[h2][center]Gwyneria[/center][/h2]

Gwyneria looked to Cicero in concern. All this time, from his goofiest moments to his most reckless, he'd been carrying a burden like that on him. How did one man hold that sort of strength? Only at this moment was he obviously exhausted, weary beyond anything her young elven years could even attempt to understand. Not when she had grown up her life knowing that she and those around her would have a long time to go before having to worry about the specter of death. It only struck her then that in all likelihood, Cicero [i]would[/i] die before her, whether by the sword or by the slow decay of time. And if they never cleared Cicero's name...

No. She took Cicero's hand, squeezing it closely. [color=teal]"If there's a curse, it can always be broken. If it's merely a pattern, the pattern can be altered."[/color] If, [i]When[/i] Cicero faced death's specter, he would be at peace, free of the taint on his name and free of the violence that the others in his regiment had gone through. She'd make certain of that, no matter how many times she'd have to heal him from the brink or had to reconcile illogical 'luck' to the fundamental rules of magic she'd learned all her life. This she swore.