I ran away.
Roen fell back onto the bed, the pillow and blankets bouncing with the landing. She covered her eyes with both hands, as if that would hide the grimace that twisted her face.
I practically sprinted out of there.
She wrinkled her nose, recalling her hasty retreat. She could not even clearly remember what words she mumbled as she did so, so eager was she for an escape.
Why had she run away like a frightened doe? What was it about a him that made her heart race, tossed her thoughts into a chaotic mess, and turned her will and focus into mush?
The paladin folded her hands above her head, letting her arms fall limp onto the blankets. She stared at the ceiling helplessly, as if the flighty shadows cast by the dancing candlelight would lend her an epiphany as to why she had been suddenly robbed of all strength and courage.
Her lips still tingled at the memory. Roen lightly traced them with a finger, letting out a long sigh.
"And who am I, Roen Deneith? Who am I to you? You know nothing about me.â€
His words echoed in her ears even now. Roen harbored no doubts then, as she took his hand and agreed to an alliance once more. She believed him to be a good man. She remembered the wash of relief that had filled her then--the fact that he was not set on some wonton destructive path, that she did not have to consider him an enemy. Was she simply relieved that he was considering a conscientious path rather than condemning himself? Or was there something more that stirred her then?
Roen glimpsed the goodness in him early on; it was what had brought on those moments of despair in the man, those fleeting moments he worked so hard to then bury. She could not deny she was drawn to that man. But she also had to acknowledge that that was not all who Nero Lazarov was. He had layers of masks made of bitterness, cunning ruthlessness, and arrogance. And it made him unpredictable, infuriating, and manipulative. His derisive words had found ways to cut through her resolve before, and now he found another way to throw her thoughts into a turmoil of confusion and uncertainty.
The question was…what was genuine, and what was not?
The paladin turned to her side, her eyes going to the ornate longsword that stood against the table on the other side of the room. She had left the docks in such a hurry that she walked away with his sword in hand--the one that he had thrust into the wooden boards between them. She had no doubt that he was challenging her to end his life, that he was willing to die at her hands.
And yet that was another test.
I would be foolish to think that this kiss was anything other than yet more misdirection on his part, Roen told herself. But even as she struggled to accept that truth, she wondered why it affected her so. Why there was this distant melancholy that nipped at her thoughts. Did she want it to be something more?
Perhaps that was what she needed to resolve for herself. How she felt about him, regardless of how he felt. But even if she held some hidden feelings for him, what good would that do in light of the fact that he would likely then use that against her? A part of her hoped that he would not. And another part of her chided her own self in believing that that would be the case.
What did she expect of him?
"Only that you continue to hope to be a better man. I wish for nothing else from you." Her own words. She had meant every word of it.
Roen sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She rubbed her eyes, as if to clear her vision, fixing her gaze onto the sword again. Mind to purpose, Roen, she told herself. There was a greater cause to serve: changing Ul’dah, lessening the suffering of the poor, and perhaps even saving Nero Lazarov from himself. Her own feelings on the matter had to be set aside.
“I will try…to be better.†The smuggler’s quiet words echoed in her memory. It stirred her even now.
The paladin groaned out loud at her own indecisiveness and shook her head quickly as if to dismiss the quagmire of emotions there. “Mind to purpose,†she told herself again. Emotional impulses and romantic whims would only jeopardize this alliance between them that already had been tested in just the few suns since its inception.
I am certain we can work together without letting this complicate things. Roen reassured herself. I just need to be better prepared. She wrinkled her nose, wondering if that was possible.
I just need to…not think about it.
The paladin sat there, staring at the sword, while consciously trying to scrub the swirl of doubts and conflicting emotions into a blank slate.
Roen let out another loud groan and fell back onto her bed.
Roen fell back onto the bed, the pillow and blankets bouncing with the landing. She covered her eyes with both hands, as if that would hide the grimace that twisted her face.
I practically sprinted out of there.
She wrinkled her nose, recalling her hasty retreat. She could not even clearly remember what words she mumbled as she did so, so eager was she for an escape.
Why had she run away like a frightened doe? What was it about a him that made her heart race, tossed her thoughts into a chaotic mess, and turned her will and focus into mush?
The paladin folded her hands above her head, letting her arms fall limp onto the blankets. She stared at the ceiling helplessly, as if the flighty shadows cast by the dancing candlelight would lend her an epiphany as to why she had been suddenly robbed of all strength and courage.
Her lips still tingled at the memory. Roen lightly traced them with a finger, letting out a long sigh.
"And who am I, Roen Deneith? Who am I to you? You know nothing about me.â€
His words echoed in her ears even now. Roen harbored no doubts then, as she took his hand and agreed to an alliance once more. She believed him to be a good man. She remembered the wash of relief that had filled her then--the fact that he was not set on some wonton destructive path, that she did not have to consider him an enemy. Was she simply relieved that he was considering a conscientious path rather than condemning himself? Or was there something more that stirred her then?
Roen glimpsed the goodness in him early on; it was what had brought on those moments of despair in the man, those fleeting moments he worked so hard to then bury. She could not deny she was drawn to that man. But she also had to acknowledge that that was not all who Nero Lazarov was. He had layers of masks made of bitterness, cunning ruthlessness, and arrogance. And it made him unpredictable, infuriating, and manipulative. His derisive words had found ways to cut through her resolve before, and now he found another way to throw her thoughts into a turmoil of confusion and uncertainty.
The question was…what was genuine, and what was not?
The paladin turned to her side, her eyes going to the ornate longsword that stood against the table on the other side of the room. She had left the docks in such a hurry that she walked away with his sword in hand--the one that he had thrust into the wooden boards between them. She had no doubt that he was challenging her to end his life, that he was willing to die at her hands.
And yet that was another test.
I would be foolish to think that this kiss was anything other than yet more misdirection on his part, Roen told herself. But even as she struggled to accept that truth, she wondered why it affected her so. Why there was this distant melancholy that nipped at her thoughts. Did she want it to be something more?
Perhaps that was what she needed to resolve for herself. How she felt about him, regardless of how he felt. But even if she held some hidden feelings for him, what good would that do in light of the fact that he would likely then use that against her? A part of her hoped that he would not. And another part of her chided her own self in believing that that would be the case.
What did she expect of him?
"Only that you continue to hope to be a better man. I wish for nothing else from you." Her own words. She had meant every word of it.
Roen sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She rubbed her eyes, as if to clear her vision, fixing her gaze onto the sword again. Mind to purpose, Roen, she told herself. There was a greater cause to serve: changing Ul’dah, lessening the suffering of the poor, and perhaps even saving Nero Lazarov from himself. Her own feelings on the matter had to be set aside.
“I will try…to be better.†The smuggler’s quiet words echoed in her memory. It stirred her even now.
The paladin groaned out loud at her own indecisiveness and shook her head quickly as if to dismiss the quagmire of emotions there. “Mind to purpose,†she told herself again. Emotional impulses and romantic whims would only jeopardize this alliance between them that already had been tested in just the few suns since its inception.
I am certain we can work together without letting this complicate things. Roen reassured herself. I just need to be better prepared. She wrinkled her nose, wondering if that was possible.
I just need to…not think about it.
The paladin sat there, staring at the sword, while consciously trying to scrub the swirl of doubts and conflicting emotions into a blank slate.
Roen let out another loud groan and fell back onto her bed.
