Private Tales Weathering A Quiet Storm

[Svenia Albrecht]

"That is a unique and interesting skill," she said softly after a comfortable silence. "I can see how it would add a new dimension to the work. Most artists that I've known-" not very many "-are always trying to capture emotion in their work. It must be delightful to be able to evoke actual emotion, to invest some part of yourself into your creation."

She drew her legs up into the chair awkwardly, tucking them under her and shifting down into her seat. "I am more of a bean counter than even a healer," she said. She shook her head slowly. "I do not even know what use the skill would be to me. It's not useful for business."

Except everything didn't have to be for business, even though instinct told her it should be. Life couldn't always be about money and influence. She wanted the skill to help others avoid her own troubles. As if mere magic could have fixed any of it.

"You will be world renowned, one day," she said quietly.

 

[Atticus]

Atticus blushed.

His smile turned sheepish, nervous, and his chuckle reflected such a feeling. "I don't think... I mean, who knows..." Never had it occurred to him to strive for such a goal.

The image of one of his portraits hanging up in a public hall or gallery made him smile wider. "I suppose we will never truly know what the future holds for us all. Even here in Elbion, who would wish to divine such a thing? I... think I will enjoy the journey towards what the future will unfurl into."

Having made many friends here had helped something heal in him. Something he did not know that had cracked and broken away, and that the friends he made helped keep him together. One day, once his magic was under control, he would paint his friends as a memory of the connections he has made.

 

[Svenia Albrecht]

She caught the color in his cheeks and giggled to herself. It made him look cute in a rather disarming way and she felt herself relaxing a little more despite herself. "Do not sell yourself short, young man," she added lightly to his sheepish denial.

"I wouldn't want to know the future," she said after a moment of companiable silence. "It would rob all of the excitement and joy from the experience." But it could also allow you to avoid heartache, too. The thought came from deep within, in the dark place sequestered from the world. She knew, logically, that it was not a true statement. A true divination could not be avoided. How could you change the thread of fate after it had been woven into the tapestry of life?

"Do you miss home?"

 

[Atticus]

It was a simple question, but Atticus knew not many would know how heavily it would pull at his strength. It started at the corners of his lips, how they would fall downwards as the cheer and spark of life in his dark eyes would fade into the dark brown irises. How a person was now stepping back until they were back behind the walls of a place he had wished to be free from.

It was a simple question, but Atticus had no simple answer to give. A lie was ready upon his tongue, but even then, it left a bitter taste.

And so, he settled for quiet. Pretended to think deeply on this simple question.

"I..."

It was not home. Elbion, Dornoch, nowhere. None of these places were home. No city ever made him feel the way his mother had ensured he had a home to return to.

His tongue ran across his lips quickly, wetting them as if that would prime them to speak more words, but still he struggled to catch the right ones. "I just remembered I have an essay to write for Maester Blodwyn." He made to move, to sit up, but Atticus paused there and stared at the floor.

 

[Svenia Albrecht]

Something twisted deep in her chest. She saw clearly the way he withdrew at the question and the sweet and open boy she had been sitting with just a moment before evaporated like mist in the summer sun.

She had no idea why, but she could guess. The question had stirred the ashes of something in Atticus. And, she supposed, she would have felt the same if someone had asked her the very same question. For her it would have brought back memories of screams and heat and the rumble of breaking beams and pain.

Not all of it physical.

"I..," she began in a quiet voice, but found she didn't know what to say. She felt as though she had struck out against him, and it raised an unspoken fear that she had just managed to chase him off. She wavered on just letting him go...

...but she couldn't. "The one on application of magic and the consequences of over reliance?" If she could push past the social blunder and direct his thoughts somewhere else, perhaps? All she knew was that she didn't want to sit here alone.