Eyes of the Heart
Act IV
Bottom Line
Maximilian
.
Maximilian was quiet that night.
It was dark, though the moon shone softly in the sky. The high tops of the trees prevented any light from pentrating through the leaves, and the cold, lonely road ahead made it more suffocating than it should have been.
He was responsible for guiding one of the covered wagons, which carried the Magi that would help the Teyrn with the revolt that was dividing his army, and killing his people. It was a long trip with only a few stops, just to give the horses some rest and to attend to any natural demands their bodies would eventually need. They would not stop riding until they reached their destination, and as a rule established by themselves, there would be two Templars in charge of each wagon, shifting between turns to keep vigilance over the mages at all times, until they could finally achieve their goal.
By choice, Maxmillian had chosen the night shift, and had been leading their small caravan since sunset.
Just him and his thoughts, alone in the dark.
….
We were on the way to Highever. It was our fifth day of traveling, and my sixth sleepless night.
As Templar of the Order, my role was to ensure that the mages would return to the tower, one way or another. Alive or not. So, thatautomatically wiped out any chance ofsleepingan entire night. But even so, I could nap for a few hours if I wished. Francyne and I had estabilished shiftsof six hours, so despite all those days sitting on a wagon, we could rest well.
Yet, my duty was not why I spent all those nights awake, no. My problem had a name, a sword and a Templar'sarmor.
Lieutnant Mikahil Urkov.
He was an experienced Templar, a tough war hero, whowas transferred to Kiniloch Hold a few years ago. His group was ambushed during a mission, and the attack cost him a huge scar on his face and a knee injury that robbed him of field missions. Now, he was part of the surveillance of the Circle, being responsible for tracking and capturing the mages who eventually tried to flee the tower. An unusual job for a limping man, but no one ever questioned it. After all, he was the best atit. Nobody had ever escaped from him, not even Anders, and I will tell you, that worshiper of cats had fast legs.
And my uncle... Well, he adored him. The Lieutnant was considered an example to be followed.
But I didn't think of him that way, no.
Urkov was the kind of person whowould do absolutely anything to see the job done. He was proud of his bloodline - a long and ancient lineage of mage hunters that had existed since the dawn of humanity - and that made him see magic users as objects of work - mere things he needed to control - and he spared no effort to do so. For this reason, only a few mages had ever returned alive when he was involved with their recapture.
As if this was not enough, he had a unhealthyinterest in Helena.
His glances towards her were disgusting, almost sick, and more than once I caught the damn man coercing not only her, but also other femalemages in the corridors of the tower when no one was looking.
But I was. Thank the Maker, I was always looking.
Rumors about him could be heard in every corner of the tower, many of which I'd rather not repeat, but that would grant him a free pass to the Void, if true.
Helena swore he'd never done anything against her, and Maker help him to stay away from her. Otherwise... (sigh) Maker help him. That's allI can say.
As soon as we left the Tower, Urkov suggested hetravel in Helena's wagon. Alone, with her, inside a covered wagon. Obviously I was against the idea - I had strict orders from Irving and Greagoir on my side, and luckily he didn't argue with me. Since then, I couldn't close my eyes for even a single minute without thinkingabout what Urkov mightdo in my absence.
And, to make this situation even more enjoyable, he ordered Marcelo to stay on Lake Calenhad and brought his own trustedman in his place. Lucky me that Francyne had as much authority as he - and also shared the same revulsion I had for him - so she refused to be left behind. But still, we were at a disadvantage here.
Maker, I wanted to go home so badly.
…
It was dangerous to travel at night, he knew that, but it was not ther choice. It was a direct order from Greagoir himself, so in reality it was not as if they had a choice at all. However, even knowing the danger, the gentle rocking of the wagon passing over the dirt road, and the constant sound of the slow clomping of the horses, made him relaxed.
He'd rather deal with animals and solitude than with the Templars in the wagon behind them.
And the only interuption to the peace of the trip was a hollow noise, a strange beat, coming from the back of his wagon, which echoed loudly throught the night.
Maximilian senses were set on fire in an instant.
"Lieutnant, is everything all right back there?" he asked, sticking his ear to the cloth so that he might hear what was going on without taking his eyes off the road.
He got no answer.
"Fran?" he asked once more, taking the oil lantern that was hanging on a hook above his head, in order to try to see inside the wagon.
"It's me," Helena said, and her voice seemed both sleepy and painful.
"Lady Cousland," he exclaimed surprised, putting the lantern back in its place. "Did something happen?"
"I may had have hit my head on the supply box when I was knocked off the bench where I was lying," she replied nonchalantly. When she heard Maximilian gasping, she quickly added, "But I'm fine, don't worry! Maybe it will give me a bruise... Or two. But no blood so far!"
The Templar nodded. She really was helpless.
The sound of the horses and the rocking of the wagon remained the same. The silence and darkness were the same, too. But Maximilian could no longer enjoy the peaceful feeling of the trip, no. He was agitated, alert, and it was not because of dangers of the road.
"Having problems sleeping?" he asked after a few moments.
At first she didn't answer. She just kept quiet, perhaps hoping that he would give up on the question if the silence was long enough. But the Templar knew her very well, and she knew it. She knew he would not give up on the matter.
"No," she finally confessed.
He smiled inside his helmet. They were very close to Highever, and he was aware that the closer they came to their destination, the more nervous she became. She said nothing, but he took her silence as a confirmation.
His smile was wide; not because of her anxiety, but because of the current circumstances. He had never led their small caravan, and the opportunity to have some privacy, to finally have some time alone with her, made his heart race.
"Lady ..." he called, but didn't wait for an answer. "Would the Lady like to come up here?"
She didn't answer immediately, only raised the thick cloth between them just a little bit, her expression astonished. Part of the idea of traveling non-stop to their destination was to maintain the rigid isolation of the mages as much as possible, so getting out of the wagon, unless it was an emergency, was out of the question. Which meant that hearing such an unexpected invitation from a Templar, even if it was Maximilian, was both tempting and scary. Well, maybe the fact that it came from her lawful Max made it so scary.
"I'm serious, Lady," he said, a little embarrassed, sliding to the side, making room for her. "Unless it's too cold or ..." He cleared his throat and shook his head, unable to finish the sentence. He felt like an idiot talking, he thought. "I'll understand if you don't want to."
"No, I ..." she said, as awkwardly as him. Her cheeks were warm, but he didn't notice. "If someone should see us, won't you get in trouble?"
"Maybe," he said, shrugging. "But they cannot see us right now. And the Lieutnant usually sleeps so deeply that the Lady's snores wouldn't be enough to wake her up."
Helena smiled, but kept silent, thinking. Maximilian wondered if she was looking back, checking the wagon behind them, figuring out how she would reach the driver's seat without being seen by the others...
But he was not willing to let her think too much and give up, despite the possible risks - he quickly untied the knots that kept the front of the wagon closed, and opened a discreet way for her to reach to the driver's seat if she so wished.
"I just want to show something to the Lady," he said cheerfully. "You can still see it from there if you want, but ..."
…
I wanted to have you by my side, I thought but didn't dare say it aloud.
Although in the pastI had told her manylies about places I never had visited, someparts had beentrue. I had traveled extensively through the lands of the north before going to Kinloch Hold, and knew these roads by heart. Soon, the broad canopy of trees would give way to a huge plain covered with fine grass and white dandelions. We would not see a singletree, shrub or house for a long while before we wouldfinally see the lights ofHighever in the distance.
And I wanted her to see it. I wanted to show her at least one thing that was true. Create a memory that was real.
I wanted to see her smililing without feeling guilty, at least once.
...
When Maximilian looked at her again, Helena was holding back a smile. She was bitting her lower lip with a mischievous expression, like someone who knew they were about to make a misstep, yet couldn't resist it. When he held out his hand, she readily accepted it, and soon she found a way to climb up to the driver's seat and sit beside him.
Contrary to expectations, once she saw the view, she didn't open that wide smile he had expected. Well, they were in the midst of the darkness of a lonely forest, so it couldn't have been otherwise, really. What caught his attention, however, was her reaction. Her expression was one of deep contemplation, of fullness. She slowly closed her eyes, took a deep breath and gave herself completely to the darkness around them, just like a person that sinks into the crystalline waters of a pool, allowing the water to embrace her body completely before she finally disappeared.
Maximillian was amazed, at first. The intensity of her response was so great that it seemed that the Maker himself had materialized there, right in front of her, and was personally telling her the answers to all the greatest questions ever asked by mankind.
…
But maybe that's it.
The Maker manifests himself in the most curious and unusual ways possible, for those who deserved it. And maybe it was just exactly that happening in that moment.
The icy wind caressing her face, the sweet aroma of tree sap wafting from all sides, the sound of gravel being crushed by the hooves of the horses ... Maybe these small expressions of freedom were, for her, the representation of paradise on earth. All the sensations and smells she could never feel inside a closed tower - and she was absorbing these sensations like she would never see another sunrise,because she was aware that this would be the last time she would have the opportunity to experience them.
…
Maximilian sighed heavily.
"So," she sighed too, but much more softly. "What did you wanted to show me?" She stretched her arms, hiding her hands between her thighs.
"Soon," he said, noting the mage cowering beside him. "The Lady is cold?"
"Not much," she admitted, but before she could protest, Maximilian threw a bearskin cloak over the mage, covering her shoulders. Although thick, it was already very battered, covered in patches and tears, but still had retained a bit of the body heat of the Templar, which had miraculously seeped through the cracks of his armor, and was enough to make her comfortable.
Helena just held the piece of cloth, thanking him with a smile. The wind was moist, fresh, and she felt bad for taking the only thing that had protected him and his iron armor from the cruel air of Ferelden. Yet, she knew he would not take no for an answer.
He was too gentle for that.
"Anxious?" he asked suddenly, surprising the mage.
"More or less ..." She looked away, tucking his cloak around her body.
Noticing her discomfort, he quickly added, "The Lady has nothing to fear about."
She frowned and winced at his side, and he berated himself mentally for not having sounded convincing enough. But it was hard to be confident when he himself did not believe it, even after the several days of travel he had to think about it. He would not shake the bad feeling, no matter what he did.
He sighed.
"I did not say I was scared," she said and shrugged.
He looked at her sideways, keeping his eyes on her as she tried to look nonchalant.
"It is written on your forehead," Maximilian said finally, turning his attention back to the road.
"Mhm ..." Helena murmured a grunt of dissatisfaction and fixed her eyes on the road, as well. For a long time her thoughts wandered aimlessly through their anxieties and concerns until eventually she gave up and sighed deeply. Her shoulders relaxed, and she gave voice to her demons.
"When I went to the circle ..." Helena began to say, and her voice was so soft it was almost lost between the clicking of hooves. The Templar had to inch closer to her to to hear her.
Their shoulders touched.
"Well, the circumstances of my departure were not exactly pleasant ..."
"Yeah, my uncle agrees," he concurred with an exaggerated nod, smiling behind the helmet. Her response was a furrowed brow, and it was so threatening it was adorable on her pretty face. She was always attempting to be brave when it came to the scar she had left on Greagoir's hand.
"Funny, you," she huffed, shaking her head in disapproval. "As I was saying, the circumstances were not pleasant. There was not a person in Highever who has not heard of the accident at my father's party, and as you well know, magic was never very well regarded in these lands. Besides, my farewell was very dramatic, mainly because of Noah. He did not accept it at the time, and, well, me neither. " She shrugged again. "You know how kids are."
Maximilian nodded. Helena had related this story to him in detail before, and he remembered her having spoken of her younger brother, Noah, who was only nine at the time she was separated from their her family and the only home she had ever known. He was the one who most felt her departure to the circle. According to Helena, the boy was more attached to her than he was to their own parents, since it was she who had taken care of him when Bryce and Eleanor were traveling. And as the Teyrn of Highever, he traveled a lot. She told him that Fergus, the eldest brother of the three, had to drag the boy off so he'd stop trying to prevent the Templars from taking his beloved sister, which added more drama and tears to the already grievous farewell.
Maximilian could never understand what kind of threat a little boy of only nine years could offer a group of Templars, trained and led by the commander of the Templars himself. It was a bit ambiguous, but when questioned on the subject, Helena replied that "It was how Noah was," and she would end the conversation with a nostalgic, sad smile.
"The Lady is still the princess," he said hoarsely, before Helena could sink into her private well of sadness, as she did herself every time she remembered the short time that she'd lived with her family. "At the heart of things, this will not change."
The mage giggled, a delightful, sweet sound, and her cheeks flushed slightly. She knew enough to recognize the almost innocent flirtations he hid between one word and another during casual conversations. Knew the signs - the gray eyes that seemed to darken exponentially when he spoke, the way his breath quickened beneath the thick metal plates, which rose and fell as if mirroring the rapid cadence of her own heart ...
And if all that long, long time living together was not enough to support her thesis, she still had the sidelong glances he threw in her direction more than once while they talked, showing a bit too much interest.
I'd have to be blind not to notice, she thought.
Perhaps the false sense of privacy was intensifying the situation, making even the smallest and silliest of things was definitely an advantage that they didn't have to devote at least half their attention to watching and listening, making sure they were not observed or overheard, as was usually the case. And that was as good as it was bad, since no one knew how they should react in such close proximity.
It was half blessing, half curse.
"My father is Teyrn, not the king," she said with feigned indifference, but her smile was wide. "Also, as a mage, I lose any privilege that my inheritance could offer me. You know that."
"But it does not erase the love of the people," he said with conviction. "The people of Highever, your people, loved you from what I remember, and the Lady did nothing against them for that to change."
Her mouth curved into a sad smile.
"A lot has changed in a decade, Max," Helena sighed, her haggard face perfectly matched his mood. "You'd be surprised to know the speed with which things fall apart. Especially important things."
Maximillian couldn't look away from her crestfallen look, even knowing that he should keep his eyes on the road. He realized that the mage's words meant much more than a simple reference to the problem with the commoners of Highever. That statement fit into various situations - her own quest for freedom, for example - and before he could control his tongue, the words were already out of his mouth.
"And the Lady would be surprised to know how other things become stronger ..."
It was her turn to hold one pair of graphite eyes, which seemed heavy and dark in the dim orange light coming from the oil lantern hanging near his head. She noticed the hoarseness in his voice - the heavy way he spoke those ambiguous words, and the sound that seemed to scratch his throat, slowly like a suppressed cry, reached Helena's ears as a deep yearning, one he'd suppressed for a long, long time - and that, and only that, ignited every nerve in her body in a blind and intense pulse of courage she did not know existed inside herself.
Unlike him, who just let his thoughts escape through his throath as if thinking aloud, she decided to follow this new resolution of hers. She did not care much for the true meaning of those words, no. Only took what her heart wanted to take as truth and embraced this so agonizingly delicious tension that existed between them, as proof that she was making the right decision.
And finally she began to speak, letting the heat in her chest spread through her body and take power of her voice.
"You know, you're right, Max ..." she confessed, and would have been shuffling her feet right now if she were not sitting in a moving wagon. "I, in fact, fear what the future has in store for me back Ho-" She meant 'home', but quickly corrected herself. "In Highever. It's all so uncertain, so blurred. - I do not know what to expect of it all. Nor do I know what to expect of this thing between us ...".
Maximilian froze in place.
"Th-thing?" he asked dumbfounded.
"Do not pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, Max." She did not have to look at him to know he was completely rigid, staring at the road as if it were the only thing keeping him alive. "Not a day goes by that there isn't some kind of spark in our conversations."
Maximilian said nothing. If his muscles stiffened any more, he could very well turn into a statue, so tense he was.
His heart felt like it would blow a hole in his chest, it was beating so fast...
"The point is that I know what to expect from my family. Know that their love will not fail me," she said softly, looking away. "But as for you ..."
…
She let the words die in the air.
There was no need to say anything more. Only half of what she'd said would be enough to condemn her for inappropriate behavior, and only a small portion was enough for a passionate heart to understand.
…
What guarantees could my love offer?
All of them.
There was nothing in this world I would not do for her, for her happiness. But could I tell her?
Of course not.
No, was the answer I should give to her question, because that was the right thing to do. My will alone had no power over our situation, and could not simply decide anything. In fact, the only power it had was for evil, because any point misplaced could destroy her completely, and I was not willing to take that risk. And while the world was as it was, I could not promise to ensure her happiness, much less promise what she wanted from me.
An empty promise was as good as a lie.
But could I tell her?
The silence was the worst, yet safer response, like the spark that she had mentioned earlier. The most delicious and dangerous temptation - a weak and insignificant impulse that, precisely because of its lower nature, produced the kind of fire that quickly consumed everything it touched, because it raged hungry and possessive until everything around them was burning with its anger.
It was a perfect paradox, if you stop to think about it. The same force that held the potential for more destruction than any war I could ever fight, was also the source of my strength.
Helena was my rise and my fall. But, could I tell her this?
...
"I really want to understand this thing between us," she repeated firmly, in the face of the long silence of the Templar. He stared at the horizon, seeming truly interested in the amount of scattered trees along the road, with an expression that implied he would do anything to deflect her question.
She knew it well, that this was his way of self defense he had created to protect himself from everything that he wanted to avoid.
And, as he was not reacting, let alone cooperating with her questioning, Helena began to interpret it as a bad sign. Even a tremor of his hand would have reassured her. Anything to let her know it affected him. But… Nothing - and that was troubling.
Yet she would not be defeated - there was this one chance she could open her heart without worrying about who might be listening, or who could see them. The chance to confess her feelings without having to measure her words or hide them behind pranks, and she would not waste it.
"Max?" She called him.
"There can be..." he began, his muscles so hard, so tight, it hurt when he breathed. "There can be nothing between us beyond our duties to the circle. The Lady knows this."
"There can be nothing, yes," she said, and the shield made of raw and unflinching courage she's been proudly brandishing suffered its first crack. "But not necessarily negate its existence ... Right?"
Again he was in a deep silence, torn between duty and his feelings. Part of him could not help the feeling of happiness that flowed through his veins and ran hotly over his body, just from the idea that the great love of his life reciprocated his feelings so deeply. She would risk anything, even the Rite of Tranquility, just to reach him. Anything to reach break through his Templar's armor and reach his heart.
He was aware of the sparks, the glances. He could feel all the tension that existed between them everytime they were in the same place; the pure and innocent warmth that began in his heart and burned so intensely wild that it hurt, as it descended through his body. Only the Maker knew how it all affected him, especially before going to sleep.
In the silence of the lonely nights, the only voices he heard were that of his heart and his mind, both stubborn and selfish, that every day waged a noisy ethical and moral dispute in his head about what he should not do. Not an easy task, this being the mediator between what he wanted and what should be done, especially when he assumed the roles of both the pragmatist and the lover. So, as you might expect, he ended not sleeping much - hours and hours of sleep wasted, thinking about a dilemma unanswered. And the only thing the two agreed upon was that eight years was too long to be alone, and that the wait would make anyone crazy.
This meant then that those eight years he had spent solidifying the foundation of a cause - the preservation of Helena's integrity, both physical and mental, always putting the mage above his own happiness - was all he had. All that separated the Templar from the passionate man. And three words, just three magic words would be enough to make it fall to the ground and completely extinguish his self-control.
Three magic words that would be worth more than all the years of fantasies.
And there was that perfect paradox closed for another cycle - he was to blame. He was afraid of the power of the love he felt for her, because he knew he had a responsibility to put duty above their desires. And he also knew that the overwhelming power of his feelings would surely betray him at some point, if this conversation went too far.
"The Idealism that all men are born free in dignity and rights does not exclude the practice of slavery and exploitation in the lower castes of society," said Maximilian, and his voice was rough. The Templar's throat was so dry that he felt the friction in the walls of his esophagus as he spoke, causing the taste of copper and salt to fill his mouth. "Just because such things exist, it does not make them right."
Just because they exist. It was not the best choice of words, definitely. But Helena was too choked by the shadow of a possible rejection to realize the real meaning of his words - realize the desperation of a man who allowed the truth to slip through half a dozen lies.
"That does not answer my question," Helena's voice was as soft as a whisper.
"The Order dictates ..." He began to speak, as lethargic as the empty words of a Tranquil. It was as if he had turned off his heart's will to be able to say all that was required, but that he never wanted to say at all.
"I'm not talking to a Templar now," she burst out, in a low, angry growl. She was too tired to keep her feelings to herself anymore. "I'm asking the man behind the armor!"
Maximilian thought he heard her voice tremble, but was almost sure his ears had deceived him. Helena did not fail, ever.
"We are alone here, Max. You can speak for yourself, for the love of the Maker!"
"I can't ... That's who I am ..." Max stammered, hoping his voice did not come out as broken and weak as the paltry determination that was behind it. "You can't just separate the man from the Templar ...Nor the..."
Helena's eyes twinkled in the moonlight.
"Nor the woman from the mage," she concluded for him, her voice so choked and bitter that it was unrecognizable. Her hands were closed into a fist in her lap; nails digging so deeply into the palms she could feel the warm blood running through her fingers. "That's what I am, right?"
Maximilian could feel the siege closing around him. Her words were increasingly harsh, direct. The game was becoming too cruel, too hard, but rather than put an end to the discussion, he chose silence again.
He knew he had to end it, stop the suffering of them both - but found he had not the strength.
Helena smiled, without any satisfaction or joy.
"You're being political, I understand." Her eyes were even brighter, with flashes of emerald and hazel twinkling behind a thick curtain of tears. It was strange, cruel and beautiful, as they looked more green than brown in the face of such sadness, as if emotion alone would change the color of her iris. But in the end, it was as if his mind was determined to make a fool of him, making him feel even more enchanted by her, which only increased the burden of his guilt. "But your refusal to answer tells me nothing.I don't believe that it's the man speaking. It's your Templar oath talking to me now, not Maximilian."
"I'm sorry," he whispered before he could think, and it was the first truly honest, sincere thing he'd said so far. He really felt bad, and part of him hoped that his apology would be enough to bring everything back to normal.
"Don't ..." She closed her eyes tightly, raising her hand to make him shut up. "Just ... don't."
Maximilian sank deeper into the bench when he noticed her beautiful voice cracking. She had never demonstrated insecurity, or faltered in front of anyone before. Yet, she was now. It seemed that the Maker himself had stolen the ground beneath their feet, leaving them adrift on a sea of darkness.
"One question," she said, moving forward regardless of the pain in her chest. "Just one last question, yes or no -. A simple answer, and all I ask is honesty."
Maximilian was clutching the reins so tightly that he was barely able to feel the tips of his fingers. He opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out.
"I've never loved anyone like I loved you, Maximilian." She said once, the words so firm and filled with conviction as her loyalty to her two brothers. "Is there any chance you feel at least a little of what I feel for you?"
She loves me, he thought, with pain and happiness, but instead of repeating the confession, he went the other way.
"The Lady knows that the Order dict..."
"Fuck the Order," she burst out at once, unable to get beyond her frustration. "For the love of the Maker, Max! I have no right to ask you for anything, or to suggest you make any compromises - I just want an answer. Maker, I do not even have the power..." She ran a hand through her hair, pulling it back in a sign of exasperation.
When he said nothing, she continued. "We've been in this together for too long, Max. Far too long. I need to know...I have a right to know."
…
Of all my worries, this was not even on the list.
The more I avoided a question, the more difficult it was to avoid the next one. And, as one might imagine, she finally managed to throw me against the wall.
Maker, she loved me; Not that hadn't I suspected, but this was different. Maker, I wanted to drop this shit and take her in my arms here and now; to finally cover those soft lips with mine, touch her skin without having all that metal between us, feel her body shaping in my own ...
But I couldn't, and that was consuming me.
My answers were no longer sufficient. My lies were no longer enough. And it was not a case of youthful infatuation, where the most serious consequence would be to not receive the blessing of our parents.
We were talking about betrayal, imprisonment and death.
That was the bottom line. Whatever I answered, it would be the truth for her. And as much as I wanted to give into my selfish impulse to choose my own happiness at least once in this life, I restrained myself.
One word would change everything. Whatever it was, I could not take it back, and my duty was to choose what was best for both of us.
…
"No," he answered definitively, in a broken whisper, so that there were no gaps for questions or inquiries.
Helena, differently than he imagined, just nodded slowly and took his answer as she had promised, but in her eyes it was possible to see all the sadness and disappointment he had caused her. And when he had thought she would explode, she only smiled.
A cold and empty smile.
They had finally reached the grasslands of Highever. The smell was intoxicating - a wild and comfortable blend of lemon grass, fennel and a bitter touch of tall grass moistened by dew of the night. This grass swayed gently in the blowing wind, and circled the wagons like an endless blanket of silver illuminated by the moonlight.
In the distance, the silhouette of Castle Cousland stood stately and tall, with its glittering lights that appeared like a second moon and pointed towers that seemed to hold up the sky of Ferelden.
But it was not like Helena cared about the dandelions flying like small silver stars, or even for the smell of the warm earth. The little piece of paradise that she had dreamed of so many times during her early years in the tower no longer seemed relevant.
"Good evening, Maximilian," she said, still with that distant gaze, turning her body in a precise, responsive movement. Before Maximilian could do anything, she had slipped into the back of the wagon.
Shocked, Maximilian choked on his own breath. He felt suffocated, and had to fight a fierce desire to tear his helmet off in order to breathe better. But no matter the amount of oxygen he pulled into his lungs, it felt like none at all, and the asphyixiating feeling would not go away.
He knew he had made the right choice, so then, why was he not satisfied? Her safety should be enough to make him feel happy, and he'd truly thought that would be enough. So, why was feeling so awful? Why was he feeling as if the possibility of feeling any joy at all was forever gone?
Maybe he had not thought things through correctly. The shock of seeing that she had abdicated that moment of freedom, that chance to stay in contact with nature that she loved so much just to get away from him, made him realize how important their relationship really was - not only for her, but for him as well. And to see her that way, sad and desolate, killed him inside. He was a thousand times worse off than he was prepared to endure.
He needed her - more than her mere presence, her distant smile or an exchange of glances, but everything about her. It seemed the whole world stood between them, and yet now he knew she was closer to his heart than anyone had ever been. She had found a way inside the armor and past the Templar, to the man who had finally realized just what he was giving up.
He'd decided to drop everything and repair the rift between them, but when he looked back and saw the thick layer of ice completely sealing off the back of the wagon, his resolve crumbled.
Maker, he thought sadly. Whathave I done?
