[ it was so easy to choose to die for his friends. it is so hard to figure out how to live after making that decision.
not even in the world he knows. not even — not even, not even. abel lays it out aptly, doesn't he? rand doesn't know what path to take anymore, or even where he's going now, should go, might go, could go: not with everything he's lost and everything he's been given in its stead. for a minute, he can acknowledge the truth of that. of course he'd struggle. maybe his missteps in horos haven't been an inherent weakness. maybe anyone else would feel the same.
maybe.
he still doesn't reach out to take the hilt, but he doesn't reject it. a part of him simply worries that if he does touch it, he might come undone again. there's only so much grieving his father he's willing to do right now, to do in front of another person, even abel. the sword had been — is — maybe the last of tam al'thor's presence in this world or any world. certainly the last piece rand can carry with him.
because, of course, even if his world does live: he can't go back. and maybe the flicker across his face is familiar to abel now, the expression he can't help when there's yet another thing he doesn't say that briefly breaks through to the surface. that's a comfort he can't take, even as he tries to accept the rest. some of the rest, at least. it'd be nice to think he can still protect his home, his loved ones, from here. it'd be nice to think he can protect the people he's growing to care about here, too. that there are people here who feel the same way about him, and might despite everything. he can consider the possibilities, whether or not he's ready to accept them yet.
it seems so inadequate not to say anything. it seems so inadequate to try to answer with any stupid, fumbling thing he might say. so in the end he swallows, and he nods. ]
no subject
not even in the world he knows. not even — not even, not even. abel lays it out aptly, doesn't he? rand doesn't know what path to take anymore, or even where he's going now, should go, might go, could go: not with everything he's lost and everything he's been given in its stead. for a minute, he can acknowledge the truth of that. of course he'd struggle. maybe his missteps in horos haven't been an inherent weakness. maybe anyone else would feel the same.
maybe.
he still doesn't reach out to take the hilt, but he doesn't reject it. a part of him simply worries that if he does touch it, he might come undone again. there's only so much grieving his father he's willing to do right now, to do in front of another person, even abel. the sword had been — is — maybe the last of tam al'thor's presence in this world or any world. certainly the last piece rand can carry with him.
because, of course, even if his world does live: he can't go back. and maybe the flicker across his face is familiar to abel now, the expression he can't help when there's yet another thing he doesn't say that briefly breaks through to the surface. that's a comfort he can't take, even as he tries to accept the rest. some of the rest, at least. it'd be nice to think he can still protect his home, his loved ones, from here. it'd be nice to think he can protect the people he's growing to care about here, too. that there are people here who feel the same way about him, and might despite everything. he can consider the possibilities, whether or not he's ready to accept them yet.
it seems so inadequate not to say anything. it seems so inadequate to try to answer with any stupid, fumbling thing he might say. so in the end he swallows, and he nods. ]