The warmth fades, Poe going a little still, before he pulls back a little.
"... It's alright."
He knew it was going to happen. Two days didn't erase hundreds of years of history and a decade worth of training. But it still pulled the wind from his sails anyway. He let out another breath, then leaned in to press a chaste kiss to Owain's forehead before pulling out of the bed.
He doesn't let Poe pull back for long. He takes it as a rejection, at first, like he's not proud of him, like they said would happen if he fucked up, and he shifts closer, closing the gap. It's stupid and probably too childish for the gravity of what just happened, but he swing his leg around Poe's waist and his arm around his chest and just-- holds. His. Can't leave.
"Smrrff."
It's an apology, but it's hard to be heard as such, given that Owain's buried his face into Poe's neck and is refusing to pull away.
The barest hint of a smile pulls at the edge of his mouth, and he raises a hand to rub into Owain's hair, leaning back against him a little.
"... you're okay." He turns his head to brush his lips against the top of Owain's head. "We'll break it. You'll see. Eventually you won't even think about it being any different."
Owain says nothing - it's selfish, maybe, but he's scared, after saying that. He drops his leg to curl between both of Poe's and the arm he has around his chest slackens. He stays there, quiet for a good five or ten minutes, only ever making noises other than breathing to groan softly when Poe tries to move away.
Eventually he pulls back, and he sits up in bed, curling his knees up to his chest beneath the cloak. He shoots Poe a glance, and then away.
"What if we don't?" He chews over the words. "What if-- you and I stay together forever-- but I'm always just... scared that I'll do wrong, under everything, or-- or I say things like that without thinking? You said we had to be equal for you to make this work, so if I'm... not... equal..."
"You're already equal, Owain," Poe murmured, watching him while perched on the edge of the bed. He finally stood up.
"You being scared - of anything - isn't going to change that. Saying things you don't mean isn't going to change it, either."
He stepped over to his clothes, pulling on his uniform. Official duties, today.
"You are, inherently, equal. What I meant was - I can't treat you as less than that. And I don't want you to treat me as more than that. But after last night- I'm pretty sure you'll work this out just fine."
He watches Poe go, and he knows it's time to get up, but he really would have been fine staying here all day. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and scratches his neck, nodding, slowly, taking a long breath. Okay. Equal.
He says nothing, as Poe dresses. Makes no motion to clothe himself right away. It's only until Poe turns back to him to remind him of last night that the ache in his eyes melts into something a little warmer. He's quiet and embarrassed, but very fond, when he says--
He paused, half way up his buttons, before he stepped back towards the bed, leaning down to steal a soft kiss that before last night he would have waited for Owain to ask for, first. If he overthought it, later, he might hesitate again. But for the moment, despite Owain's slip, he's fairly confident that the man has at least a basic understanding, that Poe claims no ownership over him.
"Yeah." It was hard, even in the cold light of morning, to think of what had happened as anything bad. But that didn't mean he shouldn't check in. "You alright?"
Owain wouldn't hesitate to just say yes, but this is something he needs to answer seriously. He looks down at his hands, thinking. A decade of being raised like cattle, being stripped of his independence and taught he's only doing the right thing when he's shutting down every part of himself. A single night with someone who says he doesn't have to be like that.
"It was-- easy. For me. During the vow, before you-- bled. To just. Give up every part of who I am. For you."
A pause.
"But that's not how things are. Or how things should be. So - I'm scared? That I won't be enough. Or that I'll fall back down, into that kind of thinking. But I'm okay. I think."
He let out a breath, watching him, before resuming doing up his buttons.
"Don't be hard on yourself. It's half my fault, at least, and none of yours. I should have -- I don't know, I should have come back and dealt with this years ago." He frowned, one particular button getting snagged on a loose thread and refusing to go through the hole properly as he wiggled it.
"You've spent your entire life thinking that's what you were made for. Hell, I've had a lot worse reactions. Someone threw a drink in my face, once."
Owain laughs, even though there's this bizarre, protective sweep in his stomach that makes him want to find whoever threw a drink in Poe's face and throw one right the fuck back. He goes quiet, for a minute, shifting back to lay in bed a little longer, still far too naked.
"They said you had things to do. That you couldn't come back. Because you were fighting. So - I had to learn to fight, so that I could stand by you."
He watches Poe.
"I'm happy things played out like this. If you'd have gotten me out of there when I was a kid, we wouldn't be-- this."
He sighs and gives up on the button, going for the next one instead. It means he doesn't need to meet Owain's eyes, at least, his brow furrowing slightly.
"Yeah, well. I kind of made it so I couldn't come back." It was a low murmur, something he hadn't admitted to anyone else. Keep finding causes to fight for. "Wouldn't have come back at all, if it wasn't a direct order." It's not quite shame, what he feels, but it's close.
At the last, though, he does finally look up, and offers Owain a wistful smile.
"No, probably not. We would have been something else." Not that he had a very clear idea of what the fuck he was doing right now either.
Owain has a pillow, this time, and he pulls it over as he lays there. He'll get changed in a secon, but he just... wants to watch Poe a little while longer. He doesn't really understand what he means - Poe making it so he couldn't come back - but that smile, however wistful, eases the aching concern starting to bite at his chest.
"Brothers."
He remembers.
So, yeah.
Okay.
He swings off of the bed and finds his clothes - another short sleeved sweater, in black, this time. He tugs it on and finds his pants, tightfitting as before, sliding them on without underwear because he kinda only had the one pair and he kinda came all over them when he had that dream. Same boots. His favourite boots.
He's dressed while Poe is still fidgeting with his buttons. He watches Poe, again. Looks away when they can't seem to make eye contact.
"... You wanna talk about your dad? Or - why you never wanted to come home?"
"Not really." There's an easy, loping sound to it - an automatic response more than a thoughtful one, and he gives up on the buttons, the last five left undone.
"... Nah, it's just - We fought. A lot. Leading up to when I was shipping out. I don't even know if you met Amalthea - probably not." He rubbed at his head thoughtfully, scratching at his scalp, before walking over to the basin, the water still tinted red with blood.
"I thought that if I left it just meant that things wouldn't happen. That he'd know there was no point. And I thought it worked, after he gave up on trying to make marriage arrangements." He picked up the basin and walked to the window, pausing, before pouring the dirty water out onto the courtyard below. "... Probably knew better than to tell me he was still training you."
Owain looks at Poe's open buttons and sighs, a little, figuring he'll step in. He closes the distance between the both of them once the basin is set back down, threading each button through every hole, but deciding, at the last moment, to leave at least a few open. Because, you know. Rebellion. Fuck you, military, and your strict-ass uniform policies. Has nothing to do with the fact that Owain just wants to stare at Poe's bare skin all day.
"... You weren't interested in marriage?"
He puts his hand on Poe's chest, but he feels the flutter of something in his own. This question-- could go a lot of ways.
"Thanks," he murmurs as Owain fixes his buttons, offering him a lopsided smile.
At the question, though, the smile fades and his eyes slide away.
"What, condemn someone else to a completely different form of slavery? It wasn't - like your parents. Or like mine. He's pretty damn aware that anyone I would actually want to marry isn't going to bring him any heirs. So. No. Not interested."
Owain's eyes widen, a little, but he says nothing. He's-- the same, as Poe, but any love he might have found in his life was always going to be at the whim of his master, to some degree. He hadn't allowed himself the thought of rebellion, from marriage, should Poe have found a line of Pledges he wanted to inherit by marrying Owain into them. He takes a long breath and lets go.
"But, so -"
So, it's possible you'll still find a partner, right? Even if that partner's a man? The question is right there, but he doesn't think he has the guts to ask it. He hesitates, pulling his hand back.
"Okay. No, I get it. I'm sorry for asking. It's not really--" my place-- "my business."
He scratches at his neck. Looks at Poe and half-smiles, through the guilt and the awkwardness of bringing all of this up.
"... We'll be out of the room a lot, today." He breathes out through his nose. "Are you going to be okay... seeing me act like your pledge for so long?"
He almost corrects him. Of course it's your business, right on the tip of his tongue. But he swallows the thought back, a worrying thought breaking into his mind and cutting it off. He doesn't know what they are. This isn't... this isn't a lover, he's talking to, exactly. He swore an oath - impulsively or not - and that's the underline of their relationship. Not... what happened last night.
He cleared his throat, frowning.
"... Don't worry about me. I can deal with it. It's just a few days. Once we're back on the frontier, keeping up appearances won't matter."
He's the closest thing Owain's ever known to a lover. He wouldn't be able to tell the difference between whatever he and Poe have to what an actual relationship might be, because, well - it's never been his lot in life to date. All he can say, with certainty, is that he and Poe did something pretty fucking impulsive based on some pretty huge emotions, and now Owain's chest hurts every time they're together.
He doesn't like it when Poe frowns.
"I'm gonna worry." It's hard not to, after everything. He runs his hand through the spikes of his hair and looks out over the courtyard. He wonders, again, if anyone heard them last night.
Despite what Poe said about keeping up appearances, he 'forgot' to re-bandage his hand, the dark stain in his palm a fairly easy signifier for what had happened the day before. Also any time Owain dropped to walk behind him, he would drop back himself and start talking to him about something - anything - just for the excuse to walk side by side. The first stop was ordering Owain's uniform - he was measured in eight hundred ways - but for the clothes for the ball, they had to go out. There was no point going back to the family manor - any formal wear Poe had was a decade out of date and wouldn't fit Owain anyway. Poe would wear his dress uniform - which he carefully left with the laundry on their way out (along with the sheets) - but Owain would have to dress to match.
Fashion for Pledges ran a wide gamut, as some Masters used their Pledges as glorified symbols of their own status, and others wanted them as mute and out of the way as possible. Poe - Poe wanted something else.
The outfit they ended up purchasing was very similar in style to Poe's uniform, though obviously in a far more civilian style. The fabric was a deep navy blue - for his father - with gold embellishments, for Lissa.
Poe fussed over it, for a while, while they adjusting the tailoring for Owain, but eventually he was satisfied. It was actually an incredibly handsome outfit, but. It wasn't for him. It was for them - the judging eyes - and he couldn't help but feel slightly bitter about that.
There was a little more shopping to do - Owain needed some small clothes if Poe was going to be able to keep himself from continuously crouching at the man's crotch, as well as other toiletries - and during the luncheon Poe had to go speak at a Pub to potential recruits. He did so with a passion and vigour he reserved for these things - his stories growing far larger than him. Three men came to him afterward to declare their intention to sign up.
The shops were still open, when they were headed back to the palace, and Poe stopped - packages under his arm.
"... We should get you something," he said, out of nowhere.
He notices everything Poe does, from forgetting his bandage to keeping their paces even, and while Odin's acts of rebellion aren't anywhere nearly as decisive, they're still there. He keeps the conversations dragging on, the ones they have while they're shoulder to shoulder. He comments on things, quietly, under his breath - little things, like the sound of a bird or the smell of food they pass by, thoughts he should be, by all rights, keeping to himself. Every time they get a look, he falters and steps back out of line, hiding behind Poe and keeping his mouth shut, but every time Poe steps back to be with him, he tries a little harder.
He loves the suit, and it's his, even if it was never designed to be. Poe picked it out, Poe did everything, and this is his because Poe gave it to him. He's brighter than the fucking sun when they leave the tailor, talking louder, faster than before, forgetting himself just to go on and on and on about how much fun they're going to have at the ball and how much he's going to love dancing with Poe and how everything they do they're going to do it together, equal.
His heart moves in a weird way during recruitment, but he's uncharacteristically quiet during the whole thing. It's a reminder, maybe, more than the looks and more than the fear, that this is what their life is. Poe's a fighter, he's going to war. The gravity didn't mean much, when Owain was just waiting to die. He's still so, so willing to throw himself in the way of a blade to keep Poe from harm, but it's-- different, now, in a way he can't place. The vows, maybe.
He's a little stunned when Poe says to get him something, and he gestures at pretty much every package the both of them are carrying.
"I'm pretty sure we just got me about ninety thousand things. You've already done far too much for me."
Poe glances down at the packages in his arms before offering a rolling shrug.
"There are all necessary things. Things that you need to have. I just mean - like - something that's yours, to enjoy for yourself, I guess. Like a set of cards, or a book, or something. Obviously we can't take a lot with us to the front, but--"
His instinct is to argue, and he's been learning, slowly, that his instincts aren't necessarily right. He looks down at himself and tries to work out if he's resistant because he doesn't want something or if he feel he's not allowed something, and it's... pretty clearly the latter.
"... Okay. Okay, no-- yeah. Yeah, I'd love that. I used to read all the time, so that might..."
He trails off.
"We need something that we can do together. When we're out there."
"Trust me, we won't have a lack of things to do together," he says mildly, and though it could have been a euphamism, it wasn't. They would be plenty busy. But he gets what Owain means.
"You read, huh? Well why don't we start there, then. I know almost nothing about books, but I like hearing the stories." He's not a big reader, sorry Owain.
He turns around, looking for a bookshop, before heading in the direction of one.
Shit, they're doing this? Owain grins and picks up the pace as they walk, sticking to Poe's side like glue. He can see the bookshop in the distance and the noise he makes is somewhat reminiscent of a strangled seagull, because he's fantasized about going to a store like that, and now there's one right there, and he has to do everything in his power to not just break into a sprint.
"Yeah! Yeah-- but-- I mean, it's more of a means to an end than anything? I like to write, but I never thought I'd ever be allowed. I'm supposed to mind my words, not... elaborate on them. I'm not supposed to have enough free thought to make art, or create, I'm--"
He swallows, hesitant to talk about all of this. His parents were lucky, to have Lord Dameron and The Lady Commander afford to them as many freedoms as they did. He kicks at the ground and keeps walking.
"Just-- yeah. Books." He nods. "I like-- fiction. And records of history. I like learning about people from the past and the amazing things they did, and I like reading about heroes who do everything in their power to save or change the world." Very, very quietly, he adds--
"That's what I would want to be. If I could be something. A hero to the people, changing things for the better."
He tries to smother she smile that raises to his lips in response to Owain's energy. He really does try. It's tempered, though, as Owain continues, a flicker of a crease in his brow.
"We should get you a journal, then. I don't really tend to carry anything for writing on me, but - I know a lot of the men do."
He stops, though, fully, when Owain finishes, a far more intense expression settling on his face, brows pulled together and his eyes sharp.
"You can be something. Owain. You can be anything you damn well want - I'll make sure of it."
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"... It's alright."
He knew it was going to happen. Two days didn't erase hundreds of years of history and a decade worth of training. But it still pulled the wind from his sails anyway. He let out another breath, then leaned in to press a chaste kiss to Owain's forehead before pulling out of the bed.
"It's going to take a while to adjust."
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"Smrrff."
It's an apology, but it's hard to be heard as such, given that Owain's buried his face into Poe's neck and is refusing to pull away.
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"... you're okay." He turns his head to brush his lips against the top of Owain's head. "We'll break it. You'll see. Eventually you won't even think about it being any different."
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Eventually he pulls back, and he sits up in bed, curling his knees up to his chest beneath the cloak. He shoots Poe a glance, and then away.
"What if we don't?" He chews over the words. "What if-- you and I stay together forever-- but I'm always just... scared that I'll do wrong, under everything, or-- or I say things like that without thinking? You said we had to be equal for you to make this work, so if I'm... not... equal..."
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"You're already equal, Owain," Poe murmured, watching him while perched on the edge of the bed. He finally stood up.
"You being scared - of anything - isn't going to change that. Saying things you don't mean isn't going to change it, either."
He stepped over to his clothes, pulling on his uniform. Official duties, today.
"You are, inherently, equal. What I meant was - I can't treat you as less than that. And I don't want you to treat me as more than that. But after last night- I'm pretty sure you'll work this out just fine."
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He says nothing, as Poe dresses. Makes no motion to clothe himself right away. It's only until Poe turns back to him to remind him of last night that the ache in his eyes melts into something a little warmer. He's quiet and embarrassed, but very fond, when he says--
"Last night was pretty rad."
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"Yeah." It was hard, even in the cold light of morning, to think of what had happened as anything bad. But that didn't mean he shouldn't check in. "You alright?"
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Owain wouldn't hesitate to just say yes, but this is something he needs to answer seriously. He looks down at his hands, thinking. A decade of being raised like cattle, being stripped of his independence and taught he's only doing the right thing when he's shutting down every part of himself. A single night with someone who says he doesn't have to be like that.
"It was-- easy. For me. During the vow, before you-- bled. To just. Give up every part of who I am. For you."
A pause.
"But that's not how things are. Or how things should be. So - I'm scared? That I won't be enough. Or that I'll fall back down, into that kind of thinking. But I'm okay. I think."
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"Don't be hard on yourself. It's half my fault, at least, and none of yours. I should have -- I don't know, I should have come back and dealt with this years ago." He frowned, one particular button getting snagged on a loose thread and refusing to go through the hole properly as he wiggled it.
"You've spent your entire life thinking that's what you were made for. Hell, I've had a lot worse reactions. Someone threw a drink in my face, once."
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"They said you had things to do. That you couldn't come back. Because you were fighting. So - I had to learn to fight, so that I could stand by you."
He watches Poe.
"I'm happy things played out like this. If you'd have gotten me out of there when I was a kid, we wouldn't be-- this."
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"Yeah, well. I kind of made it so I couldn't come back." It was a low murmur, something he hadn't admitted to anyone else. Keep finding causes to fight for. "Wouldn't have come back at all, if it wasn't a direct order." It's not quite shame, what he feels, but it's close.
At the last, though, he does finally look up, and offers Owain a wistful smile.
"No, probably not. We would have been something else." Not that he had a very clear idea of what the fuck he was doing right now either.
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"Brothers."
He remembers.
So, yeah.
Okay.
He swings off of the bed and finds his clothes - another short sleeved sweater, in black, this time. He tugs it on and finds his pants, tightfitting as before, sliding them on without underwear because he kinda only had the one pair and he kinda came all over them when he had that dream. Same boots. His favourite boots.
He's dressed while Poe is still fidgeting with his buttons. He watches Poe, again. Looks away when they can't seem to make eye contact.
"... You wanna talk about your dad? Or - why you never wanted to come home?"
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"... Nah, it's just - We fought. A lot. Leading up to when I was shipping out. I don't even know if you met Amalthea - probably not." He rubbed at his head thoughtfully, scratching at his scalp, before walking over to the basin, the water still tinted red with blood.
"I thought that if I left it just meant that things wouldn't happen. That he'd know there was no point. And I thought it worked, after he gave up on trying to make marriage arrangements." He picked up the basin and walked to the window, pausing, before pouring the dirty water out onto the courtyard below. "... Probably knew better than to tell me he was still training you."
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"... You weren't interested in marriage?"
He puts his hand on Poe's chest, but he feels the flutter of something in his own. This question-- could go a lot of ways.
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At the question, though, the smile fades and his eyes slide away.
"What, condemn someone else to a completely different form of slavery? It wasn't - like your parents. Or like mine. He's pretty damn aware that anyone I would actually want to marry isn't going to bring him any heirs. So. No. Not interested."
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Owain's eyes widen, a little, but he says nothing. He's-- the same, as Poe, but any love he might have found in his life was always going to be at the whim of his master, to some degree. He hadn't allowed himself the thought of rebellion, from marriage, should Poe have found a line of Pledges he wanted to inherit by marrying Owain into them. He takes a long breath and lets go.
"But, so -"
So, it's possible you'll still find a partner, right? Even if that partner's a man? The question is right there, but he doesn't think he has the guts to ask it. He hesitates, pulling his hand back.
"Okay. No, I get it. I'm sorry for asking. It's not really--" my place-- "my business."
He scratches at his neck. Looks at Poe and half-smiles, through the guilt and the awkwardness of bringing all of this up.
"... We'll be out of the room a lot, today." He breathes out through his nose. "Are you going to be okay... seeing me act like your pledge for so long?"
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He cleared his throat, frowning.
"... Don't worry about me. I can deal with it. It's just a few days. Once we're back on the frontier, keeping up appearances won't matter."
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He doesn't like it when Poe frowns.
"I'm gonna worry." It's hard not to, after everything. He runs his hand through the spikes of his hair and looks out over the courtyard. He wonders, again, if anyone heard them last night.
"Let's go, then."
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Fashion for Pledges ran a wide gamut, as some Masters used their Pledges as glorified symbols of their own status, and others wanted them as mute and out of the way as possible. Poe - Poe wanted something else.
The outfit they ended up purchasing was very similar in style to Poe's uniform, though obviously in a far more civilian style. The fabric was a deep navy blue - for his father - with gold embellishments, for Lissa.
Poe fussed over it, for a while, while they adjusting the tailoring for Owain, but eventually he was satisfied. It was actually an incredibly handsome outfit, but. It wasn't for him. It was for them - the judging eyes - and he couldn't help but feel slightly bitter about that.
There was a little more shopping to do - Owain needed some small clothes if Poe was going to be able to keep himself from continuously crouching at the man's crotch, as well as other toiletries - and during the luncheon Poe had to go speak at a Pub to potential recruits. He did so with a passion and vigour he reserved for these things - his stories growing far larger than him. Three men came to him afterward to declare their intention to sign up.
The shops were still open, when they were headed back to the palace, and Poe stopped - packages under his arm.
"... We should get you something," he said, out of nowhere.
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He loves the suit, and it's his, even if it was never designed to be. Poe picked it out, Poe did everything, and this is his because Poe gave it to him. He's brighter than the fucking sun when they leave the tailor, talking louder, faster than before, forgetting himself just to go on and on and on about how much fun they're going to have at the ball and how much he's going to love dancing with Poe and how everything they do they're going to do it together, equal.
His heart moves in a weird way during recruitment, but he's uncharacteristically quiet during the whole thing. It's a reminder, maybe, more than the looks and more than the fear, that this is what their life is. Poe's a fighter, he's going to war. The gravity didn't mean much, when Owain was just waiting to die. He's still so, so willing to throw himself in the way of a blade to keep Poe from harm, but it's-- different, now, in a way he can't place. The vows, maybe.
He's a little stunned when Poe says to get him something, and he gestures at pretty much every package the both of them are carrying.
"I'm pretty sure we just got me about ninety thousand things. You've already done far too much for me."
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"There are all necessary things. Things that you need to have. I just mean - like - something that's yours, to enjoy for yourself, I guess. Like a set of cards, or a book, or something. Obviously we can't take a lot with us to the front, but--"
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His instinct is to argue, and he's been learning, slowly, that his instincts aren't necessarily right. He looks down at himself and tries to work out if he's resistant because he doesn't want something or if he feel he's not allowed something, and it's... pretty clearly the latter.
"... Okay. Okay, no-- yeah. Yeah, I'd love that. I used to read all the time, so that might..."
He trails off.
"We need something that we can do together. When we're out there."
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"You read, huh? Well why don't we start there, then. I know almost nothing about books, but I like hearing the stories." He's not a big reader, sorry Owain.
He turns around, looking for a bookshop, before heading in the direction of one.
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"Yeah! Yeah-- but-- I mean, it's more of a means to an end than anything? I like to write, but I never thought I'd ever be allowed. I'm supposed to mind my words, not... elaborate on them. I'm not supposed to have enough free thought to make art, or create, I'm--"
He swallows, hesitant to talk about all of this. His parents were lucky, to have Lord Dameron and The Lady Commander afford to them as many freedoms as they did. He kicks at the ground and keeps walking.
"Just-- yeah. Books." He nods. "I like-- fiction. And records of history. I like learning about people from the past and the amazing things they did, and I like reading about heroes who do everything in their power to save or change the world." Very, very quietly, he adds--
"That's what I would want to be. If I could be something. A hero to the people, changing things for the better."
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"We should get you a journal, then. I don't really tend to carry anything for writing on me, but - I know a lot of the men do."
He stops, though, fully, when Owain finishes, a far more intense expression settling on his face, brows pulled together and his eyes sharp.
"You can be something. Owain. You can be anything you damn well want - I'll make sure of it."
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