Wedding Bells (AU, for gunslingerqueen) (NSFW)

[toweredingly]

Roland had woken with a headache and a sinking sense of cold dread, and neither were because of the large amounts of whiskey and graf he'd drunk the night before. It was a familiar feeling; the same steady almost-fear settled into his bones whenever he saw a battle looming. But battles could be fought with gunfire and cold rage, with all thought pushed aside and the world coming at you moment by moment. Today was worse. Today was politics.

He'd set aside his usual jerkin and jeans for more formal gear. The suit itself wasn't so bad, but he felt naked without his guns at his hip. It would have been good to have their comfort, even if he had no intent of using them. Their weight had always been like having a part of his father still with him, and all the gunslingers of their line before him. Now, when he most felt need of that reassurance, he had to set it aside. Clean-shaven and well-heeled, with his hair pulled back into a queue and his feet rubbed by the hard leather of new shoes, he felt like another man - and one even less capable of facing all that lay ahead.

The wedding was in the morning, before the real Fair-Day began. Then things would take their usual course; the castle flung open to the people, the feasting and singing and Fair-Day riddling, with raucous good humour and doubtless a few fights. That was manageable. He had lived that every Fair-Day for his whole life. What frightened him, more than he would ever admit, was the part that came before and after.

"You look more like a man going to put a noose around her neck than a ring around her finger," Bert commented in his ear, bringing him back to the present. For his part, Bert looked perfectly at ease in formal wear, sauntering about and regarding Roland with a critical eye. Whatever dark mood had been slithering about under the surface, he seemed to have excised it for now.

Roland answered with a grunt, looking back ruefully at the gunbelt hanging over the back of his chair, and closed his eyes for a moment. "Is there a difference?"

"Dinh or no dinh, I'm not beyond punching you. Just for once, Ro', try to stop living in whatever darkness is going on in that bony head of yours, and relax." For once, Bert wasn't smiling. He slung an arm around his friend's shoulders, looking at him closely. "She's not Susan. I kennit, Ro'. But she's what Susan would have wanted for you. Carry that with you, at least."

"Thankee, Bert." Patting Cuthbert on the back, Roland shook his head and started towards the door. Towards the Hall of the Ancestors, where Burtock Hattlen waited in lieu of a dinh, where Alain was standing by with a ring.

The hall was filled, to a casual eye, but Roland saw the empty spaces more than the full. No Cort, no Vannay, no Stephen Deschain in the high seat. Many who should have been seated in the best places were gone. Somehow, that made it easier to settle his mind, straighten his spine, and wait steady and watchful at the front of the hall for his bride.

Comments

[toweredingly]

"He didn't have time to go for his gun." He nodded, moving away smoothly to spin her under his arm, and came in close again. "Caught me in the shoulder while we were grappling, but it's a shallow cut. Did more damage to my shirt than to me." He wasn't downplaying the injury, at least not intentionally. He'd taken far worse in his time, and so long as it was crusting over and not gouting blood, he saw no need to worry about this one.

"If they are your mother's men," he said slowly, after a moment, "who's more like to be the target, your folken or mine?" He hadn't quite gotten a handle on the situation in that family, and although his instinct was to guess that they were after him, he wanted to hear her thoughts on the matter.

[gunslingerqueen]

"I'm wrapping it up later, or Eunyce can if that would be easier." She couldn't argue and insist that it was terrible enough to require immediate attention, he was standing just fine, so hopefully he could just give her that much.

"Mine first, yours second. After all, sending me off to be married to a man I don't know after what happened with Christian, and how badly I reacted to the result, was a malicious act on her part. Not only would she get rid of me through marriage or my possible suicide, you wouldn't have any reason to suspect that the woman who sent you a bride was Farson's bitch. She also relied on the fact that I would never trust you enough to reveal my skill with a gun, or that I would bring up my suspicions about her allegiance." Her smile was humorless and even a bit sad. "Even if I did work up the bravery to tell you anything she trusted that I wouldn't risk Lena and Nathan's marriage in exchange for ours." She shrugged gently, "Unfortunately she was right in as many ways as she was wrong. Hurray for us."

[toweredingly]

"If she ever shows her face here..." Roland began grimly, but fell sharply silent mid-word, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Smooth as his steps had been, he froze now, letting go of her. He turned, his hands going to his guns, and found himself staring down the barrel of Henry Jacquard's pistol.

The music clashed discordantly into silence, the dancers stumbling to a halt around them. Across the room, Alain and Bert found themselves pinned by men they had thought they knew; at the table, the fat man had managed to pull his own gun, and had it levelled at Nariko.

The world seemed to be holding its breath, the whole great hall silent, so that when Roland cursed aloud, it echoed around the ancient walls like a stone in a well.

"This is treason, Henry." He still hadn't drawn his guns. In fact, he moved his hands away a little, his jaw tight.

[gunslingerqueen]

Nariko would have been interested in the rest of that sentence but it was cut short and she felt the collective inhale, saw the gun practically in her face. Well, hey, now it was really a party!

Two with Bert and Alain, and one at her and Roland. It wasn't the worst set of odds she had ever faced but it wasn't pretty, either. As if the presence of a gun didn't bother her in the least, Nariko looked to Agni and and Ignis who stood ready and waiting. Four of them to the fifteen of her kin here, they would win but not without unfortunate close calls. She looked back at the fat man that thought he might take her life, or at least had the audacity to threaten her, and smirked.

"It's treason, and a death sentence."

Because they wouldn't make it out of here alive, one way or other, Nariko would be sure of it. The instant this went the wrong direction she would have half a second to tell Agni and Ignis what to do, and another half to pull her guns out. But this was still someone Roland knew, so for at least the moment she remained still.

[toweredingly]

"What it is is justice." Jacquard's voice was sharp, although there was an odd tremble at the back of it. "I served under your father, Roland, and I did it gladly. And I served you this long, callow boy though you are, for the blood in your veins. You've felt your way through this war and you've lost hundreds who might have lived."

"Henry." Roland took a step closer, unflinching. "If this is about your son... we have all taken losses. But this is madness."

Jacquard laughed hoarsely and humourlessly, shaking his head. "Will? He's gone. I kennit. No, this is about her." With his free hand, he jerked a thumb at Nariko, real hate in his eyes. "After all we've fought for, all we've lost... all your father died for, you'll bed down with Farson's whore?"

[gunslingerqueen]

Oh, fuck this.

When she turned on her heel it was enough to throw the signal, not only to her cousins who would hopefully restrain those who had Alain and Cuthbert, but to Kaine as well. She was close enough to get to the large man and just as fast as Roland - a fact that often terrified her, as their speed was nothing to brush off - and hopefully fast enough to disarm him. Right now she went about the very stupid task of putting herself in front of Roland.

"If you believed in justice then you would not train your gun on your dinh, you would at least have the honor to face me yourself or better yet, request a trial. You think I am Farson's whore? That I have ever been anything short of loyal, even as I put my life before someone you would say is callow? Speak clearly, sai, you'll never get another chance to tell me what delusions have come over you. I only hope we can free your mind of whatever has grasped it so fiercely."

And he either spoke and wasted time telling her how much of a horrible woman she must be - not that she needed him to tell her anything about that! - or he would shoot her point blank and the only, slight factor that could save her life was Roland's speed.

sorry this got long and overdramatic

[toweredingly]

In point of fact, he had time for neither. Taking advantage of her signal and her cousins' intervention to headbutt his captor square in the nose, Cuthbert fumbled out the catapult from his pocket, and whatever Jacquard had been about to say became a shout of pain as a steel ball thudded into his gun hand. The pistol discharged as it landed, sending guests scattering, but if anyone had been injured, it wasn't immediately obvious.

Then Roland's gun was in his hand, and he was at Nariko's side, thumbing back the hammer. Now - only now - he was trembling with anger, his eyes alight with it. "She may care what you think, Henry. I don't. You have forgotten the face of your father, and disgraced the guns you bore. I care about only one thing from you: is this your treason, or Farson's? Who's been whispering in your ear? Did he come dressed in black, tittering of his conquests? Did he come to you to share a secret? A letter, maybe?" His voice was harder than diamond, but he was still shaking with emotion. His gun still trained on Jacquard, who was clutching his bloody hand and looking stricken, he looked around the hall. There was Cuthbert, catapult at the ready; Alain still wrestling himself free; Jamie with a knife to a man's throat. There were men he knew and trusted, attacking his kin. There were the dancers, looking almost as stricken as Henry.

"If you would name me traitor," he said at last, in a low, carrying voice, "then come forwards and do it. But if you would call me callow for marrying her, then remember: before Nariko was known to any of you, Farson's whore sat in that seat. Do you think I have forgotten? Do you truly think I am stupid enough to repeat the mistake that killed my father?" He set his jaw, turning his eyes back to Jacquard. "Her mother betrayed us. That, you will hear soon enough, and it is true. But if having a traitorous mother is enough to make one a traitor, then come forth." Again, his eyes roved the room, challenging and piercing. "Now, to my face, come forth and call me traitor."

no this is perfect shhh I am sorry for the pathetic response

[gunslingerqueen]

In truth she didn't give a shit what the man thought, her only concern had been to keep his mind busy until what happened, happened. There were innocent people here, those who couldn't defend themselves and Nariko could only think of Roland's safety and theirs, and in that order. But ultimately that was just a footnote judging by all that Roland said. It was Nia, of all people, Nia who looked so much like Nariko herself, that went to Alain's aide - quite firmly knocking his assailant out with her club - and Kaine whose blade rested against the fat man's neck, his gun on the floor. Agni and Ignis eyed Jacquard as if they might feel better eating him alive and she was suddenly intensely grateful for their self-control.

She did absolutely nothing to calm Roland because there was nothing that could be done about it. All that she had control of was her own expression, because now wasn't the time for her gratuity to shine through, and it occurred to her that he had more than one reason to say these things, after all. Everyone was listening and she had been as cunning about it beforehand with her speech.

The twins wanted to act, Kaine wanted to murder, but this wasn't the moment for that, and so she stayed both parties with her own glare. If there were doubts then they needed to be voiced now. Granted, she had no idea who might be brave enough to argue with a man in this state, but, hey, that would only mean that they really thought she might be some terrible omen, so it would work itself out one way or another.

don't be daft it's fine <3

[toweredingly]

In the end, it was Jacquard who spoke first. He was still standing there, like a statue, making no move to retrieve his gun. Now, slowly, still clasping his injured hand against his chest, he went down on his knees. The hardness had gone from his voice, replaced wholely by that tremor of uncertainty and grief. In the High Speech, he choked out "I cry your pardon, gunslinger. I have forgotten the face of my father, whose guns I am not worthy to bear." Then, reverting back to the Low Speech, "The letter we found on patrol, a week ago. A messenger from Farson's troops to her mother. When I brought it to you, you turned me away. I thought..." He looked up. The certainty had left his face as well as his voice. Now he only looked like a middle-aged man, hair greying at the temples, hazel eyes shadowed. "Kill me or let me live, I have gone west already."

Roland looked down at him for a long time, his shoulders stiff with tension, his gun still readied. At last, his lips pressed together so tightly as to be almost invisible, he holstered the pistol.

"Henry Jacquard, I name you traitor. I strip you of your guns and of your rank. Stay in Gilead, go west, or go to Farson. It means nothing to me. But get out of my sight." Turning, he looked around at the other attackers. "As for the rest of them, I want names. I want to know who sent them, who gave the command, what they knew. Jamie, Alain, take care of it. Cuthbert, Thomas, stay watch here. And if anyone so much as breathes the word whore again tonight," he added with sudden heat, "I'll kill him myself."

Bending down to pick up Jacquard's gun, he brushed past Nariko and stalked away. His face was hard, his back ramrod-straight. Nobody stood in his way as he left the room.

♥

[gunslingerqueen]

Considering that this man had aimed a gun at Roland seconds earlier, that he might have jovially ended her life as well, Nariko felt pity for him. Maybe she was too easily fooled by remorse, or maybe Henry Jacquard's grief was so honest that she couldn't accept it as anything but. It didn't really matter. This wasn't her issue to settle and Roland's decision was the least surprising of all. The very sentimental part of her wanted to insist that wasn't necessary but she couldn't question him. Not right now, and not in front of everyone.

Roland gave his orders and marched off, she imagined that he didn't even see her looking at him, but even if he did then worse, he did not care. She couldn't blame him for it, so she didn't get in his way either, she looked to her kin, took a deep breathe, and forced herself to move.

Agni and Ignis were tasked with taking names and questioning people, but Nariko found her brother (who was a mess) and Lena, but they and everyone else seemed just fine. She could leave him to it or risk following him despite having no idea what might happen on either end. But she was good at phenomenally stupid ideas and implementing them so why should this one be any different? So Roland ended up with a decent ten minutes start before Nariko left to find him.

At this point, she needed to begin writing a book about how to track this man down during his various moods.

[toweredingly]

Roland's study, probably the first place she would look, was empty. Nothing in it had moved since the last time they had been there, the day before. She would find him in his room, instead, hunkered in front of the hearth with Jacquard's gun in his hands, staring moodily into the fresh-laid fire.

He had been ready for Farson's men. He didn't think he was fooling himself in that. If Henry had been working for Farson, he would have shot him dead in an instant. If he had made that challenge out of hatred, the same. But Roland had seen that look before, and knew it had been in his own eyes all too often. There had been a desperation in the man's face, and a grief that spoke of something he had believed unavoidable.

And that was the last thing Gilead needed. With doubt besetting everything the Affiliation had once held, to have those seeds of mistrust sown in their own ranks... gunslingers turning to Farson was one thing, but this...

"I should just have shot him," he muttered, under his breath. "Stopped him spreading his poison."

[gunslingerqueen]

That he wasn't in that study was a miracle, a blessed one as she didn't want to be in those walls for a while longer. If he was down in the fields she might have heard him which just left his room, not exactly the best place for her to be in but, oh well. This was more important. She pushed his door open, plenty noisy, and leaned against the frame whether he aimed his guns at her or not.

"Wouldn't have been worth it, and probably wouldn't have slowed anything by much. You're their dinh, not their executioner."

And the true problem had very little to do with Roland and everything to do with Farson. People lost their way and became easily confused when things dragged on for too long. It was natural, but no easier to deal with.

[toweredingly]

He didn't turn to look at her, just went on staring into the fire. "Way things are going, I won't be either for much longer," he said at last, quietly. "I'm not my father. I never will be. And I doubt I'll ever have their faith the way he did." Now he got to his feet, putting the gun down on the mantelpiece, although he still didn't turn. "He did bring me the letter, you know. I remember. But all I wanted was to be alone. I could have avoided this, if..." If the magic he'd picked up in Mejis hadn't still been there, eating away at his mind. If he wasn't back to being addicted. If, if, if. None of those were things he could say, though, so he let the sentence hang there, running a hand back through his hair as he turned to look at her.

"Are you all right?"

[gunslingerqueen]

"Feel free to explain how that line of thinking does you any good. A week ago you knew nothing about my mother and, considering the unfortunate implications, you might have been too busy accusing me of being just like your mother. That would have been what mine wanted. You would have been irritated by the time wasted, I would be dead, and you would have a second war lead by my grandmother to deal with."

She let herself in, but only partially closed the door as he had every right to throw her out when he liked. "You could not avoid this because you did not have control over this. You couldn't have. No one else could have, not even your father. And you might want to tell me otherwise all day until you are blue in the face, but it just isn't true. That man decided to live in the past, it was a detriment to himself and you, but his decision all the same." It took a deep breathe, but she very slowly, carefully added, "You said before that everyone here lives with ghosts. That your men revere your fathers is not your fault. It never was and, honestly, if anything I've heard of your father has even been half true I can't help thinking he'd have boxed them for being so difficult. I wish every day that I was more like my father, that I wasn't so fucking terrified all the time, but we are their children for a reason. We'll never be exactly like them, even if that would be easier."

As for whether she was all right or not? ... She had waited so long for him to ask that now the answer was just too large, and she didn't want to bother him with it. Or she was terrified of it herself, one or the other!

[toweredingly]

"I just..." Roland balled his fists at his sides for a moment, tightening his jaw. "This is his work, again. It has his stamp all over it. Whispers in the shadows, seducing men into thinking it's all their own idea... it's how he baited me into fighting Cort, it's how he ruined my mother, it's how he had my father killed. Henry's not the first to fall into Marten's traps, and he won't be the last, and if I could only find the fatherless son of a bitch..."

He shook his head sharply, like a horse trying to dislodge a fly. She was right. Ifs and buts would get him nowhere but deeper into his mounting rage. Swallowing the anger as best he could, he turned away, sloughing off his jacket and tossing it over the back of a chair. The shirt underneath was bloody at the chest and shoulder, but he'd told the truth about it not being deep; the cut had already clotted black.

"This isn't just mine to carry," he said, his back to her. "I want an answer. Are you all right?"

[gunslingerqueen]

She could practically see him stamping it down with all the force in his body and it was nearly painful to witness. Again, he tried to push at something she sorely wished he would leave alone but her own metaphor returned. Wolf. Biting down on things. Hardheadedness. Talk about coming back around to bite her in the ass. The sight of blood on his clothing snapped her back to attention and she sighed loudly, half on purpose.

"You can have your answer if I can wrap your arm. Do you have bandages and cloth in here or do I need to go and get mine? And maybe don't argue with me, Roland, this is a very fair trade and it'll look a mess if you do it on your own. Also, I might have to kick your ass if you get an infection over such a silly wound."

One that still made her fret internally but she was long accustomed to hiding that sort of thing.

[toweredingly]

"I wouldn't argue." Roland nodded once, shortly, and went over to the chest of drawers. Out of the top drawer, he pulled out a little leather case. Dangerous as his life was, he'd always found it useful to have basic supplies close to hand - that, and he'd never shaken the habit after he'd stopped wandering. "You'll doubtless do a better job than I would. Though it's more chest than arm."

Turning his back again, he undid his cravat and started on his shirt. The worst part was getting the fabric off the cut; it stuck nastily, and he gritted his teeth as he worked it free from the clotted blood.

"From the fact that you feel the need to bargain," he commented without looking at her, shrugging off his shirt at last and tossing it on top of his abandoned jacket, "should I assume that it isn't as simple as 'yes'?"

[gunslingerqueen]

"Do you have some pervasive form of modesty, or something?" Because this whole refusing to look at her deal was really very strange. Whatever hesitance she felt about being in his space, which was still barren but that only meant it was certainly Roland's all the same, was gone in favor of taking care of him and now she stood much closer, just behind him in fact.

"No, it's very rarely that simple, unfortunately." She took the case whether he planned on liking it or not and opened it to see what was inside. It hadn't even been an hour, and if something was caught in the wound he'd have been gushing, not crushing over. She wondered if it hurt terribly anyway. "Really is a shame, I thought you looked wonderful in that."

And now it was all bloody. "Much better with the guns, though." That she had still avoided getting anywhere near the answer she had promised him should not be any grand surprise.

[toweredingly]

"It'll wash." Turning to face her, he indicated the case. "Bandages and a few herbs. It's not much, but nor's the hurt. It'll be worse in a couple of days, when it starts to itch. As for modesty..." Wonder of wonders, he actually twitched a short smile. "You saw me fresh out of the bath yesterday, and today we were married. I think if I were modest, I'd be over it by now."

Indicating for her to join him, he went to sit down on the edge of the bed, pausing only to pick up the ewer from the table by the window.

"Don't think I haven't noticed you deftly avoiding the question," he added, after a moment. There was a low concern in his voice.

[gunslingerqueen]

She worked it open and nodded, semi-approving, while she followed him and paused where he would inevitably sit. The ends of beds were comfy and not as subtly implicating as the front. "Eunyce should have more than enough of this, it can be stocked again." Thank goodness they had the most epic doctor in Mid-World here with them! It made her feel better, at least. Despite herself the reminder of yesterday made her grin, "Very true, but you never know."

And she smiled again even as she finally took a good look at what he had gotten himself for offing one of the men, but didn't speak. She needed a full three minutes before the right words came, but at least it was better than purposefully dodging the issue now, not that he would have let her get away with it any longer, as it was.

"I'm not all right, but by now I've lost track of how much of it has to do with just me, just you, both of us, or quite literally everything else. Which includes, but is certainly not limited to, the circumstances that have resulted in our marriage, the less insane part of my family, your friendship with Cuthbert, Farson, my mother, my mother's absolutely disgusting desire for her own son, and the sheep that's probably still in my tub, so I don't even get a hot bath at the end of the day. Because there's a fucking sheep in my tub."

At least working while she talked made everything easier, and she did a good job of cleaning off as much blood as she could (what he likely needed was another bath but, whatever). "And I know that if I stop thinking and doing and worrying about you or my cousins or my grandmother or my brother, the instant I actually try to clear out my mind I'm going to cry hysterically and feel so unbearably alone in this world, Roland. In fact I will have to deal with having felt alone this entire time. For years, in fact." She could wrap his chest on automatic but she did her best to respect his personal space.

"I'm not all right with how useless I was back there, how someone you have watched be strong since you were a child can't bring himself to respect you. And on the one hand it makes me want to punch him in the face because I can't look at you and imagine not respecting you, and also, I don't want anyone insulting my husband. That isn't allowed. But then, I should be more empathetic, and I should try to understand but, again," She actually paused and waved one hand, the other holding the bandage before she started again. "Ridiculous protective instinct, beats out everything else! I'm not all right with how weak I feel or the aforementioned terror that's been increasing for over a week now."

She had to tie this off since he didn't appear to have any pins. Hm. "I have no idea what I want, or what I need to feel better, and I keep worrying about the stupidest things like, how when I was a little girl I always imagined that, as a wife, I would always do certain things. And it would make me happy to do them, but none of that matters at all now, but I don't even know if I'm sad about that or not. I am so busy feeling things and trying to keep on for the sake of my family, and for you and I as a married couple - because one of us has to be the open one, the talkative one, or we'll never get anywhere - because if I don't then someone has to deal with me and I already put Ignis through that. I don't want to put you through it." And just in case he thought there was some end to her blunt nature: "In part because you would probably think I'm a complaining wench on top of having little idea of what to do with me in that state. So, there's no way in hell I'm all right, but I don't know what to do to fix it anymore, except keep smiling and helping and doing whatever seems right at the moment."

And that was the current state of Nariko Deschain.

[toweredingly]

Roland considered this for several moments, while she tied off the bandage and lowered her hands. At last, turning slightly to meet her eyes, he reached out rather cautiously to tuck her hair back behind her ear. "There are worse ways to deal with it," he said, his voice low. "You cope by putting your energy into doing what's right. There are plenty who can't do that. As for weak... what I saw of you today was anything but weak. You might not truly kennit, but you're a gunslinger at heart, and you have a gunslinger's strength. Telling yourself otherwise is only going to drag you down." Taking the medicine case from her, he snapped it shut and got up to return it to its drawer.

"I haven't been fair to you," he said after a moment, turning back to her with his back against the chest of drawers. He didn't sound self-deprecating or apologetic; he sounded as if he were stating a self-evident fact. "I've been running scared, and that is the truth. And, at the best of times, I'm not a gentle man. But if you feel alone here..." He pressed his lips together for a moment, closing his eyes, and tried to feel his way to a conclusion. "That's not right."

Running a hand back through his hair, he looked down at her with a slight frown. "I know the loyalty you show me is political, not personal. I appreciate that. But still, I have shown you little loyalty in return. And that's not right, either."

[gunslingerqueen]

Four and a half minute probably would have been better, seven gave her enough time to feel nervous and reach a whole new level of fear. She had said too much, complained too much and had looked pathetic for it. By the time he looked at her she was doing her best to refrain from crying. And yet when he touched her there weren't any tears, mostly she was just very surprised, and prepared to do whatever it took to keep that eighth moment. It was a really good one and if he hadn't moved she might have pushed him onto his bed and kissed him.

With space between them she pushed her hair back, the side he hadn't touched, actually, and sighed. She couldn't say he was wrong about any of that because, well, he wasn't, she could only correct one piece. "It's not, but I'll feel better about that particular issue if I manage to make friends. Or if I can get over the immense trust issues Cuthbert Allgood's mere presence gives me at times."

If that hurdle could be dealt with then he would make a wonderful friend. She needed someone to talk to, to do things with, to engage with, but she wouldn't be cruel and insist Roland be that type of man.

"My loyalty is as political as returning that kiss was, Roland. And I know you were drinking, I'm not saying you meant anything by it," She gave him a vaguely deadpan expression before even that had to melt away, she didn't have the energy for it. "What put me here is political, that much is true. The source of anything I feel towards you has nothing to do with politics."

here goes the drama queen again...

[toweredingly]

Roland was silent for another long stretch, his face unreadable. At last, he looked up at her again. "If I had met you first," he began, with the measured care of someone who is struggling with a concept, and then lapsed back into silence. He'd never been good with words. But they seemed to be what was needed right now. Sighing, he crossed back over to her in a couple of long strides, and hunkered down in front of her, to meet her eyes. "If my heart weren't weighed down with her, Nariko, I think I would have loved you. Loved you as I did her."

There. It was out. And, to his surprise, now that it was out, it no longer hurt to think of. Oh, it was hardly pleasant - whatever he felt for her, it was soured by circumstance, bitter with ghosts and sharp with unhealed scars - but it was no longer the abscess in his mind it had felt of late. He found himself wondering why, exactly, it had seemed to hard to contemplate.

Reaching out, he touched her face again, but this time not to brush her hair back, only to hold her gaze on him. "I am not going to be a good husband. You have to know that by now. And I think a great deal of my heart burnt away with her. But what I can give you, I will."

yep. and I just hear 'they could have had it alllll!!' sung in the background its that dramatic

[gunslingerqueen]

Lovely for him that it was such a relief to speak what she had feared, and for him to have said it while she had to feel as if a knife was driven straight through her chest. Not only would he have felt something for her but it would have been a something at the same level of ferocious devotion that he showed to a woman that was gone, now. Lovely to know that she was almost the first in someone's heart.

This time she had no idea what to do with his touch and it was quite funny how easily the details of an action could change based on circumstance. Even worse than that, if Roland couldn't come back from what he felt then she sure as shit didn't have reason to feel hopeful.

"Well, you aren't obligated to give me even that much," And that was true, he could just choose to ignore her completely, so she worked up a smile and thought about puppies and said, "Thank you, Roland."

Mostly for listening to her and not making her feel terrible, she wasn't entirely sure how to respond to what he said. 'I would have loved you but I'm not going to try and love you properly even having an idea of what kind of person you are, and despite the fact that no one is getting any deader.' A little difficult to figure a response for especially since all that she had mentioned was a kiss.

lol, pretty much

[toweredingly]

"The best I can give you is honesty," he said after a little while, withdrawing his hand. "But it might be the worst I can give you, too. For that, I'm sorry." He meant it. Love her or not, he certainly cared for her wellbeing, and it didn't take the Touch to know that what he'd said had hurt her. Pulling away, he got to his feet. "I'll see about getting you a bath. The one in here should be easy enough to fill, and I can find somewhere else to be if you'd sooner I didn't see you naked."

It was hard to tell, with how well he schooled his expression and how unwilling he was to acknowledge it even to himself, but he was thoroughly embarrassed, and not a little angry. This hadn't been remotely how he had wanted this conversation to go.