"The world has gone mad."
His bitterness is to be expected. We lost five tonight, in a riot unforeseen to all but myself, and he's pacing the width of the room, scowling, for he can't sleep after so much loss in so little time. I could sleep, but only because if I could not sleep after witnessing such things, I would rarely sleep at all; I've learned to accept it. You'd think I was the soldier, and not him.
"It will go madder still," I reply. In truth, I cannot be so upset by this turn of events, for of the five, I know that three now rest in the presence of the gods in whose name they were slaughtered. It would be an injustice to mourn for them, when they've achieved what I would wish for myself if circumstances were different. The other two did not die for the gods, however; they came to us because they sought civil unrest. We did not turn them away, for we needed all the men who were willing.
He finds it difficult to understand how the loss of life might be a blessing under the right circumstances - his faith in the gods is not so strong as mine. If I were to be honest, I would confess that most of what faith he has lies in me.
He looks back at me now, vaguely troubled; my words are far from comforting, certainly, and they unsettle him further. To any who would look upon us now, his lying down beside me and sliding one arm beneath the arc of my neck would be taken as a gesture of comfort, but I see his heart. "It will be all right," he murmurs, resting his other arm across my chest. "Everything will be fine."
Though his words may sound kind, there is a plaintiveness in it. He does not seek to give me reassurance, he is looking for an answer - the same answer he's been waiting to confirm since he made his pledge to me. He believes in me; he seeks my agreement, because he trusts that I would not lie to him.
His trust, naturally, is misplaced. I was told long ago that it would not be my task to put things right. I might tell him the truth, if I did not know that it would crush him. It would not help to lessen the blow if I were to tell him that his time shall come even before mine.
The arm across my chest raises slightly, so that his fingers may play through my hair, but the longing ache I feel from him has nothing to do with the flesh this time. Again, almost unconsciously, he murmurs his desire. "Everything will be fine, Sydney."
I have neither the conviction to lie to him again, nor the heart to tell him the truth; I say nothing.