meet me where the falling stars live
i will wait for you
That being queen is hard doesn't surprise Amalia, and the girl cannot feel a twinge of relief that she escaped being roped into that particular role. Wessex is better suited to it than she: strong, stubborn, not easily fazed, able to see the bigger picture and act outside her own defeats. That she is able to find humor in it is good, too, and the baker finds herself smiling a little as the older woman jokes about long-winded meetings. She'd hated them, when the resistance was forming, opinions and voices just contributing to chaos, making everything a loud and unattainable mess.
The comment about Outlanders and their disbelief makes Amalia raise a brow, shaking her head in resigned bemusement. "I don't understand why they can't realize that we aren't them. That just because it was different where they come from, doesn't mean it's right." That had been Zariah's problem (one of them, anyway): the belief that her world outshone all others, that her way was needed in a place wholly different from the land whence she was born.
Amalia is glad there's a Natural in charge here. She is glad that Ronin is reasonable, for the most part, and accepting of their home. But she cannot help the bitterness that bites at her at the very fact that they need this, that they have succumbed to the Outlanders' insistence for order and dominance, laws and Queens.
Pushing at the dirt with her toes, Amalia drops her head back to her chin, though less in defeat this time, more thoughtful, a soft sigh leaving her lungs. "I think you're doing well," the Shield says softly, smiling a little, her cheeks growing warm. "When Ronin... when the voting happened... he asked me if I'd help him, and I said yes. And that stands now. If... if you need it. Or want it. I... I know I can't contribute much, but..." Helplessly she shrugs, suddenly feeling quite foolish. What can she possibly offer Wessex? And when will she learn that all her efforts only lead to more disaster, further mistakes?
The comment about Outlanders and their disbelief makes Amalia raise a brow, shaking her head in resigned bemusement. "I don't understand why they can't realize that we aren't them. That just because it was different where they come from, doesn't mean it's right." That had been Zariah's problem (one of them, anyway): the belief that her world outshone all others, that her way was needed in a place wholly different from the land whence she was born.
Amalia is glad there's a Natural in charge here. She is glad that Ronin is reasonable, for the most part, and accepting of their home. But she cannot help the bitterness that bites at her at the very fact that they need this, that they have succumbed to the Outlanders' insistence for order and dominance, laws and Queens.
Pushing at the dirt with her toes, Amalia drops her head back to her chin, though less in defeat this time, more thoughtful, a soft sigh leaving her lungs. "I think you're doing well," the Shield says softly, smiling a little, her cheeks growing warm. "When Ronin... when the voting happened... he asked me if I'd help him, and I said yes. And that stands now. If... if you need it. Or want it. I... I know I can't contribute much, but..." Helplessly she shrugs, suddenly feeling quite foolish. What can she possibly offer Wessex? And when will she learn that all her efforts only lead to more disaster, further mistakes?
day and night
