A/n: Thanks to all those who reviewed. FiresealFFXI, Paladin Dragoon, TheDonutMistress, Rayni and Yami Silverdramon. Thanks for putting up with the glacial progress on these vignettes, and thanks for all the suggestions.

Oh, and someone asked about the ants in Marcy's chapter. That...macht nichts. It's just a detail.

For (I believe) the third or fourth time now, there are no content warnings in this chapter. No profanity, no booze, nothing. Enjoy.

Riddel

Thoughtful:
Catharsis

I am watching the sun come up from the cliffs this morning, sipping a cup of tea I have taken from the breakfast fire. The tea is terrible—it has been steeping at least fifteen minutes—but the addition of milk cuts the bitterness enough to make it bearable. Anyway, if I want to be seen as a part of the reconstruction team, the least I can do is refrain from complaining about trivialities. There is enough of a chill in the air this morning to make me glad Daddy pressed his coat upon me as I left the makeshift mess tent on the manor's front lawn; he is such a gentleman, and when a gentleman offers you his coat to ward off the chill, you accept with gratitude even if it does not complement your dress according to this season's fashion dictates. When one is a lady, the loan of the right man's coat is always in fashion.

This time of day is my favorite. I love to watch the sun come up; ever since my girlhood I have been enchanted by the way the first light seems to creep across the land and sky like a transparent golden wall. Even now my imagination gives me the same image every morning as it did when I was still in pigtails: as the light spreads from horizon to horizon, I inevitably imagine it flowing over me, covering me over like a warm, life-giving veil. Funnily enough, though it is only a treasured mental image I do not feel energized in the morning unless I have completed this ritual. The weather does not always cooperate with my observance of the sunrise, but this morning it is a treat: the new day has washed every last trace of the past night from me, even the stubborn bits lurking in my eyes, ears, and the corners of my mouth. It's done nothing for the cobwebs still inside my mind, but I hardly mind; in fact, I do not think I wish to meet the light that could wash away my thoughts, no matter how dim or strange they may be.

Besides the beauty of nature, this part of my morning provides me with something else I value: time to think. Of course I have plenty to think about these days, but today I find my thoughts occupied with Karsh. In the privacy of my inner thoughts I am empathetic for the way things have turned out for him. I noticed his affection for me years ago, but I admit that I allowed my youthful perception of him to continue into adulthood, even after Dario's death; I never thought of him as anything but a friend. Though it showcases a shameful complacence, there is another painful truth I must confront. Specifically, I have been lazy about my feelings for him, and taken him for granted; I have chosen not to notice what other, braver women would have named as signs he was more than usually attracted; and I have taken the easy path, thus turning a perfectly good friendship into what has been essentially a lie.

What is more, I have encouraged—if not forced—him into that same behavior with my relentless façade of civility and politeness. Karsh is many things: loyal, courageous, canny, big-hearted. But he is also a man caught up in the socially accepted behaviors of masculinity, so he hides his emotions to keep from appearing "weak." Of course I am no better; I also hide my emotions, out of a weak need to be perceived as impassive, elegant and refined...behaviors I am careful to uphold, lest my public image be spoiled. As a result of our mutual consternation, we have been like two children sheltering in a graveyard after dark: each of us has long known about the presence of the other, yet we have been too afraid of the possibility of ghosts to step out from our hiding places and take comfort from our shared fears. Karsh was brought up to respect women, so when I established that polite, civil boundary he accepted it...out of that (misguided) respect. Therefore I accept at least part of the culpability for the covert, stifled mess our friendship has become; furthermore, I do not blame him for hiding himself from me. How could I?

He wants to apologize, perhaps for losing control over his emotions—and therefore over the Masamune—or perhaps simply for hiding the truth from me for so long. I can tell this by his sudden embarrassed unwillingness to maintain eye contact with me, and the guilt in his expression when he does look into my eyes. Because of this, I have given the matter serious thought, and I believe I have a good mental draft of the words I want to say to him. Also, I do not think it would be entirely appropriate to sit idly by and wait for him to find the right opportunity to approach me, so instead I shall create an opportunity, and then I will take it upon myself to make the approach. After all, since circumstances have forced him to confess his feelings for me in front of all the people who are important to him, it would be only in the interest of fairness for me to do the same. If nothing else, we will be able to be friends again.

A/n: This one was a pretty small bead, I know, but the original version took me three days to type out, and was almost four pages of civilized angst. Riddel was another of the characters for whom I only got a so-so feel, in case you couldn't tell.