@prophecyveined continued from (x)
MEMORIES WERE HUNGRY GHOSTS , SHE HAD LEARNED . they ate & ate & ate . they will eat you bare at any moment of vulnerability , at any moment of weakness , to keep themselves fed . memories , like humans , do not want to starve . she can respect that . & yet , with this respect comes terror . humans can become savages when their survival is threatened : they bare their teeth , throw a punch , kill before they are killed . memories , like humans , can become savages when their survival is threatened , too : they stick onto your bones , your muscles , your cells . it is you or them . either the memories die or you die . but we , as humans , have an advantage : we will often kill the memories , the starving ghosts of our past , before they kill us . this is difficult , yes , but not impossible . it is this glimmer of truth that gives her hope . hope , she had learned , was more powerful than fear .
& she is . so , so sorry to those like her , fearful of anything & everything that vaguely reminded her of what she had done to survive ; to be who she was now . she had cut off aspects of her to survive , but never grew back .
“ will you . . will you join me for a walk ? i know the most beautiful garden , filled with all sorts of colors . very calming , very peaceful . you deserve peace . ”
Where could you go to rest and recover from wounds and losses suffered, when home didn’t feel like home and the words and images that remind you of your pain originated inside your very SOUL? -----------Kirkwall’s Chantry was not a place Hawke often visited unless a job called him there. He assumed it was meant to evoke feelings of piety and reverence in the Maker’s followers, but to him it felt mostly cold and empty. It was a building, nothing more, its value to the people only as good as the Grand Cleric’s deeds. And yet he was here, choosing the dim light of three dozen candles over the warm spring sun outside, yearning for the peaceful SILENCE of the Maker’s hall but finding the thoughts in his head louder than ever, with no voices, laughter and jests to drown them out. He had been raised to believe in the Maker and while part of him still clung to his faith, the pain and losses his family (and others) had suffered in the course of just his lifetime alone made it hard not to feel abandoned sometimes.
So instead of seeking the Maker’s blessing, more often than not Hawke sought solace in the company of his friends. But there were days on which that wasn’t enough. Days like this, where nothing was right, none of his deeds seemed to matter, and talking to the people he loved felt like burdening them with things that should be his alone to bear. All the more surprising it was that Hawke spoke up about his grief to a STRANGER. Whether it was her honest compassion that cracked his shell or her just sudden appearance, she found him bared of the mask he’d grown so used to wear; a mask of a never-fading smile, worn by a man who could shoulder the world. There was something about speaking to her, about confiding in someone who didn’t know him at all that was like a balm to his soul.
Her offer came just as surprising and Hawke instantly felt the wish to accept it, if only to stay by her side a while longer. The idea of walking through any part of Hightown bringing him peace was hard to wrap his mind around, but he was willing to give it a try. Besides, the incense-heavy air inside the Chantry was not as beneficial for his mood as he’d hoped.
“That sounds lovely,” he admitted. “I will gladly join you, if you’ll have me.”
The sun seemed brighter than ever when they stepped outside and down the stairs that led to the square, a warm breeze dancing around them that carried a plethora of smells with it.
“Thank you for your compassion,” Hawke said, not knowing how better to express his gratitude for her presence. “I am not keeping you from any important business, I hope? I never asked what brought YOU to the Chantry.”
