you're a fraud and you know it
but it's too good to throw it all away
He was sorry he'd done nothing; that he hadn't helped, that he'd as good as abandoned her to the wolves. The Thief knew her to be capable, more than most, and far more able than he when faced with the sharp end of a blade, and yet he felt he should have followed, made more effort than that of worrying, and haunting frozen paths. After all that, a request still settled upon his tongue, heavy and burdensome, that he might put upon her with no offer of anything in return.
"I was hoping to leave tomorrow. I'd been waiting, for..." He gestured to her with a half smile, gaze seeking out the ghostly form of Imogen through the starlit darkness. They had returned, and the Thief could rest easy knowing Lena and her companion were in the safety of their home, that he need not worry any longer about what fate she could have met; and yet he was not at peace, for as she was returned from danger, he readied himself to leap into its jaws. The thought of magic, of fire and wraiths, stirred an uneasiness in his mind that he was not eager to embrace. He felt the Mender shiver at his side, rest her cheek against his skin, and was simultaneously comforted and disquieted. Questions of what she had been through burned at the back of his mind, but he would not voice them. Answers were of no value when she stood at his side, safe and well, and that was the only resolution he required.
The Thief hardly dared to hope that she would accept his request, having been through one hardship too many over the past few seasons, having struggled through aggression and invasion. He wouldn't blame her, wouldn't think ill of her for it. He might even thank her, for preventing his foolish plan from dragging her into harm's way once again, for saving her from the selfishness that was his desire to never leave her side. She need not risk anything for the sake of his grand expedition, when she would gain nothing from it. But then, was this to be his last farewell? Was it possible, knowing little of magic himself, that it could overwhelm him, overcome him, would he perish beneath its might? What creature might return with power pulsing through its veins, would it corrupt his very heart, his soul? Every irrational worry rushed to the forefront of his mind, but he did his best to swallow them down. There was no use in falling apart on the eve of his departure, and cowardice would not earn him what he sought.
The Thief fixed her with a steady gaze, grounding himself in her presence. "Would you come with me?" He spoke quietly, as if hoping she would not hear him at all. "I know it's a lot to ask," he added, gaze downcast, as if hoping, praying, that the stones would part and swallow him up, steal him away into the dark recesses of the mountain's heart. "I was worried about you."
@[Lena]
sometimes you even fool yourself a bit
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