He listened to her play in silence, both in appreciation for the music, and the uncertainty of the song. He could see how hard she was trying, how she clung to the act of playing. Still, his hand reached out, and toward her face as she pressed on in concentration.

A single finger touched the tear streak. Gentle, trying to offer comfort, a faint smile and a soft murmur, "Saeme...beloved...." Then that single finger caressed her cheek as it slid to her chin, his gaze trying to pierce the shroud and discern the circumstances. The song he didn't recognize, but what he felt from her, he did.

How could she have faith in what he was, when he had only settled matters himself?

I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this: The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

It wasn't so long ago that he watched her play, when things were much, much different...weren't they?

The chilling sounds of the old harpsichord filled the whole of the building as Jason made his way out of what had sort of become 'their' apartments, listening as the sound echoed through the sprawling mansion. As he listened to the music, passionate, if imperfectly played, he rounded the corner into the stone and wood beamed great hall to see her sitting at the instrument, back to the door, struggling as she had so many nights of late to play a simple tune that seemed almost an insult to the incredible old instrument. The dedication to learn was amazing and her eyes shown in a different light when she played, but he didn't know what to call the effect.

It seemed that he lacked names for many things about his Prince. As she played on, making the occasional mistake in fingering of the narrow keys with her clawed fingers, he padded up behind her for a moment before placing a gentle hand on her back. She continued her playing, sitting at the narrow bench with nothing but the sleeveless Boston Celtics basketball jersey covering her body. The fuzzy tail nearly touched the floor as she sat in the narrow bench in such a way as to accomodate the appendage. He took in the sight of her for a long few minutes as she worked to the end of the song and smiled a little as she lifted her hands from the key. "Nice piece." he said, offering support.

She looked up and back at him, shrugging a little, "I am hardly a pianist."

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

He closed his eyes, the memory of the scene forming in his mind. Saeme, clothing mussed from the scuffle, held a spear a bit large for her in her arms, and challenged him with a look that spoke volumes, two men at her feet to prove the unspoken words were not idle. The wind was at her face, and the chill in the air colored her face just enough to add an etherial look to her features.

/You do not belong on this earth. You belong above it, with the shining Valkyrie that you must have stumbled from./

The thought blurred his memory, drawing him back to the last time she gazed on his face...his old one, the one she knew was Hrothgar. The pain on her face which had nothing to do with the spear that had pierced her side and was taking her life from her. Pain that had only to do with the thought that he was leaving her alone.

And after a millennia, was it surprising to know that it might take time for her to handle what he himself did not understand?

Maybe I've been here before.
I know this room, I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

The cold whipped his face as he glided along on the ice, idly admiring the difference between these new skates and the handcrafted bone ones he had learned on...and taught Saeme on. The sounds of a piano concerto strained over the ice, another lone figure practicing for some competition, he suspected. They only registered enough for him to leave them at the other end of the ice, to be alone with his thoughts, and his wife.

"Hrothgarrrrrrr..." She had taken some time to get used to the poles on the ice, but she never gave up, and really didn't need much instruction from him at all, just patience, and his presence.

Just patience, and his presence. What Jason did not have, and what Hrothgar could no longer provide, until she accepted things as they were.

The ice purred under his feet as he slowed to a stop, closing his eyes and murmuring a soft thank you to the gods. It was time to return home.

There was a time you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?
I remember when I moved in you
Your holy dark was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

As he entered the study, she was sprawled out on the rug, surrounded by stacks of reports and clippings, sorting through recent and not-so recent events. A feeling that their existence was no longer paused and waiting for either of them to adjust any longer touched his mind, and the thought was oddly reassurring.

Allowing the ring of stacks to mark a personal zone, he watched her as he claimed the couch, sprawling a bit and propping his head up on one elbow. A few words exchanged, a prompting question or two from him, but mostly just listening to what she had to say, and watching her as she worked. Saeme...Fursa...had a way of imparting information when she had deemed it ready to be imparted, and Jason's experiences pretty much noted the futility of crowbarring it out of her before then.

When he turned his attention away from her to read a particular file she handed him, he could feel her silent eyes on him, and resisted the need to meet them, the want to see the confusion or uncertainty and find a way to reach out and quell it for her. But lessons from the gods should not be so flippantly ignored, and he continued to read. He was here, Saeme was continuing her existence.

And he had all the time in the world to wait for his second chance.

Maybe there's a God above
And all I ever learned from love
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
It's not a cry you can hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah.

Lyrics by Leonard Cohen (Sung by Rufus Wainwright) 'Hallelujah'