Madi's trust is something precious. It's something to be safeguarded, something John somehow gained and has managed to hold through all of this. He feels the weight of it, unspoken, with the wreckage of all their plans around their feet.
Softly, he kisses her mouth.
"I love you," he tells her, aloud after two years of that sentiment finding her only on parchment. "And I'm not so sure you can be happy so far south."
She will not think of it. He knows this of her. She and Flint are of the same approach; their own happiness will come after what is necessary. Even John had fallen into that habit, though his reasons were hardly so lofty. Yes, Madi will come with them because there is nowhere else she can be. But he still wonders if she wouldn't be happier boarding a ship with her people in Antiva, raising a rebellion without thousands of miles between her and the only living family she has left.
There are things John wants for her. Happiness. Safety. A war, waged successfully. He is very aware of how little he can deliver of those three things.
The dubious expression on Madi's face speaks to the truth of John's assessment. She hadn't even thought of happiness as part of what they're striving for, much less factored it in to what must be done. She wasn't happy to be left on Nascere for two years, waging guerrilla war while Flint and Silver (because they are always a unit, Flint and Silver, never James and John) vied for more power, more assets in the south, but it was necessary. Was it not necessary?
"You know, you both know," She says, firm. "I will do what needs to be done. Happiness, or the lack of it, does not sway that."
It is not so different from a conversation some months ago in a jungle between himself and Flint.
He does not say But I'd like to make you happy. It settles in the silence, unconsulted in the course of this conversation.
Of course they don't doubt her. They have all made the same pact. John has bartered and halved away the most carefully held part of him, despite every reason he has to balk over the gamble.
"I've never thought otherwise. If anything, I believe it will be easier for him to have you with us."
And she does not say I don't want to be without you again. If it were advantageous to their goals, she would go to Antiva. She would sail beyond the Nocen to the uncharted north, without a map, if it would guarantee the fruition of this war.
But there is so much she's missed over the two years they spent separated, so much ground she may never be able to make up between them.
And what John says is puzzling.
"Easier for him?" She asks, the furrow between her brows deepening. "Why is that?"
Gut instinct is hard even for John to explain. He has taught himself to reason beyond the initial instinct, but he trusts his assessment. Madi balances them.
"For the same reason everything was easier for us on Nascere, before."
Madi sees things John does not, things he cannot. Her voice carries a very different weight than John's.
If he takes a moment to consider what she will be like in Kirkwall, whether she will be as dismayed and irritated by the stinging cold and seemingly endless drag of wet chill in the spring, or what it will be like to hear her voice coming over the crystal unprompted—
"I know we've suffered a real loss," John tells her, though that doesn't manage to cover the totality of what they've left behind them. "But between the three of us, I think we can find a way to put it back together. And part of that comes from having your voice to support his when we have to sway the Division Heads."
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no subject
Softly, he kisses her mouth.
"I love you," he tells her, aloud after two years of that sentiment finding her only on parchment. "And I'm not so sure you can be happy so far south."
She will not think of it. He knows this of her. She and Flint are of the same approach; their own happiness will come after what is necessary. Even John had fallen into that habit, though his reasons were hardly so lofty. Yes, Madi will come with them because there is nowhere else she can be. But he still wonders if she wouldn't be happier boarding a ship with her people in Antiva, raising a rebellion without thousands of miles between her and the only living family she has left.
There are things John wants for her. Happiness. Safety. A war, waged successfully. He is very aware of how little he can deliver of those three things.
no subject
The dubious expression on Madi's face speaks to the truth of John's assessment. She hadn't even thought of happiness as part of what they're striving for, much less factored it in to what must be done. She wasn't happy to be left on Nascere for two years, waging guerrilla war while Flint and Silver (because they are always a unit, Flint and Silver, never James and John) vied for more power, more assets in the south, but it was necessary. Was it not necessary?
"You know, you both know," She says, firm. "I will do what needs to be done. Happiness, or the lack of it, does not sway that."
no subject
It is not so different from a conversation some months ago in a jungle between himself and Flint.
He does not say But I'd like to make you happy. It settles in the silence, unconsulted in the course of this conversation.
Of course they don't doubt her. They have all made the same pact. John has bartered and halved away the most carefully held part of him, despite every reason he has to balk over the gamble.
"I've never thought otherwise. If anything, I believe it will be easier for him to have you with us."
no subject
But there is so much she's missed over the two years they spent separated, so much ground she may never be able to make up between them.
And what John says is puzzling.
"Easier for him?" She asks, the furrow between her brows deepening. "Why is that?"
no subject
"For the same reason everything was easier for us on Nascere, before."
Madi sees things John does not, things he cannot. Her voice carries a very different weight than John's.
If he takes a moment to consider what she will be like in Kirkwall, whether she will be as dismayed and irritated by the stinging cold and seemingly endless drag of wet chill in the spring, or what it will be like to hear her voice coming over the crystal unprompted—
"I know we've suffered a real loss," John tells her, though that doesn't manage to cover the totality of what they've left behind them. "But between the three of us, I think we can find a way to put it back together. And part of that comes from having your voice to support his when we have to sway the Division Heads."