There's a slight glint to Horseriver's eyes a moment, because he's been waiting to see where the circle would catch up with them. Or perhaps it had been more a net than a circle, let loose to see where it would catch.

He had been a brother; he had been a brother and a friend and a husband and a father and a king. He had listened to what was spoken and what was not and had learned when to pull forth the second to untangle the knots people made of themselves and others.

Most of the time, he no longer claims any of those roles. He's a ghost of too many remnants, bound to the dead and gone until the end when he had lost them and not gained anything but the freedom of emptiness. But Jedao had sworn an oath and he had accepted it, as himself, not in the name of another damned soul. He taken the words and claims they make on him, whether Jedao had known they were there or not.

He takes Jedao's hand between his, carefully lifting it slightly so he can lightly kiss his palm. The weight of ritual, all the heavier for Horseriver's usual economy in touch.

"It could be a request. It could even be a demand, though that would stand on a different ground. One offers a sword with trust that it will not be held to one's throat."