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apostatised) wrote2008-06-11 10:18 pm
apostatised) wrote2008-06-11 10:18 pm
Entry tags:
[log] you reduced me to cosmic tears
"I'll learn. It can't hurt anything."
Aphrael: *plays a questioning trill on her flutes*
Martel: *has the most epic facial expression right now, jsyk* ...well.
Aphrael: *sighs slightly and takes the flutes down, well, if he's going to be like that* What can't hurt anything?
written withgrasstainedfeet , originally posted here.
Aphrael: *plays a questioning trill on her flutes*
Martel: *has the most epic facial expression right now, jsyk* ...well.
Aphrael: *sighs slightly and takes the flutes down, well, if he's going to be like that* What can't hurt anything?
"It seems a little absurd to say when you're--" He makes a helpless gesture. "Standing right there."
...but after an awkward moment of 'oh god', he mutters, "I've been researching ways of contacting...ah. You. I can't read the language most of the books available to me are written in."
Isn't that always the way, man? English and Elenic. They sound the same...
This typist has been seeing the muse around, and could not resist any longer... especially the curiosity, concurs with the switching.
"Well, that's a little surprising." Amused? Yes, she is. Wary? Well, yes, a little. Her fingers reach and almost touch side of his face. "If flattering. You do not remember what you were taught?" Or maybe he does... just at heart. Since trying seems to have worked.
Martel is torn between flinching back from her hand and leaning towards her; he does neither, dropping his gaze. (Is it respectful or just ashamed?)
"I was stripped of that," he murmurs -- deep voice, soft spoken, matter of fact in the eminently logical way of Elenes the world over. He could almost laugh. "I thought perhaps--" Thought what, exactly? That if he begged, pleaded, got down on his knees and swore he means this redemption business (even if he flinches away from the word) she might give it back?
...yep, that was pretty much his plan. He's a little thrown.
"I know the difference between being loved and being forgiven," he says, carefully. "I don't expect the latter." Not from anyone who knew him before he died. "I thought I could convince you to give me the opportunity to try for the first."
Flute's eyes don't move away from his face as her head tilts to the side, watching him carefully. Her voice is gentle.
"It's not me you need to persuade into loving, Martel. It was your heart turning away that hurt those who used to be closest to you." Her hand slips down and into his, trying to soften the berating. "You'd choose differently now, for the future?"
Martel's hesitation is taught, trained, not his nature--a learned cynicism that comes with the choices he made in the past.
His fingers curl around her hand and he exhales, giving the question what he deems suitable consideration. It isn't that he's uncertain of his course--just afraid of failing it. And it's such a typical thing for Martel to pretend the things he can't do aren't as important as they are...
"I have chosen differently," he says, finally. "I can't undo what I did before; I know that. I lived and died with my choices. I don't intend to make the same mistakes again."
Of all the people he's spoken to since his death, Aphrael's probably the only one who understands how difficult it is for him to do this, to say this.
Still. He never has liked to do things the easy way.
It's the tightening of his fingers around hers that lets her features relax. It has been a long time since Martel's allowed himself affection for her - thus granting her power over him in turn. A long and winding journey that ended so sadly for so many.
There's also one sure way of failing. And that's not trying in the first place.
"No, what was done cannot be taken back. But what you have yet to do - what you do for those who..." It probably won't be the way Sparhawk and Martel had been, not without the youth and all the common experiences. But he still needs to let people in. "...those who care for you and you care for, that is all up to you. Will you let yourself make bonds that you won't want to break?"
The way neither Sparhawk nor Sephrenia had severed the bonds to him, in the end. Despite everything. Even their own actions.
He wants to say, I didn't want to.
What he really means is I didn't think and not only does that change absolutely nothing, it's downright stupid. As...were a lot of the choices he made, frankly, not least of which the decision to lie firmly in the bed he'd made rather than swallow his pride and back down.
That, at least, he's making progress with, because he bites back any ridiculous protest to say instead, simple and sincere: "Yes."
It seems as though he's complicated a lot of things unnecessarily, and he'd really, really like to not bollocks this up right at the get go.
Martel had reasons, for the things he's done. Maybe she'll get to question those reasons. One day. But not this soon. Pressing into them while he's still hanging on the balance doesn't seem promising.
Instead, she smiles again, mirroring his sincerity. "Nice!" Her hand tightens around his once more and she nods. "I think we can give that a try. And see what happens." Why yes. She's a goddess. She can use up wither characters' lines.
There'll be other days, for further questions, for Martel's reasoning. It wasn't very good reasoning, but he's an Elene and they do have their own internal logic. For now, he's a little bit pole-axed.
Delighted. But pole-axed. She does have that effect on people sometimes.
"I can't ask for more than that," he says, and then despite himself laughs, as he's only really managed to recently, pulling the little goddess in closer if she'll let him and giving her a brief, affectionate press of lips to her hair.
He's not quite so demonstrative as others of her acquaintance -- and truly never has been -- but he means it when he is.
Yes, she's had enough interaction with Elenes, both her parents and the more... 'ordinary' variety, to know that he didn't go to the lengths he did just so. But recalling that logic too well? Well, not till he's established the practice of not following it!
Oh but a hug? Impulsive-honest-because-he-feels-like-i
When they pull back, the smile stays on her face, though her voice is careful. "Now... so we start from somewhere. How much do you remember? Of Styric, of the particular spells?"
"I'll bear it in mind," he says, the smile behind the words even when he's schooling his features back again. It's a start, not a solution, but all the same he feels somewhat less weighted than he did before she made her appearance.
Besides, impulsively honest gestures are some of the best Martel can make. If only to remind everyone (including himself) there was a man behind the monster.
He can't say he wasn't anticipating a question of this sort, and he considers how to respond. "I'm still fluent in the language," he says, finally, tackling the least complicated answer first. "I've kept in practice."
And as for the spells... "I'd be rusty," he admits, "but I remember what I was taught." Knowing him, it wouldn't take long to readjust. He was always a quick study; it was part of his downfall. Awkward.
"Do!" She's not having to school her features at all. It's other gods who use the story of the stray sheep, but, well. It sort of fits in this situation.
And yes. All of Sephrenia's 'dear ones' are Aphrael's too. Ever have been, and she does love them. And she could always see men behind their actions. Which is why she generally abstains from doing permanent things to people when they start doing nonsense.
Well, usually anyway. Besides, there are sometimes reasons to leavebig iron-clad brutes Knights borrowed from the Elene god to do things their way too.
They tend to do what they think necessary, but not too swiftly as not to afford time for a change of mind. Such as happened with Martel. And she's glad of this second chance.
"Oh. If you're rusty and make a mistake, I can kind of show up and suggest how it's supposed to be. Since they'll start getting through to me again anyway." Since magic spells are really prayers, and gods get to hear and answer them personally. And she's the god Pandions pray to.
Goddess.
She places her hand over his heart... and with a whisper of will opens up the severed connection.
As long as his spells are prayers that he means... and she doesn't significantly object to their goals...
He should be able to start using some magic again.
It may turn wrong, later. But death is a stern teacher. Loss, too. And if he messes up again, she'll be very, very disappointed. Kind of personally.
The words are whispered. "Welcome to your second chance, Martel."
"Aphrael, I do love you."
He says the words without thinking about them, without analyzing them, his hands covering hers. Beneath their hands, beneath the fabric and past the scar left by Sparhawk's sword, in a part of Martel a little less easy to define, the rush of reconnection is as staggering as the initial loss.
For vastly different reasons. If he weeps at all, the tears are a different kind to the last ones shed over this, and hopefully not too blatant; he'd be very embarrassed. Big stoic iron-clad brute.
Her smile is honest, and her eyes widen, suddenly intent and open on his as she answers truthfully, "I love you too."
The tears are nothing to surprise her nor think less of him; not when she can see why they come. She lifts her crude flutes again to her lips and plays a soft tune, both soothing and joyous.
And hopeful.
...but after an awkward moment of 'oh god', he mutters, "I've been researching ways of contacting...ah. You. I can't read the language most of the books available to me are written in."
Isn't that always the way, man? English and Elenic. They sound the same...
This typist has been seeing the muse around, and could not resist any longer... especially the curiosity, concurs with the switching.
"Well, that's a little surprising." Amused? Yes, she is. Wary? Well, yes, a little. Her fingers reach and almost touch side of his face. "If flattering. You do not remember what you were taught?" Or maybe he does... just at heart. Since trying seems to have worked.
Martel is torn between flinching back from her hand and leaning towards her; he does neither, dropping his gaze. (Is it respectful or just ashamed?)
"I was stripped of that," he murmurs -- deep voice, soft spoken, matter of fact in the eminently logical way of Elenes the world over. He could almost laugh. "I thought perhaps--" Thought what, exactly? That if he begged, pleaded, got down on his knees and swore he means this redemption business (even if he flinches away from the word) she might give it back?
...yep, that was pretty much his plan. He's a little thrown.
"I know the difference between being loved and being forgiven," he says, carefully. "I don't expect the latter." Not from anyone who knew him before he died. "I thought I could convince you to give me the opportunity to try for the first."
Flute's eyes don't move away from his face as her head tilts to the side, watching him carefully. Her voice is gentle.
"It's not me you need to persuade into loving, Martel. It was your heart turning away that hurt those who used to be closest to you." Her hand slips down and into his, trying to soften the berating. "You'd choose differently now, for the future?"
Martel's hesitation is taught, trained, not his nature--a learned cynicism that comes with the choices he made in the past.
His fingers curl around her hand and he exhales, giving the question what he deems suitable consideration. It isn't that he's uncertain of his course--just afraid of failing it. And it's such a typical thing for Martel to pretend the things he can't do aren't as important as they are...
"I have chosen differently," he says, finally. "I can't undo what I did before; I know that. I lived and died with my choices. I don't intend to make the same mistakes again."
Of all the people he's spoken to since his death, Aphrael's probably the only one who understands how difficult it is for him to do this, to say this.
Still. He never has liked to do things the easy way.
It's the tightening of his fingers around hers that lets her features relax. It has been a long time since Martel's allowed himself affection for her - thus granting her power over him in turn. A long and winding journey that ended so sadly for so many.
There's also one sure way of failing. And that's not trying in the first place.
"No, what was done cannot be taken back. But what you have yet to do - what you do for those who..." It probably won't be the way Sparhawk and Martel had been, not without the youth and all the common experiences. But he still needs to let people in. "...those who care for you and you care for, that is all up to you. Will you let yourself make bonds that you won't want to break?"
The way neither Sparhawk nor Sephrenia had severed the bonds to him, in the end. Despite everything. Even their own actions.
He wants to say, I didn't want to.
What he really means is I didn't think and not only does that change absolutely nothing, it's downright stupid. As...were a lot of the choices he made, frankly, not least of which the decision to lie firmly in the bed he'd made rather than swallow his pride and back down.
That, at least, he's making progress with, because he bites back any ridiculous protest to say instead, simple and sincere: "Yes."
It seems as though he's complicated a lot of things unnecessarily, and he'd really, really like to not bollocks this up right at the get go.
Martel had reasons, for the things he's done. Maybe she'll get to question those reasons. One day. But not this soon. Pressing into them while he's still hanging on the balance doesn't seem promising.
Instead, she smiles again, mirroring his sincerity. "Nice!" Her hand tightens around his once more and she nods. "I think we can give that a try. And see what happens." Why yes. She's a goddess. She can use up wither characters' lines.
There'll be other days, for further questions, for Martel's reasoning. It wasn't very good reasoning, but he's an Elene and they do have their own internal logic. For now, he's a little bit pole-axed.
Delighted. But pole-axed. She does have that effect on people sometimes.
"I can't ask for more than that," he says, and then despite himself laughs, as he's only really managed to recently, pulling the little goddess in closer if she'll let him and giving her a brief, affectionate press of lips to her hair.
He's not quite so demonstrative as others of her acquaintance -- and truly never has been -- but he means it when he is.
Yes, she's had enough interaction with Elenes, both her parents and the more... 'ordinary' variety, to know that he didn't go to the lengths he did just so. But recalling that logic too well? Well, not till he's established the practice of not following it!
Oh but a hug? Impulsive-honest-because-he-feels-like-i
When they pull back, the smile stays on her face, though her voice is careful. "Now... so we start from somewhere. How much do you remember? Of Styric, of the particular spells?"
"I'll bear it in mind," he says, the smile behind the words even when he's schooling his features back again. It's a start, not a solution, but all the same he feels somewhat less weighted than he did before she made her appearance.
Besides, impulsively honest gestures are some of the best Martel can make. If only to remind everyone (including himself) there was a man behind the monster.
He can't say he wasn't anticipating a question of this sort, and he considers how to respond. "I'm still fluent in the language," he says, finally, tackling the least complicated answer first. "I've kept in practice."
And as for the spells... "I'd be rusty," he admits, "but I remember what I was taught." Knowing him, it wouldn't take long to readjust. He was always a quick study; it was part of his downfall. Awkward.
"Do!" She's not having to school her features at all. It's other gods who use the story of the stray sheep, but, well. It sort of fits in this situation.
And yes. All of Sephrenia's 'dear ones' are Aphrael's too. Ever have been, and she does love them. And she could always see men behind their actions. Which is why she generally abstains from doing permanent things to people when they start doing nonsense.
Well, usually anyway. Besides, there are sometimes reasons to leave
They tend to do what they think necessary, but not too swiftly as not to afford time for a change of mind. Such as happened with Martel. And she's glad of this second chance.
"Oh. If you're rusty and make a mistake, I can kind of show up and suggest how it's supposed to be. Since they'll start getting through to me again anyway." Since magic spells are really prayers, and gods get to hear and answer them personally. And she's the god Pandions pray to.
Goddess.
She places her hand over his heart... and with a whisper of will opens up the severed connection.
As long as his spells are prayers that he means... and she doesn't significantly object to their goals...
He should be able to start using some magic again.
It may turn wrong, later. But death is a stern teacher. Loss, too. And if he messes up again, she'll be very, very disappointed. Kind of personally.
The words are whispered. "Welcome to your second chance, Martel."
"Aphrael, I do love you."
He says the words without thinking about them, without analyzing them, his hands covering hers. Beneath their hands, beneath the fabric and past the scar left by Sparhawk's sword, in a part of Martel a little less easy to define, the rush of reconnection is as staggering as the initial loss.
For vastly different reasons. If he weeps at all, the tears are a different kind to the last ones shed over this, and hopefully not too blatant; he'd be very embarrassed. Big stoic iron-clad brute.
Her smile is honest, and her eyes widen, suddenly intent and open on his as she answers truthfully, "I love you too."
The tears are nothing to surprise her nor think less of him; not when she can see why they come. She lifts her crude flutes again to her lips and plays a soft tune, both soothing and joyous.
And hopeful.
written with
grasstainedfeet , originally posted here.