Their hands entwined, an anchor of safety on a storm-tossed sea, a lighthouse leading a weary traveler to a gentler shore. He, who had held himself apart for so long, found himself craving that connection now, that touch of fingers so simple and so eloquent as they sought and gave each other comfort that no words could fully encompass. Eventually, he knew, he would have to let go, or perhaps be let go...
But not now. Not yet.
Isuma was a warm presence in his head and heart, small and young and needing him, as he was learning how much he needed her. Rory was... different. He could survive without the hunter, as he had before, but like the gryphlet, the blond man brought warmth to his life, and light, and a quiet, inward joy. He wanted this man at his side, as his friend, beyond mere animal need..
As more than his friend?
Because Rory knew. He could see it in the slight tension around blue eyes, the flicker of light in them, the pressure of the hand in his as the hunter offered his silent reassurance. Rory had lost people, too, to not being enough. Someday, he hoped, there would be time and courage enough for them to speak more openly. Now, though, while his friend lay bandaged in the Infirmary and the shadows of Long Night loomed outside the fragile bubble of light that they nurtured between them, they started with the smallest steps.
And refused to let each other go.
"I have been making a place," he answered with a small smile, lopsided but sincere. "A Loreseekers Guild, for scholars and those who wish to help others with the knowledge and wisdom gleaned from the Atheneum." He hesitated, fingers of his free hand curling against his palm while the other twitched in Rory's grasp, firming their hold. He wanted to raise that hand to his lips, press a kiss to knuckles toughened by farmwork and leatherwork and a hunter's trade. It was too soon, and too silly, and too frightening to risk, however, and he raised his eyes to meet a gaze as blue as his own, and filled with just as much uncertainty. "But... yes. I think... for the first time since I lost my family that I... have found a place that I would like to return to, no matter how far I wander," he finished softly.
But not now. Not yet.
Isuma was a warm presence in his head and heart, small and young and needing him, as he was learning how much he needed her. Rory was... different. He could survive without the hunter, as he had before, but like the gryphlet, the blond man brought warmth to his life, and light, and a quiet, inward joy. He wanted this man at his side, as his friend, beyond mere animal need..
Because Rory knew. He could see it in the slight tension around blue eyes, the flicker of light in them, the pressure of the hand in his as the hunter offered his silent reassurance. Rory had lost people, too, to not being enough. Someday, he hoped, there would be time and courage enough for them to speak more openly. Now, though, while his friend lay bandaged in the Infirmary and the shadows of Long Night loomed outside the fragile bubble of light that they nurtured between them, they started with the smallest steps.
And refused to let each other go.
"I have been making a place," he answered with a small smile, lopsided but sincere. "A Loreseekers Guild, for scholars and those who wish to help others with the knowledge and wisdom gleaned from the Atheneum." He hesitated, fingers of his free hand curling against his palm while the other twitched in Rory's grasp, firming their hold. He wanted to raise that hand to his lips, press a kiss to knuckles toughened by farmwork and leatherwork and a hunter's trade. It was too soon, and too silly, and too frightening to risk, however, and he raised his eyes to meet a gaze as blue as his own, and filled with just as much uncertainty. "But... yes. I think... for the first time since I lost my family that I... have found a place that I would like to return to, no matter how far I wander," he finished softly.
