, for adding to her worries and not being there to be strong for her when she needed it most. He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet as his heart cried out to her.
Oh, my Amalia, he whispered in the link between Attuned, her name holding a wealth of love and worry and care and fear that he might hurt her. He knew he almost had hurt her, from one of those brief sparks of lucidity, and her question had him wincing as he took a cautious step towards her. He had to pay attention to every heartbeat, every second, every emotion that crossed his heart, measuring it against the likelihood that the blight was rising again with its rage and vicious words, but it was so hard to keep apart from her even if it was to protect her.
"Not much," he admitted softly aloud. "A blessing, I think. I remember leaving the farm and... running. Flying. Trying to get as far away as I could. I felt myself... fading, drowning in a wave of rage. And then..." He shook his head, a shudder running from crown to heels. "Just... nothing. Like when I had the fever. Nothing but darkness and then a few brief patches of light. I remember... you, and Kiada and... Remi?" It was more question than statement, the first surfacing for sanity hazy. "At the Spire. And then nothing again until Ianto in the Greatwood, and his blood on my teeth. And then Bastien..." The bard trailed off, shaking his head as if even the attempt to recall those few moments of clarity were physically painful.
"A while ago... a few days? I'm not really sure how long, exactly. It was fuzzy and... strange." His words were halting, interrupted by long pauses and nothing like his usual confident, smooth speech. This was raw, unfiltered, and all too often broken by missing and unclear memories from the man who prized knowledge so dearly. "I remember being less angry. I don't think I even knew my name, just that I was... I was tired. And then hungry, genuinely hungry, but the thought of hunting made me feel sick. Around then I started thinking in words again... I think. It took me longer to remember my name, but once I had that I remembered Rory and you and Sam. but I couldn't remember how long the snows had been falling or where I was." And just because his anger was less it didn't mean it was gone entirely. He had continued to lose hours and minutes to the darkness, coming out of it to find himself surrounded by a scene of destruction.
"I made it back to the farmhouse... somehow. I don't remember much of that trip, either. But Rory was there. Alive. I... I hadn't hurt him." He looked up at, black-marbled blue eyes anxious for her to believe him. "I couldn't remember... didn't know if I had when I was... lost. I was so afraid that I'd come back and find..." he trailed off again, for Amalia could well imagine the worst and most terrified thoughts. He took a shuddering breath and straightened his shaking shoulders with an effort, for what came next was better to remember by far. "But I didn't. He was there and he pulled me inside and..." He drew a steadying breath. "He helped me clean up and put me in bed and I still... the rage isn't gone. Not entirely. It's getting better but it's still there. But I've been too weak, and he knows what to look out for now. Today was the first day we trusted that I could try to come to town," he admitted more quietly, and it was not just his physical weakness that he was talking about. "But... I had to see you with my own eyes. Amalia... what happened? What did the Roses do?" Ianto and Amalia had both mentioned them in his foggy memories, but Rory had explained as best he could in full once Jigano was lucid enough to retain the knowledge. But the farmer hadn't known what had tipped the balance enough to bring the white fox home, and they both wanted desperately to know.
This Amalia looked more than half ghost herself, and Jigano drew in a sharp breath as she hugged herself and accentuated just how thin she had become. Irrational though it was, guilt struck him. Guilt for being blighted, for adding to her worries and not being there to be strong for her when she needed it most. He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet as his heart cried out to her.
Oh, my Amalia, he whispered in the link between Attuned, her name holding a wealth of love and worry and care and fear that he might hurt her. He knew he almost had hurt her, from one of those brief sparks of lucidity, and her question had him wincing as he took a cautious step towards her. He had to pay attention to every heartbeat, every second, every emotion that crossed his heart, measuring it against the likelihood that the blight was rising again with its rage and vicious words, but it was so hard to keep apart from her even if it was to protect her.
"Not much," he admitted softly aloud. "A blessing, I think. I remember leaving the farm and... running. Flying. Trying to get as far away as I could. I felt myself... fading, drowning in a wave of rage. And then..." He shook his head, a shudder running from crown to heels. "Just... nothing. Like when I had the fever. Nothing but darkness and then a few brief patches of light. I remember... you, and Kiada and... Remi?" It was more question than statement, the first surfacing for sanity hazy. "At the Spire. And then nothing again until Ianto in the Greatwood, and his blood on my teeth. And then Bastien..." The bard trailed off, shaking his head as if even the attempt to recall those few moments of clarity were physically painful.
"A while ago... a few days? I'm not really sure how long, exactly. It was fuzzy and... strange." His words were halting, interrupted by long pauses and nothing like his usual confident, smooth speech. This was raw, unfiltered, and all too often broken by missing and unclear memories from the man who prized knowledge so dearly. "I remember being less angry. I don't think I even knew my name, just that I was... I was tired. And then hungry, genuinely hungry, but the thought of hunting made me feel sick. Around then I started thinking in words again... I think. It took me longer to remember my name, but once I had that I remembered Rory and you and Sam. but I couldn't remember how long the snows had been falling or where I was." And just because his anger was less it didn't mean it was gone entirely. He had continued to lose hours and minutes to the darkness, coming out of it to find himself surrounded by a scene of destruction.
"I made it back to the farmhouse... somehow. I don't remember much of that trip, either. But Rory was there. Alive. I... I hadn't hurt him." He looked up at, black-marbled blue eyes anxious for her to believe him. "I couldn't remember... didn't know if I had when I was... lost. I was so afraid that I'd come back and find..." he trailed off again, for Amalia could well imagine the worst and most terrified thoughts. He took a shuddering breath and straightened his shaking shoulders with an effort, for what came next was better to remember by far. "But I didn't. He was there and he pulled me inside and..." He drew a steadying breath. "He helped me clean up and put me in bed and I still... the rage isn't gone. Not entirely. It's getting better but it's still there. But I've been too weak, and he knows what to look out for now. Today was the first day we trusted that I could try to come to town," he admitted more quietly, and it was not just his physical weakness that he was talking about. "But... I had to see you with my own eyes. Amalia... what happened? What did the Roses do?" Ianto and Amalia had both mentioned them in his foggy memories, but Rory had explained as best he could in full once Jigano was lucid enough to retain the knowledge. But the farmer hadn't known what had tipped the balance enough to bring the white fox home, and they both wanted desperately to know.
