[SE] If the Sun Should Fall

He tilted his head, eyes crinkling wryly at all the words Amalia didn't say to describe the Fae, but if Jyoti had needed to calm them down the adverbs weren't hard to guess at. He did not push at her silence, merely leaned lightly against her shoulder in wordless support as Jyoti worked the magic of a companion that had more to do with a loving heart than any magic of emotional manipulation. His compliments were sincere, rooted in truth and blossoming with honest admiration for the woman at his side. Her demure murmur earned a smile and a quiet hum of approval. "That is enough and more, my Amalia."

Talk of Arduinna was fascinating, even as the warning was given and Jigano nibbled his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Delah... yes. Her dislike of us runs strong, and it won't be overcome in an hour or a day. Indeed, she might never accept us, much less like us, but she doesn't need to." He tilted his head, looking out over the summer haze of the slowly settling evening."Like digging a well or building a bridge, it will take patience and persistence with her, and those Fae like her. Our words and our actions both must speak for our good will and sincerity. If we push too hard, too fast, she will only set herself like a stone against us, adamant until she is broken or we are battered to death against her steadfastness. Slow and steady will be the way to work with her. We cannot treat her and her people like the Outlanders treated the Naturals over the Spire," he pointed out wryly. "Not without risking the same sort of breaking point."

Her blush was as lovely as the sunrise, and as delicate as a fairy rose. Jigano's grin widened as she refused to look at him and tried to turn his teasing aside with deflections that were belied by her pink cheeks and gentle smile. "He is a lucky man, to have you both," the bard murmured, his teasing turning more gentle. When she did finally face him he found he could not deny the plea in her eyes or the sincerity of her tongue, and he sighed, grimacing slightly. "Before all this, I would have said it would be my pleasure to. Now... Amalia... he might not forgive me for endangering you. And Kiada," he added, belatedly. "I can't blame him if he never wants to speak to me again, after I lost you both. This time it worked out well, but there was such a high chance that it wasn't going to... I was... If the 'sacrifice' had indeed been your life I..." he trailed off, swallowing hard against the lump of fear and pain and guilt and inward-turned rage that had mostly dissipated with finding his friends well and whole and free. The memory of it was still too fresh, however, too strong to wave away yet. He did not know what he would have done...

But if past experience was anything to go by, he would have inflicted far worse punishment on himself than anything Deimos could have come up with.

YOU SAID THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT THE MOON IT ROSE TOO SOON AND WE'RE DOING WHAT WE SHOULD She listens intently, a pupil at his knee, though impatience pulses in her veins at the idea they should wait. Overeager, hungry for more, the girl wants it now: to make the world welcome her, to see and taste and know. Patience has never been her virtue, though some may think it so, seeing quiet and withdraw and still and mistaking anxiety for calm. But Jigano is right, she knows this much, frustrating as it may be. Sighing, she puts her head in her hands, legs waving restlessly over the platform as she dreams about the world. There is something which bristles as he again speaks of losing her, as though this was his fault. Shaking her head with a wry, rich laugh, Amalia gazes ardently at the man, a bemused frown pulled between her brows. "Kiada and I are adults, Jigano- we chose to go into the woods. You did not force us. You did not abandon us. This is not your fault." Teasingly exasperated, she bumps her shoulder gently on his as though to push the thought away. If anyone is to blame it is the baker, and she is tired of being treated the child, of having others try to cover and condone her mistakes. Why anyone still goes anywhere with her is more than she can understand, but it is not for her to tell them that really, they should not. a m a l i a You said it's life that moves too much We're losing touch But I'm not losing you

She was young still, something he often remembered but sometimes forgot in her responsibility and dignity and courage. But then she would tease him and Rory, or kick her feet like a girl, and he smiled at her fondly as he reached out with a tentative hand to rub her back while she sighed and dreamed and wrestled with her impatience.

"You are adults, but I was your leader," he protested, but gently. "I did not force you to come, but it was still my responsibility to bring you safely home again. I failed in that, but--" She bumped against him and he caught himself from correcting her, instead shaking his head ruefully. "Ah, Amalia, who would I be without my guilt?" he mused, reaching around her shoulders to tug her back into a half-hug with a rueful smile. "I am so proud of you, dear one, for rescuing yourself," he murmured, pressing his cheek to her hair in a rare moment of open affection.

YOU SAID THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT THE MOON IT ROSE TOO SOON AND WE'RE DOING WHAT WE SHOULD We are not your responsibility- or so her youthful spirit yearns to say, chafing against a series of ties as she stares again into the trees. She has been roped, netted, caught; she has gone from loneliness to family bonds. It is difficult at times for her to accept, to ease into her place among them, to be cared for and protected, valued and held. But she knows that she would feel the same, if she were in his place. Indeed, guilt is a song they can both sing, a tune which unites them by more than blood. Smiling wryly, she shakes her head, amusement and affection melting away resentment in her heart. There will be another time to look at scars, to peer into the wounds that sit under her skin. Today is for reunion, relief; the girl hums softly as he leans against her, slender fingers slipping into his larger hand. "Jyoti rescued me," she laughs, glancing fondly at the whale. "And after that, the tulmhainar..." And as the sun sets at the edge of the sky, Amalia proceeds to tell him the story of the tortoise who held a world. a m a l i a You said it's life that moves too much We're losing touch But I'm not losing you