[How relentless Set is, even in his desire to be of aid. He continually refuses to accept Liem's non-answers and deflections, brushing past them to seek the wounds the priest harbours, like a hound following the smell of blood. Liem leans into him with a frown, baffled again by his persistence.
He shouldn't be, he knows. Why should this god be distracted from his questions by Liem's lukewarm denials? It is just that he has almost never known anyone so determined to be of help to him, even when given every opportunity to turn aside.
He is warm, and he still smells pleasing, even in the midst of this apocalypse. Liem lets that be a comfort to him, despite the jitters still crawling beneath his skin. But he does not lean his face against the crook of Set's neck, as he might wish to. He does not tangle his legs with the god's and insinuate himself into something more resembling an embrace. Although there is no limit to the longing for intimacy that gnaws him like starvation, his dignity and his paranoia both demand that he not indulge it.
He is tempted again to say I don't know. He doesn't know what he would find if he looked his fears in the face instead of letting them drive him back out into the sun. But this time, instead of giving this answer, Liem considers it further, in silence.]
The spectre of my father, I suppose, [he says finally.] He wanted to make me his. Wanted me to be — if not like him, then at least… devoted to him, instead of to Taldor's living people.
[Iago Talbott had been nowhere in Liem's life when he was a boy, the ward of first his uncle and then of Abadar's church. But as a man of several decades, Liem had found himself the recipient of his father's attention — and a love that he wanted no part of. A love that had made him feel watched, much as the shadows of this terrible place have.]
It made me nervous to be seen with others. To be known by them, when he might learn of it. But also nervous that he might appear, and I might be alone with him.
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He shouldn't be, he knows. Why should this god be distracted from his questions by Liem's lukewarm denials? It is just that he has almost never known anyone so determined to be of help to him, even when given every opportunity to turn aside.
He is warm, and he still smells pleasing, even in the midst of this apocalypse. Liem lets that be a comfort to him, despite the jitters still crawling beneath his skin. But he does not lean his face against the crook of Set's neck, as he might wish to. He does not tangle his legs with the god's and insinuate himself into something more resembling an embrace. Although there is no limit to the longing for intimacy that gnaws him like starvation, his dignity and his paranoia both demand that he not indulge it.
He is tempted again to say I don't know. He doesn't know what he would find if he looked his fears in the face instead of letting them drive him back out into the sun. But this time, instead of giving this answer, Liem considers it further, in silence.]
The spectre of my father, I suppose, [he says finally.] He wanted to make me his. Wanted me to be — if not like him, then at least… devoted to him, instead of to Taldor's living people.
[Iago Talbott had been nowhere in Liem's life when he was a boy, the ward of first his uncle and then of Abadar's church. But as a man of several decades, Liem had found himself the recipient of his father's attention — and a love that he wanted no part of. A love that had made him feel watched, much as the shadows of this terrible place have.]
It made me nervous to be seen with others. To be known by them, when he might learn of it. But also nervous that he might appear, and I might be alone with him.