He can feel his throat tighten, as if it was being squeezed by some external force. Robbing him of being able to breathe, and perhaps in this moment, he isn't. Not while he's staring at Tyler a little owlishly, his brows slanting back, creasing his brow. It's a distressed expression, but one that he's clearly trying to rein in as much as he can.
It's not anger he feels, well...not towards Tyler. Whatever anger there might be is not for him, nor his words, but it's drowned out by the anguish he feels. The anguish that burns hot within his chest. That sickening twist that's so distinct to grief—and he would know it. He knows it all too well.
Also, he's aware that Tyler speaks true. So too did Hythlodaeus, even Steven to an extent, but it was easier to distract himself then. Easier to dismiss their claims—Hythlodaeus by his flawed understanding of the way the world has changed, and Steven by the venom behind his words. But Tyler, earnest and blunt Tyler seems to have the singular talent to say just the right combination of words that inspires deeper reflection. Not that Hythlodaeus cannot, but he knows Hythlodaeus' game, knows often where he might go with a debate, knows how to counter an argument he will make well before the other two before it has been spoken...
It's different with Tyler. Perhaps that's why he enjoys taking to debate with him, a fresh perspective, one from a man still learning, still forming his idea of the world. Such minds are crucial for their perspectives, for they see the world in a new light, without arrogance and ego utterly blinding them.
After a long moment, Solus finally takes in a breath, his eyes flicking away from Tyler for a moment, before returning. Then, finally, he replies.
I did not love her... Though she can never know such. I, indeed, stood by her when she was with child...cared for her during both. I treated her with kindness...and I gave her affection when she bade for it. Together did we raise...our sons. She—they...
He pauses a moment, his expression contorting with what can only be described as grief. But a moment later, he lightly shakes his head, neutralizing that expression best he can, before continuing.
Old age would claim her, as it eventually does for all mortals, yet she was comforted by such a fraudulent tale of tragic romance, never once doubting me, or the love she so believed... Even as I took her as my wife, even when she bore our children, it was not love that bound us. It was not love that kept me by her side.
I merely played my role to perfection.
As he signs, his hands have the slightest quiver to their movements, his fingers sometimes tremble ever so slightly when he pauses between a thought, as if to serve as a visible display of his mental process of finding the right words. And by the end of that, his hands form into fists. Not in anger, but more in an attempt to stop the fragile way they shake. Far too telling of his emotional state.
no subject
It's not anger he feels, well...not towards Tyler. Whatever anger there might be is not for him, nor his words, but it's drowned out by the anguish he feels. The anguish that burns hot within his chest. That sickening twist that's so distinct to grief—and he would know it. He knows it all too well.
Also, he's aware that Tyler speaks true. So too did Hythlodaeus, even Steven to an extent, but it was easier to distract himself then. Easier to dismiss their claims—Hythlodaeus by his flawed understanding of the way the world has changed, and Steven by the venom behind his words. But Tyler, earnest and blunt Tyler seems to have the singular talent to say just the right combination of words that inspires deeper reflection. Not that Hythlodaeus cannot, but he knows Hythlodaeus' game, knows often where he might go with a debate, knows how to counter an argument he will make well before the other two before it has been spoken...
It's different with Tyler. Perhaps that's why he enjoys taking to debate with him, a fresh perspective, one from a man still learning, still forming his idea of the world. Such minds are crucial for their perspectives, for they see the world in a new light, without arrogance and ego utterly blinding them.
After a long moment, Solus finally takes in a breath, his eyes flicking away from Tyler for a moment, before returning. Then, finally, he replies.
I did not love her... Though she can never know such. I, indeed, stood by her when she was with child...cared for her during both. I treated her with kindness...and I gave her affection when she bade for it. Together did we raise...our sons. She—they...
He pauses a moment, his expression contorting with what can only be described as grief. But a moment later, he lightly shakes his head, neutralizing that expression best he can, before continuing.
Old age would claim her, as it eventually does for all mortals, yet she was comforted by such a fraudulent tale of tragic romance, never once doubting me, or the love she so believed... Even as I took her as my wife, even when she bore our children, it was not love that bound us. It was not love that kept me by her side.
I merely played my role to perfection.
As he signs, his hands have the slightest quiver to their movements, his fingers sometimes tremble ever so slightly when he pauses between a thought, as if to serve as a visible display of his mental process of finding the right words. And by the end of that, his hands form into fists. Not in anger, but more in an attempt to stop the fragile way they shake. Far too telling of his emotional state.