// @islesmaiden
It’s almost down to a routine now -- things are running more smoothly at New Hope than he’d ever have dreamed possible (not that Neal is inclined to dream for the best under any circumstances), and even the long journey to and from the north is not so terrible as it once was. Not that is objectively enjoyable, of course, just relatively less the trial it once was. The payoff of a warm, dry, well furnished Court might have something to do with the fact that the trip is not so unbearable.
-- Of course, there are other reasons than the comforts of Corus.
Seeing familiar faces, pleased as they are or not, is more a salve than anything he’s concocted. It is easy to forget, when you are staving off the aftermath of a war, what it is you’re fighting for. The minutia have a tendency to sneak up on you, insidiously clinging onto places you aren’t expecting until all you can see are orders for linens and rotations of infirmary cots.
He greets the lords and ladies that he must, makes conversation that’s at least mildly polite, and wanders the well worn labyrinth of the palace. Neal knows each turn as if the map is a function of his own body, calmly navigating without a second thought to each hallway passed. His own quarters, the ones he claims when here, call to him. But they are in the opposite wing and grow further behind him with each step he takes. As awful as the effects of travel can be, his pulse races and his buzzing thoughts seek only one salvation.
❛ -- Yuki. ❜
The name leaves his lips before he’s even registered that he sees her rounding a corner, each syllable bouncing with a relieved kind of joy.
