"You succeeded," he corrected, still gentle, finding a smile back for her, though he would not reveal what it cost him to hold back the remaining blight so that he could do so. "You saved the Guild, Amalia. And you saved me and other blighted. Your courage. Your faith. Your perseverance." She truly was the Shield of Safrin, the light in the darkness. She had been for him and for so many others. It was not something she had asked to be, or even tried to be. It was simply who and what she was, and the natural result of the choices she made.
He trailed after her, hiding the way his fingers tried to flex into a fist at his side, a flash of irrational anger snaking through him at how quickly she discounted herself, how little she appreciated her own inner beauty. The shadows that fell so quickly had no business on her young face, but he was not so deluded that he could ignore how many of them he had put there.
The title was a reminder of what he was regaining, a balm to his uncertain temper, and he forced the blightrage back past a tight throat and teeth that were a little longer than they should have been. Amalia had been there for him when he had reached his breaking point; now he would be there for her, and he stepped to her side. "Next week," he said quietly. "If I continue to improve as I have been... next week, come out to the farmhouse for dinner. Let Rory and I take care of you for a few hours. Please." A strongly-worded request, but one he knew that Rory would back him on. Only once he had said that did he reach for the book, frowning thoughtfully.
"I haven't been looking for anything like it recently," he admitted slowly. "Though perhaps..." An inkling sparked and he frowned thoughtfully, turning towards his - her - his? office. "What's brought it up?"
He trailed after her, hiding the way his fingers tried to flex into a fist at his side, a flash of irrational anger snaking through him at how quickly she discounted herself, how little she appreciated her own inner beauty. The shadows that fell so quickly had no business on her young face, but he was not so deluded that he could ignore how many of them he had put there.
The title was a reminder of what he was regaining, a balm to his uncertain temper, and he forced the blightrage back past a tight throat and teeth that were a little longer than they should have been. Amalia had been there for him when he had reached his breaking point; now he would be there for her, and he stepped to her side. "Next week," he said quietly. "If I continue to improve as I have been... next week, come out to the farmhouse for dinner. Let Rory and I take care of you for a few hours. Please." A strongly-worded request, but one he knew that Rory would back him on. Only once he had said that did he reach for the book, frowning thoughtfully.
"I haven't been looking for anything like it recently," he admitted slowly. "Though perhaps..." An inkling sparked and he frowned thoughtfully, turning towards his - her - his? office. "What's brought it up?"
