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[fitzroyal]

Henry is out for a walk, at night, strolling across the lawn to the lake. He's always liked water in the moonlight - how it looks like silvered glass, almost as though he could walk on it. He's standing there, quite still, hands clasped behind his back, almost as though he is waiting for someone - which, perhaps, he is.

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[phedre_25]

Probably not this someone, but here she is nonetheless, tugging her shawl around her shoulders, walking and thinking about a million things.

She won't see Henry, in fact - too busy pondering the new things that have happened with Tom, or should we say, Fitzchivalry, and of course, her desire to die, and how so very much she misses Henry.

Because she does, really, really she does.

[fitzroyal]

He sees her, though, and turns, not walking to her, but making a bow. "Phedre."

[phedre_25]

.....

"Henry." She curtsies, not closing the distance. She has no idea what to do with him.

[fitzroyal]

He doesn't either, and it shows. His eyes flicker, a touch. "Would you walk with me?"

[phedre_25]

She nods, then, thankful that the darkness hides her flush.

"Of course."

[fitzroyal]

"Thank you."

[phedre_25]

She just waits for him to close the distance, then.

"Where will you go?"

[fitzroyal]

"Just walking. Nowhere in particular."

[phedre_25]

"Lead the way, then." Softly.

[fitzroyal]

He offers an elbow.

[phedre_25]

She takes it with a little smile.

"You look thoughtful." Quietly.

[fitzroyal]

"I am."

[phedre_25]

"Would you speak of it, or shall I let it lie?"

[fitzroyal]

"Perhaps. Yes." A pause. "I worry for you, and the suffering you are bearing."

[phedre_25]

"It is mine to bear, and you should not worry about it, Henry," she says softly. "There is little you can do, love."

[fitzroyal]

"Save that I fear I am the cause."