The softening of her expression pulled at him, a care he wanted to reach out for and wrap himself in, to soothe the wounds that still festered, unhealed and suppurating beneath his skin. Ah, but he could not, not now. He had done what he had said he wouldn't do: he had let her down, had stopped trying, and now... now...
He couldn't take advantage of her gentle heart to twist the past or play on unearned sympathy. She really was too good for him, this Shield who baked sustenance for bodies and souls and carried the weight of the Settlement on her slim shoulders. "I'm recovering," he said, smiling wanly. He looked gaunt, as if he wasn't eating enough, and weary, though he had looked tired even before his disappearance. He had tucked his hands beneath the counter so she wouldn't see their shaking, however. "I have good days and bad ones, still. At least Rory hasn't come down with what I had, so I don't think I'm contagious." How did the blight spread? It wasn't as though he could test it on other people, and the thought of testing it even on other animals was repugnant to him. Perhaps he would have to go into some sort of quarantine...
But there was too much to do for him to hide away any longer than he already had. Too much to do, and too little time. Always too little time.
"Amalia," he said gently as her voice rose with more 'should have-could haves,' blame falling from her lips like acid rain. "I left with Rory. He has first right of telling me when I've fucked up, and he did that quite thoroughly. You all seemed so angry with me, so certain that what I did was wrong - and then, that what I did after was worse." His voice caught, for it wasn't something that he wanted to bring up again yet. He looked away, hiding his wince as he pretended to study someone walking past the window. "I was... hurt. I didn't want to be scorned and spurned again so soon." Amalia, more than anyone but the blond hunter, knew how fragile the bard had been in those days. Nor was he any stronger now, but he had to focus too tightly on his temper to wallow quite so much since his visit to the shrine. "I thought if I just gave people time to cool down..." He trailed off, a sigh ghosting from his lips. "But I started falling sick the next day. Rory let me come back home but..." But then he had fallen into fever dreams that had taken him away from safety and those who loved him, leaving him weak and confused and alone.
He looked up to see the hurt in her expression, the injured pride that he loved so dearly, and his lips quirked into a wistful, wounded smile without him quite realizing it, his once-flawless mask cracked and showing his emotions clearly in the pain that filled his own eyes, the fear of rejection and the simmer of resentful anger that tinged so much of his thoughts of late. "I'm sorry, Ama. I knew you were angry with me but I didn't mean to hurt you. I had hoped you'd come to make lanterns, but when you didn't I thought... if you were still that angry with me, that you didn't want to see me yet." And in truth, he had been more afraid of her anger and disappointment than he was of the Spire's poison.
He couldn't take advantage of her gentle heart to twist the past or play on unearned sympathy. She really was too good for him, this Shield who baked sustenance for bodies and souls and carried the weight of the Settlement on her slim shoulders. "I'm recovering," he said, smiling wanly. He looked gaunt, as if he wasn't eating enough, and weary, though he had looked tired even before his disappearance. He had tucked his hands beneath the counter so she wouldn't see their shaking, however. "I have good days and bad ones, still. At least Rory hasn't come down with what I had, so I don't think I'm contagious." How did the blight spread? It wasn't as though he could test it on other people, and the thought of testing it even on other animals was repugnant to him. Perhaps he would have to go into some sort of quarantine...
But there was too much to do for him to hide away any longer than he already had. Too much to do, and too little time. Always too little time.
"Amalia," he said gently as her voice rose with more 'should have-could haves,' blame falling from her lips like acid rain. "I left with Rory. He has first right of telling me when I've fucked up, and he did that quite thoroughly. You all seemed so angry with me, so certain that what I did was wrong - and then, that what I did after was worse." His voice caught, for it wasn't something that he wanted to bring up again yet. He looked away, hiding his wince as he pretended to study someone walking past the window. "I was... hurt. I didn't want to be scorned and spurned again so soon." Amalia, more than anyone but the blond hunter, knew how fragile the bard had been in those days. Nor was he any stronger now, but he had to focus too tightly on his temper to wallow quite so much since his visit to the shrine. "I thought if I just gave people time to cool down..." He trailed off, a sigh ghosting from his lips. "But I started falling sick the next day. Rory let me come back home but..." But then he had fallen into fever dreams that had taken him away from safety and those who loved him, leaving him weak and confused and alone.
He looked up to see the hurt in her expression, the injured pride that he loved so dearly, and his lips quirked into a wistful, wounded smile without him quite realizing it, his once-flawless mask cracked and showing his emotions clearly in the pain that filled his own eyes, the fear of rejection and the simmer of resentful anger that tinged so much of his thoughts of late. "I'm sorry, Ama. I knew you were angry with me but I didn't mean to hurt you. I had hoped you'd come to make lanterns, but when you didn't I thought... if you were still that angry with me, that you didn't want to see me yet." And in truth, he had been more afraid of her anger and disappointment than he was of the Spire's poison.
