#wingpyre

     ezra  has  seen  some  things .  actually ,  he's  seen  a  lot  of  things .  especially  things  that  other  people  don't  believe  exist .  (  it  doesn't  matter  that  he  can't  lie  if  people  just  don't  believe  what  he  tells  them .  )  (  but  he's  mostly  used  to  that  by  this  point .  he  can't  really  blame  them ,  if  he's  honest  ---  and  he  is .  )  it's  kind  of  his  thing ,  the  one  driving  him  from  city  to  city  asking  questions .  sticking  his  nose  where  it  doesn’t  quite  belong .  he  wants  to  see  everything  for  himself  and  write  it  down  in  his  book  and  maybe  buy  his  momma  a  new  car .

           i think we should head towards ferox. that way you can move back to yisstol, should we be needed to defend the castle. which i doubt we’ll be needed for, but i think my fathers are getting separation anxiety. and i want to ease that at least for the start of this. 

                 her fingers wrap around the golden strands. silky soft. she sets to work immediately, threading strands through each other. it’s not perfect, severa might have scoffed at work, but lucina has never been any good with hair, so she might just let it slide. still, it might be crooked but the beginnings of a braid are forming on link’s head.

     this  is  the  most  painful  of  all .  more  painful  than  the  wound  in  his  flesh ,  than  the  poison  coursing  through  his  veins ,  than  returning  to  find  his  ophelia  dead .  (  and  as  much  as  the  last  stings  more  than  any  arrow ,  at  least  he  will  soon  be  reunited  with  her .  )  (  the  idea  of  lying  in  the  ground  forevermore  is  comforting  to  him ,  has  always  been  comforting  to  him .  )  (  a  tragedy ,  that  horatio  gets  no  such  comfort .  )  but  no ,  seeing  horatio's  face  contorted  in  agony ,  in  sorrow ,  as  it  swims  in  and  out  of  focus  amidst  his  tears ,  amidst  hamlet's  tears ,  amidst  the  years  of  things  said  and  unsaid .  

     hamlet  reaches  his  hand  out ,  laces  his  fingers  with  horatio's .  pulls  their  entwined  hands  up  to  his  face ,  gently  pressing  his  lips  against  horatio's  knuckles .  lets  out  a  shaky  breath  (  shaky  with  emotion ,  shaky  with  the  weakness  that  comes  with  the  poison  that  slew  him  )  as  another  tear  slides  down  his  face .  and  he  almost  can't  bear  to  look .  almost  can't  bear  to  see  the  pain  the  actions  of  tonight  (  the  actions  that  were  a  mere  stop  along  the  course  his  life  has  been  careening  toward  wildly  ever  since  his  uncle  murdered  his  father  )  (  although ,  more  final  than  mere ,  as  far  as  stops  go  )  have  caused  his  oldest  friend .  his  dearest  friend .  the  man  his  soul  chose ,  who  knows  him  better  than  any  other ,  whom  he  knows  better  than  he  knows  himself .  (  whether  they  were  destined  to  be  together  or  brought  together  by  choice ,  horatio's  presence  in  hamlet's  life  has  changed  him  irrevocably .  )

     he  wants  to  look  away ,  thinks  it  might  be  easier  that  way .  but  he  can't .  if  he  is  to  die ,  he  will  die  with  horatio  in  his  sights .  

     horatio  may ,  in  some  ways ,  be  his  lesser ,  that's  true .  but  in  all  other  ways ,  in  the  ways  that  count ,  horatio  is ,  and  always  has  been ,  his  better .  and  now  he  must  live  on .  and  oh ,  does  hamlet  understand  better  than  perhaps  anyone  else  the  draw  that  the  sweet  release  has ,  but  he  can't  allow  horatio  that  sweetness .  horatio  has  things  he  needs  to  do ;  needs  to  survive .  (  and  maybe  he'll  even  live ;  maybe  he'll  find  moments  of  happiness ,  fleeting  or  otherwise .  hamlet  truly  hopes ,  for  his  sake ,  that  he  does .  )  (  if  there's  any  man  alive  who  deserves  true  happiness ,  it's  horatio .  )