He would not have blamed her if she had rejected his approach, but her pulse of acceptance was more welcome than he had words to say, and he returned a silent chime of gratitude as he slipped in and tugged the curtain closed, finding his way to a chair at her side. The basket was set down, though the cloth over it rustled suspiciously before settling back to silence at a soft thought from the bard. He said nothing at first, simply holding out his hand to the battered Shield in invitation. Magic tingled in his fingertips, and if she accepted it he would begin again to Heal as much as he could.
Silence was not so strange to him. He and Rory communicated in silence so often, but it had been so natural between them that he had never questioned it. Touch and glance, smile and hug, tears and laughter... what he'd had with Amalia was so different he had never realized the distance his words had put between them. Perhaps he should have found the silence between them sooner, rather then relying on words that failed to convey the heart's simplest messages.
Pride, Safrin had sneered at him. Heroics that he had no claim to. Promises he could not keep, that once his curse - a real curse, a devil's kiss upon his bloodline - would have left him retching and nauseous over failing. His failure at being a hero had cost Amalia her legs, and he had no doubt that the star-eyed goddess would smite him down when next they met for it...
If the Voice didn't kill him first.
He was not, at least, a stranger to living on borrowed time. He would worry about the rage of the gods when it came time to face them. Here and now he gave what Amalia was willing to accept, and he took what she returned to him with gratitude as her low voice stirred the air. A childhood of resentment, a desire to be something else than what her parent dictated, and he nodded understanding, and remembrance of a tale only partially-told before. "Rory did too, last year," he said softly, mind stretching back to a night of blood and fire, and lives so nearly lost. "Hated it here, I mean." He smiled down at her smile, a silver brow arching with a hint of hesitance, uncertain how his offer would be met. "I came to break you out for a little while, if you wanted some fresh air and a bit of sun. Wherever you wish to go today, I can be your steed." Or they could remain where they were, two uneasy souls who had lost the harmony of their song, yet still strove to find the rhythm they had once fallen into so easily.
Silence was not so strange to him. He and Rory communicated in silence so often, but it had been so natural between them that he had never questioned it. Touch and glance, smile and hug, tears and laughter... what he'd had with Amalia was so different he had never realized the distance his words had put between them. Perhaps he should have found the silence between them sooner, rather then relying on words that failed to convey the heart's simplest messages.
Pride, Safrin had sneered at him. Heroics that he had no claim to. Promises he could not keep, that once his curse - a real curse, a devil's kiss upon his bloodline - would have left him retching and nauseous over failing. His failure at being a hero had cost Amalia her legs, and he had no doubt that the star-eyed goddess would smite him down when next they met for it...
If the Voice didn't kill him first.
He was not, at least, a stranger to living on borrowed time. He would worry about the rage of the gods when it came time to face them. Here and now he gave what Amalia was willing to accept, and he took what she returned to him with gratitude as her low voice stirred the air. A childhood of resentment, a desire to be something else than what her parent dictated, and he nodded understanding, and remembrance of a tale only partially-told before. "Rory did too, last year," he said softly, mind stretching back to a night of blood and fire, and lives so nearly lost. "Hated it here, I mean." He smiled down at her smile, a silver brow arching with a hint of hesitance, uncertain how his offer would be met. "I came to break you out for a little while, if you wanted some fresh air and a bit of sun. Wherever you wish to go today, I can be your steed." Or they could remain where they were, two uneasy souls who had lost the harmony of their song, yet still strove to find the rhythm they had once fallen into so easily.
