He hadn't spent as much time with them lately as he normally would. Arrya's man, Rora's father, was dying and there was no place for him in that. They needed their time with him, what little they had left, and Akkadian had never had the opportunity to meet him. He didn't belong there with them and so he kept away and let them have their family, their peace. For as long as it would last.

After he'd seen to Rora, after she'd parted ways with him to seek out her friend, he carefully made his way to Arrya, his dear friend. His only friend. His heart was heavy, weighted down with the pain he knew they felt, with remembering his own deep losses that were nothing like this, and also in apprehension of seeing her this way. An entirely different way than he'd ever seen her before.

Arrya. Snappy, witty, hostile, so sharp with a bladed-tongue and ready taunts. Strong, always so strong. She wouldn't want him to see her like this, would she? Broken and hurting, probably feeling so weak and lost without her Lionheart, as she so lovingly called him. Shattered and aching, her heart well and truly breaking perhaps as it never had before. But he couldn't let her do this alone, whether she disliked him for it or not. Let her snap and snarl and fight him, pour her anguish into that damned volatile temper of hers. He'd still be there when she was done. He'd take it without a word, until she burned out and let him hold her.

Gods, and there she was. Still clinging to the cold body of her lover, his skin soaked in her heart's blood still trickling from those dagger-sharp eyes of hers. Not sharp today, though. So soft and fragile. Not at all the woman she surely would rather him see.

He stalked to her without a word. She was going to hate him for this. She was going to hate him. But it was time to let go. It had to be only hurting her more to slowly feel that body that meant so much to her grow cold and stiff and meaningless, driving home the fact that he was really gone. Forever. Yeah, she was definitely going to hate him for this. Hopefully, he could fix it after. In time. Whatever he had to do, he'd make it right again.

For a moment he only stood over her. Preparing himself, steeling himself more for the stab to his heart this was going to be rather than the fight she was going to give him. Damn, maybe he shouldn't. Coward. Dammit. Fine. He silently swore he would fix it, he couldn't lose her. He couldn't lose her. Then bent his head and gripped the base of her hair, dragged her firmly and steadily a good foot or so no matter how she screamed and railed at him. It was time to let go of that dead body that wore the face she loved so deeply. Then he straightened and waited for it with his jaw tight, chest in a vise, and a heartbreaking challenge in his hard eyes.

Come on, baby, fight me.
Show me how you hurt, make me feel it too.