[/html]The comfortable familiarity continued to grow as the minutes ticked on and on. Locke found himself wholly at ease with Haven; perhaps not with his situation, but he knew he was safe with the knight. Of course, he assumed he was a knight, or a warrior of some sort, like she'd been. He was sure of himself, at least on a physical level (Locke was surely not a proper judge of character, or personality, even beyond the circumstances); the weight of the sword at his hip did not burden him, in fact, even though he was young, it was very nearly an extension of the fire-licked, and ivory-splashed man himself. He must carry a heart of gold to be able to withstand the hardships of such a noble cause, Locke mused thoughtfully. Haven was most certainly someone Locke would later come to cherish, as he did Gerad; a thought struck him. Perhaps there was a clear reason why he initially, and immediately, looked towards the young man for cause again; did Locke, in his disorganized thoughts, mistake Haven for his older friend? Was that such a bad thing, truly? Hardly, Locke countered silently as his gaze drifted up from the floor, to the man in question. There was a grave need for men like those two in the world. A friend in need, is a friend indeed, after all.
A small, muted part of him wanted to jump right into war stories; to tell Haven of all he'd seen, and done. And to tell him of his friend's stories, all of which far more heroic, and dynamic, than his own. But the topic would inevitably lead back to the present, and that was a place he wanted to remain distant from, for now. Locke could tell Haven was still quite unconvinced that what he was doing, and saying, was the right thing. The estranged man wanted to reassure him again, but he felt words were hardly necessary at this point; Haven was welcome to believe, and do, what he felt was right; he was certainly doing a good job thus far.
But what truly took the man by surprise was the sudden invitation to join the pack. Not temporarily, but permanently, as a contributing member to the band of misfits. Just like — Locke was stunned, and it was instantly reflected on his face. He quietly looked up towards those gentle jade eyes, set in a neutral face; it was an appropriate approach, Locke thought as the surprise faded, with everything I've put him through. Cour des Miracles, or Court of Miracles, as Gerad would explain in that flawless French of his; a band of misfits, like himself — like they all were once.
"I'll protect you, I promise..."
Locke blinked once, then again. He then looked down, to the left, eyes unfocused as he pondered. Haven wasn't waiting for a definitive answer, but Locke was scared that if he didn't make a decision now, he never would again. So this was it, then.
"You've offered me so much in these few hours, Haven." He said then, "I can't possibly say no." There was the beginnings of a smile on his lips, though the firelight made it nearly undecipherable. With a pack came friends, and a life. "If I was a man of words, I might say that I was meant to stay here, but I'm not any good at poetry." He shook his head at the hollow attempt at humor, and nodded slowly, "I accept, and I will do my best to return the hospitality to you, and your pack, for all of this."
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