Alarian braced himself for her reaction, and it came as he expected it; baggage was never fun. There was a reason he rarely spoke about his past. He shifted uncomfortably as Lily finally spoke, prodding for more information. She had a right to know, but— that didn't mean he wanted to answer.
I think he's alone,
He said quietly, tone devoid of emotion, after a few beats; he hadn't smelled any others on Runion. Nothing but the wilds. He was on the other side of the mountain range— I don't think he'll find us. Not for awhile.
His skin prickled uncomfortably. This was dangerously close to talking about his childhood territory. Lily couldn't know that, of course, but that fact only put him slightly more at ease. One wrong— or right, depending on which side of things you were on— question could send the conversation spiraling out of his control.
He sensed she was not entirely placated by the answer, but he suspected nothing would accomplish that. Alarian watched as her demeanor shifted, dread and guilt filling the hollow space in his chest. Where it would have been appreciated before, Lily's sympathy only inspired anxiety. How are you?
Fine— I'm fine.
The words came strained and abrupt; a poor lie. He shut down, gaze darkening, and started to move past her. I gotta go.
The Governor muttered, trembling almost imperceptibly as he hurried in the direction of the Bracken Woods. He would only find solace there, he knew.
He had thought— hoped she would allow his retreat. More than anything, he needed solitude; space to let his grief fall out around him. Alarian was ultimately denied that relief. Instead, Lily rounded on him with harsh words. Perhaps her anger was justified— no, it was. Everything she said was undeniably true.
Alarian closed his eyes as her last few words hit him, lowering his head. His throat felt tight, closed. He just wanted to get away, but he couldn't— he was trapped. After several beats, hazel eyes cracked open and he studied her dully. It was longer before he spoke.
You can't help,
He said finally, tone weary and stiff and breathless all at once. My mother is dead— my brother is here to kill me—
I'm losing it. His eyes closed again; suddenly he was tired, too tired.
Alarian didn't miss the way she just said "yeah", first thinking it a cruel reaction— but he knew that was unlike Lily. He swallowed the information for now, sensing somehow that it would cause him more upset than he needed right now. More upset than they needed. Telling her at all had hurt; already he regretted it. Of course she would make him regret it.
Bitterness burned in his throat, but he tamed it as she prodded further. His only answer to her first two questions was a nod; her last, he could not answer for several beats, though it didn't matter because she kept talking. He wished she hadn't. Whether it was selfish or not, Alarian would not allow anyone entitlement to his most private information— the rawest of his wounds. He stiffened slightly, eyes cracking open.
Maybe I don't want to talk about it, Lily,
The words were not harsh— not even angry, but tired. Alarian fell silent again; he was done explaining himself, done trying to convey his need to be alone with his grief. It had taken all the energy from him, and he knew he would sooner flee and face Lily's wrath later than try to convince her now.
As she spoke, Alarian thought maybe he was beginning to understand; maybe this wasn't about him at all. He had made clear what would help him— solitude, or at least a damn change of subject. But he was realizing this wasn't about what would help him.
He swallowed hard, knowing he could not offer his friend what she needed. The truth was, he didn't want help— not right now, not from anyone. A piece of his soul had been ripped from him, more cruelly than he had thought possible, and he did not want help. Alarian couldn't allow anyone near, not until he had staunched the grief bleeding from him. For his own sake, but for theirs too; he would not pretend himself unselfish, but he knew his selfishness well enough to know he could not shield his loved ones from the bite of his grief unless he removed himself entirely.
If Lily needed simple verbal affirmation, he could try; if she needed a project to feel reassured, he could not fill that role.
I don't,
He admitted. But, Lily, it's not you— I just need time.
Alarian paused— then, more softly: I know I don't handle these things well; I'm sorry. I can't be there for Lanawyn, either, and I—
He swallowed hard. It's not that I don't care.
I'm just broken. And not in a tragic, heart-wrenching way, he thought; in a way that was ugly, that hurt everyone he loved. In a way that made him hate himself above all else.
Watching her go hurt more than he thought it would, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything else. He was certain he'd only do more damage. Maybe— maybe in a different life, he could have been the kind of friend she wanted. Someone more open, trusting— hell, someone emotionally functional. Someone who could be there for her, too. Lily deserved a friend like that.
It just couldn't be him.
Alarian was rooted to the spot for awhile. He didn't know how long. When he finally turned to leave, it was to stumble numbly to his den— to be alone. Suddenly, he realized he didn't want to be alone at all.