[ it's been a helluva long day. after the mess with merrill and the keeper, after cutting down that entire clan in cold blood - no, not the right turn of phrase, there'd been nothing cold about it, hawke should have gone home for the night. to wash the stains of the fallen off her armor, if nothing else. but something in the act disquieted her, though she was loathe to admit as much out loud. this wasn't something she wanted to wash her hands clean of. she might have entreated merrill to let it go, to forgive herself and realize that they'd made their own choices, but her own words are rang rather hollow in her heart.
deciding who to talk to about it wasn't easy, either. she was closest to isabela, but that didn't mean that they often unburdened feelings of intense personal guilt to one another. not to mention isabela had expressed her approval for standing up to the dalish for merrill's sake. she doubted she'd understand, and at worst, she might laugh off hawke's sense of conflict.
merrill was still grieving, and anders-- well, she had a hard time imagining he could divorce himself from his political ire at the moment to really engage the conversation. no offense to him. aveline's straightforward morality ruled her out, and varric, while no doubt able to offer a willing ear, couldn't really relate, she was certain.
that was how she found herself wandering in the direction of hightown, curving her way towards fenris' home.
part of her was concerned about taking this to him, certain that it would set him off railing about blood magic and how no good ever came from it and how this was the inevitable conclusion of messing with such a thing--
but part of her wanted to hear it. felt like what she really needed was for someone to blame her in part for those deaths. the masochistic impulse wasn't like her, but then again, she couldn't remember ever taking so many lives that really tore her up before.
she was counting on his anger. it was something she could rely on, in a way, a part of who he was that she never blamed him for.
they sit in front of the fireplace as she relates the whole story, staring into the flames with a cup clutched between her hands, the liquid in it untouched. she doesn't look at him until she's told it to the last, finally glancing over to register his expression. ] Well? Let's hear it.
no subject
deciding who to talk to about it wasn't easy, either. she was closest to isabela, but that didn't mean that they often unburdened feelings of intense personal guilt to one another. not to mention isabela had expressed her approval for standing up to the dalish for merrill's sake. she doubted she'd understand, and at worst, she might laugh off hawke's sense of conflict.
merrill was still grieving, and anders-- well, she had a hard time imagining he could divorce himself from his political ire at the moment to really engage the conversation. no offense to him. aveline's straightforward morality ruled her out, and varric, while no doubt able to offer a willing ear, couldn't really relate, she was certain.
that was how she found herself wandering in the direction of hightown, curving her way towards fenris' home.
part of her was concerned about taking this to him, certain that it would set him off railing about blood magic and how no good ever came from it and how this was the inevitable conclusion of messing with such a thing--
but part of her wanted to hear it. felt like what she really needed was for someone to blame her in part for those deaths. the masochistic impulse wasn't like her, but then again, she couldn't remember ever taking so many lives that really tore her up before.
she was counting on his anger. it was something she could rely on, in a way, a part of who he was that she never blamed him for.
they sit in front of the fireplace as she relates the whole story, staring into the flames with a cup clutched between her hands, the liquid in it untouched. she doesn't look at him until she's told it to the last, finally glancing over to register his expression. ] Well? Let's hear it.