It feels like a tree falling on him. The ominous weight of an unfamiliar hand (acting familiarly) was generally not a good thing. Most of the time, it meant his projects were about to be messed with by the more callous members of his community--before he could defend them and himself, before he got the hang of his magecraft and left the doubters in the dust. (It seems incongruous that Izerge Greendale feels more threat from a hand on his shoulder, a seemingly normal gesture, than Izuku Midoriya will feel from a coastal taipan checking up on him in slithering coils--a snake in God's dead garden.)
He doesn't jerk skittishly away, because the hand of a Prince is power, and they are nominally allies. Ize doesn't know this one like the other, with whom he teases the boundaries of how a follower should act. His head angles in the direction of Atreus to confirm to his own flightiness that this is all right. There is no summons away, so Ize remains here with family.
The wind might thunder over his uncle's words, but both their ears are keen, attuned to every fluttering leaf of their respective territories. They're the usual sort of comforting, noncommittal words until he mentions his brother. Ize could have gone on today being alone in his sentiments, and that would have been fine. He's an outlier in many ways, used to being alone.
Instead, he draws in a small, slow breath, because it is hard being perceived, and harder still being praised. He presses his lips together firmly. As one of Atreus's, he must show some strength. (Or, is it a weakness to hide one's heart, to fear it, to kill it so that one appears stronger but ends up maimed and incomplete?)
"I'll be all right, Uncle. It's happened before," he says as quietly as the other. (When? Why does it hurt?) Then at a more normal volume, just a touch of something iron and dubious in his voice, "He'd be proud? He wouldn't call it weird or stupid or unnecessary?"
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He doesn't jerk skittishly away, because the hand of a Prince is power, and they are nominally allies. Ize doesn't know this one like the other, with whom he teases the boundaries of how a follower should act. His head angles in the direction of Atreus to confirm to his own flightiness that this is all right. There is no summons away, so Ize remains here with family.
The wind might thunder over his uncle's words, but both their ears are keen, attuned to every fluttering leaf of their respective territories. They're the usual sort of comforting, noncommittal words until he mentions his brother. Ize could have gone on today being alone in his sentiments, and that would have been fine. He's an outlier in many ways, used to being alone.
Instead, he draws in a small, slow breath, because it is hard being perceived, and harder still being praised. He presses his lips together firmly. As one of Atreus's, he must show some strength. (Or, is it a weakness to hide one's heart, to fear it, to kill it so that one appears stronger but ends up maimed and incomplete?)
"I'll be all right, Uncle. It's happened before," he says as quietly as the other. (When? Why does it hurt?) Then at a more normal volume, just a touch of something iron and dubious in his voice, "He'd be proud? He wouldn't call it weird or stupid or unnecessary?"