The question was complicated, but the answer could not have been more simple; and yet at the same time it seemed almost impossible to explain. To Glen it was so obvious, because how he felt about her was an irrefutable truth; but to Saidra it was some confusing mistake, some error that needed to be rectified.
"Do you remember how this began?" he asked quietly. "Us, I mean," he clarified. It was a memory that in the past would have been a hair's breadth from his mind, and yet these past seasons he had buried it as far out of reach as he could manage. He had to search for it; for the tavern; for that night; for the aching shoulder, arrow wound still fresh in his flesh; for the thief that had crept into his room, armour abandoned for something loose and flowing, more feminine than anything he had seen her wear before - save for the ball gown at the tournament in Syliras of course, though that was another memory entirely.
He had taken an arrow for her that day; stepped into the archer's path so that she wouldn't be distracted as her skills assaulted the locks. He had thought nothing of it at the time: that was his role in their company, a big brutish shield of meat to ensure that those with the more valuable skills survived as long as they needed to. It was perhaps more reckless than it needed to be, but that was his way of things, particularly with how protective he felt of the Inartan girl. For some reason though, that night she had decided that this instance was worthy of greater recognition. Some vestige of her Inarta heritage lingering in her memory inspired her to show her gratitude as it were; Glen had never been the kind of man who had the moral fortitude to decline such things. It had given him pause when he had discovered that he was to be her first, but Saidra had insisted that it was merely an act; first or not made no difference, and better him than some stranger, no? It was a transaction, a gesture; for her, at least. But for Glen it had changed things.
He had fallen for her slowly, and then all at once. One isolated night had become two, and then more; the nights where they were together in secret were awaited anxiously, and then soon it was the ones where they were apart that became the exception. Glen had never needed anyone before, and had never had any difficulty in finding someone sufficient to fill the space in his bed; but in time it was only her, or the other half of his mattress lay cold and empty; no one else could compare. She hadn't understood love when they had begun, hadn't understood the hows and whats and whys, and yet somehow she had still managed to make a respectable man out of him. He was a better - or at least less worse - man for having her in his life.
It was all so obvious to him. It was so clear that even death was not a price too high, and he would pay it willingly for her. It was an unshakeable truth that a life without her was no life at all.
"You became something precious to me," he explained as best he could, trying to find terms that Saidra might be able to understand. "Not precious like a jewel, but precious like the sun. Without you, everything seems dark and meaningless."
He frowned. That feel right. A thought occurred, something that perhaps she might be able to understand. At last he took a few steps closer, slid into the chair opposite hers, reached across the table to take hold of her hands. His eyes were not quite eager, but insistent, desperate that she listen, and that she understand. "No, not like Syna; precious like the sea.". He was Svefra after all, and Saidra knew that; knew how much the oceans were a fundamental part of who he was, just the same as she. Perhaps that was something she could grasp. "Yes, you may have brought me to harm, and put me in it's way. So have the oceans. I've near-drowned more times than I can count. But the answer is not to flee. The oceans do not shy away from my presence to keep me safe. I do not expect them to. I do not blame the sea for what it cannot control."
His fingers ran gently across the back of Saidra's gloved hand. "I blame the storm, and the god who conjured it. The sea is not at fault for that which she cannot control, and I will not forsake her when she is blameless."
He turned his gaze downwards, focusing on her hands. He knew what hid beneath the fabric that shielded her hands; knew from painful experience everything that the angry red web of markings meant. It had never bothered him. Never phased him. It was part of who she was for as long as he had known her, just as the gnosis of Laviku was part of him; the knowledge that it was there, and the knowledge of what it could do, did not make Saidra any less who she was. To Saidra that attitude made him someone special; to Saidra, that was a kind of someone he was glad to be.
"The ocean is part of who I am. Without it, I am less." He allowed himself to gaze into her eyes for one fleeting moment more. "Without you? I am nothing."
"Do you remember how this began?" he asked quietly. "Us, I mean," he clarified. It was a memory that in the past would have been a hair's breadth from his mind, and yet these past seasons he had buried it as far out of reach as he could manage. He had to search for it; for the tavern; for that night; for the aching shoulder, arrow wound still fresh in his flesh; for the thief that had crept into his room, armour abandoned for something loose and flowing, more feminine than anything he had seen her wear before - save for the ball gown at the tournament in Syliras of course, though that was another memory entirely.
He had taken an arrow for her that day; stepped into the archer's path so that she wouldn't be distracted as her skills assaulted the locks. He had thought nothing of it at the time: that was his role in their company, a big brutish shield of meat to ensure that those with the more valuable skills survived as long as they needed to. It was perhaps more reckless than it needed to be, but that was his way of things, particularly with how protective he felt of the Inartan girl. For some reason though, that night she had decided that this instance was worthy of greater recognition. Some vestige of her Inarta heritage lingering in her memory inspired her to show her gratitude as it were; Glen had never been the kind of man who had the moral fortitude to decline such things. It had given him pause when he had discovered that he was to be her first, but Saidra had insisted that it was merely an act; first or not made no difference, and better him than some stranger, no? It was a transaction, a gesture; for her, at least. But for Glen it had changed things.
He had fallen for her slowly, and then all at once. One isolated night had become two, and then more; the nights where they were together in secret were awaited anxiously, and then soon it was the ones where they were apart that became the exception. Glen had never needed anyone before, and had never had any difficulty in finding someone sufficient to fill the space in his bed; but in time it was only her, or the other half of his mattress lay cold and empty; no one else could compare. She hadn't understood love when they had begun, hadn't understood the hows and whats and whys, and yet somehow she had still managed to make a respectable man out of him. He was a better - or at least less worse - man for having her in his life.
It was all so obvious to him. It was so clear that even death was not a price too high, and he would pay it willingly for her. It was an unshakeable truth that a life without her was no life at all.
"You became something precious to me," he explained as best he could, trying to find terms that Saidra might be able to understand. "Not precious like a jewel, but precious like the sun. Without you, everything seems dark and meaningless."
He frowned. That feel right. A thought occurred, something that perhaps she might be able to understand. At last he took a few steps closer, slid into the chair opposite hers, reached across the table to take hold of her hands. His eyes were not quite eager, but insistent, desperate that she listen, and that she understand. "No, not like Syna; precious like the sea.". He was Svefra after all, and Saidra knew that; knew how much the oceans were a fundamental part of who he was, just the same as she. Perhaps that was something she could grasp. "Yes, you may have brought me to harm, and put me in it's way. So have the oceans. I've near-drowned more times than I can count. But the answer is not to flee. The oceans do not shy away from my presence to keep me safe. I do not expect them to. I do not blame the sea for what it cannot control."
His fingers ran gently across the back of Saidra's gloved hand. "I blame the storm, and the god who conjured it. The sea is not at fault for that which she cannot control, and I will not forsake her when she is blameless."
He turned his gaze downwards, focusing on her hands. He knew what hid beneath the fabric that shielded her hands; knew from painful experience everything that the angry red web of markings meant. It had never bothered him. Never phased him. It was part of who she was for as long as he had known her, just as the gnosis of Laviku was part of him; the knowledge that it was there, and the knowledge of what it could do, did not make Saidra any less who she was. To Saidra that attitude made him someone special; to Saidra, that was a kind of someone he was glad to be.
"The ocean is part of who I am. Without it, I am less." He allowed himself to gaze into her eyes for one fleeting moment more. "Without you? I am nothing."
.
Common | Fratava | Nari
