After the initial time spent drifting in and out of consciousness as the antidote began moving through his blood-stream, Martel spends a lot of time sincerely wishing he was still in that state over constantly...Martel endures the confinement and bedrest with poor grace, resting his chin on his folded arms and glaring at the wall that refuses to be intimidated by his pale, trembling irritation with the world.
Everyone else seemed to be suffering from fuzzy memories over the incident on Valentine's. Maxwell, however, was fairly aware of his actions and could reflect on performing them with remarkable clarity...people managed to make the most of it, even if they might not have been entirely in control of their emotions! Ah…. If anyone sees Lash, could you let her know I'm looking for her? Thank you!
Just as he told his wife, Martel has no intention of going into battle - if it should become necessary, he's willing, but the Arums have an able commander already. He serves another purpose, and even... when the fracas in the hallway summons the Duke with his own sword out, that the sting of the blade hadn't been entirely the fault of the steel. His vision swims and then, mercifully, he passes out.
My unit was never too good at public relations. We weren't designed to woo, cheat or impress, we were bred for grunt work. Congratulations, Manticore - you just wasted billions of the US governments dough...look pretty for the outsiders, but it's a different story on the inside. Max is optimistic, says we'll all be united one day. Maybe she's got the right idea, as for me, I'll believe it when I see it.
Bête Noire is taking its toll on Bruce, he knows. It would be hard to miss it. Not in the same way as it worn away at some, the city's corruption or the idea of being trapped here eating away at their...similar plans in the past, though always just as contingencies, never the main approach. But in a place like this, starting anew... If he needs to play the game in order to do good, here -- he will
Winter is a miserable time to go to war - in particular due to winter being a miserable time to tramp down from the mountains - but the frost should have broken at least by the time they're passing Maghu... (He has no intention of riding into a battle with these worries still hanging over his head. Sparhawk has the means of getting back to his child-bride now, and he can do with it what he will.)
Flora Gage-Radcliffe wanted to be a movie star. She wanted people to know her name, to put her image on their walls. She went to California with her dreams; bought a tiny dog and a tiny apartment....the door in her face. They had laughed at her dreaming. Flora looked down at the little life she was making and promised to do better. Even if it meant doing it here. She wants for nothing.
One of Martel's worst habits - in the opinion of the poor sod who gets to take care of it when his lordship can't reach the burns to clean them up on his own - is probably the fact that he appears to...onto a piece of broken glass. (This is one of those occasions Ewar doesn't mind being reduced to a messenger boy, carrying the package and short note - Congratulations. - M. - to Ithaca personally.)
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...not all . No, no - it's an affront to his ego . To have all his achievements weighed and measured and reduced to- Martel throws the quillpen down on his desk and pushes back, furious and ashamed.
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...faith. At the end of the day, Martel shrugs his shirt from his shoulders and feels the pull of scar tissue over his heart, because he will carry the end with him until there's no where left to go.
