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@diedhiding-blog
“If you are so tired, why don’t you sleep?”
“ Oh, wait, I’ve heard this one. Uh, something something – no peace to the wicked.
—- Also the fact that it’s still light out and if I get caught sleeping, Varric’ll incorporate it into a story. “
“No, he won’t. Varric writes about exciting things.”
“Okay.”
He takes the pie and holds it, but doesn’t do anything with it.
She lets out a giggle and leans in, hand aside her mouth to whisper, “It’s for eating.”
“I don’t eat. I don’t need to.”
“Are you saying we’re – alike?”
“Laughter that sounds like demons, but a smile like lightning. Like a hurricane, always swirling, blinding winds. Is it a game? But sometimes calmness, soft breathing, hair against my leg.”
“He’s afraid. You’re afraid too. Your hurts are the same.”
seer.
This wasn’t going well, no not at all. He was tugging at the wrong strings, pulling the knot tighter, making it worse. He would have to make her forget, and start again, but what were the right strings to pull?
“I can feel your hurt. It cries out to me. The hurt is old, but not healed, only covered up. You’re angry.”
Her eyes slid back to his, and they were not so full of fury ; only the wariness of a kicked dog. Not healed, only covered up. She snorted softly, shifted on her feet.
“You cannot control what you feel from me? My hurts are mine, and mine alone.”
She was less angry now. Picking at the scab hurt at first, but only at first. She got used to it. She got used to a lot of hurt.
“I want to help. That’s why I’m here.”
“Why isn’t he mad at the wrongness? You didn’t make him wrong.”
“In his mind, I did. Unfortunately for him, reality does not change itself to align with his beliefs.”
“It doesn’t change for me either. But I’m not mad at it. I don’t think so.”
“No. Yes–no. Can’t you hear it?”
“No. I am no mage. I feel it in my skin when I use it, but no more. So you are not a mage? Or you are? Speak plainly.”
“He was magic. That’s why he was hurting. I’m him, the way he wanted to be if he wasn’t magic--but not. I’m me.”
have you ever met someone who’s smile looks like it could make flowers grow
“Where does the rain come from? Are they going home to the ocean? Is that why it always rains in the Storm Coast?”
“Under your skin. Pulsing music. Pulling you towards the Veil.”
“The lyrium. Yes. But how do you know? Are you a mage?”
“No. Yes--no. Can’t you hear it?”
“Oh good. You’ve left off digging about in my head for once; what a charming novelty!”
“Rows of faces, all gone. Faces blurry and forgotten. Blood on his hands. Clean under his fingernails. Scrub harder. What if he’s next? What if he’s gone too?”
“I suppose it’s rather too late to introduce the concept of privacy to you at this stage of the game, yes?”
“Your hurts touch each other. Two but one. I want to help.”
“What is a menage a trois? The Iron Bull said to ask you.”
“He loves you. But love hurts him. He’s afraid.”
“Oh good. You’ve left off digging about in my head for once; what a charming novelty!”
“Rows of faces, all gone. Faces blurry and forgotten. Blood on his hands. Clean under his fingernails. Scrub harder. What if he’s next? What if he’s gone too?”
“Okay.”
She holds out a slice of strawberry pie. “There see? That is pie. You can have it if you like.”
“Okay.”
He takes the pie and holds it, but doesn’t do anything with it.
“What is a pie?”
“You know not what a pie is? Oh dear, we can’t have that. A pie is a…sweet thing. A dessert. Would you like to see?”
“Okay.”
seer.
Cole shifted his weight uneasily. She was angry with him. He didn’t need to probe her mind to know that.
“It’s not your fault. Haldad and Haldar died the way they wanted to.”
Her mouth opened, shut, anger cresting and unfurling and dying back in one forced breath. A shudder ran through her, and slowly she uncurled her fingers, pressed her palms flat against the side of her thighs and lifted her chin.
“And who are you, to know what my kin wished for? Do you not think my brother would have preferred to watch his son grow up? You think he preferred to be—-”
She stopped, realizing her voice had raised near to a shout, and looked away.
This wasn’t going well, no not at all. He was tugging at the wrong strings, pulling the knot tighter, making it worse. He would have to make her forget, and start again, but what were the right strings to pull?
“I can feel your hurt. It cries out to me. The hurt is old, but not healed, only covered up. You’re angry.”
“If you are so tired, why don’t you sleep?”
“I can hear the lines in you. They’re singing.”
“Singing? What are you talking about, boy?”
“Under your skin. Pulsing music. Pulling you towards the Veil.”
