#the kind of hope rowan would try to give to meteion

[tallbluelady]

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for...

[tallbluelady]

pushing a strand of hair behind their ear, please!

Rowan had been so absorbed in her song with Meteion that she didn't realize they had drawn a sizeable crowd by the time it ended. There was applause - apparently that was inherited from the Ancient world - and various Amaurotians began to press closer to give praise and coo over the pair. Rowan swallowed down her anxiety - there was no need to upset her charge when she appeared to be basking in the adulation of their audience. Voices rolled over in a cacophony of adoration - the kind one would give to a pet who had preformed a rather complicated trick.

But before it all became overwhelming a sharp snap rang through the crowd. Rowan looked up to see the rather peeved face of one Emet-Selch and one of Hythlodaeus trying to stifle laughter at the back of the crowd.

Emet-Selch crossed his arms as the crowd turned to him. "I hope you are all satisfied with yourselves. You've ruined a rather complicated experiment the Convocation had set up. And now that I know your faces..." 

The drop in energy was palpable as the crowd hurriedly dispersed, some running, some taking the aetherial streams to nearby aetherytes.

Meteion looked up at Rowan in confusion. "What... wrong? What went wrong?"

Hythlodaeus offered his hand to the familiar as he and Emet-Selch approached. "Naught that you did, Meteion. Would you care to walk with me for a while?"

She matched his smile and took his hand, leaving Rowan and Emet-Selch alone. He still glared, despite the crowd being entirely gone.

"Sorry?" Rowan grimaced. "Singing seemed like a better way for her to communicate. I'm surprised Hermes hasn't taught her how."

He started, then paused. Then he sighed. "It seems Hythlodaeus is right and we do need to talk."

She swallowed, but followed after him. She found it strange to see his gait unbowed by millennia of exhaustion, but still driven by the same sense of purpose.

"That you have to sing of all things..." Emet-Selch muttered under his breath. He turned to look at her. "I swear you were created specifically to torment me. I wouldn't put it past her, but she usually fails to be so cruel."

"Are you really still convinced I'm a familiar?" Rowan asked. "I feel like I've proved that I'm a little more complicated than the average concept."

"I suppose it would be far too convenient for your existence to be simply explained." He pinched the bridge of his nose and motioned to the bench next to him. "Sit please."

She found herself caught on the please of all things and acquiesced. "What in particular do we need to speak of?"

Emet-Selch took the seat next to her, closer than she would've liked. "You need a break from Meteion.""Excuse me?"

He sighed. "I know that expression. The way you hold yourself. The discomfort you swallow down so others don't have to attend to it."

Rowan bristled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't deny it. You're tired. You need to rest."

"Don't talk to me like you know me," Rowan snapped. "You don't."

He gave an exasperated sigh. "I may not know you, in particular, but I know that your aether resembles someone very dear to me. Someone that I have failed time and time again to comfort. To take care of. It took others pointing out her behaviors to me to realize what I've been in the wrong." He turned back to Rowan then. "So when I say that I know that you need to rest, I do know. Because those behaviors are identical in action and in the type of situation she would take them."

Rowan couldn't hold his gaze and looked away.

He lowered his voice to just above a whisper. "And mayhap I should know better than to just tell you what you should do. Authority never did sway Minthe."

She stiffened when she felt gentle fingers tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Rowan looked up to see Emet-Selch freeze in a similar fashion once he realized what he did. Time stood still until he snatched his hand away.

He stood up. "Do not speak of this."

Rowan nodded, no argument coming to mind.

He nodded in turn, then turned away before the redness crossed the entirety of his face.

Rowan traced the lock of hair behind her ear. Urianger was right.

Thanks for the prompt!