[ There was a pause, a stirring of leaves and brush around them, and Aymeric's expression shuttered. He turned away serenely. The heat of exertion had left him, but the sunlight filtering through the remains of the smoke still made it too damned hot in the clearing, if Cain was going to stay and wait. Aymeric tugged off his gauntlets, one by one, and dropped them on the ground by his sword.
None of it was could be refuted. Marriage was a world apart from him; he would always be the outsider looking in on it. It was meant for people who put their families above the city, and he, of all people, could not do that. Perhaps, now that there was relative peace, he would never need to make that choice — or perhaps he would. Perfection would be someone who never asked it of him, never expected him to put aside his duties, who would go with him when the knights marched, if they liked, but would have the grace not to try and persuade him to stay behind. ]
Tell me nothing.
[ His voice was calm, almost light, false. He took off the heavy burnished clasp that kept his mud-caked coat in place, shrugged out of both, dropped them with the rest. ]
I trust you to return — and more than likely to find some success. You are — [ he shrugged out of his tabard, leaving himself absurdly half-dressed in a plain fitted shirt, breeches studded with mail where his greaves left a gap over his thighs, and his sollerets, gleaming in the light. ] —brilliant, capable, determined, pragmatic yourself—
[ He sank down, then, in the shadow of the dead bird's wing where it had buckled and lay still, with his legs askew and his arms propped on his knees. The breeze stirred bright feathers over him as he looked back at Cain. ]
no subject
None of it was could be refuted. Marriage was a world apart from him; he would always be the outsider looking in on it. It was meant for people who put their families above the city, and he, of all people, could not do that. Perhaps, now that there was relative peace, he would never need to make that choice — or perhaps he would. Perfection would be someone who never asked it of him, never expected him to put aside his duties, who would go with him when the knights marched, if they liked, but would have the grace not to try and persuade him to stay behind. ]
Tell me nothing.
[ His voice was calm, almost light, false. He took off the heavy burnished clasp that kept his mud-caked coat in place, shrugged out of both, dropped them with the rest. ]
I trust you to return — and more than likely to find some success. You are — [ he shrugged out of his tabard, leaving himself absurdly half-dressed in a plain fitted shirt, breeches studded with mail where his greaves left a gap over his thighs, and his sollerets, gleaming in the light. ] —brilliant, capable, determined, pragmatic yourself—
[ He sank down, then, in the shadow of the dead bird's wing where it had buckled and lay still, with his legs askew and his arms propped on his knees. The breeze stirred bright feathers over him as he looked back at Cain. ]
And I admire you terribly.