@glorycrowned
There is an ache in Bazzard’s heart that he has grown to know well, could almost be as second-nature to him as breathing, as the blood pumping through his veins; and yet, he would not change it for anything else. The ache is familiar in the same way that he knows Xander’s kindness, knows his strength, and perhaps the familiarity of it is what leaves a strange sense of comfort.
( The comfort does not rid him of guilt, however. )
There is all but a war within Bazzard; to forsake his intentions would be to abandon his mother and father’s deaths, as if he would be forgetting the home he lost, but to pursue his revenge would to be a act of treason against the very prince who offered redemption in the palm of his hand. And yet, a part of him dares to cling to hope, grapples at the edges of it like a feeble wanton man, desperate to tear some string of fate for himself. A quiet, lonely purgatory of thought is his punishment, and that too leaves guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders when Xander has shared so much with him, has trusted him. Bazzard wonders what part of his kindness for his liege was an act, and what part of it became genuine ( he feels as if he is nothing more than a liar in the end; but he still does not draw himself farther away, rather, he returns to the prince as the tide returns to the shore ).
“What’re ya’ doin’ up so late, Xan’?” Bazz-B knows the prince has a reason, expects to hear one, too; but still his tone sounds mildly scolding. Though, one such as the prince would know they are words spoken with care. Are you alright he asks in the harsh tongue he speaks. In a motion of familiarity, the commander ( once loyal retainer, still loyal to his lord ) rests his palm on the prince’s shoulder in an unspoken expression of care.
