Dragoncrest Cliffs i give myself v good advice but v seldom follow it (sits on a rock & cries)

Usually, Aure would retreat. But there was a glint of the heiress in her argent eyes as his own crept with frost, as he loomed before her, above her. And it was an heiress who rose, womb slowing her, as she leveled with him. Slim brow narrowed after registering all he said, felt his faint note of a sob within his soul more than she heard it. If the letting of tears had been trained from him, then Aure would stumble into that “way of the warrior” in an attempt to meet him: ”We all weep, Vercingetorix.” Her own voice warbling, but she lifted her scarred chin all the same. "If I need to hold you, to kiss you, to make love to you for the rest of forever to let you know how to find solace through crying, for you to see the strength in that—" Undaunted, when the only fear of hers was how worn with anguish he’d been. How it would consume him, ruin him if he never found — or sought — means for this sort of release.

”Weeping does not beget weakness; strength is found through sorrow. Your laments give cause for learning. You will never grow if you suppress everything that is within you. And this grieving... this grieving will never end. I am not Heda, and I am not Blixen — but I am your mate. Your mate, solider, and you will listen to me.” Voice gentle, full of that fervent soul-strain, but entirely unafraid. Her eyes flared bright and bleary, like a winter sunrise, as she lamented to her beloved of the Drowning; of her frozen fury; of how it seemed Vonnaruil had passed in his sleep. Her ears curved back, each word taut as her throat worked to issue her grievence for the innocence they'd since lost. ”From then on, I only ever seethed, or screamed, as a child. I’d forgotten what it was to weep — I was to be queen, and queens-to-be never wept. But I had forgotten a forgiveness in myself that had always been there, waiting to tend to me.”

Aure told him, too, of how the first time she'd truly expressed her sorrows had been the eve where he'd first claimed her. How she'd come to forgive herself when they had found Vonnaruil, "For ze first time in two years, when I returned to your arms and we created them—“ nodding to her womb, breast fluttering, “—I returned to myself when I never again thought I would.” Only for this moment, this faltering heartbeat, she would command him, in this faraway moment that faded from the rest of the world. This moment where neither Rhaesuial, Trigeda, Drageda or status existed. Only Them, whether he had mated his heart to hers or no: ”Now — you are going to lie with me, solider. I am going to hold you, and you are going to cry to me. You are going to cry to me until I have kissed every tear falling from your eyes; until they have become my own. I cannot let you go through this alone. I will not. I am your mate, and you are mine.”

Even if he tore into her with his forged tongue, or ferocious teeth, forsaking tears, she would always forgive him; never fear him. Even nighttime weeps; even her Stormborn — and if he kept himself enshrouded from her, he’d be quite hard-pressed to ignore the flaring gleam that was her unwavering faith. I cherish you, and everything that you are. Even now. Even this. Regardless of it all, she advanced with slow, soothing steps; her eyes were melted silver, glimmering within a scarred, yet heartrendingly soft ivory face.

With a hesitancy of such tension, such proximity, all of Them stuttered right to this very moment. To where she knew how desolate he was, and would cradle with all that was forever. ”Cry to me.” Perhaps her faith was a fool’s. Perhaps she shouldn’t have risen — but her beloved made her rise as dawn does, no matter the occurrence, the occasion. I Know you, and this devastation. So she threaded herself ever nearer, strode with her fool’s faith into the eye of his storm, with a diadem of white-and-red held high.

”Look at me, dragostea — regele inimii.” If her mate admitted her so closely, Aurëwen would have softened herself entirely to him; twined her elegant neck beneath his own — as he had with her, once upon a time. Waiting, because this was entirely his choice. Every heartbeat after his decision would thrum to this melancholia; and Aure was unendingly prepared to shoulder this for the both of them. For him. ”I See you, Verx,” Bounkola quivered, melding her scarred snout into his jaw, his throat with a gentle whine, faintly hiccupy. ”And I love, I love, I love you.”