Is it truly not too late? [ He is certain that he could, and should, extend several olive branches to the people he feels he wronged, but would they accept them? Would those who are still in service to the church? What about the townspeople, rich and poor alike? He feels that he should have seen more, should have made more of an effort to determine the hearts and minds of the people he lives to serve. ] I cannot help but wonder if I am too late to truly reach them.
[ The involuntary shiver that creeps up his spine serves as a reminder that he is not well just yet, and that perhaps he should not tax himself more than is necessary. But he worries and frets about the welfare of Ishgard and how he might aid her people, and the knowledge that he ought to stay calm does little to ease him.
So, rather than continue dwelling on what he feels he cannot change in this present moment, he focuses more on Alkaid's words and what she has to relate about the ancients and their past. ]
I see. So we may never know those names. [ But even as he utters those words, he feels something stirring in the back of his mind, but he cannot put a finger on what it is. But it is forgotten in the moment that she places her hands on the sides of his face, and all thoughts flee from his mind when she gently kisses him. Well, almost all thoughts. He thinks about how much he loves her and how he wishes to never be apart from her for long.
The love he has for her nearly makes him forget that he is ill, and that his symptoms still linger. But when she announces that she managed to learn a name, his attention quickly returns to her, and he waits with bated breath to hear what this name is and who it belonged to. He has a suspicion, of course, but he does not wish to jump too far ahead.
Costas, she says. And while he cannot remember the sort of man he was back then, nor recall being called by that name, there is something familiar about it as well: something that tells him it was, without a doubt, his name.
He opens his mouth to say something, to express some sort of wonder at learning his name, but he finds himself distracted once again by that stirring sensation in the back of his mind. And for just a moment, his gaze turns distant, as if something from so many years ago is attempting to bring something to his attention.
A part of him knows how this must appear to her eyes, that something is pulling his attention away from her, but he does not wish to lose the fragile hold he has on this strange message, if that is what it is, from their ancient past.
A shiver, greater than the last one, takes hold of him again, and he feels himself begin to shake even in her hold as the realization of what has just occurred settles in.
He does not know how such a thing is possible, but the only conclusion that he can make is that the man he was in those foregone times is trying to reach out across the years and reform a bridge between himself and Alkaid. ]
no subject
[ The involuntary shiver that creeps up his spine serves as a reminder that he is not well just yet, and that perhaps he should not tax himself more than is necessary. But he worries and frets about the welfare of Ishgard and how he might aid her people, and the knowledge that he ought to stay calm does little to ease him.
So, rather than continue dwelling on what he feels he cannot change in this present moment, he focuses more on Alkaid's words and what she has to relate about the ancients and their past. ]
I see. So we may never know those names. [ But even as he utters those words, he feels something stirring in the back of his mind, but he cannot put a finger on what it is. But it is forgotten in the moment that she places her hands on the sides of his face, and all thoughts flee from his mind when she gently kisses him. Well, almost all thoughts. He thinks about how much he loves her and how he wishes to never be apart from her for long.
The love he has for her nearly makes him forget that he is ill, and that his symptoms still linger. But when she announces that she managed to learn a name, his attention quickly returns to her, and he waits with bated breath to hear what this name is and who it belonged to. He has a suspicion, of course, but he does not wish to jump too far ahead.
Costas, she says. And while he cannot remember the sort of man he was back then, nor recall being called by that name, there is something familiar about it as well: something that tells him it was, without a doubt, his name.
He opens his mouth to say something, to express some sort of wonder at learning his name, but he finds himself distracted once again by that stirring sensation in the back of his mind. And for just a moment, his gaze turns distant, as if something from so many years ago is attempting to bring something to his attention.
A part of him knows how this must appear to her eyes, that something is pulling his attention away from her, but he does not wish to lose the fragile hold he has on this strange message, if that is what it is, from their ancient past.
A shiver, greater than the last one, takes hold of him again, and he feels himself begin to shake even in her hold as the realization of what has just occurred settles in.
He does not know how such a thing is possible, but the only conclusion that he can make is that the man he was in those foregone times is trying to reach out across the years and reform a bridge between himself and Alkaid. ]