"Again." Harellan's voice sliced like a knife, elevated so that he could be heard over the various crashes of Cyrus's spells colliding with stone. "More."
Perhaps at one point, Cyrus would have taken umbrage at being commanded thus, but for the moment it fell in line with his own thoughts anyway. He expelled a deep, slow breath, and reached further, through the trembling Veil and into the Fade. His fingertips were numb with the force of his last lightning blast, released slightly too soon and too roughly, but there was nothing for that but to do it again. And again. And againâuntil the whole process was instinct.
The magic sparked and crackled between his fingers, glistening arcs hissing harmlessly over his skin to his elbows, fizzling and igniting within the confined space he manifested it. Switching his stance, Cyrus shifted his foot back over the grass, thrusting his right arm forward and releasing the magic gathered there through two fingertips. It leaped from the end of his motion like a thing alive, streaking to the crude target painted on the mountainside and crashing into it with a heavy, splitting crack. Chunks of stone fell away, the ground under their feet trembling for just an instant afterwards.
Harellanâcurse himâfrowned upon feeling it. "Sloppy, Cyrus." He crossed his arms over his chest, leveling an unimpressed look at his nephew, who just barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Harellan was infinitely gentler with Stellulam or Astraia than he was with Cyrus, though the reason why was not clear. Probably he just liked them better. For all the time the two of them had spent together, it had never felt quite familial. Nor warm.
But that was likely just as much a product of Cyrus's demeanor as Harellan's.
âIt's not like I don't have force to spare." He gestured at the blasted wall. A fractionâjust a fraction of what he was building back up to. With the raw, primal spells like this, it hardly mattered that the delivery wasn't perfectly efficient. That some of it got away at the last second and shook the ground or threw sparks.
"You think you won't need every last bit of magic you can muster against Corypheus?" Harellan's rejoinder sounded almost disappointed. "That every unnecessary blowback might not be a distraction or injury to an ally? Naivety doesn't suit you. Do it again. Better this time."
Cyrus grit his teeth and flexed his fingers. He was still holding the lightning in his other hand; he dug deeper, until the strands of it were drifting as far up as his shoulder, then shut his eyes and focused on concentrating it down to the smallest point possible. Slowly, it formed into a tiny sphere at this fingertip, about two inches across. He could probably make it smaller, but not without sacrificing some of the power.
"Left."
Snapping his eyes open, Cyrus found the target quickly and released. The little orb was difficult to track with his eyes past a certain distance, but he could feel it in relation to himself, and knew when it smacked into the large boulder to Harellan's side. The elf, of course, had already shielded himself in preparation. Upon impact, the spell traveled for a bit, then exploded. The boulder shuddered, cracks spiderwebbing the stone and breaking it apart from the inside. It held for half a second before losing integrity, one large split down the middle shearing it into halves, smaller breaks flaking off shrapnel. The little pieces pinged harmlessly against Harellan's barrier, but there weren't as many of them this time, and the ground remained still under their feet.
Cyrus shook out his arm with a grimace. He'd released a little late; it would take a while before the aftershocks faded.
Harellan hummed, surveying the split with a critical eye; there was considerable scorching, especially near the entry point of the spell, but the break went all the way through. Control had always come to Cyrus with greater difficulty than power. "Enough for now. I believe I can see Estella coming up the path. No doubt she's brought something to eat."
It certainly looked that way, considering the large basket she was toting up the hill. Skyhold proper was still in sight behind her, so it hadn't been too much of a trek, though she looked more than a little distracted. At least until she'd noticed that they'd noticed her. At that, she broke into a small smile, projecting her voice to be heard over the remaining distance. "We can hear you from the castle," she said, amusement rather than reproach in her voice. "I think a couple of the regulars were worried we were under attack."
She waited until she'd reached them and set the basket down before speaking again. Up closer, it was easy to tell she hadn't been sleeping especially well. No doubt Vesryn's deteriorating condition and the upcoming battle with Corypheus were the reasons, tied together as they were. "How's the training coming, Cy?" Stellulam lowered herself onto the grass, eying the boulder while she opened the basket and started setting out their lunch. She'd never been afraid to tell him that she was impressed by what he was capable of, magically, and her expression showed it clearly now.
He didn't waste any time dropping to the ground beside her, folding his legs and doing his best to help with the supplies, at least until he nearly lost grip on a plate. Damn numbness. It was starting to recede now, but that just meant it felt like pins and needles instead. âIt's fine." Cyrus lifted his shoulders in a shrug; the need to explain, something he often felt, just wasn't there at the moment. A quirk of his mood, maybe.
Her admiration felt stranger than it used to. He'd once taken it as a matter of course that what he could do was impressive, and so the reaction wasn't all that noteworthy, even if it felt nice. Nowâhe couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable. Things were just more complicated.
Harellan settled a little more sedately at the third point in their little triangle, sectioning items onto his own plate with the sort of grace that made an informal picnic feel a bit more like... well, sharing a meal with a member of an ancient race with knowledge locked in his head that even Cyrus was sometimes humbled by. "And how go the preparations for march?"
Estella picked at her food, only belatedly seeming to remember that eye contact was appropriate when answering a direct question. "Well enough, I suppose." She didn't sound very convincingâapparently not even to herself, as she pushed out a deep breath a moment later, fingers breaking apart her slice of bread into tiny pieces without ever actually eating any of them. "I can't help but be a little... worried. About how this is all going to go. Wellâthat's an understatement really. I'm terrified."
It wasn't difficult to imagine why, but before anyone could broach that particular topic with her, she glanced back up to Harellan. "What... what exactly do you know about this temple? It'sâit's to Mythal, right? So..."
Cyrus made a quiet noise in the back of his throat, almost involuntary. He'd much rather have focused on how she was coping, because the answer didn't seem to be well. Not that he could fault her for itâquite the opposite. But it was clearly her wish not to discuss it at this time, and so he kept his words behind his teeth, eating but not really tasting the simple repast she'd been kind enough to bring them. Always thinking of other people, even at a time like this.
Harellan considered the question while chewing over a bit of fruit. After he'd swallowed, he spoke in a soft, almost confidential tone. "The Well of Sorrows has been known to me for quite some time now. It isn't common knowledge, even among the Suledvhen, but there are references to it, if one knows where to look. A last measure, taken by some of Mythal's most devoted servants ere they were lost to the fall of the People. It was in use before then as wellâsome would travel to it to contribute their knowledge before entering Uthenera, so the secrets within had been collected over a very long time." He paused, pursing his lips. "It may well hold even more information than Vir Dirthara."
âAnd it just sits unprotected?" Cyrus found it difficult to keep the skepticism from his voice, but as usual, Harellan did not react much to it.
"The secret was protection enough, or so I'd thought. Perhaps this Marcus managed to unearth enough information to reveal it, or perhaps Corypheus himself found out about it somehow, but in either case it's clear that it is safe no longer."
"What about this other magic, though? The kind on the temple itself? Something about... preserving life or however that was supposed to work?" It was clear enough that the information about the Well had been of interest to Stellulam, but her main concerns lay elsewhere.
"That I know less about, as I said the other day." Harellan's expression softened; he reached across the space between them to brush his fingertips over Estella's cheek, just the briefest of touches. "I promise you, I'll do everything I can. If there's a solution in that magic, we will find it."
She nodded slowly, setting aside her plate to twist her fingers in her lap instead. Either she was unwilling or unable to so much as feign interest in her food any longer. "I know," she said. "And I believe you, it's just..." Her breath left her in a frustrated noise. "I feel so useless. I know I'm doing what I can, but it isn't anything. Not really. Not against this." The gesture of her hand was clipped and uncomfortable. Stellulam's mouth twisted, and she shook her head, darting her eyes once to Cyrus before settling them on Harellan.
"Have youâhave you ever been in love?"
He leaned back slightly at the question, bracing one hand on the ground behind him. For a moment, he seemed to have been caught thoroughly off-guard, from the widening of his eyes. Just a subtle thing, but Cyrus had learned to pay attention to those when it came to Harellan. He was the equivalent of gobsmacked. "I... yes. Just once. Itâit didn't end well, so I don't think I'm really qualified to say much about it."
"I thinkâ" Estella cut herself off, hesitating. "I think maybe there are some people who only really have one love in them," she whispered, eyes falling to the ground. Restless hands pulled at the grass, tearing several stalks from the ground. "Or maybe there are some loves that justâjust make it so that anything that follows them wouldn't beâwouldn't be right." Though her face remained downturned, the suggestion of movement was enough to pick up on the fact that she was biting down on her lower lip. "I don't know if this is one of those loves, or I'm one of those people, butâbut I think it is. I think I am. And Iâ" She shook her head, swallowing thickly.
"I can't lose him. I can't."
Cyrus immediately shoved his plate to the side as well, shifting himself over so that he was within a hairsbreadth of her and then getting rid of even that with an arm around her shoulder. He didn't know shit about any of this, but it didn't even matter, because even without tears or sobs or any of it, the pain she was in was obvious and terrifying to him. As for what to do about itâhe really had only one good example to go by, and it was her own.
âCome here." He tugged her sideways the little it took to pull her into him, wrapping his other arm around her, too, and holding with what he hoped was the right amount of pressure. Enough to feel safer, supported; not so much as to feel suffocated or trapped. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, resting his chin on top of her head and moving one of his hands up and down her back.
He couldn't promise her that her fears would not come to pass. He didn't know it, and he didn't have it in him to lie to her. Hell, Cyrus couldn't even tell her it was going to be all right, because the way she talked about it, he wasn't sure it would be. Pressing his lips together, he made eye contact with Harellan over her head.
She'd been holding herself together up until that point, but somethingâeither the embrace itself or the poignant silence that accompanied it, dissolved the last of her ability to take the situation on the chin. Stellulam's arms wrapped around Cyrus's middle and squeezed, no thought given to whether the pressure was too much. She held onto him with what had to be all the strength in her body, pressing her cheek into his shoulder.
"I don't know what to do," she choked, curling her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. "There's so many things I want to tell him. So many things I wanted to do. I wanted to go to Denerim and meet his parents, andâand." A soft noise, caught between a sob and a whine, escaped her, and her breath shuddered. "Travel to places neither of us had been. I wanted toâto know what he thinks about all my favorite books, and what he'd look like with lines on his face andâ" That time, she did sob, turning her face in towards Cyrus's body. "I'm going to forget what his voice sounds like. How he breathes at night, and thatâthat look he gets on his face when Saraya's trying to tell him something. It's not fair, Cy. It's not fair." The warmth soaking into the fabric over his collarbone was unmistakable.
Shit. Fuck.
Cyrus didn't know what to do with any of that. The grief was a palpable thing, unfurling from her and settling over them all, over the whole clearing, suddenly the site of a testament to all the ways in which the tenderest of emotions could hurt. Her love hurt her, and his for her meant he hurt, too. With an unsteady breath of his own, Cyrus reached up to cradle the back of her head. All of thisâit had to have been building for ages, the kind of thing she had to keep to herself because it would only make things that much worse if she said any of it to Vesryn. No doubt only bring him guilt on top of all the rest of his suffering.
âIt is." That wasn't hard to agree with, at least. âIt is unfair, Stellulam. The both of you deserve so much more than this." This was why Cyrus had never believed in gods. What being worthy of the name could look at this and let it happen? After all she'd suffered, one of the few unquestionably good things in her lifeâpossibly the best thing in itâwas so likely to be torn away after but the barest taste of it.
âDon't give up yet." It was reckless, irresponsible of him to even suggest it, when all of them knew the odds were so poor. But he couldn't just let her be crushed under this. And if hope was all he had to put on the table, then so be it. Hope was often irresponsible. âNot yet. You've got to hold on a little longer, Stellulam." Beside him, Harellan had shifted, taking over the task of making soothing circles on her back. âI'm not giving up yet either. Whatever it takes. If there's anything I can doâanythingâI'll do it."
So please don't cry was much too selfish a thing to say, even if he'd have meant it from the bottom of his heart.
She sniffled and squeezed a little tighterâa sure sign she'd heard him. Even so, it took her several more long, slow minutes for her to come back to herself, and even then she was a mess when she pulled away, fresh tears streaking down blotchy red cheeks, lips trembling. Stellulam smoothed her hands forward and then dropped them back into her lap, but she didn't move to put additional space between herself and either of them. In the end, she couldn't manage words, so she just nodded instead, turning her face away and doing her best to wipe the tears off with the backs of her hands.
Cyrus still felt like someone had done to his chest cavity what he'd done to the boulder. Most likely, this was merely a delay; a postponement of these things for a day to come. And if it ever did, he was keenly aware of how little he'd have to offer by way of consolation. It sat ill with him, like a lead weight in his guts. Tsking softly, he used one hand to turn her chin back towards him, brushing away a few more tear-tracks with the pad of his thumb. He didn't want her to hide these things from him, even if he knew so little about handling them. Better she at least be able to share a little of the burden.
âI love you, Estella." It wasn't enough to soothe the ways she ached. It hadn't been since they were children with no one to lean on but each other. But it was just as true now as it had been then, and perhaps even a poor crutch was better than none at all.
The simple words provoked another wave of tears, but she found it in her to smile at him through them, thin and tremulous. A smile nevertheless.
"Thanks, Cyrus," she murmured. "I love you, too."
Perhaps at one point, Cyrus would have taken umbrage at being commanded thus, but for the moment it fell in line with his own thoughts anyway. He expelled a deep, slow breath, and reached further, through the trembling Veil and into the Fade. His fingertips were numb with the force of his last lightning blast, released slightly too soon and too roughly, but there was nothing for that but to do it again. And again. And againâuntil the whole process was instinct.
The magic sparked and crackled between his fingers, glistening arcs hissing harmlessly over his skin to his elbows, fizzling and igniting within the confined space he manifested it. Switching his stance, Cyrus shifted his foot back over the grass, thrusting his right arm forward and releasing the magic gathered there through two fingertips. It leaped from the end of his motion like a thing alive, streaking to the crude target painted on the mountainside and crashing into it with a heavy, splitting crack. Chunks of stone fell away, the ground under their feet trembling for just an instant afterwards.
Harellanâcurse himâfrowned upon feeling it. "Sloppy, Cyrus." He crossed his arms over his chest, leveling an unimpressed look at his nephew, who just barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Harellan was infinitely gentler with Stellulam or Astraia than he was with Cyrus, though the reason why was not clear. Probably he just liked them better. For all the time the two of them had spent together, it had never felt quite familial. Nor warm.
But that was likely just as much a product of Cyrus's demeanor as Harellan's.
âIt's not like I don't have force to spare." He gestured at the blasted wall. A fractionâjust a fraction of what he was building back up to. With the raw, primal spells like this, it hardly mattered that the delivery wasn't perfectly efficient. That some of it got away at the last second and shook the ground or threw sparks.
"You think you won't need every last bit of magic you can muster against Corypheus?" Harellan's rejoinder sounded almost disappointed. "That every unnecessary blowback might not be a distraction or injury to an ally? Naivety doesn't suit you. Do it again. Better this time."
Cyrus grit his teeth and flexed his fingers. He was still holding the lightning in his other hand; he dug deeper, until the strands of it were drifting as far up as his shoulder, then shut his eyes and focused on concentrating it down to the smallest point possible. Slowly, it formed into a tiny sphere at this fingertip, about two inches across. He could probably make it smaller, but not without sacrificing some of the power.
"Left."
Snapping his eyes open, Cyrus found the target quickly and released. The little orb was difficult to track with his eyes past a certain distance, but he could feel it in relation to himself, and knew when it smacked into the large boulder to Harellan's side. The elf, of course, had already shielded himself in preparation. Upon impact, the spell traveled for a bit, then exploded. The boulder shuddered, cracks spiderwebbing the stone and breaking it apart from the inside. It held for half a second before losing integrity, one large split down the middle shearing it into halves, smaller breaks flaking off shrapnel. The little pieces pinged harmlessly against Harellan's barrier, but there weren't as many of them this time, and the ground remained still under their feet.
Cyrus shook out his arm with a grimace. He'd released a little late; it would take a while before the aftershocks faded.
Harellan hummed, surveying the split with a critical eye; there was considerable scorching, especially near the entry point of the spell, but the break went all the way through. Control had always come to Cyrus with greater difficulty than power. "Enough for now. I believe I can see Estella coming up the path. No doubt she's brought something to eat."
It certainly looked that way, considering the large basket she was toting up the hill. Skyhold proper was still in sight behind her, so it hadn't been too much of a trek, though she looked more than a little distracted. At least until she'd noticed that they'd noticed her. At that, she broke into a small smile, projecting her voice to be heard over the remaining distance. "We can hear you from the castle," she said, amusement rather than reproach in her voice. "I think a couple of the regulars were worried we were under attack."
She waited until she'd reached them and set the basket down before speaking again. Up closer, it was easy to tell she hadn't been sleeping especially well. No doubt Vesryn's deteriorating condition and the upcoming battle with Corypheus were the reasons, tied together as they were. "How's the training coming, Cy?" Stellulam lowered herself onto the grass, eying the boulder while she opened the basket and started setting out their lunch. She'd never been afraid to tell him that she was impressed by what he was capable of, magically, and her expression showed it clearly now.
He didn't waste any time dropping to the ground beside her, folding his legs and doing his best to help with the supplies, at least until he nearly lost grip on a plate. Damn numbness. It was starting to recede now, but that just meant it felt like pins and needles instead. âIt's fine." Cyrus lifted his shoulders in a shrug; the need to explain, something he often felt, just wasn't there at the moment. A quirk of his mood, maybe.
Her admiration felt stranger than it used to. He'd once taken it as a matter of course that what he could do was impressive, and so the reaction wasn't all that noteworthy, even if it felt nice. Nowâhe couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable. Things were just more complicated.
Harellan settled a little more sedately at the third point in their little triangle, sectioning items onto his own plate with the sort of grace that made an informal picnic feel a bit more like... well, sharing a meal with a member of an ancient race with knowledge locked in his head that even Cyrus was sometimes humbled by. "And how go the preparations for march?"
Estella picked at her food, only belatedly seeming to remember that eye contact was appropriate when answering a direct question. "Well enough, I suppose." She didn't sound very convincingâapparently not even to herself, as she pushed out a deep breath a moment later, fingers breaking apart her slice of bread into tiny pieces without ever actually eating any of them. "I can't help but be a little... worried. About how this is all going to go. Wellâthat's an understatement really. I'm terrified."
It wasn't difficult to imagine why, but before anyone could broach that particular topic with her, she glanced back up to Harellan. "What... what exactly do you know about this temple? It'sâit's to Mythal, right? So..."
Cyrus made a quiet noise in the back of his throat, almost involuntary. He'd much rather have focused on how she was coping, because the answer didn't seem to be well. Not that he could fault her for itâquite the opposite. But it was clearly her wish not to discuss it at this time, and so he kept his words behind his teeth, eating but not really tasting the simple repast she'd been kind enough to bring them. Always thinking of other people, even at a time like this.
Harellan considered the question while chewing over a bit of fruit. After he'd swallowed, he spoke in a soft, almost confidential tone. "The Well of Sorrows has been known to me for quite some time now. It isn't common knowledge, even among the Suledvhen, but there are references to it, if one knows where to look. A last measure, taken by some of Mythal's most devoted servants ere they were lost to the fall of the People. It was in use before then as wellâsome would travel to it to contribute their knowledge before entering Uthenera, so the secrets within had been collected over a very long time." He paused, pursing his lips. "It may well hold even more information than Vir Dirthara."
âAnd it just sits unprotected?" Cyrus found it difficult to keep the skepticism from his voice, but as usual, Harellan did not react much to it.
"The secret was protection enough, or so I'd thought. Perhaps this Marcus managed to unearth enough information to reveal it, or perhaps Corypheus himself found out about it somehow, but in either case it's clear that it is safe no longer."
"What about this other magic, though? The kind on the temple itself? Something about... preserving life or however that was supposed to work?" It was clear enough that the information about the Well had been of interest to Stellulam, but her main concerns lay elsewhere.
"That I know less about, as I said the other day." Harellan's expression softened; he reached across the space between them to brush his fingertips over Estella's cheek, just the briefest of touches. "I promise you, I'll do everything I can. If there's a solution in that magic, we will find it."
She nodded slowly, setting aside her plate to twist her fingers in her lap instead. Either she was unwilling or unable to so much as feign interest in her food any longer. "I know," she said. "And I believe you, it's just..." Her breath left her in a frustrated noise. "I feel so useless. I know I'm doing what I can, but it isn't anything. Not really. Not against this." The gesture of her hand was clipped and uncomfortable. Stellulam's mouth twisted, and she shook her head, darting her eyes once to Cyrus before settling them on Harellan.
"Have youâhave you ever been in love?"
He leaned back slightly at the question, bracing one hand on the ground behind him. For a moment, he seemed to have been caught thoroughly off-guard, from the widening of his eyes. Just a subtle thing, but Cyrus had learned to pay attention to those when it came to Harellan. He was the equivalent of gobsmacked. "I... yes. Just once. Itâit didn't end well, so I don't think I'm really qualified to say much about it."
"I thinkâ" Estella cut herself off, hesitating. "I think maybe there are some people who only really have one love in them," she whispered, eyes falling to the ground. Restless hands pulled at the grass, tearing several stalks from the ground. "Or maybe there are some loves that justâjust make it so that anything that follows them wouldn't beâwouldn't be right." Though her face remained downturned, the suggestion of movement was enough to pick up on the fact that she was biting down on her lower lip. "I don't know if this is one of those loves, or I'm one of those people, butâbut I think it is. I think I am. And Iâ" She shook her head, swallowing thickly.
"I can't lose him. I can't."
Cyrus immediately shoved his plate to the side as well, shifting himself over so that he was within a hairsbreadth of her and then getting rid of even that with an arm around her shoulder. He didn't know shit about any of this, but it didn't even matter, because even without tears or sobs or any of it, the pain she was in was obvious and terrifying to him. As for what to do about itâhe really had only one good example to go by, and it was her own.
âCome here." He tugged her sideways the little it took to pull her into him, wrapping his other arm around her, too, and holding with what he hoped was the right amount of pressure. Enough to feel safer, supported; not so much as to feel suffocated or trapped. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, resting his chin on top of her head and moving one of his hands up and down her back.
He couldn't promise her that her fears would not come to pass. He didn't know it, and he didn't have it in him to lie to her. Hell, Cyrus couldn't even tell her it was going to be all right, because the way she talked about it, he wasn't sure it would be. Pressing his lips together, he made eye contact with Harellan over her head.
She'd been holding herself together up until that point, but somethingâeither the embrace itself or the poignant silence that accompanied it, dissolved the last of her ability to take the situation on the chin. Stellulam's arms wrapped around Cyrus's middle and squeezed, no thought given to whether the pressure was too much. She held onto him with what had to be all the strength in her body, pressing her cheek into his shoulder.
"I don't know what to do," she choked, curling her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. "There's so many things I want to tell him. So many things I wanted to do. I wanted to go to Denerim and meet his parents, andâand." A soft noise, caught between a sob and a whine, escaped her, and her breath shuddered. "Travel to places neither of us had been. I wanted toâto know what he thinks about all my favorite books, and what he'd look like with lines on his face andâ" That time, she did sob, turning her face in towards Cyrus's body. "I'm going to forget what his voice sounds like. How he breathes at night, and thatâthat look he gets on his face when Saraya's trying to tell him something. It's not fair, Cy. It's not fair." The warmth soaking into the fabric over his collarbone was unmistakable.
Shit. Fuck.
Cyrus didn't know what to do with any of that. The grief was a palpable thing, unfurling from her and settling over them all, over the whole clearing, suddenly the site of a testament to all the ways in which the tenderest of emotions could hurt. Her love hurt her, and his for her meant he hurt, too. With an unsteady breath of his own, Cyrus reached up to cradle the back of her head. All of thisâit had to have been building for ages, the kind of thing she had to keep to herself because it would only make things that much worse if she said any of it to Vesryn. No doubt only bring him guilt on top of all the rest of his suffering.
âIt is." That wasn't hard to agree with, at least. âIt is unfair, Stellulam. The both of you deserve so much more than this." This was why Cyrus had never believed in gods. What being worthy of the name could look at this and let it happen? After all she'd suffered, one of the few unquestionably good things in her lifeâpossibly the best thing in itâwas so likely to be torn away after but the barest taste of it.
âDon't give up yet." It was reckless, irresponsible of him to even suggest it, when all of them knew the odds were so poor. But he couldn't just let her be crushed under this. And if hope was all he had to put on the table, then so be it. Hope was often irresponsible. âNot yet. You've got to hold on a little longer, Stellulam." Beside him, Harellan had shifted, taking over the task of making soothing circles on her back. âI'm not giving up yet either. Whatever it takes. If there's anything I can doâanythingâI'll do it."
So please don't cry was much too selfish a thing to say, even if he'd have meant it from the bottom of his heart.
She sniffled and squeezed a little tighterâa sure sign she'd heard him. Even so, it took her several more long, slow minutes for her to come back to herself, and even then she was a mess when she pulled away, fresh tears streaking down blotchy red cheeks, lips trembling. Stellulam smoothed her hands forward and then dropped them back into her lap, but she didn't move to put additional space between herself and either of them. In the end, she couldn't manage words, so she just nodded instead, turning her face away and doing her best to wipe the tears off with the backs of her hands.
Cyrus still felt like someone had done to his chest cavity what he'd done to the boulder. Most likely, this was merely a delay; a postponement of these things for a day to come. And if it ever did, he was keenly aware of how little he'd have to offer by way of consolation. It sat ill with him, like a lead weight in his guts. Tsking softly, he used one hand to turn her chin back towards him, brushing away a few more tear-tracks with the pad of his thumb. He didn't want her to hide these things from him, even if he knew so little about handling them. Better she at least be able to share a little of the burden.
âI love you, Estella." It wasn't enough to soothe the ways she ached. It hadn't been since they were children with no one to lean on but each other. But it was just as true now as it had been then, and perhaps even a poor crutch was better than none at all.
The simple words provoked another wave of tears, but she found it in her to smile at him through them, thin and tremulous. A smile nevertheless.
"Thanks, Cyrus," she murmured. "I love you, too."