Patience. Another form of endurance, was it not? Most warriors knew and understood that to be patient, ultimately brought them to that singular goal of the moment. Most warriors knew and understood that having patience was the truest test of skill. Not that having patience was a virtue, it wasn't. It was of perseverance and longevity. It was of wielding a weapon; it was of sacrifice. But mostly, it was of patience and being patient.<br/><br/><div class="bbm_float fleft" style="float:left;margin:0 10px 5px 0">
<script class="js-extraPhrases" type="application/json">
			{
				"lightbox_close": "Close",
				"lightbox_next": "Next",
				"lightbox_previous": "Previous",
				"lightbox_error": "The requested content cannot be loaded. Please try again later.",
				"lightbox_start_slideshow": "Start slideshow",
				"lightbox_stop_slideshow": "Stop slideshow",
				"lightbox_full_screen": "Full screen",
				"lightbox_thumbnails": "Thumbnails",
				"lightbox_download": "Download",
				"lightbox_share": "Share",
				"lightbox_zoom": "Zoom",
				"lightbox_new_window": "New window",
				"lightbox_toggle_sidebar": "Toggle sidebar"
			}
			</script>
<div class="bbImageWrapper lazyload js-lbImage" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-single-image="1" data-src="/proxy.php?image=https%3A%2F%2Fi.imgur.com%2Fsat6Ajv.jpg&amp;hash=9a3621ac658f70449efc8142d5145bfa" title="sat6Ajv.jpg">
<img alt="sat6Ajv.jpg" class="bbImage lazyload" data-src="/proxy.php?image=https%3A%2F%2Fi.imgur.com%2Fsat6Ajv.jpg&amp;hash=9a3621ac658f70449efc8142d5145bfa" data-url="https://i.imgur.com/sat6Ajv.jpg" data-zoom-target="1" height="" src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" style="" title="" width=""/>
<noscript><img alt="sat6Ajv.jpg" class="bbImage" data-url="https://i.imgur.com/sat6Ajv.jpg" data-zoom-target="1" height="" src="/proxy.php?image=https%3A%2F%2Fi.imgur.com%2Fsat6Ajv.jpg&amp;hash=9a3621ac658f70449efc8142d5145bfa" style="" title="" width=""/></noscript>
</div>
</div>And Cerys was patient. Time was on her side in all things as it was in all ways. Her belief that he had been sent to her was strong. No one would have been able to convince her otherwise. She was mythical and magical. She was insightful and she took careful pains to ensure that her people clung to her as they would a precious babe. Cerys was charismatic. Cerys had soul that went deep and was as old as time itself. Faith drove her and encouraged her.<br/><br/>She had watched him from afar as he took to battle. Stood in the very place in which he had been felled. Had even knelt down upon the trampled field in his blood, a prayer sent that<i>the</i>prayer, had finally been answered. That this man, this ... this ...<i>Warrior</i>had been sent to her and her people. He was familiar but also a total stranger to her. He was her salvation and her damnation; he was her hope and her despair. He was her victory. He was also her defeat, but only if he refused, which Cerys was not about to let happen.<br/><br/>When the Warrior had gone down it was Cerys who informed the others and told them of a prophecy; a prophecy that wasn't exactly truth. Most of it was, of course. But she had seen in him what they hadn't. Not at first. It took time for them to understand and to see that she was right. As she had always been in the past. To Cerys he was a man of honor; a man of his word and of his pride. But she also believed that he was also a man that was bent on having his revenge. She could always be wrong in thinking that.<br/><br/>But to him, she and her people were the enemy. They were heathens that had no business being among his kind. And what, she would often ponder as she continued to observe him from a distance, were the type of people that did belong among his kind? Cerys thought that after he had been brought from the depths of darkness; that bleak area that was just on the cusp of no return. He had been nursed back and they had shackled him. He was a prize. A gift. An answer to a prayer. Their healer entered the shack the Warrior had been put in every day. Checking on his wounds; changing the bandages; pouring broth down his throat. Checking to ensure the shackles were still in place.<br/><br/>When Cerys was told that he was healing well, she decided to go see him. No plan to speak with him of what she needed. Of what her people needed. It would take careful explanation on her part; and cunning. Not manipulation, which was the last thing she wanted him to think she was doing. No, she wanted him to make this decision of his own will. Without threat. Without a condescending manner. As equals and with reverence. She would have to be convincing, indeed.<br/><br/>Cerys pushed open the door; the sun at her back, framing her lithe figure. She was a rather tall woman at 5'7" and wore a simple black, woolen gown, over that was something akin to a warriors' chainmail, but with jewels. It was shorter and offered no protection and was worn due to her status. An indigo gaze moved him at her leisure as she moved fully into the shack, or house, they had shackled him into. She closed the doors behind her, allowing her eyes to adjust.<br/><br/>Her walk was more a prowl than anything; her gaze never wavered or strayed, not even as she lowered to the chair backwards, placing her arms on the back. She let the silence build while she studied him. Her head tilted to one side, a half smile graced full lips. And when she spoke to him, it was part her language, and part his,<br/><br/>"Warrior," Cerys began, "Your wounds are healing nicely." A pause, the silence once more stretching, "I have seen your skills," a quiet voice spoke, as if in contemplation of something bigger. "I am called Cerys," by way of introduction with a slight nod of her head in his direction