It was also said that love conquered all, but Siobhan had come to understand the fallacy of this claim.

No matter how much Ailill loved her, it was not enough to triumph over Nyimara's desire for revenge. She knew, wholeheartedly, that her daughters adored her and yet their want of her was not enough to pull her back from the pit of self-loathing and doubt. Not even Bjorn's sacrifice had been enough to rescue her from the quagmire in her own head, although whether his effort had been borne of love or guilt was still up for debate.

She had learned that love was strong, but it was not all-powerful.

But no part of her, from beginning to end, had ever thought to blame Ailill. She had watched him fight, and had seen the desperation in his eyes as he had attempted to protect her from the silver-haired witch. She could not blame him. Not her sweet, gentle lover whose first concern was for taking care of her instead of blaming her. He was strong, but there were few equines on these isles that could go up against Nyimara and win. She had spent her entire life training for moments such as these. And it was not his fault that Nyimara sought her out repeatedly, and a fresh wave of guilt washed over her.

It was her fault. All of this, it was her fault.

His heartache. Her daughter's pain. All of it fell on her own shoulders. If she had simply kept her feelings to herself and not forced Ailill into this mess, he would have suffered for her. She breathes in shakily, her lashes wet with unshed tears as he turns around.

She expects to see any number of things on his face. Blame. Disgust. Frustration. Disbelief. She wouldn't even blame him if his first thought was filled with hatred after all that she had put him through. It would be about what she deserved. Swallowing hard, her gaze rises from the beautiful lines of his figure to his face and sees nothing of what she fears. Warmth and love and shock and pain radiate from him and she watches him cross the distance that separates them as if he moves in slow motion. A part of her that has still not recovered from those long weeks in the Arch wants to shy away from the sudden motion, forcing her entire swollen body to lean back, but she does not allow her feet to move, nor her eyes to tear away from his face.

Not a single shred of condemnation shows on his face, and she melts into him as he stretches to touch her. Unable to help herself, Siobhan takes a shaky step forward to bury her face against his shoulder. She trembles against her skin, the tears leaking soundlessly down her cheeks as she presses her face into his shoulder. How many tearful reunions would they be doomed to endure?

I love you, he said, his voice free of recrimination. Although, she couldn't stop the stray thought that crossed her mind: he did not yet know the worst of her transgressions. Once he did learn of them, how could he ever look at her with fondness in his eyes again?

Siobhan's jaw sets and a smile touches her lips briefly as she pulls away from him, her very being crying out at even this minor distance. "Ailill, I--" She started but the words stick in her throat and her gaze drops again, her face falling with it. Shaking her head softly, she tries again. "I don't need anything. Not now."

She can feel her cheeks flushing and for a moment it is so painfully reminiscent of those first days of flirtation that her stomach flips. Her gaze flicks up to him again and this time manages to hold their position. "I'm sorry. So sorry." Swallowing again, she tried to elaborate on where her thoughts were headed. "All of this is my fault and you should've never been forced into it. Not you, or the girls."

The mention of their daughters sends a new pang through her chest. "H-how are they?" She asks timidly, not entirely sure they will want anything to do with her anymore.