Furious. An interesting choice of words. Fury was a word of many meanings: a fierceness he’d yet to show off, and a violent rage he kept played close to the chest far more often than not and watched as Gunnar displayed so much more easily, and mythological punishers who arose at the behest of victims and bore wings much like those of his daily counterpart. But again that not-smile twisted his mouth and if there was a touch more bitter entertainment in the expression this time, it didn’t bleed into his voice when he replied, “I was,” with easy agreement, only to amend, “I am. And I did do something stupid:
I allowed it to happen.” Oh, that was unfair. Banished and cursed, what else could be have done? More, apparently was his belief, but he said it with a shrug and a distinct lack of harshness to the words, as though they were simple fact and he was merely relaying the undeniable truth.
And perhaps he was; the truth was relative, and if it was reality to him, what was to say it wasn’t the same, overall and absolute? It sounded terrible, and maybe it was, but there was precious little way to change a person’s mind once it had been made up. Anders’, especially: he bulldogged, got hold of an idea and clamped his jaws on it and wouldn’t let go, which proved useful in some things when it came to diplomacy, but acted against him now.
The scholar’s pose made him lips twitch back into the ghost of a smile, though this time enough lit up in his eyes that it was a far more real expression. Granted, it was short-lived, because at the question that followed Odile was suddenly straightening—not necessarily closing off but not appearing as open as she had just a moment ago. Her reply made her situation seem hopeless, as though this Rothbart was connected to her somehow, could always find her if he looked hard enough (and it didn’t sound as though he’d need to look very hard).
Waiting, though. That felt familiar. That felt familiar in a terrible kind of way, because waiting was stagnant. Waiting was a lack of action, of ability to do something, anything. It killed as fast as the plague, killed the spirit even faster. And he’d no idea what he could do, what he could offer, if there was, indeed, anything at all.
“And if boredom leads him to leaving you be?” Anders had no idea if that was desirable or not, but if it meant not having to watch one’s back in case a powerful sorcerer took offense to one’s existence in general, it certainly couldn’t hurt.
Whatever stiff mood she’d been in a moment ago was gone with the next sentence, and while he couldn’t say he could keep up with the change as quickly as she could make it, he much preferred a more upbeat conversation to the somber discomfort of mutually unhappy histories. There was something easier in it, where comparing pasts risked becoming a competition. This way, unfortunately, he learned nothing new of Rothbart, who was of no small amount of interest. There was, however, time for that later, he supposed, even without speaking the man’s name.
“Nowhere in particular.” And that was the truth; where would eleven banished swans go? “Happening across a magic-wielder with the power and prowess and willingness to undo—” a vague gesture to both himself and the woman, “—this would be a stroke of luck, but we’ve hardly had the best of that.” A beat as he considered Odile. “Any of us.” He shrugged. “With no set destination, however, we hear quite a lot. Perhaps eventually we’ll catch wind of someone willing to do what we’re looking for.” Falling silent, he regarded his companion again, as though a longer stare might reveal something he’d missed the first time.
“Would—” you like to come with us? The words were on the tip of his tongue, but the prince couldn’t’ speak them. It was no magic, no supernatural compulsion unless his brother’s influence without speaking a word counted as such, but he suspected it was nowhere near the same class as true witchcraft and sorcery.
Over the span of her brief life, Odile had seen many faces, painted with different shades of pain and regret, and heard many, many stories, way too many for one single life. In a way, she still thanked Rothbart for showing her things that she would have never been allowed to witness, had she remained with her mother to marry a shepherd and live her same, miserable life. Yet none of them had ever been quite as interesting as the way his lips bent around his words, the way his eyes seemed busy keeping in things he should have been letting out. There was an inner peculiarity about his ways, as if, beyond the prince and his upbringing, something more hid behind, something wild and just as furious as she had claimed he ought to have been. It was...odd, in a way. Fury was there to be shown, to bend and destroy like a hurricane, not to be tamed and held behind like a secret.
Those thoughts kept her busy, and for a minute her mind trailed off, his words some sort of bakcground noise to the engines working in her head. His was a question, and for a second she just stared, trying to recall his last words.
"....Uh?
Oh, then—
then I guess it would be a victory, for me.
Though I wouldn't be that optimistic about it".
Odile shrugged, as if to shake that thought off her shoulders. She was done talking about him, done telling about her own story of stupidity and recklessness; his seemed much more interesting, in the way a book she had just discovered would be. There was an inner hope she could hear within his words, the hope somehow he would be more like her than any other unlucky wanderer who had crossed her path; the hope of sympathy and a cure for loneliness, maybe.
That same hope kept bringing the corners of her mouth slightly upward, not quite a smile but something much more different from the eternal frown she had fixed on her face. Even her fingers, after a while, stopped torturing the reddened frames around her nails. Her hands now sat quietly on her lap, almost joined in prayer, although they were bound to start restlessly toying with whatever she could find soon enough. A small chuckle left her lips as she listened to his words.
"I'm afraid the curse we share is not of much interest among the sorcerers of this side of the land. I'd travel East, where they say the true wizards live, but with no guarantee...I don't think it's worth it". Surely, it would have been different with eleven more companions - it would have been easier to cross the lands without unwanted meetings, and maybe even easier to get a consistent outcome out of her wanderings. Or maybe she was just daydreaming - it appeared she was doing a lot of that, lately.
His next word was not really a question - he stopped before his words could be formed into any meaning, yet her mind was already trying to fill in the blanks. If that was an invitation to join their crowded party, then she already knew the answer, but the reason he had stopped might have just as well been the reason why it wouldn't have been a good idea. Still. She had nothing to lose, hadn't had it in a long while; and, as things were, everything was to gain.
—either way, she was too far from home to go back alone, now.
"Would you mind another companion?", her own question left her lips pretty easily, a fainted, glimmering hope showing in her eyes as her hands moved lightly. It was a long shot, by all means, and a negative answer would have maybe made more sense; she figured the eldest brother's tendency to take control would weigh in heavily into that decision. But that didn't mean she wasn't willing to give it a try, or at least give Anders the chance to speak his mind.
Another bird to follow them around could have been a considerable burden, especially when it was so different from them, candid and princely swans (she would be an easier target for occasional hunters, at best) – but they were all misfits in their own way, all on the run from something bigger than them. Hunters couldn’t really weigh into the matter, could they?
“I know herbs. I know how to cook them, and how to use them to heal wounds and diseases; and I’ve learned a lot about maps and routes, when I was with Rothbart. I know which places to avoid and where to find shelter and —
I know a lot, I can help with a lot, I just need someway to feel…safer”.
It wasn’t until she was done speaking that she realized just how much hope she had put into her own words; and how much of that could be crushed in the blink of an eye.
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