Her heart aches for him; for that loss. Even more sharply, prompting a long shuddering inhale, when the wet warmth begins to stick the silk of her nightgown to her skin.
It is so painfully raw that it cannot be in any part artifice. A thing she had not believed in anymore. Had used to dream of, before Rolant de Ezoire. Of being trellis to some vaguely imagined beloved the same intense way Evie had wanted to stand unyielding in support of Orlais. She had not wanted it like this, had been too young to even comprehend the kind of deep sucking wound that Loki curls around now as tightly as he curls around her, but she had wanted.
Alexandrie shifts herself further, enough of a turn towards him to wrap a leg over him and pull with strength that surpasses that of her arms. Distantly, she realizes that this is perhaps the first time she has done so with the motive of simple covering, an extra limb with which to hold, but the odd wonder in that is so far from important that it is quickly forgotten.
Emile would smile that quiet knowing smile about it, when Alexandrie sorted herself out with her at the mirror. Emile who was as much a mother as Victoire. Who had been her constant companion in all things, so close as to be part of her. Emile who was somewhere in an occupied Minrathous. Who she had never thanked, the way one would never thank ones own hand; no need to pay such solicitous attention to something that would be by your side forever.
Until it is not, and may never be again.
She will join him in this, although her tears will roll to soak into the pillow beneath her.
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It is so painfully raw that it cannot be in any part artifice. A thing she had not believed in anymore. Had used to dream of, before Rolant de Ezoire. Of being trellis to some vaguely imagined beloved the same intense way Evie had wanted to stand unyielding in support of Orlais. She had not wanted it like this, had been too young to even comprehend the kind of deep sucking wound that Loki curls around now as tightly as he curls around her, but she had wanted.
Alexandrie shifts herself further, enough of a turn towards him to wrap a leg over him and pull with strength that surpasses that of her arms. Distantly, she realizes that this is perhaps the first time she has done so with the motive of simple covering, an extra limb with which to hold, but the odd wonder in that is so far from important that it is quickly forgotten.
Emile would smile that quiet knowing smile about it, when Alexandrie sorted herself out with her at the mirror. Emile who was as much a mother as Victoire. Who had been her constant companion in all things, so close as to be part of her. Emile who was somewhere in an occupied Minrathous. Who she had never thanked, the way one would never thank ones own hand; no need to pay such solicitous attention to something that would be by your side forever.
Until it is not, and may never be again.
She will join him in this, although her tears will roll to soak into the pillow beneath her.