Cadvan sat and prodded the fire with a twisted metal poker, trying to get some heat from it. Not that he really cared anymore; it was more out of habit. He hated himself, he hated life. But he deserved the punishment was continuing, and needed to redeem himself by trying to preserve the goodness that was once the Light in Annar. Every time he had ever loved anyone he had killed them. First Ceredin, then Mae- but he hadn't truly loved Maerad, had he? Not like that, at least. Surely not? She was right (she had to be right), he had been using her. Using her and loving her because she was the last hope of the light. The last final chance to prevent the rise of evil. But, sometimes, he had felt something more. Dancing in Busk, he had seen her as a young girl, happy, and trying to lose the strain and stress that her life comprised of. Sailing from Thorald to Annar his heart had fluttered when he saw her, bathed in moonlight, hair billowing; there had been nothing he wanted to do more than take her in his arms and hold her there, safe from the outside world. And yes, even when he first saw her, one of the first thing he had noticed was how astounding her features were underneath the grime. When he saw her fall…
I should have gone, I should have gone back for her. The same thought had plagued him in the last weeks since her death. His feelings were complicated. I loved her. He admitted to himself; I loved her and she never knew. I hid it from her, and replaced it with cold. But when she had killed that innocent man outside Lirigon, he had grown scared. Scared that she was a monster. Scared that he loved a monster. Scared in case Enkir was right about them. When all that she had really needed was love, and help, and guidance, he had been selfish. Selfish yet fair. Fair, yet unwise.
Maerad in Rachida. Maerad moaning after a night on the ground. Maerad singing with him in Innail, Maerad saving him from the Landrost. Maerad when she thought she was bleeding to death. Maerad's hands on the lyre. Maerad and the Elementals. Singing to the Stormdog. Maerad listening attentively to Ankil. Maerad turning the hull into a rabbit. Maerad laughing with him by the camp fire. Maerad with Hem. Maerad and the wight. Maerad the Unpredictable.
She surrounded him. She was there in his dreams, in the music, in the trees, in these god-forsaken ruins. The flickering hope Ardina gave him when she said to come here if all was well. Maerad had filled a gap in his life left by Ceredin he hadn't even realised existed.
Tears prickled Cadvan's eyes, and he brushed a cascading lock of dark hair off his brow, and looked at Darsor, despairingly.
You have done all you can. Darsor said in the speech. She is gone. We should leave tomorrow.
Agreed. I … I don't know Darsor. I guess from here we head South to Innail, which we know to be loyal. Cadvan replied.
Desperation that had been quenched with realism.
A traitorous droplet slid down his cheek.