when I pretend everything is what I want it to be

I look exactly like what you had always wanted to see

The moment the words of indecision had left his lips, Roland knew he’d said the wrong thing. Yet there was no taking them back now; no swapping their uncertainty for a more confident answer. He could have said no, he preferred solitude, thrived off of reticence and seclusion, or he could have insisted otherwise, that he had changed, that these past years in the Basin had reformed him, cut and carved away his structure and shaped him into something else; not stubborn, immoveable granite but a malleable ore. But in the end he could not deny who he was, no easier than Lena could deny herself. Nonetheless, he had never intended to upset her, though he so clearly had. There was no mistaking the disappointment draped over the dejected curve of her shoulders as she uttered a single, quiet syllable.

Roland frowned, wishing he could have given her the answer she’d wanted to hear. He shifted on his feet, crushing reeds beneath his hooves and resisting the urge to reach out to her. It was no fault of Lena’s, that he immersed himself in solitude as readily as he sought out companionship. Both had their merits and their disadvantages, but he would never be able to choose between the two.

Despite his words of assurance, insisting he enjoyed her company, the Thief could see she doubted him. And should he be surprised, when falsities came so easily to his mind? When lies rolled off his silver tongue with saccharine promise, when misleading was his livelihood, should he be shocked that she could not accept his truth for what it was because he made a habit of being untrustworthy? It was too little, too late surely. Like his father, he had dug his own grave with disloyalty and deceit; bore these virtues like a ball and chain. What was he to do now, to prove his integrity?

He was grasping for something to go off of when Lena spoke again, and her doubt set him back on his heels. Did she even need to ask why? Had he been so horribly ambiguous, so enigmatic, that he’d given her the impression she was nothing more than another face to him, another meaningless advocate that he could easily wash his hands of when their value had diminished? Perhaps at one time he had thought of his friends as mere tools and stepping stones, but he could not let go of Lena, no easier than he could have turned his back on Arah or Caneo. Roland had been left behind too. He recalled all too clearly the emptiness following rejection, and would wish it upon no one.

“Why?” He echoed, as if saying it aloud would help him understand. Why not? She had been there since the beginning, had told him of the Basin and vouched for him when Mauja had taken unkindly to his intrusion. She had kept him company in the sanctuary, distracting him from the evil running rampant above their heads. Even now, she was his support.

“Have you any idea what you mean to me?” Roland asked, though the words were not easy to speak, without veneer or pretense to disguise their sincerity. He frowned, eyes darkening in concern as he met her widened gaze. “I would not be here without you.” Very few had shown him the selfless devotion she had, and taken all his flaws in stride as if they were beneath notice. She had always seemed so secure, so stable. To see her uncertain and distressed was too much for the Thief to bear. She must be as convincing an actor as himself, to have fooled him into thinking there were no insecurities beneath the force of her affection and goodwill. He could bring to light a million examples to prove her worth, if she would refuse to accept the promise in his words alone.

Roland stepped forwards slowly, his hooves trailing through the tall grass and bending cattails in his wake. He reached out to bump his muzzle against her cheek, before drawing closer to rest his forehead against the curve between her shoulder and neck, a solid, determined pressure. “You have showed me more kindness and patience than anyone I’ve known. Of course I want you to stay.”

@[Lena]