Reginald
Eliza froze as she felt his hand stop her as she walked away, turning her head to look and see what her body told her was real before turning to face him. Her other arm slowly, hesitantly- almost unwillingly falling into his. And then they came, those horrible memories came flooding in like a damn that blocked acid was smashed releasing poison into her brain- all of which he would watch as her memories projected before them. 

The Tenebrians, one of the eldest pureblood families there was. Alchemy was the families specialty, having grown an expansive empire selling ingredients and potions across the lands. The family survived off of charity blood drives, as to not cause harm to innocents.

Scenes of a young girl pruning flowers alongside a tall, pale beautiful woman. Scenes of a young girl mixing ingredients with her father, giggling as a bad combination of ingredients resulted in an explosion of dust.
Visions of bliss, visions of peace.

Visions of a now teenage girl fleeing her home, flames and arrows skimming her as she sprinted through the forest with a cat in her arms. How she watched as her father being dragged away, of her mothers head falling to the ground. Visions of horror, visions of tragedy. 

A weak, small girl laying within a field of lilies as her life faded into nothingness. Of Eliza's embrace, how happy the girl was to have a chance at life. Of her son, that of her own blood, who she nurtured from a child into a strong and capable man. Funerals of fallen kin, an ocean of women in black gowns and sorrowed tears burying yet another daughter. 

Eliza screamed as she yanked her hands out of his, the projection of her memories shattering into dust as she cupped her face and wept.
Barry
Noctis had been born in the age when cities were only first being formed by the races of Aeterna, when even the elves were young and naive and the men knew the names of the spirits and their parents could tell them what the visages of the gods looked like. He'd grown up in a time where the world had been a chaotic stream of death, and then a lulling river of peace. When he was a young boy, he'd promised himself to create a world where children didn't lie alone crying. He'd buried his mother and no one had visited her grave, the greatest mortal swordswoman who'd impressed even the gods, and in death she rotted alone. 

Noctis had sold his body, his soul, let people touch him and invade him, taken lives, slit throats and broken trusts and pacts- all to ensure he saw that world. Then he'd fallen in love with the wrong person, and his life was ripped away. He'd slept; slept for eons, slept through more wars and more death- and he'd not even begun to imagine the kind of hate that had settled into the rotten heart of his beloved nine realms. He watched the memories go by and he burned them into his brain with his magic, each tragic, painful, wicked image. 

As her hands ripped away and the memories swirled into snowflakes, her weeping washed over him. How many people like Eliza were out there in this new world he had come to? How many more like Sylvar, Valac or that woman who'd found him, Wisteria. 

Beautiful and strange Wisteria as secretly kind and gentle as the flower named after her, terrible with people and yet, always wanting to help the weak. A total outcast from something, she'd been running from something. 

People like Esme who were good and beloved by nature- who still had some dark and horrible thing in their past eating away at them? 

Now here was Eliza, all the things he thought she was but also so, **So** Much more. A woman of deadly dark elegance crafted to be so because she was a *Survivor* Who had simply had her chance to live a life of joy and light r

Ipped from her with fire and blades.

As she cried into her hands, she'd feel his own fingers come up and stroke her perfectly done hair gently. Then a soft song resonated out through the small clearing they found themselves in. 

It was a song of the martyr mother, a song he'd written himself as a teenager. 

"Her thankless life was not in vain, though her life was suffering and pain, 
I will be her bright spring bloom, I will find her on the moon. 
My martyr mother alone in the snow, 
My martyr mother who bled so I'd grow." 

It was only a small part but the meaning of it was simple- as he finished, he was shocked to find that he was still stroking her hair back and his other hand wiping back tears. 

The meaning of the song was simple, and he whispered it. 

"Honored are the mothers who suffer so that their children may have a chance to smile. As your mother did for you, you do for your children." Once her moment of grief was passed, he'd step back and do perhaps the most surprising thing yet. 

Dropping to his knees, he placed his forehead into the snow and his hands beside his head. He spoke clearly and plainly, no crying or wavering, just a simple statement of truth. 

"I have offended your family and your honor as a mother, I humbly apologize for my ignorance." 

It wasn't an offer of servitude or an offer to "Make it up", he wasn't that selfless, but it was a genuine and sincere apology before this woman who's pain had been scoffed at by him and many others like him.
Reginald
Eliza wept for her daughters slain simply for existing, she wept for her parents who suffered the same fate. It hurt her to be seen by Noctis like this, her strong demeanor reduced to a helpless grief struck woman, it was embarrassing beyond comprehension for her- she felt weak. 

She almost jumped as she felt the man gently stroke her hair, nearly bit off his finger as he wiped away her tears. Her crimson orbs gazing into his silver ones as he caressed her face, her salty tears soaking his fingertips. She opened her mouth to protest, to scream at him for patronizing her- but she remained silent. 

Then she heard the song, admittedly a beautiful song. One she resonated with as if she had written it herself, one that spoke to her broken, wounded soul. Her rage of being treated as weak, as being treated like a helpless girl melting away as he sang, she hated him for making her feel so seen. For making her relate to him, she could hear the pain in his voice with each syllable, with each breath- this song meant something to him too. 

The tears that ran down her face moments ago had wiped away her rosy blush she had so carefully applied in the captains quarters, melted away her attempt as being seen as anything other than what she was. 

Her scarlet gaze widened as he dropped to the floor, as he groveled beneath her apologizing. Part of her wondered if he was being sincere, if this was all a ploy to get her alone and steak her in the heart- she had heard crueler tales of her kin being slain. But the way he rested his head in the snow told her if his sincerity, but he would not get away with touching her precious hair, for touching her without permission- regardless of his intent. 

Once Noctis stood before her and they met gaze Eliza smiled before promptly backhanding him across the face, the blow was powerful enough to create a sound loud enough nearby rodents scurried in fear.

"Do not touch my hair." She spoke plainly as she walked away from him, resuming their

Stroll before she spoke once more.

"Apology accepted."
Barry
The slap stung like a million fire ants across his face and he felt a slight fracture in his jaw from her empowere vampiric strength. He was strong, yes, but he was only at an extreme level when powered by magic. He felt every ounce of that force and even had to blink back tears,though they were banished quickly. He did not repeat a sorry, rarely did Noctis apologize at all. In fact her had to bite his lip so hard it bled not to grab her by her damned hair and throw her screaming into the night like a porcelian fucking ragdoll. See how composed and lady like she'd be then. The moment of fury faded, fury fed through years of fighting for survival, of pain being the start of his survival instinct. He was instead silent and walked on, several feet away again and his silver eyes streaked with amber. His eyes began to turn amber when he felt strong emotions or used his godly power. 

After a few minutes of silent walking he muttered a curt "Village this way." He then empowered himself slightly and put on speed, moving quickly through the blinding white terrain. It took him some time to realize his fists were still clenched tightly, one even around the hilt of his sword. He removed his hand from it as they neared the outskirt of the village and he squatted on a hill that overlooked it, watching. 

"Do your thing." He said, turning his gaze from the village and looking away from her, to scan the trees and distant mountaintops. It seemed his old ways were dead. It stung, and it made him ache for home.