As Paladin stared at Mauja, he wondered if the protective emotions he had felt for his daughter were real at all. Once upon a time, the ice king had stated his intentions for Ophelia, and he had been, naturally, wary. The warlord had fought against him once, had seen his corruption with Psyche, but that was no corruption. Mauja and Psyche were the honest ones, the ones not denying their true selves. Mauja was real, and Paladin was a fraud.
Ironic, that the bad guy and the good guy had switched places - that they had been playing the wrong roles the whole time. Paladin smirked wryly, the expression not sitting right on his face where scars had marred his lips. "Mauja," he replied, leaning against a tree and staring at the copse where lovers met. He remembered being here with Soleil, finding her after such a long time, and he wanted to laugh and cry at once at how thoroughly he had fooled himself.
When Aaron showed up next, he knew that he was being tormented. He had failed Aaron miserably by giving up the Foothills when he did. Paladin nodded and wanted nothing more than to scream out to all of them his crimes, so that they would see him for what he truly was - just as black on the inside as he was on the outside.
He felt like his time was growing short now, like a band being stretched, stretched, stretched until it finally popped and he was gone. Paladin frowned and nodded to the boy. "Yes," he said. It had been a long time for him. A long time, too many homes, and miles and miles traveled. He dreamed of the Tides. He had always thought that he would die there, not here.
May Silverline carry him home...
Paladin wanted to tell them about his past, about the pointlessness of fighting against fate, but he was no Storyteller anymore. He had no right to give them advice. "There is blood on my hooves..." he finally admitted. "Too much to wash clean."
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