but you're somebody else

Valentine was wandering the packlands. He hadn't been given explicit permission to do so  he'd been more or less invited in so of course he was going to take advantage. It was interesting how fire shaped things. He didn't recognize Abaven in any of the fire scorched features.  It reminded him of his conversation with Theory. He wondered if she was still mulling over what to do or if she'd decided to stay. Normally he wouldn't have given a fuck but this whole journey had left him in a wistful, melancholy state. This was one of the hardest thing he'd ever done and after the bitterness had exhausted him he'd been left in low spirits.

Rhyme's voice, almost a stranger's since he'd heard so little of it, stopped Valentine in his tracks. It sounded like he was close; like the outcropping Valentine stood beside was all that separated them. He listened as Rhyme poured out his heart to a dead woman, and hung his head, not in regret for what he'd done but in quiet sorrow for the inability to breach the barrier that now kept him from comforting his son. Rhyme was a fool, quite possibly the biggest fool to ever bear the Imperialis name, but he was Valentine's foolish son and that would never change no matter how much he hated his father.

He stood there, indecisive and aggravated, for quite some time. Did he open himself up for the possibility of rejection or did he turn back and leave Rhyme to his grief?

Fuck it, he was going in.

Valentine walked to the end of the outcropping. He'd been right; Rhyme was just on the other side. The old king stopped once he was in view and chose not to move towards his son. If rejected he could easily just step back out of view and be on his way; no harm no foul. He decided to let Rhyme speak first. His boy would be dictating the flow - or lack thereof - of conversation anyway. May as well let him have the opener.