by Tolleson » Wed Dec 11, 2013 4:24 am
For a long while she was quiet. The pleasant and supportive line, the not-quite-smile between her lips, was now downturned, doubtful. She had never been good at hiding her emotions and he was goading her; for as many questions that clouded her mind, as much guilt the boiled in the pit of her stomach, and as persevering as she had been, she was also angry. The frown was not one of outright rage, it was not blind to reason or without remorse. It went against her nature, it always had, and even though there is a glimpse, the whole of her is a restrained storm. Troubles of every variety were bottled, a cornucopia of emotions, perhaps some that were not even her own, lay just beyond her equally piercing stare.
Here he was, the governor, a friend, a man who had, in truth, disappointed her. He hadn’t disappointed her with his failure to build a perfect town, nor his less than noble acquaintances, not even the downright shady actions. It was more primal, it was frustrating, it was an emotion defied reason and logic. Months it had been, of tormenting guilt, silent outage, and bouts of self-pity wherein feelings of abandonment embraced her so readily. She was disappointed because he wasn’t there and she had needed him. They all had. For this, was she not a child? Was she not lost?
“T-t-there is blood on my hands even now, your absence saw to t-that,” the words were curt, cruel, cold, and as soon as they’d left her lips she regretted them. Her eyes broke away and she shook her head, some measure of unspoken apology though she did not offer one yet.
"A stand," she repeated quietly, her brow dug to a pensive furrow. Then she drew a breath, long and deep as a bellow’s, and when it let free the anger seemed absolved. As if release were so easy. After all, who was she to tell him what to do, he, the scholar, the governor, the mapmaker and manipulator, the man who had saved her once?
“I bear witness indeed, t-to a man shouldering t-the burden of an entire t-t-t... town.” The heat of anger crept back into her voice, though sympathy for his pain and his condition lingered in some small measure. “You wish t-to argue, for me t-to speak so freely? My stand will be t-this, Glenn, to give you peace as you need it – to mourn, to mend.” She said the last bit painfully. “You alone are not to blame, not for the happiness or peace in your presence nor the blood and tears in your absence. T-t-the fact that you t-try to do this alone is what has crippled us.” There had been no structure in place to deny Rhaena, despite Agnie’s best efforts, to manipulate the system. And even after the storm of her reign had passed there was left a field of wreckage, a gaping void of leadership.
Hands shifted, the wall between them crumbled and the edge of the table was grasped as if it gave her support as she spoke.
“Mister Calomel is your friend, just as I am, and Mister T-t-treadwell, Mrs. Ka..River, Marshall Emory, but we are also here t-to serve Myrken. T-together we all will lead… not the t-tax collector alone and certainly, not I. We will not lay waste or abandon what has been done, but learn from it,” that is what he would have told her, whether he believed it or not. “With or without your help... we will learn the truth of Rhaena’s murder just as Ariane will keep and defend the peace and Mister T-treadwell will manage t-taxes and until you... or someone else who is able, will quell and lead the public.” It was already being done, though not as well or as seamlessly as it had before.
“We… we are not t-too far gone, t-the path will be the same but how we t-t-travel will be different. Myrken will do as it does best. It will survive.” Her face relaxed slightly, though it took a great effort of some internal persuasion. The mental gears were already turning as to what had to be done to achieve even this, hardly small feat. Survive. Winter was upon them and the crops had not yielded, people were not only disappointed with the leadership but with one another.
Seeing the weariness, even as it only showed true between great outbursts of his typical loquaciousness, she slid off of the chair and stood as if preparing to depart.
“You… are but a man, wounded at t-that,” her tone was far more sympathetic than impassioned now, though she intended to be frank. “Lend us your t-trust, … keep fewer secrets and I am certain Myrken will t-thrive.”