Is there another way I should be remembering pulling you out of the water? You were coughing at the time as well. 'Course, more water was involved.
[Probably. He can't actually see her, but the dampness of that cough has got nothing to do with water, especially not as she's been back in the Gallows for hours now.]
An overreaction! I was fine. I misjudged a swell at the last moment, that's all.
[ A tiny bit defensive even now, but not really serious. here are quiet background noises as she moves about her room, making tea or something, judging from the sounds. ]
[What has he been doing? Nothing. Mostly. The question quiets Darras' humor a little, in as much as it ever quiets. He looks down at his hand, pressed against the table in the tavern. Lifts it so he can give his rings a compulsive turn around his fingers, each in turn. Plain gold last of all.]
Nothing thrilling.
[Keep it light.]
Errands. Little things. Kept an ear out for news. Left the other one t' be kept free for news of Tevinter.
Not yet. The word is encouraging on its own. I was beginning to think she was to be a Kirkwall street cat.
[He pauses, turning his rings around on his fingers again. Yseult's tone has lifted something in him, a lightness that has not yet faded. He wants to keep it.
[ She says it while he's pausing, which he continues to do thereafter. Then he speaks and it's her turn. She knows what he means, mostly. She's less sure what the right answer is, which is how they've ended up in this sort of limbo. After a moment, she asks, ]
[No, is the answer. Darras turns his crystal around on the table, watching it catch the dim light.]
But eventually, we'll get back to it. And you'll be disappointed. And I'll leave, eventually, 'cos I'm not made for this, this isn't-- [He cuts himself off by rubbing a hand over his mouth, like he's got to gag himself.]
I don't want to argue about it. Any of it. That's all.
[ No. Yseult is silent for a long moment, half-waiting for him to say something else, brush it off and roll back to the shallow, pleasant conversation of before. It might save her having to say this, at least for a little while longer. ]
If you can't do it-- if you want to leave, I'll understand. I want you to be happy, Darras, and if you can't be here.... I don't want you to just sit here, miserable, waiting for me to change my mind. It won't happen, and you'll just come to resent me and everything we had will sour in your memory. Go be happy.
[If he were stood in front of her, this might actually be more difficult. Because he would stop talking, at that; he would take her by the arms and pull her close, and let that stand for words. And maybe that's the trouble. They let a lot be said in action. Or he did, anyways, and does. For a man that loves to tell tales, he doesn't often use words. Not true ones, anyways. Not the ones that are raw.]
Couldn't. And I understand it better. I do. The way it fits together, the Inquisition and all. Only it's not mine the way it is yours. It never would have been. All the years I've been living and earning, earning everything that came to me. Where's that now?
[But where is it if the world bloody ends? He doesn't say it. Too large to say, to seem at all real. Nothing like the day to day, the in and the out of little problems that come one at a time, that make all the difference in Darras' world and in the world of so many others]
[ It is easier this way. Harder, too, not to be able to watch him as he speaks and see all the things he isn't saying. But she has never been as good at reading him as other men, no matter how hard she tries. Maybe the trick is to stop trying, and just listen. ]
You can use all of that, here. All your skills--fighting, thieving, tale-telling, charming people out of their own skins--the Inquisition needs that. There's work here that would suit you, and if you don't like earning a wage, don't think of it that way. [ She can't help herself, already flipping back from telling him to go to trying to persuade him to want to stay. ] Do you think there won't be songs and stories about the people who stopped Corypheus and the end of the world? Earn your place in them.
[ It still wouldn't be what she wants, not really; it's still a selfish reason. But if there's any hope of bringing him around and making him see, he has to stay. Any reason to buy in is better than none. ]
[ She's pressing but not hard, no force in her tone, just the question, part rhetorical, part encouraging, mostly fantasy. ]
It sounds like a story. Dashing pirate forced into the middle of a war he thinks doesn't concern him. At first he fakes interest for his own ends but in time he finds himself drawn in and surprises everyone by becoming an unlikely hero.
[ She wishes it back once it's said, silly and sentimental in the face of very real conflicts. It's too late not to own it, but she still sounds a little defensive, self-conscious when she says ]
[He doesn't quite laugh. Not because it is silly, what she's said; any time Yseult has indulged in storytelling, Darras has looked over at her with a surprised grin, pleased and proud and ready to encourage this indulgence. He's wearing the ghost of that grin now, alone in the tavern. He gives the crystal another idly spin on the tabletop.]
You'd believe it of a pirate or you'd believe it of me?
[There's half a city between them, streets and doors and walls. People. Obligations. Morality. Bigger than any cottage or cabin, nothing you can get your arms around, or close away by pulling the shutters.]
We'd do better apart. For now. Not--forever, you're-- [There's no word to follow that; Darras huffs a breath, like a dry laugh.] That's what you wanted, anyway. To do your work. What you're here to do.
[ In her work, it's an asset: the ability to flip a switch somewhere inside herself, an invaluable skill to be one thing one moment and something else entirely the next if that's what is required to survive. He pushes this moment away, rejects her faith, mistakes her demands, and just like that she shuts a door. Slams it, maybe. ]
Fine. I'll focus on my work, and you tell me when you've grown a conscience.
[What, is what he wants to say, he's doing what, how is this anything other than what they have been doing, what she said--they stay out of each other's ways, they work with the Inquisition--
It's the last bit that hits like a blow. They've been nasty to one another. It shouldn't come as a surprise, shouldn't feel like a wound. Perhaps it's the utter finality that she says it with.]
I just said, 'not forever', I said-- This is what you wanted, isn't it? You wanted me to stay out of your way so you can do-- what you want to do, you can help these people so, all right, that's what I've said I will do, and I didn't say I'm leaving or going to start--smuggling Venatori about, working counter to everything--
[ She curses so rarely it adds an extra harshness to her tone like poison on a blade. ]
How many times do I have to explain before you hear me? I don't want you to stay out of my way and let me get on with it while you hang about moping, I want you to care. I want you to look at what is happening in the world and care that thousands of people are dying, and want to at least try to help some of them not because you think it might win me back but because it's the right fucking thing to do.
When you do that, we can talk. Not before.
[ There is, alas, no tell-tale click or satisfying clang as one hangs up a crystal, but the faint background noise of her room cuts off suddenly as she closes the line. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Save me? Is that how you remember that?
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[Probably. He can't actually see her, but the dampness of that cough has got nothing to do with water, especially not as she's been back in the Gallows for hours now.]
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[ A tiny bit defensive even now, but not really serious. here are quiet background noises as she moves about her room, making tea or something, judging from the sounds. ]
What have you been up to while I was gone?
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Nothing thrilling.
[Keep it light.]
Errands. Little things. Kept an ear out for news. Left the other one t' be kept free for news of Tevinter.
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I've heard no good news from anywhere except our escape.
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[He pauses, turning his rings around on his fingers again. Yseult's tone has lifted something in him, a lightness that has not yet faded. He wants to keep it.
When he speaks next, it's more measured.]
We shouldn't be doing this, I s'ppose.
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[ She says it while he's pausing, which he continues to do thereafter. Then he speaks and it's her turn. She knows what he means, mostly. She's less sure what the right answer is, which is how they've ended up in this sort of limbo. After a moment, she asks, ]
Would it be easier if we didn't?
no subject
[No, is the answer. Darras turns his crystal around on the table, watching it catch the dim light.]
But eventually, we'll get back to it. And you'll be disappointed. And I'll leave, eventually, 'cos I'm not made for this, this isn't-- [He cuts himself off by rubbing a hand over his mouth, like he's got to gag himself.]
I don't want to argue about it. Any of it. That's all.
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If you can't do it-- if you want to leave, I'll understand. I want you to be happy, Darras, and if you can't be here.... I don't want you to just sit here, miserable, waiting for me to change my mind. It won't happen, and you'll just come to resent me and everything we had will sour in your memory. Go be happy.
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[If he were stood in front of her, this might actually be more difficult. Because he would stop talking, at that; he would take her by the arms and pull her close, and let that stand for words. And maybe that's the trouble. They let a lot be said in action. Or he did, anyways, and does. For a man that loves to tell tales, he doesn't often use words. Not true ones, anyways. Not the ones that are raw.]
Couldn't. And I understand it better. I do. The way it fits together, the Inquisition and all. Only it's not mine the way it is yours. It never would have been. All the years I've been living and earning, earning everything that came to me. Where's that now?
[But where is it if the world bloody ends? He doesn't say it. Too large to say, to seem at all real. Nothing like the day to day, the in and the out of little problems that come one at a time, that make all the difference in Darras' world and in the world of so many others]
no subject
You can use all of that, here. All your skills--fighting, thieving, tale-telling, charming people out of their own skins--the Inquisition needs that. There's work here that would suit you, and if you don't like earning a wage, don't think of it that way. [ She can't help herself, already flipping back from telling him to go to trying to persuade him to want to stay. ] Do you think there won't be songs and stories about the people who stopped Corypheus and the end of the world? Earn your place in them.
[ It still wouldn't be what she wants, not really; it's still a selfish reason. But if there's any hope of bringing him around and making him see, he has to stay. Any reason to buy in is better than none. ]
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[Would he want it now, for a name? Could he answer that, if he asked it of himself?]
I don't know. I don't know about any of it.
no subject
[ She's pressing but not hard, no force in her tone, just the question, part rhetorical, part encouraging, mostly fantasy. ]
It sounds like a story. Dashing pirate forced into the middle of a war he thinks doesn't concern him. At first he fakes interest for his own ends but in time he finds himself drawn in and surprises everyone by becoming an unlikely hero.
[ She wishes it back once it's said, silly and sentimental in the face of very real conflicts. It's too late not to own it, but she still sounds a little defensive, self-conscious when she says ]
I'd believe it.
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You'd believe it of a pirate or you'd believe it of me?
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[There's half a city between them, streets and doors and walls. People. Obligations. Morality. Bigger than any cottage or cabin, nothing you can get your arms around, or close away by pulling the shutters.]
We'd do better apart. For now. Not--forever, you're-- [There's no word to follow that; Darras huffs a breath, like a dry laugh.] That's what you wanted, anyway. To do your work. What you're here to do.
no subject
[ In her work, it's an asset: the ability to flip a switch somewhere inside herself, an invaluable skill to be one thing one moment and something else entirely the next if that's what is required to survive. He pushes this moment away, rejects her faith, mistakes her demands, and just like that she shuts a door. Slams it, maybe. ]
Fine. I'll focus on my work, and you tell me when you've grown a conscience.
no subject
[What, is what he wants to say, he's doing what, how is this anything other than what they have been doing, what she said--they stay out of each other's ways, they work with the Inquisition--
It's the last bit that hits like a blow. They've been nasty to one another. It shouldn't come as a surprise, shouldn't feel like a wound. Perhaps it's the utter finality that she says it with.]
I just said, 'not forever', I said-- This is what you wanted, isn't it? You wanted me to stay out of your way so you can do-- what you want to do, you can help these people so, all right, that's what I've said I will do, and I didn't say I'm leaving or going to start--smuggling Venatori about, working counter to everything--
no subject
[ She curses so rarely it adds an extra harshness to her tone like poison on a blade. ]
How many times do I have to explain before you hear me? I don't want you to stay out of my way and let me get on with it while you hang about moping, I want you to care. I want you to look at what is happening in the world and care that thousands of people are dying, and want to at least try to help some of them not because you think it might win me back but because it's the right fucking thing to do.
When you do that, we can talk. Not before.
[ There is, alas, no tell-tale click or satisfying clang as one hangs up a crystal, but the faint background noise of her room cuts off suddenly as she closes the line. ]