Falls

In the face of her fierce anger, the golden stallion stood still and calm; a steadfast boulder in a storm-tossed sea. And Kvothe clung to him in the way of any creature who fears drowning, silent now save for the rasping whisper of her breath. The ground still seemed to pitch and spin beneath her hooves and it was hard to keep her eyes open. She felt dizzy and tired and utterly wretched… but whole, blessedly whole, when Tyr’s soft gaze captured hers. Then — in spite of the dizzying whirl — it became impossible to look away. Then the earth’s dubious grasp ceased to matter, because his was the gravity that held her. For as long as he spoke, there was nothing but ivory hair, gold skin, and the deep gentle rumble of his voice.

We share quite the past; you and I. Of happiness and heartache, children and loss…

And — oh. The slender chestnut could not remember it, but she could feel their shared life in the wistful longing of those words. She felt it like the desperate ache for air in empty lungs. She felt it like the hunger that gnawed at a famine-hollowed belly. Kvothe might not remember them, but she wanted the things Tyr spoke of more desperately than anything else in the world. She wanted to share the contents of her heart freely, without fear of reprimand or rejection. She wanted to know that someone would always be at her side, come darkness or light. She wanted to know what it felt like to love another so much that it hurt. But—

— the stallion you knew… the Tyr you knew, has changed. Just as you have changed. For an instant the anger and bitterness returned, rising like a hot tide in her belly. Was this it, then? Was this where the familiar stranger turned and walked away, leaving her standing here in the darkness and cold? Was this where she crawled back to Narene on her belly like a beaten cur, contenting herself with whatever scraps of affection and self-worth the dark mare saw fit to leave her? Burying her face in Tyr’s throat in dismay — in despair — the Freisian almost missed his next words; words that brought more fragments to the surface. Fragments of soft touches, shared tears, and the pain of childbirth. But there is one thing that will never change. My heart belongs to you, Kvothe; just as yours does to me.

Had she truly had those things before? And could she have them again, if she chose to?

Let me take you home, so that we can start over.

Would she make the choice, if this was the cost? Could she let go of everything that had once been, and focus instead on what might be?

“Yes.” Kvothe answered softly, her chest hitching with a sob — or was it joy that swelled warm and tremulant in her heart? Perhaps it was both. Feeling feather-light with the release of her burdens, the red woman laughed softly, and without a trace of the bitterness that had soured the sound before. “Yes,” she repeated, her voice stronger and more certain than it had ever been in her life.

She didn't know what was buried in her past, or what the future could hold — but this moment was all that mattered.

Because it was real.