A Court of Light and Melody

Chapter 12 - Tumble from the Sky

"Apologizing does not always mean you're wrong and the other person is right. It just means you value your relationship more than your ego."

- Mark Matthews

Song: Cloud 9 ~ Beach Bunny (slowed + reverb)

Gwyn was familiar with shame. It was why she didn't wear the invoking stone on her forehead. It was why she pushed herself to the edge in training and in the library. Shame was the constant companion of anyone so competitive. The smallest loss, could result in infuriating shame. Though not always a loss of victory. Sometimes - and quite often in Gwyn's case - a loss of control. A failure in holding her tongue or minding her temper.

After crying herself to sleep yesterday afternoon, Gwyn had woken at one in the morning. She was still dressed in her leathers, her mouth was dry, her face sticky with tears. Around Gwyn, her fellow priestesses slept soundlessly.

It had been a long, heavy, dreamless sleep. The kind only born from tears. The kind where when you woke, you felt significantly better than when you'd succumbed to your pillow. Then immediately worse, as you recalled what had led you to your rest.

Shame settled over her like a heavy cloak.

She sat up, swinging her legs over the side of her bed and resting her head in her hands.

Azriel had meant well. While he had no right to speak on her behalf, his intentions had been pure. He had wanted to ensure she was prepared.

Her outrage that he'd dared mention Sangravah had been unreasonable. Gwyn had said it herself. She shared everything with Azriel. She had laid herself bare, kissed him, wept before him, held him. Of course he'd felt comfortable referencing that night. And even if he'd crossed a line, he had made a sound point. This assignment had struck a chord, and Gwyn did tend to let her emotions rule her judgment.

Blood Rite victor or not, she was still new to this world. The world of being both the defended and the defender. She'd never had an "assignment" before. She was inexperienced to say the very least. Azriel had only been continuing to be her mentor.

And in regards to him speaking on her behalf... well, obviously it was because he cared for her. That mistake had been rooted in the feelings he admitted he had for Gwyn. Feelings he had made known in spite of his reservations. Did that make his interjecting right? Certainly not. But at least now Gwyn could see where he was coming from. He had feared for her and fear made people foolish. And how often did the Spymaster, the shadowsinger, have to confront his terror?

Even as she washed, only the moonlight illuminating the bathing chambers, the memory of him bleeding beneath her and confessing how terrified he had been when she was cast into the Blood Rite was all she could think about. He said he had never been so terrified before. Never.

Did that mean that he'd never been so concerned about losing anyone else? Gwyn was not certain of the romantic nature of Azriel's relationships with Morrigan or Elain, but surely they had both been in danger before as well. And Azriel had never worried more for someone's safety than Gwyn's apparently.

And then there was his promise to her. Something that made him vow in that voice rich with conviction that he would wait for her. Perhaps he'd extended that offer to others in the past, but now he was extending it to her. And she was thrusting herself into danger with little to no thought (other than the notion of revenge for the horrors of Sangravah). He was scared that he would "wait" for nothing. Azriel was frightened and concerned, and it had clouded his judgment just as Gwyn's rage had clouded hers.

"I made a mistake in trusting you."

Gwyn cringed from the words as they echoed in every corner of her mind. She scrubbed at her skin, shaking her head in self admonishment.