There’s a fierce pride in the memory of those oaths. The kin of the old Weald were a group of arrogant, stiff-necked, bloody-mind bastards by their own proud admission. The power of kingship helped hold them together, provided focus on tasks more important than petty grudges, but blind obedience had never been part of its makeup and if any king tried they would find themselves with a rebellion and a new king chosen. Every oath, every time they put their honor in his hands and trusted him to use it was a belief that he would keep faith with them, just as he knew he could trust in the honor of all those who would fight besides and for him.
He shares as much meaning as he knows how to form in flickering shards of light (shadows are formed where there is light but right now, here, the light is stronger). It’s easier to share feelings than words he’s forgotten how to say. The mirror of loneliness and longing that makes him hold close. The bright possessiveness - his, because of Jedao’s own pride and will because it would mean nothing without that. And fiercer still in the feeling of connection, in that he’s only sworn to keep his faith with one here. There’s the fear that is not a secret between them yet he can still take as a gift, enough for him to find his voice, to use the solidness of words.
“I will not leave you in the dark.” The promise of an arrogant, stiff-necked, bloody-minded bastard who had spent centuries fighting invaders and the gods and his own dissolution.
He huffs something that might have been a laugh if he was less caught in the threads of his own desire, wrapped up too in Jedao. He lightly tweaks a strand of hair. “I would not have it said I’m not a giving king...”
no subject
He shares as much meaning as he knows how to form in flickering shards of light (shadows are formed where there is light but right now, here, the light is stronger). It’s easier to share feelings than words he’s forgotten how to say. The mirror of loneliness and longing that makes him hold close. The bright possessiveness - his, because of Jedao’s own pride and will because it would mean nothing without that. And fiercer still in the feeling of connection, in that he’s only sworn to keep his faith with one here. There’s the fear that is not a secret between them yet he can still take as a gift, enough for him to find his voice, to use the solidness of words.
“I will not leave you in the dark.” The promise of an arrogant, stiff-necked, bloody-minded bastard who had spent centuries fighting invaders and the gods and his own dissolution.
He huffs something that might have been a laugh if he was less caught in the threads of his own desire, wrapped up too in Jedao. He lightly tweaks a strand of hair. “I would not have it said I’m not a giving king...”