the sun will rise with or without you. what do you think your life amounts to, in the grand scheme of things? / i'd like to think i am a bird, singing a merry song. heard, then gone, then remembered.
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for all his eagerness to escape the noisy court, daeron does not hurry past his mother.
the moment the familiarity of her voice reaches him, he pivots upon his heel.. the rigid courtesy he so readily dons within the court ˖
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softening at its edges in her presence.
“mother,” he does not rush to her, as he might have years ago. instead, he offers a polite inclination of his head, a slight smile lingering.
“what brings you to the pavilion .ᐣ” ˖
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for a moment, daeron has not much to say.. admiring his elder sister’s effortless poise.
his time in court had taught him that grace was seldom without purpose——a courteous word to conceal ambition, ˖
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his words were met with a soft smile. rising gracefully from cold ground she was kneeling on, helaena's hands clasped together on her stomach. ❛ i could leave to find another place, if you would rather
⤿
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a smile to veil an insult.. yet in helaena, he observes none of this contrivance.
it’s rather disarming.. quiet, & unassuming where others so often strive to be noticed.
“you are far too gracious..” ˖
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as daeron steps beneath the cool arches of the sept, his retreat proves not quite as solitary as he had expected.. yet, her grace’s presence is not unwelcome.
a hushed huff of amusement escapes him.——
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the cacophony of the pavilion is particularly unrelenting tonight.
thank the gods tessarion’s saddle
requires oiling.. & the sept.. for providing a quiet retreat.
⠀
the sun will rise with or without you. what do you think your life amounts to, in the grand scheme of things? / i'd like to think i am a bird, singing a merry song. heard, then gone, then remembered.