Some perverse part of his mind - he supplies 'all of it, then?' mentally on reflex - refuses to let go of the knowledge that Sparhawk saw fit to share with him. He avoids it; he works, he travels, he busies himself with acquiring the odd gift for those of his acquaintance who celebrate this winter holiday he keeps hearing about, and those he just ( Read more... )

Time passes.

In Savannah, he answers to Professor Lefevre and they wonder at his decision to adopt his wife's surname when they marry, at the expense he went to for a computer that looks at home next to his grandfather clock and antique fountain pens, at his blend of accents and casual assertion that as a lapsed Catholic he's switched his fealty ( Read more... )

The trip to England - and then onto France - was a good idea, Martel knows. Having spent the past year devoting himself to establishment, he's missed all the things about traveling that gave him the wanderlust he had as a younger man in the first place. It's good to get away from 48 hour work days for a while, to be a little out of reach, to be so ( Read more... )

The phrase I would give anything to make this better is a fascinating one - I've certainly always thought so. What a grand demonstration, a suitably tortured self-flagellation, and in its way it absolves you from amends. No gestures grand enough, no sacrifice that will grant more than a hollow sort of satisfaction. How charming! How pointless, in ( Read more... )

( I wanted to say two further things to you today: irony: Do not let yourself be governed by it, especially not in unproductive moments. In productive ones try to make use of it as one more means of seizing life. )

The feeling in his chest is psychosomatic; Martel knows this, knows that he's long since healed, knows that the shadow of pain past will continue to plague him regardless. Perhaps he should've been born a Styric for this intensity of emotion in him, he doesn't really think, locking the tower's entrance behind him while the sun rises, disregarded, ( Read more... )

Some months ago, Martel hired Master Snape to handle the full warding of his Valdis property; to protect it, and to hide it from prying and unfriendly eyes. To put not too fine a point on it, between the two of them there is enough paranoia and sheer power to arm a small country, and when - after many weeks and much work - the wards are complete, ( Read more... )

( We don't know if he is frightened. But he stays, he is engrossed, and, facing his reflection, transports himself somewhere else. )

( Judge if you want. We are all going to die. I intend to deserve it. My last words will be, 'Yeah, I had that coming.' )

After years of exile, something about riding through Elenia gave Martel an unpleasantly familiar feeling between his shoulderblades. All of the bridges had been burned, and he didn't belong any more; he fancied the land knew it as well as he did. His thrice-damned 'traveling companions' didn't make the trip any more palatable - if anything, less - ( Read more... )