By more then one Diarmad had been asked why he did not seek out death. Why did he not claim his death back and refuse to let her own it still. But what none seemed to understand was such a death would not bring him ease. Such a death would only damn his soul further then it already truly was. Such a death would not bring him honor but would only further strip it away, ensuring that the family he had loved and lost would eternally be lost to him. He could not do it; he knew that he never would. No matter how she had angered him time and time again. The rage had been there...but the act forever denied.
Honor was not found in taking ones own life. And honor would not be found in taking hers as well in such an act. She was not innocent but he would not damn her for crimes that part of her had never fully understood the gravity of.
So he had lived. Lived as much as a man in his place could. He endured...he struggled...and he fought. But the greatest challenge for him was found here. Here where others of his blood had shown and looked at him with eyes that saw dishonor. Nothing had quite torn through him as that had. Nothing ripped straight to the core of him and tore at the heart that barest beat within his chest.
A child born without clan, without their ways.... and a once love that he believed could scarcely look at him now. Asking as so many others had, why he picked life. Was it so hard to see? Was he a fool? Had he made further disgrace against his blood....
He did not have answer.
All he had was hope that his life beyond the death he had deserved, meant something.
That all of this had not been in vain…that he survived for a purpose beyond just denying death.
Diarmad did not accept comfort well; it was a strange thing to a man that spent his life seeing to others safety. But he did not deny her act. He knew to do so now would not give her hope…and he needed her to hope. Needed her to believe or they both truly were lost.
Everything then really was for nothing.
He shifted enough then to sit upon the ground so that she’d not have to strain so to reach him. Her small form was pulled to him then and large wings circled her like a blanket. He gave no words; there was nothing left for him to say this night….
Wearily this comfort, small as it was, was all he had left in him to truly give.