β you could try not getting so beat up for a change. β it's given in a playful manner. muscles relay true feeling, hesitation, uncertainty. an apologetic nature belying the happiness she portrays, smile remains even slightly. content if only to see her brother for a little while. i'm sorry she wants to say & it lingers, wanting everything but to have left another chip in his armor.
a breath is caught as she fights back emotions, brows furrowing as she buries herself into a hug. even if he were to throw her away, he's always been her protector she wouldn't blame him. she doesn't think she'd be upset at all if he held her accountable for everything. β or get bigger armor, i think the pauldrons aren't making your head look small enough. β
If Garen could squint they could still be children, how often had he come home battered up and bruised from practice swordplay? A game that got out of hand? Falling out of a tree? It was a vital skill for all soldiers to learn to clean and care for wounds and it was something he had done since he was a mere lad, sitting on a plush stool in one of the rooms of home, bandaging up a cut on his leg or soothing a warm cloth over a bruised and dirty shoulder. Lux had been present for a lot of these moments, sitting by his side or making idle chatter, her tone of voice whisking away to questions about his adventures and if the cut on his leg hurt a lot or just a little.
His armor was long gone, stripped away to better access his injuries. He felt naked without the physical protection, and even more bare from the mental sort. Garen couldn't wear that armor where Lux was concerned, and it seemed even more apparent when he could read the slightest emotion on her face, the barely noticeable hitch in her tone. His usual stoic veil could melt away in an instant every time he noticed every moment her heart ached from where it was worn on her sleeve.
There's a similar hollow hitch in his throat once she falls into his arms, her playful jabs only making him feel guiltier. A better brother would have been more open, more honest years ago. He wouldn't have hidden behind his twisted sort of justice that he clung too for perseverance. They were a proud and strong willed family and yet there were cracks beneath the smooth stone surface of their lives, not unlike the patricide that lined the halls of their country.
The terrorizing fear he felt whenever magic was unleashed near him, a spark he had to get over every time was nothing compared to the hurt and hollowness etched onto Lux's face that only grew at she got older. A monster was he that he ever allowed her to become so lonely in the parts of her that made her shine so damned brightly.
Garen wraps his arms tighter around her, a deep scoff of amusement his only initial response as he ignored the screaming of his bruised ribs. " It's supposed to be a joke. When I wear my armor my head is small, but every other time people call me a blockhead because it's big. I can't win. " His dry response and an attempt to lighten the mood doesn't last, even as he pulls back to offer her the slightest attempt at a reassuring smile, one that doesn't reach his eyes.
" Getting beat up is worth it, Lux. I know you'd do the same. It's what we do. What I will always do. " He didn't always, thoughts he didn't voice, an inner chastising. He thought he was too late, he'll always feel like he took too damn long to protect her when it counted.
" Now stop squeezing me so hard. You'll bruise me worse than the fight did. "
