Prodigal

"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?"

She's imperfect, but she tries She is good, but she lies She is hard on herself She is broken and won't ask for help "That would be nice," Amalia replies softly, a genuine smile on her face. Seeing Rory, who has been so terribly absent of late; having a normal dinner surrounded by her friends sounds like an incredible break from the reality they have found themselves in of late. "Deimos and I can bring something... bread, or a pie?" That the invitation would include the Sword is unquestioned in the baker's mind. They are all of them friends, after all, a family of sorts knit together through hardships and loyalty, and a night of relaxation and happiness includes the mountain, at least for the girl. Amalia follows Jigano to the office door, biting her lip as he asks why she's asking, a troubled expression on her face. She hasn't told anyone about what happened that night, and she is not sure it is something she should - or can - share, even with him. And so the baker does something she has not done often, and is not very good at: she lies. A little. "Since Safrin has been sick, I thought... maybe it would be nice to remind her of when she was younger. Write her a story or a... a song, or something." She trails off lamely, shrugging a little, clearly troubled by her thoughts once more. Every time she feels like she can breathe Amalia finds herself again drowning, her head never out of the water for more than a minute. It is exhausting, and she is tired. a m a l i a She is messy, but she's kind She is lonely most of the time She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie She is gone, but she used to be mine

The smile was as welcome as sunrise, and it drew an answering expression to his own face as her light chased away his darkness for a moment. A moment was all he had, however, as the mention of Deimos had him flinching. "I... was hoping it could be just the three of us," he said quietly. "Like old times." Simpler times, when they had all borne fewer scars and more hope for their world. Now, though... now the blight bubbled in his veins and Amalia looked like she was falling apart, piece by piece. As much as his sould cried out for a little selfishness it was a luxury he had lost the right to, however, and he took an unsteady breath as he tried to force the blight back into the shadows of his thoughts. "But if Deimos wants to come, he can. Don't worry about bringing anything, dear one. Just let us treat you like the royalty you are in our hearts." It was weak teasing to try and cover his lack of grace, but it was better than nothing... he hoped.

Distracted by his own ambivalent feelings for the Sword and his attempts to retrieve the key from his pocket with shaking fingers, Jigano missed the telltale shifts of Amalia's expression. He had chosen to trust her as much as he did Rory, which was to say with all his heart. It did not occur to him that she might lie, not to him. That she was capable of it, that he had no doubt... but never to him. "She is lucky to have a worshiper as devoted as you," he said with a lopsided smile as he finally fit the key to the lock and pushed the door open. His heart struck an odd chord in his breast at the familiar room, with Isuma's bed in the corner and the windows letting in only a dim blue light through the snow that packed their wells.

"The only book I know of with Safrin's origin is... here," he murmured, reaching out with a trembling hand to pull the great tome they had found in the Underground library loose and move it to the desk. "Kiada and I got the books moved back down here before we..." he trailed off with a grimace, for Amalia knew well what had happened to Harpy and Bard both.

She's imperfect, but she tries She is good, but she lies She is hard on herself She is broken and won't ask for help His flinch does not escape her, but she lets it rest for now, another piece of darkness left to fester in her troubled mind. "Okay," she replies softly, her smile clouded once again, a tired resignation in her tone. She has to choose one mountain at a time. She is grateful that his back is to her as he comments on her devotion, that he cannot see the wince of pain that flashes across her face. Hopefully it is a devotion that need never be tested; Amalia cannot say for sure that she will measure up, should that time arise. Troubled and quiet the baker follows Jigano into the small office, inhaling deeply the familiar scent of books, a warm nostalgia in her breast. She misses this, sometimes: being a librarian, living amongst the tomes. Slender fingers trail gently over the spines of volumes from the underground library as Amalia walks the perimeter of the room, listening to Jigano work behind her. She knows the book well: it had been the central point of the library, and it stands to reason it would have more information. That Jigano had moved it in here, locked away from even her, out of sight and out of reach from the one who had first been asked to find it... Sighing heavily, the Shield tries to steady herself, surprised and afraid at the sudden surge of anger. "What does it say about her?" She is fairly certain she already knows: she spent no little amount of time pouring over the pages, before the world went to shit. Born of stars... Beautiful chosen of Vi... it isn't enough to help the girl, but maybe he knows more than she does. a m a l i a She is messy, but she's kind She is lonely most of the time She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie She is gone, but she used to be mine

Her smile faded, and Jigano knew that he had hurt her with his careless flaws. He couldn't blame this on the blight, but on his own frustrations and the clash of personalities he struck with his sister's lover. It was on his head, though, not hers, and he drew a deep breath, berating himself for his selfishness. "He is welcome to come, too," he made himself say, keeping his voice gentle. "Of course he is, if having him there will make you happier." They would just have to hope that the blight in his veins had subsided enough that he did not ruin the night by letting his temper flare against the Sword in the middle of their meal - or after it. Deimos might have been no more a friend of Rory's than he was of Jigano's, but the bard knew that the hunter would be disappointed in him for turning away someone their sister cared for so deeply.

He missed Amalia's own wince, and knew nothing of her suspicions that he had locked the book away from her. The book had been hidden from Zariah and her minions, and then returned but kept safe behind lock and key lest either the ex-Queen's sympathizers (or an Ascended on a mission from their questionable goddess) tried to wrap greedy fingers around it. As much as he wanted to trust Sam implicitly, and the redhead had given his word that he would do nothing against the Guild, even at his goddess's behest...

Well. After the blight, Jigano was not so able nor inclined to trust the Ascended as he once had been. That Amalia had been locked out as well had not been his intention, but there would be no chance to clear up that misunderstanding at the moment. He simply stepped back from the Book, gesturing for Amalia to take his place in front of it as he gave a slight shake of his head. "It says what Safrin told us in the Glade. I haven't looked for any more information on her than we knew then... but if we missed anything, this is the only place I can think of where we might find it again." The only problem was that the book was written in an unknown language, one that even the bard, who prided himself on his linguistic skills, could barely make a dent in deciphering. Perhaps Amalia would have better luck though, or one of Remi's handy magical items that might help.

She's imperfect, but she tries She is good, but she lies She is hard on herself She is broken and won't ask for help She does not reply to his restated offer; it doesn't matter now, for the damage is done. Amalia knows that there is tension between those she cares so dearly for, but she does not know why, or when, or who is at fault. It is another weight to add to the countless in her breast, and she accepts it with a quiet resignation, sighing softly and nodding her head in silent acceptance of the invitation. Perhaps it is that which fuels her anger, perhaps something else. But she schools herself as he steps away from the book, letting her take a closer look at the pages which remain somewhat impossible to read. With a gentle reverence Amalia runs long fingers over the inscribed letters, wondering what secrets are hidden away, what Safrin did not tell her and what she already forgot. This had been her first task, her first quest, and still it feels unfinished. Sinking into the chair at the desk, the baker seems for a moment lost, caught up in her voracious perusal of the tome. "I wonder... maybe the Fae know the language." She can think of nobody else to ask: if there is something Safrin did not tell them, she is unlikely to share it now. a m a l i a She is messy, but she's kind She is lonely most of the time She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie She is gone, but she used to be mine

Jigano found a smile on his face - a little sad, a little proud - at the sight of Amalia in his chair, and he stood silently to let her read and think. When she spoke again he arched a brow in surprise at the direction her thoughts had taken, but it was a good suggestion and he nodded immediate agreement. "That's an excellent idea. If it's written in a language from before the Barrier, they might have older scholars who recognize it. I've met a few younger Fae who have an interest in books, too. They might not know the language, but they might know someone who does. One of their teachers, perhaps. Whether they'd be willing to speak to us, though..." He hesitated, then shrugged wryly.

"Hopefully it wouldn't hurt to ask, at least. We can always request a meeting with Delah for permission to enter the Village and the Undercroft. Would you be alright with offering them a chance to read or at least copy the book in exchange for their help in trying to decipher it?" Given the secrets within it he had a feeling it wouldn't be that easy, but the gods would protect their secrets as they saw fit.

He tilted his head at the baker, memories ticking and trickling by. His brow furrowed in thought and then his eyes widened as he snapped his fingers. "And if they can't read it, we can try the Underground again. There was that pit we almost fell into... didn't you see footprints at the bottom? It was right before the library, I think. We've been so busy with one emergency and the next that we never found time to go back there..." He trailed off, grimacing faintly as the parade of failures and crises that had interfered with their ability to explore simply for the adventure of it; the clean desire to learn something new, when no lives were on the line and no one would be hurt if they didn't find anything. "We should do that anyways. Maybe bring Kiada..." he hesitated, then drew in a steadying breath. He would be better. For her. "And Deimos?"

She's imperfect, but she tries She is good, but she lies She is hard on herself She is broken and won't ask for help The suggestion of going to the Fae village is a good one, though Amalia cannot help but feel nervous that Delah will send them away. "I've been to the Undercroft. And I do not think Delah would mind us going again, if it's for Safrin." Or perhaps she will, but the Shield is desperate. She would rather a chance at success and the punishment that may accompany it, than to be outright denied permission from the warchief whose favor feels as fickle as the wind. Going back to the Underground is a good idea, too, and one the girl has been meaning to act on. As much as she dislikes the oppressive tunnels, there are secrets held within that still need to be discovered, and the girl finds herself nodding along as he mentions the footprints she spotted in the pit. And going back would be better with companionship; she will be glad to have him beside her, his wisdom and experience guiding their path. If the idea has perked Amalia up, then the suggestion of whom else to bring knocks her down once again. Deflated, the baker looks away, completely unable to mask the expression of sadness and confusion that flutters across his face. For a moment she is silent, staring into the distance, her teeth worrying her lower lip as she tries to find the words to confront him. In the end, though, all she can manage is a soft, childish whisper, her voice quiet and sad: "Why are you mad at him, Jigano? What happened between you?" a m a l i a She is messy, but she's kind She is lonely most of the time She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie She is gone, but she used to be mine

"You have?" he perked up, straightening a little as the lure of new knowledge was dangled before him. "What is it like? I've heard it mentioned by some of the Fae, but I'd like to know what you thought about it." For the Fae he had spoken to it was simply a place they had grown up all their lives knowing. But Amalia, he was sure, would appreciate the strangeness of the place, and the beauty of it. She would describe it in ways he would understand, being as human as he had become.

"Then we will try," he said with a softer smile, trusting in her optimism to open doors that he had been too cautious to force.

He had hoped to comfort her with his suggestions, and Kiada's name fell easily from his tongue, the young Harpy dear to his own heart, even as their lives had become at least temporarily tied together by a promise to Ludo. Even before that, however, they had forged a bond that the matter of his kingship and the blight had strained but not broken. Suggesting Deimos took effort, however, and though he tried to do so lightly there was too much baggage there to hide entirely. He drew in a slow breath at her question, thinking back to the never-easy relationship he and the mountain had. In the end he moved to sit on the ground beside the chair, looking up at Amalia solemnly.

"Many things," he said, trying to find a smile for her, but the expression wouldn't come. "Some good... but just as many bad. I'm not sure he's ever really gotten past my leading you into the Greatwood, and into the Fae ambush. Oh, he's forgiven me for it... I think. But he's never really trusted me since then. We can still work together, sometimes even well. But there is always that doubt in his eyes when he looks at me, whenever there is danger or something of importance on the line." It was the bard who looked away then, a faint grimace marring his brow. "I don't know if he ever told you... what the Tulmhainar told me. That the serpent still lived in the Spire basement, that the Tulmhainar had protected him from the gasses, but with her passing he would not live long without help. That the way to get rid of them would take a combination of elemental magics. That I had gone to Remi, to Vai, to Rory... and to him, to go down and see if we could clear the place out. Both for the serpent and because there might have been a link between the poison of those plants and the sickness in the Greatwood, before we knew just how insidious the blight truly was." He glanced up at his sister, his friend, and at last found a smile though it was a sad one. "I had tried to tell you, too, in the wake of our last foray down there together but... it was too soon. We were all too shattered. And after what happened to Safrin I wasn't sure I dared ask you to go down there again."

He hesitated, then drew an unsteady breath and continued. "And i was afraid to ask him, too. But... Zariah had threatened you over my disappearance, and so Deimos threatened me. All by implication, but he looms quite impressively when he's trying to be intimidating," he added with false lightness that didn't reach his eyes. Eyes that looked down again in shame a moment later. "We spoke... harshly to each other, that day. I said things that I regret. Things he didn't deserve. He gave me ultimatums, cast aspersions on my ability to protect my friends and doubts upon my strength. We... did not part on good terms. And when I accepted that cursed offer of kingship from Edy, he was the first to question my intentions. The one who opened that gathering with anger in his eyes and ice in his voice and set the tone for all else that followed."

He had slumped as he spoke, bringing up memories that were bitter on his tongue as well as his mind. "We can and will work as a team when people need us, have no fear of that. But we are... abrasive to each other. He does not speak enough, and I speak too much, and we find all the raw points and chafe them when we are together."

She's imperfect, but she tries She is good, but she lies She is hard on herself She is broken and won't ask for help "It..." Truthfully, Amalia had been rather distracted on her trip to the Undercroft, her reunion with Deimos managing to eclipse even her adoration for the hidden trove of books. Flushing a little, the girl looks away, trying to hide her embarrassed smile. "It was like the earth itself had a library. Like the tree was its keeper. I barely scratched the surface, though... I would love to spend more time there." When I'm not escaping a kidnapping, she does not add, but it is an event for which Amalia bears the bard no ill will. Unlike Deimos, or so Jigano seems to think. Her face falls into thoughtful anxiety as her friend sits down before her, listening silently as details she never knew or suspected are brought to light. How had she not seen this? The resentments, the misunderstandings, the rising tide of doubt. She had known Jigano wanted to return to the Spire, of course, but when he never approached her the girl had assumed the need had faded away. And when they had gone back their troupe had made sense: three strong magicians, a man who could walk through walls, and a girl with a shield of fire. She had been too preoccupied with the blight, the gods, the Spire, all of it, to notice the absence of her friend. But that Deimos threatened him? For her? Amalia shakes her head, not sure what to make of the declaration, not wanting to think too hard about it. "He would not hurt you," she says with confidence, though she does not quite meet his blue eyes. She isn't trying to make excuses for him: it is simply a fact. "He was scared. We were all scared." It was a trying and painful series of months, when Zariah loomed above them like a threatening storm. Choices had been made for good or ill, and trust and patience had been strained. Though the comment that the Sword speaks too little and the Sage too much brings a mirthless chuckle to her lips, causing the girl to shake her head. With a sigh she lowers her chin to her palms, elbows resting on the table before her, eyes closed for a moment as she tries to take it all in. "The Spire... I would have gone, if you asked. Even if you didn't. Deimos told me not to, but- how could I not help, after Safrin?" She swallows, the name wavering a little on her tongue. "I thought... you said you were sick, when it happened. And I thought - since they said only magic users - and I had Edrei's magic-" But of course he would have wanted to be part of it, to try and rescue the snake. She should have seen it. She should have known. But Jigano had been sick and no one had seen him, and the blight needed to be dealt with, and Ronin was dying, and Safrin was suffering, and she had only just gained the magic in the shield and there was always so much on her mind- -"I should have been a better friend. I'm sorry, Jigano." a m a l i a She is messy, but she's kind She is lonely most of the time She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie She is gone, but she used to be mine

"I would love to see it with you," he said warmly, before the conversation turned to pain and shadows, and he gave her the story from his side, having no doubt that Deimos would have his own version of events, and both of them would be sincere in their recounting.

She could not meet his eyes, and his smile was sad as he gave a slight shake of his head. "He loves you, Ama. That, at least, is one thing we both agree on wholeheartedly. He would do far worse than just hurt me, though, if that was what was needed to protect you. For any other reason? No. But for you? Yes." That was the funny thing about love. It could make the world a wonderful place, bring out the best in people, and create miracles.

And it could make one do terrible things in its name.

His smile turned crooked as he tilted his head back, finding amusement in the depths of those shadows. "But I think he knows he would never have to, because I love you too. And he knows I will protect you if I can."

"And that was why I hesitated ask," he continued gently, shifting to sit up a little straighter at her side. "Because I knew you would come, even if it broke your heart and put more weight on your shoulders to do it. If no one else had been willing to join me, I knew you would be there. It's a gift I don't ever want to take for granted or squander, though." He reached up hesitantly, and then shook his head. Pushing himself to his feet he extended a hand to her, and would pull her up as well if she accepted it - up, and into an embrace that trembled with the blight, an embrace that was chilled instead of warm as skin should have been, but one that was fierce and tight and loving.

"I am a foolish, prideful man," he said softly against her hair, if she allowed the hug. "And you did what you needed to do for the sake of trying to fight the blight. You have been so much more than I ever deserved, dear one. And you have grown so, so much in the past year. You, of all people, do not need to apologize to me. I was the one who let you down, and you have only ever tried to hold me up. Please, Ama, let me help to hold you sometimes, too."

She's imperfect, but she tries She is good, but she lies She is hard on herself She is broken and won't ask for help He would do far worse. Amalia swallows the lump that rises in her throat at the statement, trying to quell the erratic thundering of her unsteady heart. She does not want what he says to be true, but somewhere down deep she knows it is. If anything were to bring the Reaper out from the shadows, it would be her- and that is a painful, terrifying thought. But Jigano pulls her out of, literally and figuratively, his cold hand wrapping around her smaller warm one as he pulls her up to meet him. Mutely she follows, finding a place in the familiarity of his embrace, her arms wrapping up around his neck, her face pressing against the silver braid. He smells like the farm, like Rory and spring days. Inhaling deeply, the Shield choked back a sob. "I'm so tired, Jigano," the girl admits, her voice a quiet and tremulous whisper. "Sometimes it feels like... Like I'm barely holding onto a ledge, and it would be so much easier to just let go, but if I do I'll fall and not be able to get back up." She sighs again, then pulls away, her eyes downcast, adding: "And I know what you'll say. That I'm blessed. That I've done so much. That people love me. I know, but I still feel this way. It only makes it worse." a m a l i a She is messy, but she's kind She is lonely most of the time She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie She is gone, but she used to be mine

Why had he once flinched from such contact? Amalia held him tight, more strength in her slender frame than she knew, and he held her back and wondered at the change in himself, that he should not only welcome but initiate such contact. He had been drawn from the shell he had built around his heart, had it broken down by friendship and love, hardship and loss.

Being found again, not once now but several times.

Her voice shook and her stroked her back soothingly, as Rory had done for him when the bard had been the one to fall apart in the arms of someone he loved and trusted. He let her speak without interruption, quietly listening and letting her go only reluctantly when she pulled back, keeping hold of her hands if she would let him.

"Oh Amalia, you've been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders this whole time, haven't you?" His voice was fond and sad and wondering, and he squeezed her fingers gently in his shaking hands. "You can be as strong as an ox, as fierce as a lion, and still hitch yourself to a cart that's too heavy to pull alone." He chose his words carefully after a lingering moment of silence as he considered what she had said. "Being loved, being blessed, being strong... being able to do so much... and still there can be things that will challenge you and all you can bring to the fight."

He leaned down, bending to rest his forehead atop hers and letting the warmth that still eluded his skin fill his voice instead. "If you ever do find your fingers slipping, dear one, just know that you have people waiting to catch you and hold you until you're ready to stand on your own two feet again. As you have done for myself, and Rory, and Kiada, and I'm sure others as well. I won't promise that it will be easy, even with help, but I can promise that you won't be alone."

He straightened to smile wryly down at her, not forcing her to raise her head, but letting her decide at her own pace what she was comfortable with. "I know you won't do so willingly, any more than I did, but if you need me or any of us in that way, we will be there for you."

She's imperfect, but she tries She is good, but she lies She is hard on herself She is broken and won't ask for help More than anything, it is the strane saying about oxen and lions that causes Amalia to break into a strange mix of laughter and sobs, her defenses finally falling apart as tears flow freely down her cheeks, punctuated by shuddering giggles. It sounds so much like one of the ridiculous sayings her grandmother might have used to describe the situation, and though there is no way Jigano could have anticipated it, it is exactly what the girl needs. When at last her laughter subsides Amalia pulls away, angular face tear-streaked and red-eyed, though a smile curls on her coral lips. "Thank you, Jigano," the baker murmurs, looking up at the man through a black gaze that still glitters with unshed tears. "Sometimes I forget that I'm not alone anymore. But I'll... I'll work on remembering, from now on." The rest of the day passes without much event, the pair looking through books and pursuing their own interest in comfortable camaraderie and quiet friendship. It is a nice respite for both of the, to leave the troubles of the past season behind a moment, recall the days of easy study and looking through tomes. And when the time comes for them each to go home Amalia makes Jigano stop by the bakery, loading him up with food and treats to take back to Rory and a promise of more adventures to come. a m a l i a She is messy, but she's kind She is lonely most of the time She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie She is gone, but she used to be mine