Warm and welcoming.
If he had known her opinion of him, it would have made him happier than anything else she could have possibly said. It doesn’t come naturally for him to be so. It might have, at one time (before Carnage had pulled him from his childhood and sent him careening down the most dangerous path possible). But now, he is intimately familiar with the cold fingers of death’s grasp. He welcomes it daily, feels the trembling touch of the Grim Reaper every time he becomes a ghost. He flirts with the reaper, lets it think he’s committed himself to the edge of the scythe, but he pulls back each time. Surely, one time, it won’t let him go so easily. One time, death might claim him for its own.
So her description would have pleased him greatly. It would have meant that he hadn’t completely fallen off the wagon, hadn’t fully succumbed to the darkness that lingers in his chest like a bubble that will someday burst, spilling and spreading throughout him. Even now, he struggles to be like his angelic father; he thinks he’ll never be all good and golden like Tiphon.
Ramiel tries not to think about his failures before they’ve occurred, but sometimes, he can’t help himself.
For her part, Everdeen keeps the darkness at bay by her presence. He finds himself rather enjoying their meeting – far different than most dry, stale diplomatic approaches he’s had to endure already. He nods his large head in agreement when she comments on learning. Perhaps the only thing that could get in the way of his life-long quest for knowledge is his pride. Just like the darkness, though, he’ll keep it away as long as he can. “We’ve a man you would be most fond of, then. He’s a different sort of fellow, but he’s also the smartest man I know.” His lips quirk upwards when he thinks of Weir, thinks of what he’d be saying right now if he were here. Probably he’d tell them the genus and species of wildflowers growing just behind Everdeen, or maybe the life expectancy of the tree to their right.
The grey stallion nods again, gently, when she compliments him. He doesn’t expect to be told he’s doing a fine job or that he’s the right man for it, but it’s nice to hear. Besides, his pride swells at her words, taking to them like a moth to a flame. “Thank you. And you are a refreshing change, as far as Valley diplomats go.” He can’t help but poke the bear a bit, even if she perhaps tires of the joke. He doubts it will be enough to sway her to the Dale, but one never knows. Talk soon turns to actual diplomacy, and he straightens, intent on catching every detail she lets slip. And as nice and pretty and eloquent as she may be, he thinks she’ll let a few slip. Ramiel isn’t disappointed when she does, but he’s surprised by some of the changes. So a new king for the Valley – not immediately important to the Dale, but cause for consideration. The news from the Amazons is far more interesting – and distressing.
It doesn’t show on his face, however. His mind is whirring as he tries to focus on the conversation while wondering at its impacts. Will their alliance still hold? It had been their only strong tie to another kingdom. If Lagertha has broken their ties, they are basically a sitting duck. Ramiel tries to smile when he looks back at Everdeen, but it doesn’t last long. He has half a mind to go with her to the Amazons immediately, but his mind catches up with his heart, and he thinks better of it. “I will be there soon myself,” he says, as if he’d planned it a long time ago rather than a minute ago in response to her words. ”Perhaps we’ll see each other again.” The young king wishes he didn’t have to wrap this up so quickly – he’s rather enjoying their conversation – but already he’s planning who to take with him in his head. He smiles at her, though. “Is there anything else you need or would like to know, Everdeen? If not, I wish you luck on your journey.”
Ramiel
ghost king of the dale