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summerdragon
19 February 2009 @ 09:36 am
17 February 2009 @ 08:54 pm
He contemplated, briefly, rising from where he'd fallen down to rest on his knees, the fires of the fight dwindling both in the hedge and inside him. Everything seemed so tired... so much of an exertion. Absently, Gaius' mind tried to focus on the lack of sensation in his left hand, the faint coldness and tingling sensation that had started shortly after the black bolt of shadow had flown from Nwabudike's hand and into his chest.
It is in you, Gaius, All the hate and rage that lies in your heart… the pride… How much blood already covers your hands? the words echoed in his mind, a mixture of his fallen adversary's words and the smooth and cultured tones of his Keeper.
It was all he could do to breath, the General thought to himself as he looked on the bloodied form in front of him.
"How had it come to this?" He murmured to himself, slipping into latin without a thought. His head felt light, the hedge around them seeming to still move with the shadows of both his past... and the possible future.
As Cage took his arm, he rose slowly; unable to monster remove his eyes from Nwabudike. It had seemed too easy, too much like tyrant a set up... the other man had must've known he could use the opportunity to strike at him, and yet he'd won - justice would prevail.
You should join me Gaius... think of what we could do… we will take only the strongest soldiers, the brightest minds, the most faithful of servants… we will unleash them on the world...
His breath caught in his throat as he bowed to Celest, knowing he'd not hidden the odd grimace the gesture brought him; he'd been wounded before, and the hurt was not all that great - a dull thudding inside his chest, an ache that seemed to crawl down his arm and sapped his energy. The gesture should not have tired him so, he mused, letting an arm rest around Cage's shoulder to bear his weight.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he tried to take a calming breath, as much to steady himself as to regain his composure - the moments killer dragging on as his chest refused to comply, the muscles feeling as if he were bound with tight-iron.
The ache in his chest did not matter, just as any other wound would not, he thought to himself - the whispers inside him would not cease and they were of far greater concern.
How much blood already covers your hands?
It is in you, Gaius, All the hate and rage that lies in your heart… the pride… How much blood already covers your hands? the words echoed in his mind, a mixture of his fallen adversary's words and the smooth and cultured tones of his Keeper.
It was all he could do to breath, the General thought to himself as he looked on the bloodied form in front of him.
"How had it come to this?" He murmured to himself, slipping into latin without a thought. His head felt light, the hedge around them seeming to still move with the shadows of both his past... and the possible future.
As Cage took his arm, he rose slowly; unable to monster remove his eyes from Nwabudike. It had seemed too easy, too much like tyrant a set up... the other man had must've known he could use the opportunity to strike at him, and yet he'd won - justice would prevail.
You should join me Gaius... think of what we could do… we will take only the strongest soldiers, the brightest minds, the most faithful of servants… we will unleash them on the world...
His breath caught in his throat as he bowed to Celest, knowing he'd not hidden the odd grimace the gesture brought him; he'd been wounded before, and the hurt was not all that great - a dull thudding inside his chest, an ache that seemed to crawl down his arm and sapped his energy. The gesture should not have tired him so, he mused, letting an arm rest around Cage's shoulder to bear his weight.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he tried to take a calming breath, as much to steady himself as to regain his composure - the moments killer dragging on as his chest refused to comply, the muscles feeling as if he were bound with tight-iron.
The ache in his chest did not matter, just as any other wound would not, he thought to himself - the whispers inside him would not cease and they were of far greater concern.
How much blood already covers your hands?
17 February 2009 @ 08:50 pm
15 February 2009 @ 08:31 pm
The hedge itself recoiled from him as he entered it, vines and thorns culing backwards as if to accomodate the massive bulk of the draconic's shadow-form; the tips of branch and vine singing from the wave upon wave of heat and anger that rolled off his scaled skin in visable waves.
No good deed goes unpunished
No act of charity goes unresented
No good deed goes unpunished
That's my new creed
My road of good intentions
Led where such roads always lead
No good deed
Goes unpunished!
His claws tore into the vines, regardless of the blood that flowed from his palms where the hedge tore him. The haze was on him, and Gaius knew that there would be no peace in him until it was resolved - until he'd spent the anger and rage out of him like some physical fuel. Some aspect of his mind, a yet human thing, recoiled at the rage that tore through him; the pounding of his dragon's blood in his ears all but drowning out his own screams of frustration and anger.
One question haunts and hurts
Too much, too much to mention:
Was I really seeking good
Or just seeking attention?
Is that all good deeds are
When looked at with an ice-cold eye?
If that's all good deeds are
Maybe that's the reason why
That yet human part of his was uncertain if it was only Ryver's death that angered him, or the impotant anger that roared through him while yet bound under an oath of goodly neighbors to Nabudakai. The urge in his had not been just, or true - but it had been right. He did not believe the other Lost's words, truthful or not, only that Ryver had died because of Nabudakai's manipulations of a fool and idiot.
Or was it perhaps the breaking of a trust - a not even as yet formed agreement and alliance in childhood pique from Celest, of whom he expected better? His word on it was final - Nabudakai was not welcome in the Freehold of Rollings Storms, and if Falcon would find fit to overrule him again, he would also find fit to find himself a new Captain of the Guard.
No good deed goes unpunished
All helpful urges should be circumvented
No good deed goes unpunished
Sure, I meant well -
Well, look at what well-meant did:
All right, enough - so be it
So be it, then:
Let all Oz be agreed
I'm wicked through and through
Since I can not succeed
Fiyero, saving you
I promise no good deed
Will I attempt to do again
Ever again
No good deed
Will I do again!
No good deed goes unpunished
No act of charity goes unresented
No good deed goes unpunished
That's my new creed
My road of good intentions
Led where such roads always lead
No good deed
Goes unpunished!
His claws tore into the vines, regardless of the blood that flowed from his palms where the hedge tore him. The haze was on him, and Gaius knew that there would be no peace in him until it was resolved - until he'd spent the anger and rage out of him like some physical fuel. Some aspect of his mind, a yet human thing, recoiled at the rage that tore through him; the pounding of his dragon's blood in his ears all but drowning out his own screams of frustration and anger.
One question haunts and hurts
Too much, too much to mention:
Was I really seeking good
Or just seeking attention?
Is that all good deeds are
When looked at with an ice-cold eye?
If that's all good deeds are
Maybe that's the reason why
That yet human part of his was uncertain if it was only Ryver's death that angered him, or the impotant anger that roared through him while yet bound under an oath of goodly neighbors to Nabudakai. The urge in his had not been just, or true - but it had been right. He did not believe the other Lost's words, truthful or not, only that Ryver had died because of Nabudakai's manipulations of a fool and idiot.
Or was it perhaps the breaking of a trust - a not even as yet formed agreement and alliance in childhood pique from Celest, of whom he expected better? His word on it was final - Nabudakai was not welcome in the Freehold of Rollings Storms, and if Falcon would find fit to overrule him again, he would also find fit to find himself a new Captain of the Guard.
No good deed goes unpunished
All helpful urges should be circumvented
No good deed goes unpunished
Sure, I meant well -
Well, look at what well-meant did:
All right, enough - so be it
So be it, then:
Let all Oz be agreed
I'm wicked through and through
Since I can not succeed
Fiyero, saving you
I promise no good deed
Will I attempt to do again
Ever again
No good deed
Will I do again!
26 December 2008 @ 02:28 pm
I turn the computer off with a resounding click - the email unsent. As much as I might want to email Dub and ask him if he ever got tired of being a dick, it would not be productive, and certainly wouldn't be prudent to go out of my way to antagonize a man I'll be fighting side-by-side with; but really, I do have to wonder when something eventually will humble him.
For the first time in a long while, I feel excited... anxious. The Freehold has held a victory, and a rightly earned one at that. That Sable should have arrived while I was away seems only to be the gods mocking me, or Sable's knowledge of timing - regardless, I did not need to save them, for they saved themselves. We always knew that Sable could not be bested by sword or claw, but only by words and wit - which Edria and Kalen hold in spades. That they were at risk makes me want to rage, but that they safe came home stills such feeling.
It is not a victory for me, but one for the freehold. In either case, the Other is gone, and our hold is safe from his machinations. Personal involvement, or lack thereof, aside - I call that a good thing.
Kalen... Kalen, I think, is starting to get better. To hear her acknowledge that for her to get better, she has to choose to get better, is the first step in helping her see clearly again. The night of our oathswearing comes, and while she knows we are not reswearing, I doubt she knows the real reason behind it now. It is as much for me, as it is for her - my brother's words, quiet in his stoney way, that I am standing in the way... I hope that some happiness will come from this, but I do not look forwards to Holly's party of revelations and resolutions, as a result.
But Inverness... the feel of campaign. Oh yes, this is something that I simple and uncomplicated - something that is like the feel of a well worn sword in my hand. I do not underestimate the danger, but it is something I know, something that was as much born in me before I was taken, and bred in me after. It is not messy social ties, questions of mind and clarity to which there is no answer, or the insanity of the north-easts politics that apparently thinks me a Gentry taken form.
This is war. It is a battlefield I know, and a people who need my help, and my order's help. As much as I enjoy peace, and abhor the gloryhounding that comes from some of our fellows in the campaign outside the Praesidium... it feels good to be needed.
For the first time in a long while, I feel excited... anxious. The Freehold has held a victory, and a rightly earned one at that. That Sable should have arrived while I was away seems only to be the gods mocking me, or Sable's knowledge of timing - regardless, I did not need to save them, for they saved themselves. We always knew that Sable could not be bested by sword or claw, but only by words and wit - which Edria and Kalen hold in spades. That they were at risk makes me want to rage, but that they safe came home stills such feeling.
It is not a victory for me, but one for the freehold. In either case, the Other is gone, and our hold is safe from his machinations. Personal involvement, or lack thereof, aside - I call that a good thing.
Kalen... Kalen, I think, is starting to get better. To hear her acknowledge that for her to get better, she has to choose to get better, is the first step in helping her see clearly again. The night of our oathswearing comes, and while she knows we are not reswearing, I doubt she knows the real reason behind it now. It is as much for me, as it is for her - my brother's words, quiet in his stoney way, that I am standing in the way... I hope that some happiness will come from this, but I do not look forwards to Holly's party of revelations and resolutions, as a result.
But Inverness... the feel of campaign. Oh yes, this is something that I simple and uncomplicated - something that is like the feel of a well worn sword in my hand. I do not underestimate the danger, but it is something I know, something that was as much born in me before I was taken, and bred in me after. It is not messy social ties, questions of mind and clarity to which there is no answer, or the insanity of the north-easts politics that apparently thinks me a Gentry taken form.
This is war. It is a battlefield I know, and a people who need my help, and my order's help. As much as I enjoy peace, and abhor the gloryhounding that comes from some of our fellows in the campaign outside the Praesidium... it feels good to be needed.
11 October 2008 @ 08:27 pm
My shoulder aches where Jack bit me, and yet it is not the ache I seek to quell with the scotch that slowly warms on my desk. It is... a more elusive one, an ache caught somewhere between Kalen's face when I told her I thought we should not re-swear our Oath at the end of Autumn... beteen the look of Edria's face as she terrorized the Freehold into heeding her, at last coming into herself as Queen even as she despises doing so... and the look on Ugati's face as he asked me if I would watch over her this time.
I can still hear her words, my lady Queen, asking me what happens now that I have failed. I can still see the haunted look in Ugati's eyes as he longed to touch her, and settled only for her shoulder. I can still see Jack, as strong as I am and faster, clawing his way towards me... and seeing Kalen as the first thing I saw upon waking.
Earning Jack's respect is a fine thing, for certain... but everyone who watched, and more importantly myself, know that I lost. He may have fallen moments after the fight... but I fell first.
Not strong enough. Not fast enough. Too old... too slow. I cannot offer these people a hope they do not want - I cannot give them a safe place that they go running from at every opportunity.
My words fall on deaf ears. And now Kalen will leave, slipping into the night because she is strong enough to know that we must do this... only I wonder if it is too late, already, and the wife I have taken will only be so distant to me now? She wishes a hero... and has married only an old and tired man.
I can still hear her words, my lady Queen, asking me what happens now that I have failed. I can still see the haunted look in Ugati's eyes as he longed to touch her, and settled only for her shoulder. I can still see Jack, as strong as I am and faster, clawing his way towards me... and seeing Kalen as the first thing I saw upon waking.
Earning Jack's respect is a fine thing, for certain... but everyone who watched, and more importantly myself, know that I lost. He may have fallen moments after the fight... but I fell first.
Not strong enough. Not fast enough. Too old... too slow. I cannot offer these people a hope they do not want - I cannot give them a safe place that they go running from at every opportunity.
My words fall on deaf ears. And now Kalen will leave, slipping into the night because she is strong enough to know that we must do this... only I wonder if it is too late, already, and the wife I have taken will only be so distant to me now? She wishes a hero... and has married only an old and tired man.
11 October 2008 @ 08:23 pm
OOC: With credit to Heather Dale for lyrics.
IC:
So here I am again, I think I've sinned
I can't exactly place the how or why.
I tried to be a husband and a friend
I never dreamed she'd give this winged reply.
The one I told you all about
The pretty who came here, so devout
She told me all the things she felt she'd lost
And all the things she feared to be without.
I told her all the things that I've been told
Those comforts that I took when I was young
But still, I think she only saw me old
I don't know what I said to make her run.
So here I am again, I think I've sinned
I can't exactly place the how or why
I tried to be a husband and friend
I never dreamed she'd give this winged reply.
She's given up the veil, the vows she'd sworn
Abandoned every effort to conform
Without a word to anyone she's gone her way alone
A dove escaping back into the storm
I tried to show her I could understand
But still she chose to leave me for the cold
It makes me doubt the hero that I am
Gods forgive me all that I've been told.
So here I am again, I think I've sinned
I can't exactly place the how or why
I tried to be a lover and a friend
I never dreamed she'd give this winged reply.
IC:
So here I am again, I think I've sinned
I can't exactly place the how or why.
I tried to be a husband and a friend
I never dreamed she'd give this winged reply.
The one I told you all about
The pretty who came here, so devout
She told me all the things she felt she'd lost
And all the things she feared to be without.
I told her all the things that I've been told
Those comforts that I took when I was young
But still, I think she only saw me old
I don't know what I said to make her run.
So here I am again, I think I've sinned
I can't exactly place the how or why
I tried to be a husband and friend
I never dreamed she'd give this winged reply.
She's given up the veil, the vows she'd sworn
Abandoned every effort to conform
Without a word to anyone she's gone her way alone
A dove escaping back into the storm
I tried to show her I could understand
But still she chose to leave me for the cold
It makes me doubt the hero that I am
Gods forgive me all that I've been told.
So here I am again, I think I've sinned
I can't exactly place the how or why
I tried to be a lover and a friend
I never dreamed she'd give this winged reply.
10 October 2008 @ 11:08 am
I am awake earlier than normal, today - the restlessness in me driving me from my bed and leaving my wife asleep under its covers. She, herself, is an early riser and yet her horses need not be fed for another hour. The cool dawn clings to my scales as I move, testing weight and balance of sword and shield in the morbid orchestra of movement that is my attack and parry.
Gods above, I should not be this nervous. It was a risky bet, admittedly, challenging Jack in lieu of Jack challenging Ryver - but it is not for Jack to decide by force of arms or otherwise if Ryver can stand among the Crimson Court; that is Summer's choice, alone. And so I must now prove to Jack, in the only language he understands, why he is not the one to choose on whose shoulders the mantle of summer rests; the language of broken bones and spilt blood; the vernacular of violence.
I feel old... old and slow, and I cannot wholly place why. Logically, I know that most of these feelings rest only in my own mind, and yet... and yet I cannot help but think of Kei returning from the duel with the Highwayman - the hero returning to the accolades of my Freehold. I cannot shake the words of Drake within my ear, placing himself into self exile in the north... only now to return. I cannot mistake the look in Ugati's eyes... and the youth that now rests easily on his brow.
It is a cunning sort of trap I have devised, and entirely of my own making. On one hand a woman I can no longer have, because I have given my word, and on the other a woman I cannot wholly have because I cannot wholly devote myself to her - the fear in Edria that sits as such a deep-rooted part of her... that fear her Gentry placed in her, plague upon him, and that I have not helped.
This world is meant for the young and adventurous... not the old and cautious, like myself. I am a relic of an ideal - a thing once looked upon, but now forgotten in the modern fashions and trends. I can only wonder if anyone else in the freehold understands why I went after Sweet Alice... why the fetch now lay as a broken series of pipes and tubing - certainly, there was the excuse that she had attacked members of the Freehold... but I should not delude myself that it was anything but an excuse. It felt good to go and do something again... to try and bring back some victory to the freehold and the Queen - only to have it overshadowed again and lost in the mixture of Ryver's anger, and my own foolishness for leading another fetch directly back to our Hallow.
Tomorrow... tomorrow morning I see if I've still enough strength left in me to teach these young courtiers that they are not the monsters they think thesmelves... and if I've the will to have the conversation with Kalen that has been months in the making.
Gods above, I should not be this nervous. It was a risky bet, admittedly, challenging Jack in lieu of Jack challenging Ryver - but it is not for Jack to decide by force of arms or otherwise if Ryver can stand among the Crimson Court; that is Summer's choice, alone. And so I must now prove to Jack, in the only language he understands, why he is not the one to choose on whose shoulders the mantle of summer rests; the language of broken bones and spilt blood; the vernacular of violence.
I feel old... old and slow, and I cannot wholly place why. Logically, I know that most of these feelings rest only in my own mind, and yet... and yet I cannot help but think of Kei returning from the duel with the Highwayman - the hero returning to the accolades of my Freehold. I cannot shake the words of Drake within my ear, placing himself into self exile in the north... only now to return. I cannot mistake the look in Ugati's eyes... and the youth that now rests easily on his brow.
It is a cunning sort of trap I have devised, and entirely of my own making. On one hand a woman I can no longer have, because I have given my word, and on the other a woman I cannot wholly have because I cannot wholly devote myself to her - the fear in Edria that sits as such a deep-rooted part of her... that fear her Gentry placed in her, plague upon him, and that I have not helped.
This world is meant for the young and adventurous... not the old and cautious, like myself. I am a relic of an ideal - a thing once looked upon, but now forgotten in the modern fashions and trends. I can only wonder if anyone else in the freehold understands why I went after Sweet Alice... why the fetch now lay as a broken series of pipes and tubing - certainly, there was the excuse that she had attacked members of the Freehold... but I should not delude myself that it was anything but an excuse. It felt good to go and do something again... to try and bring back some victory to the freehold and the Queen - only to have it overshadowed again and lost in the mixture of Ryver's anger, and my own foolishness for leading another fetch directly back to our Hallow.
Tomorrow... tomorrow morning I see if I've still enough strength left in me to teach these young courtiers that they are not the monsters they think thesmelves... and if I've the will to have the conversation with Kalen that has been months in the making.
17 September 2008 @ 01:50 pm
It is the roaring of my mantle in my ears that breaks my focus, first. The straining of muscles, long since honed to fighting edge, as I tried to meditate. Oh, the roaring of the heat around me, a match to the roaring that I am so desperately trying to contain.
It used to be easier - it always is to simply not feel, and thus not have to worry about feeling too much. I made that choice, however, and as my mantle, my temper, has grown - so too have I tried to grow my ability to contain it.
I want to hurt him. I want to beat him until the blood runs from his face and body, drenching gore across his one broken horn like some macabre trophy. And I loathe how much I want to hurt him because it makes me as bad as he is - it makes me little better than the majority of the Lost I loathe.
He reminds me, so clearly, of what it is I hate... I detest in Lost; of what it is that disgusts me and takes every measure of my composure to conceal. He revels in the shit that the Gentry put him in, dances amid the muck and mire until the clot of it chokes and clogs the very spirit from a man.
Who was he, before, I wonder? Was he some craven idiot? Some coward or weakling that he has become the bully that he now is? I can stand Jack at least moreso - he accepts what he is and makes no pretense of such, but Ox... oh, Ox. You are far worse - you get in close, especially to my wife, become her only true friend that she feels she has here, and only then do you let your true colors show.
I am a private man, by nature... a mixture of my upbringing, my durance, and my life - something Edria's commented on when I do not show affection in public. And yet, it seems, I am forced into the public arena because the majority of my family, and those I would have called friend, cannot seem to pull their thrice damned heads from their gods-be-damned asses long enough to consider their words before they speak!
Parasites, the lot of them, my kind. Feeding off of other's pain in the vain hopes of a moment's distraction from their own. As if they can be just wicked enough, just venemous enough, that no one will realize that they are pained, as well; that they are as much a victim as anyone.
It is days like these... people like this... that almost make me regret my oath, and my duty - that I could but let them burn in the ashes of their own bile and disgusting creation.
So for now, I will sit. I will meditate, andlet the summer winds roar through my ears while I try to temper my desires with the things that are right; even if I try to set an example that few notice, and fewer still heed.
It used to be easier - it always is to simply not feel, and thus not have to worry about feeling too much. I made that choice, however, and as my mantle, my temper, has grown - so too have I tried to grow my ability to contain it.
I want to hurt him. I want to beat him until the blood runs from his face and body, drenching gore across his one broken horn like some macabre trophy. And I loathe how much I want to hurt him because it makes me as bad as he is - it makes me little better than the majority of the Lost I loathe.
He reminds me, so clearly, of what it is I hate... I detest in Lost; of what it is that disgusts me and takes every measure of my composure to conceal. He revels in the shit that the Gentry put him in, dances amid the muck and mire until the clot of it chokes and clogs the very spirit from a man.
Who was he, before, I wonder? Was he some craven idiot? Some coward or weakling that he has become the bully that he now is? I can stand Jack at least moreso - he accepts what he is and makes no pretense of such, but Ox... oh, Ox. You are far worse - you get in close, especially to my wife, become her only true friend that she feels she has here, and only then do you let your true colors show.
I am a private man, by nature... a mixture of my upbringing, my durance, and my life - something Edria's commented on when I do not show affection in public. And yet, it seems, I am forced into the public arena because the majority of my family, and those I would have called friend, cannot seem to pull their thrice damned heads from their gods-be-damned asses long enough to consider their words before they speak!
Parasites, the lot of them, my kind. Feeding off of other's pain in the vain hopes of a moment's distraction from their own. As if they can be just wicked enough, just venemous enough, that no one will realize that they are pained, as well; that they are as much a victim as anyone.
It is days like these... people like this... that almost make me regret my oath, and my duty - that I could but let them burn in the ashes of their own bile and disgusting creation.
So for now, I will sit. I will meditate, andlet the summer winds roar through my ears while I try to temper my desires with the things that are right; even if I try to set an example that few notice, and fewer still heed.
02 September 2008 @ 11:42 am
I should not have yelled at her.
In truth, it had surprised me to see her sitting there, the wounds removed from her body, but not her eyes. Oh those eyes, not unlike the cow-eyed Juno, gazing with a want and need that fed into bitter fires as she sought after her husband. I do not know what it is she saw through the windows of Youthful Springs, only what she told me - that the rules of their chess game had been broken, that Johann had tried to kill her in his madness, and I was not there to defend her.
She tells me that the world cannot expect me to be perfect... to be everyone, and to save everyone - and yet I should have at least been there for her, to save her, instead of Aaron. Hindsight is a perfected vision, is it not? It all seemed a game, a learning experience for Zoe and Aretas - a way to learn the powers and gifts of the various Lost - who had what, and who was more skilled. I knew their eventual target was the Highwayman... and not us - and yet he still walks, and my lady-wife was near killed.
Because I was outside, talking with Kalen.
I have resigned myself to not know peace in this matter. I am caught between promises and pledges, at least until midwinter, when the oath between Kalen and I expires. And yet, is that the way to bring peace to this? Clearly, neither of them will, or can, do so on their own with the other. Hurt and envy on either side of me, where I wished to see only understanding and acceptance.
I understand, even if she thinks I do not, why Edria acts as she does - the constant and over-riding fear that the one time she needs me, I shant be there. I understand the anger inside Kalen that drives her tongue to careless words that are misunderstood and misinterpreted.
I understand... and I accept. But where is the same, in return? Where is the understanding that I am flesh and bone, and not some ideal to which she attributes? Certainly, she says she can cope, she can endure, and shall for the sake of me - but acceptance?
This will kill the three of us if I let it. And yet it seems anathema to me to sever such ties with Kalen, to throw what has been the norm for years into the chaos of the unknown - and yet I made a promise, and the ring weighs heavy on my finger.
Kalen said that the Goddess seems to target me - my wedding to the maiden as Edria, attended by the mother as Kalen, and haunted by the Crone of Seline.
To hell with your pagan goddesses, shieldmate - if this is the enlightenment they bring - then to hell with them, and all the rest.
In truth, it had surprised me to see her sitting there, the wounds removed from her body, but not her eyes. Oh those eyes, not unlike the cow-eyed Juno, gazing with a want and need that fed into bitter fires as she sought after her husband. I do not know what it is she saw through the windows of Youthful Springs, only what she told me - that the rules of their chess game had been broken, that Johann had tried to kill her in his madness, and I was not there to defend her.
She tells me that the world cannot expect me to be perfect... to be everyone, and to save everyone - and yet I should have at least been there for her, to save her, instead of Aaron. Hindsight is a perfected vision, is it not? It all seemed a game, a learning experience for Zoe and Aretas - a way to learn the powers and gifts of the various Lost - who had what, and who was more skilled. I knew their eventual target was the Highwayman... and not us - and yet he still walks, and my lady-wife was near killed.
Because I was outside, talking with Kalen.
I have resigned myself to not know peace in this matter. I am caught between promises and pledges, at least until midwinter, when the oath between Kalen and I expires. And yet, is that the way to bring peace to this? Clearly, neither of them will, or can, do so on their own with the other. Hurt and envy on either side of me, where I wished to see only understanding and acceptance.
I understand, even if she thinks I do not, why Edria acts as she does - the constant and over-riding fear that the one time she needs me, I shant be there. I understand the anger inside Kalen that drives her tongue to careless words that are misunderstood and misinterpreted.
I understand... and I accept. But where is the same, in return? Where is the understanding that I am flesh and bone, and not some ideal to which she attributes? Certainly, she says she can cope, she can endure, and shall for the sake of me - but acceptance?
This will kill the three of us if I let it. And yet it seems anathema to me to sever such ties with Kalen, to throw what has been the norm for years into the chaos of the unknown - and yet I made a promise, and the ring weighs heavy on my finger.
Kalen said that the Goddess seems to target me - my wedding to the maiden as Edria, attended by the mother as Kalen, and haunted by the Crone of Seline.
To hell with your pagan goddesses, shieldmate - if this is the enlightenment they bring - then to hell with them, and all the rest.
