Sunset Valley darling don't you weep

@Emýr time to cry

she did not look back.
let them talk, if they still had the appetite.
past the rise and the reach of the sun's glow, she found a stretch of earth where the cold wind snaked through the valley.
there, she waited. for her son and the one thing left in this world that could still unravel her.

sobbing already twin

Emýr was ashamed to admit he had looked back. Jaded eyes of emerald watching Erys scamper away like a dog who'd been scolded. It wasn't guilt he felt—the man had gotten himself into that mess, and he deserved the punishment. But there was an inkling of a sinking, gnawing feeling. One the Crownore is either too cowardly or too stubborn to acknowledge. 

Let him sulk. Perhaps he'd learn that all that bark would eventually be met with a bite. And that his mother of all people was not a woman to be tried. 

And so the sullen man trailed after his mother. Desperately, as the thought of her vanishing around the bend made his heart ache. He had lost her once. A piece of himself left to haunt the cold, dark halls of Winterhelm. He would not lose her again. 

The moment he finds her, it's as if the walls he'd built come crashing. No longer does he feel like the jaded, angry man. With her, he didn't have to wear that armor and he did not have to wield that sword. With her, he could just exist as her son. The boy that used to beg her to roughhouse and spar, the boy who saw her as the moon to his stars. 

His throat feels tight. An unfamiliar, grating sensation, but he has no anger. Not now. Right now, there is only relief as he finds his place at her side. Yearning to feel her warmth but afraid to ask for it. 

The silence is thick, heavy. He doesn't know what to say, or where to start. He didn't know if she was overjoyed to see him, or disappointed that he had left without as much as a goodbye.

"I'm sorry," is all he manages. Stormy and dark but no less raw. An apology long overdue, and surely not enough to right the wrongs. If she were to listen close enough—and she would—there was the slightest tremor to his voice.

she hears him. she always does.
not another moment passes until she is suddenly gathering him in her arms—not with words, not with judgment, but love. pure, true, and raw.
one limb hooks around his backside, the other at the back of his head, pressing him close, anchoring him. her nose finds the thick of his scruff and she inhales.
he is as soft and warm and perfect as the day she'd lost him.
the matriarch had searched for him in the wind, in the cries of birds overhead, in the faintest sound of snow breaking underfoot. and when the days stretched into seasons, she told herself it was foolish to hope. that he was lost.
or worse—that he had left because he could not stand her.
she didn't want to cry. she didn't want to fall apart in front of her son she'd sworn to be strong for. but how could she not?
"moon-bright boy,"  her eyes squeeze shut and she presses her lips to his temple. her jaw is clenched so tight it aches, "stupid, brave, proud boy of mine."

For a moment, muscles stiffen beneath raven plumage. Her warmth is all encompassing, a comfort that he hadn't realized he craved. That he missed. Because gods as his witness, he'd fucking ached for her. There was not a day that went by where he hadn't thought of his mother, where he hadn't mourned her, where he hadn't been eaten alive by the guilt of leaving her behind. Moments where he'd yearned to turn back and run into her arms once again, to relive his short-time spent as a troubled child soothed by the calmness of his mother. 

He is stiff, until he is not. Until he cannot stand to be for another second. The raven prince slumps into his mother's weight and comfort, drawing her tight into his own arms. Burying his face into the crook of her neck where then, in the first time in years, he allows himself to unravel. A shuddered, heart-aching noise torn from the depths of his soul, muffled by the softness of her fur. Like a floodgate had been opened. Like he'd just come home to her. His body shakes with his cries, his brows furrowed as tears soak her pale coat. Throat raw and aching as he unleashed the torrent of torture bottled up for centuries.

A shattered man, far past repair, now reunited with the one woman who he thought the world of. "I'm so fucking sorry," his voice is shaky, broken. There are not enough apologies he could utter that could fix the damage he'd done, or fix the ache that might still haunt his mother. But there is a promise in his hold; he would not leave her again. 

"I'm a coward. I failed you, I failed Kaelith." Words spoken between cries and shudders, pressed reverently into her skin. The truth bared to the one person who wouldn't strike him for it. Had he not been so eager to leave, so eager to disobey and disrespect his father, he could have helped her. Stayed with her, comforted her while Adonis' turned sour. When his temper would flare and when his desire would lead him into another woman's bed. He could have stopped it...couldn't he?

she holds him through every tremble, every word, every sob that tears through his ribs,"emýr." she breathes, voice low, shaking, but never sharp. never cold. her paw smooths down the back of his head, slow, tender. like she’s memorizing the feel of him again, "do not apologize."
her breath hitches—only once—but she does not cry. not when he needs her solid.
"failed me? there is no such thing." the words are firm, but not harsh, "you were a child. hurt, cornered, burning for air." her lips find his temple again, "and i—" she swallows, presses her cheek against his fur, "i am the one who should have seen it. the one who should have made a place you didn’t have to run from. i am the one who must apologize to you."
her arms tighten around him. the woman draws back just enough to see his face, to hold him before her. she is not gentle here—she is reverent, desperate to soothe the boy beneath the pain.
"you are no coward." her voice grows rough, "you left, yes, but not because you are weak. it takes strength to stay. but sometimes, walking takes more. more courage. more pain."
a beat passes. her forehead presses against his and her lids fall, "but you are here now. that matters more than anything that came before."