She offers a compliant nod, and moves to the bed--taking the shirt of grisly castoffs and setting it...somewhere else. Off to the side, for now. Briefly, she thinks of her own clothes. It's a good thing Alan is The Littlest Avvar, because he's not that far off from Beleth's size, and Tevinter clothes are loose. She'll see what she can do later.
In the meantime, the pile's place on the bed is replaced by Beleth, who promptly begins wrapping up the wound. For a while, there's only silence as she works, thinking over Alan's question. Not because she doesn't know the answer--she knows as soon as he asks. But because it's the wrong answer.
She should say, No, I hate it here, I'm miserable and repressed. And sometimes she does hate it here. Sometimes she looks at Cade and she thinks, What have I done? Sometimes, she sees her unmarked face in the mirror and thinks Who have I become? Sometimes, she walks past the rows of prisoners in their cells, and thinks Is this what I'm helping create?
But the ugly truth is Yes, I'm living, and it's not that bad. She wishes there was a way to explain to Alan how much she loves her job, how rewarding it is, how satisfying it is when she unlocks another mystery of her people long lost. How fascinating her fellow researchers are, the engaged discussions and debates of people who are arguing for the sake of expanding their knowledge, rather than because lives hang on it. How Kirkwall isn't that bad of a city, really.
Slowly, she begins laughing, a hiccuping thing that could be sob. Good luck guessing which one it is, she's not sure either. "What I want," How many times has she said that to people, over the years? "Has never mattered in my life. It just--It just figures that even extends to the end of this Maker-damned world. I'm supposed to say no, aren't I? How could anyone be living like this?" She shouldn't laugh, it's not funny, but it is. How many times had she heard 'Do what makes you happy, Beleth'. And now it's 'Oh. Not like that'.
"Am I happy? I think the only way I'll ever be happy is if I stop living and surviving." She gives a cough that could be another laugh. "But who would take care of Cade?"
no subject
In the meantime, the pile's place on the bed is replaced by Beleth, who promptly begins wrapping up the wound. For a while, there's only silence as she works, thinking over Alan's question. Not because she doesn't know the answer--she knows as soon as he asks. But because it's the wrong answer.
She should say, No, I hate it here, I'm miserable and repressed. And sometimes she does hate it here. Sometimes she looks at Cade and she thinks, What have I done? Sometimes, she sees her unmarked face in the mirror and thinks Who have I become? Sometimes, she walks past the rows of prisoners in their cells, and thinks Is this what I'm helping create?
But the ugly truth is Yes, I'm living, and it's not that bad. She wishes there was a way to explain to Alan how much she loves her job, how rewarding it is, how satisfying it is when she unlocks another mystery of her people long lost. How fascinating her fellow researchers are, the engaged discussions and debates of people who are arguing for the sake of expanding their knowledge, rather than because lives hang on it. How Kirkwall isn't that bad of a city, really.
Slowly, she begins laughing, a hiccuping thing that could be sob. Good luck guessing which one it is, she's not sure either. "What I want," How many times has she said that to people, over the years? "Has never mattered in my life. It just--It just figures that even extends to the end of this Maker-damned world. I'm supposed to say no, aren't I? How could anyone be living like this?" She shouldn't laugh, it's not funny, but it is. How many times had she heard 'Do what makes you happy, Beleth'. And now it's 'Oh. Not like that'.
"Am I happy? I think the only way I'll ever be happy is if I stop living and surviving." She gives a cough that could be another laugh. "But who would take care of Cade?"