[Merida expects herself to flinch when he touches her face, but to her surprise, she doesn't. It's warm and familiar and she leans her cheek into it, skin flushing a delicate pink now instead of bright red. She was a Scotswoman, and more importantly from DunBroch; her people were stubborn in the face of danger, and so she would be deterred by this, even if she will still regret, still wail when she remembers later. Maybe in the new year she'll be better, but for now she lets Gilgamesh's touch erase the slime, as though brushed away like some kind of magic.
Atmu. Any other time she would have thought it was a jibe, but it sounds like a strangely endearing term of affection. Which, coming from Gilgamesh, should be strange in and of itself. Her hand raises to cup around the back of his on her face, feeling the strength and warmth radiating from it. Almost like the sun, Merida thinks, and she looks at him, reverence clearly written in her eyes.]
I'm honoured you think so of me, ghrian. [Sun, in her people's language. Her fingers slide through his, like they had before when he was leading her here.] I would do more than strike down a goddess for you,
[Merida's loyalty wasn't so easily given. But him? He had earned it twice over.]
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Atmu. Any other time she would have thought it was a jibe, but it sounds like a strangely endearing term of affection. Which, coming from Gilgamesh, should be strange in and of itself. Her hand raises to cup around the back of his on her face, feeling the strength and warmth radiating from it. Almost like the sun, Merida thinks, and she looks at him, reverence clearly written in her eyes.]
I'm honoured you think so of me, ghrian. [Sun, in her people's language. Her fingers slide through his, like they had before when he was leading her here.] I would do more than strike down a goddess for you,
[Merida's loyalty wasn't so easily given. But him? He had earned it twice over.]