you wouldn't even recognize me anymore
not that you knew me back then
It was different because of the rarity of the event, of the nature of the two of them that makes an embrace worthy of starsong and clap of god-sent thunder. The meeting of two lone wolves is a cause for celebration, particularly when they are kin - albeit distant, genus-only kin.
Wessex has seen his truth and loves him from afar. It is the kind of love that she gives best; neither suffocating nor totally absent, dropped in bits here and there so that the receiver knows and does not doubt. He has seen hers, and knows it is not the monster that others would have her be. It is the proud matriarch, the tough-love caretaker, the one who has said over and over again that she will make the hard choices and then does so, to many’s dismay.
What can be said, other than they’ve seen each other’s demons and still show up?
That’s love. Loyalty. Call it what you will.
A soft snort as he relaxes. “Can’t leave you entirely in Jigano’s hands, now can I?” she jests, sure that he knows full well about their mutual distaste. “And you didn’t show up for LongNight,” Wessex continues softly, pulling away to arm’s length, her hands still on his arms if he’ll let it . “Thought to be honest, I can’t blame you. The Outlanders were insufferable about going out. Was yours… alright?” Isolation during that week is risky, it’s gotten the better of stronger minds than his. Her brow furrows in slight concern, feeling like she’s trying to put something together, but doesn’t have the final piece.
Is he hiding something? Is there more to this picture than meets the eye? For all their silent understanding and kinship, the Wraith has never been good at reading this kind of subtext and emotion - not with Magrethe, and not with him.
Wessex has seen his truth and loves him from afar. It is the kind of love that she gives best; neither suffocating nor totally absent, dropped in bits here and there so that the receiver knows and does not doubt. He has seen hers, and knows it is not the monster that others would have her be. It is the proud matriarch, the tough-love caretaker, the one who has said over and over again that she will make the hard choices and then does so, to many’s dismay.
What can be said, other than they’ve seen each other’s demons and still show up?
That’s love. Loyalty. Call it what you will.
A soft snort as he relaxes. “Can’t leave you entirely in Jigano’s hands, now can I?” she jests, sure that he knows full well about their mutual distaste. “And you didn’t show up for LongNight,” Wessex continues softly, pulling away to arm’s length, her hands still on his arms if he’ll let it . “Thought to be honest, I can’t blame you. The Outlanders were insufferable about going out. Was yours… alright?” Isolation during that week is risky, it’s gotten the better of stronger minds than his. Her brow furrows in slight concern, feeling like she’s trying to put something together, but doesn’t have the final piece.
Is he hiding something? Is there more to this picture than meets the eye? For all their silent understanding and kinship, the Wraith has never been good at reading this kind of subtext and emotion - not with Magrethe, and not with him.
but it all comes back to me in the end
WESSEX
