He rearranges, adjusts; Gwenaëlle relaxes beside him, holding herself less as if she might at any moment launch herself across the room and off the balcony. Musters a sparse smile, not without humour,
“In a cottage,” she elaborates, “in the woods. The first thing my uncle did when he turned up at the Gallows was come to tell me that he'd had an heirloom ring off my lord and that he intended to propose to her with it. Sort of, the Circles have all fallen, did I imagine a vibe, did you want to get married about it?” It had been kind of him not to allow her to be totally blindsided, and she'd repaid that by doing her level best to make it slightly less obvious how much she hated everything he was struggling through saying to her.
She'd been very polite. It had been incredibly obvious, but she thought he'd appreciated her making the effort.
“They left together, a bit after she stepped down from Commander. They write me, sometimes. It's...we didn't fight again,” slowly, “after the fight that started about Casimir.” She can't say with a straight face that they'd argued about tranquillity, but yeah, it had started there. “We never really reconciled, either. And she isn't dead, but—”
A shrug. Helplessly: “Now we never will. It's just the past. I'll grieve her when she dies.”
She has begun, already; when that end comes, it will feel like relief.
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“In a cottage,” she elaborates, “in the woods. The first thing my uncle did when he turned up at the Gallows was come to tell me that he'd had an heirloom ring off my lord and that he intended to propose to her with it. Sort of, the Circles have all fallen, did I imagine a vibe, did you want to get married about it?” It had been kind of him not to allow her to be totally blindsided, and she'd repaid that by doing her level best to make it slightly less obvious how much she hated everything he was struggling through saying to her.
She'd been very polite. It had been incredibly obvious, but she thought he'd appreciated her making the effort.
“They left together, a bit after she stepped down from Commander. They write me, sometimes. It's...we didn't fight again,” slowly, “after the fight that started about Casimir.” She can't say with a straight face that they'd argued about tranquillity, but yeah, it had started there. “We never really reconciled, either. And she isn't dead, but—”
A shrug. Helplessly: “Now we never will. It's just the past. I'll grieve her when she dies.”
She has begun, already; when that end comes, it will feel like relief.