like a heartbeat drives you mad, in the stillness of remembering what you had, and what you lost
There are several voices that comes and go along the gentle breath of the afternoon breeze, with the soft whispered promise of refining their combat and diplomacy aptitude – as pleasant as a wayward siren and her song, but her mind is elsewhere. Her darkened gaze studies the hollow of his cheek, the ridge along his gold-flecked eyes, her own narrowing for a moment as the gears seemingly turn and grind within the deep confine of his impenetrable mind. It is difficult to know what he might be thinking – he is often so quiet, so guarded, and she is left uncertain.
Within her, their unborn daughter stirs and stretches – a surge of movement, spurred by her own sense of her mother’s uneasiness. There are voices – voices all around her, but she is barely listening - something is amiss; something bubbling beneath a usually stoic surface - and then his rumbling voice rises above the soft utterings of the many that stand before him, as smooth as whiskey yet as rough as gravel. Her eyes never leave the outline of his face, or the light glistening within his dark eyes as his focus is settled upon the one nearest to her.
Lucrezia, Tephra needs someone like you at the helm - and suddenly, the dawning of realization settles beneath her skin, leaving her befuddled and stunned in the very same breath. He had mentioned nothing of it to her; not even a breath of doubt in his own leadership. The fractured, broken man before her is no longer weighed down by his proverbial crown of thorns – and instead, its heavy burden now rests upon another’s temple.
A faint nod is given as a familiar, soft voice interrupts the brief reprieve of silence between his heavy words and her own. Lucrezia's vow is strong and unyielding, and though untested, Ellyse knows that she will be as Magnus was – a pillar of strength; a beacon of hope. Her dark hazel eyes search her seemingly endless pallid eyes, and with a solemn nod, with a faint smile (though forced – she hardly smiled, and it felt uncomfortable and foreign) tugging at the corner of her whiskered mouth, she emerges from her own silence.
”You will do well to lead us, Lucrezia,” a pause, her gaze never leaving hers. She could not bear to look at Magnus now, a shred of betrayal quivering in the marrow of her bones. ”and though I cannot speak for everyone, I have faith in that.” An uncomfortable shift (the weight of her stirring daughter grating on her nerves), and finally, ”I will serve you in whatever way you see fit, to whatever capacity.”
