[i]I am afraid, sir. I am tired. I am hurt, so sorely I cannot remember what it was like to feel normal. But I am also angry. I am determined to act, and I think that may be courage. But anger and courage did not bring me to where I am. You say I have no love. What, then, brought me here?[/i]

Or, maybe.

[i]If it is as you say, then why haven’t we killed each other? You could snap your fingers, and make it so, but that would not be love that did it. Why then do we live, if love owns us?[/i]

No. Not that. None of that.

The stories he’d read, late at night in the Manor’s library, they would have had an ending like that. Or the tales the Starsong would swap over a few too many mugs of ale, they’d have a speech as grand as that. Since when had he come this far for a heroic ending? Did he really think himself so important that he needed to deliver a big speech to the gods themselves?

No. He sat on something far more precious.

To Aphrodite, he offers a noncommittal nod, or perhaps his head was growing too heavy to lift. He had fought gravity long enough. He lies down, he crumples, he stretches out across Vasilia’s chest, his head coming to rest beside hers. His fingers, shaking, brushed the grit and blood from her cheek. No priceless heirloom, no treasure of history across the whole of his long career did he handle more delicately than her. A nudge. A careful tilt to the side.

And Dolce leans in to kiss his wife.

The haze of Dionysus’ blessed torment melts from her eyes. At the edges of her awareness, something familiar. Something precious, and sweet, and soft. A language her mouth remembers, when all thought has passed.

And Vasilia kisses her husband back.

No more words for you, Aphrodite. He’s said his piece, and whatever else he could’ve added, it could not possibly be more important than the lioness beneath him. Vasilia. Oh, Vasilia. He doesn’t understand why she keeps seeking to punish herself for mistakes long past. His heart breaks when he thinks she might have forgotten him, that fateful day aboard the Yakanov. He knows, he [i]knows[/i] that everything he could ever give would not be enough to fill the holes in her heart that keep her up at night.

And as the world fades around him, Dolce chooses to kiss her.

Whatever else may come, he’s done what he can.

Now, Vasilia needs him.