Two more days passed before Sophia worked up the required mix of courage, frustration, and nerve to go find Lucien herself. It had been another long day performing the majority of her father's duties, and so it was until after the city had grown somewhat dark that she was able to slip out of the Viscount's Keep. She'd considered wearing armor, but felt it was hardly necessary, or helpful, for the sort of danger she was going into anyway. This was the kind where the wounds could cut through her regardless of what she tried to protect herself with. Instead she chose a white blouse with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a pair of dark blue belted trousers, and low-heeled leather boots. Her hair was bound as it had been a few days ago, tied together at the base of her neck, the ponytail resting forward on the right side of her chest.
She made good time to Lowtown, deciding to try the Hanged Man first, but after a search, she learned from a patron that the man she was seeking had already departed for home, and so it was there she went next, heading a little further into the district, the route she'd come to know rather well. She'd become quite comfortable working her way through Lowtown over the past few years, doing Maker-knows what with those she'd come to be so close to.
With measured breaths she made her way before Lucien's humble home and stood at the door. She wanted to remember how the beginning of her birthday night went, how it felt, but all she could seem to remember was how cold it had seemed after Lucien had convinced himself of his wrongness. They put on false faces for the crowd of nobles, but for the rest of the night, she'd felt like he was wearing one for her, too. No armor had a chance at stopping that.
She knocked gently on the door, not saying anything, mostly because she didn't trust her voice at the moment, but also because she was worried he wouldn't open.
For a man of Lucienās size and dubiously-acquired tolerance, becoming intoxicated was rather a challenge. Heād never been one to back down from a challenge, and by the time he left the Hanged Man, he thought heād probably succeeded. He wasnāt a complete foolāwell, okay, that was a lie, he was a complete and utter foolābut regardless, he hadnāt taken himself under so badly that he could no longer think, speak, or walk properly, just enough that his thoughts detached from his emotions a bit and his vision fuzzed very slightly at the edges. Compared to the entirely self-imposed torment heād been lingering in for the past almost-week, this was damn near pleasant.
Heād arrived home, and gotten halfway through unstrapping his armor before he abandoned the effort, piling the plates in a corner to deal with later. His attention had been drawn by the still mostly-blank canvas on the easel at the back of his room, and heād ventured over there and stared hard at it for some indeterminate amount of time, his eye growing flinty-hard and the tension coiling again beneath his skin until heād sighed and forced himself to relax, taking off the strip of fabric that covered his bad eye and trying again. He still saw nothing he could keep, and so heād spent a half hour of constant activity moving it and the easel into the second bedroom of the houseāshack, if thatāwhere he kept the rest of his completed works. As though heād ever been suited for it. The sketches and smaller bits on his walls, the faces of friends, architectural drawings of Kirkwall and an old rendering of home, followed, pressed neatly enough into a folded bit of heavy paper.
It left his walls bare of anything but the old coat of arms and his weapon rack, which at present he found far more fitting. Still in his chainmail (and why not? It wasnāt like he was ever comfortable without it anymore), he lit himself a fire, uncorked a bottle of wine his father had sent him, and slumped in one of his armchairs, moving the end table around so as to prop his feet on it, and stared with both eyes into the fire. The oddness of using each at the same time was further contemplated by the alcohol, and it seemed to vaguely shimmer in front of him. It might be interesting enough to keep him from thinking about much for a while, but he honestly doubted it. Tipping the wine into a glassāone of two, because heād forgotten himself so much heād grown used to having guests of all thingsāhe set the bottle down and quaffed half the glass in one go. A shame, really. This was the good stuff, and he should be savoring it. Today wasnāt really a savoring day, however.
A knock sounded at the door, and he sighed, dragging a hand down his face. Whoād want to see him at this time of night? Doubtlessly, one of the people that considered him a friend, without knowing nearly enough about what that meant. Maybe heād be as damned lucky as he always seemed to be, and it would be a business contact instead. Or an assassin. A fight would be nice. āItās not locked,ā he informed the person on the other end, his diction clear save for the slight predominance of his accent. āIf you really want in, Iām not stopping you.ā He stared at the glass in his hand for a moment, and muttered darkly into it. āYet.ā
Sophia was slightly scared by the reply, but pushed the door open all the same. She found Lucien sitting and staring into his fire, still drinking, although she'd heard from the patrons that he'd been at the Hanged Man earlier. She took a slow half step inside and stopped, quite suddenly forgetting why she was here, what she'd planned on saying first to him.
"... Lucien?" was all she ended up saying, and she felt stupid for it, like she'd opened her guard for a blow.
Well, that made it official. He was the unluckiest man under the blue sky of Thedas. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, he fixed them on Sophia, the look they conveyed easily-describable as stricken. Why did she have to be here now? He was trying not to think about how hard it was going to be to do what he felt he must, and then the predominant object of those thoughts heād tried to escape for just one night showed up on his doorstep. Someone, somewhere in the universe, really despised him, indeed. He tried for a wan smile, but failed rather miserably and just sighed instead. āUnfortunately, yes,ā he responded dryly, but then shook his head a bit.
āMy apologies. My words were perhaps more brusque than they should have been. I'm not sure I'm in much of a state to be using them, this evening.ā He had much more than that to apologize forāhe just wasnāt sure he had the strength to do it tonight. And sheād probably come here because she had something to say, and he wasnāt quite rude enough to send her away before sheād said it, drunk or no. āWine?ā he offered. āItās the first bottle my fatherās sent me in a year. Apparently the family vineyards are doing quite well.ā He sounded like he wasnāt quite sure if he wanted to sound bitter or nostalgic about that, so his tone occupied some nebulous in-between that wasnāt quite either.
The blow did not come, and so Sophia slid the door closed behind her, slowly moving forward to take a seat in the other armchair present. She certainly did not sink into it, and indeed, she was uncomfortable with how tense she was in Lucien's own home, where he'd first told her of his past in Orlais. The wine seemed like quite a good idea, and she accepted a glass, drinking slightly more deeply than normal, feeling a warmness rush through her. It was a pitiful imitation.
She felt like she was trying to carry something extremely fragile, while also precariously balancing on something. There was the issue she wanted to get around to, but she didn't think bluntness was wise right now. "I've recovered quite well from the poison. That's... probably your doing, in a way, since you brought Amalia." Well, that had felt stupid. She was obviously fine if she was making walks down into Lowtown and holding her father's court all day. She wanted to say something about her father, but the only thing that came to mind was that he was furious about the result of the night, and that he didn't want to hang up the painting yet.
In the end, the wine was probably enough to push her to the question. "Are you well, Lucien? I hadn't heard anything from you since the party. I was... worried." About too many things to go into detail on.
Lucien flinched. He should have been by to check on her long before this point. Heād wanted to, with an urgency that heād channeled into irritation and mostly let off on bandits and a gang of raiders. They hadnāt been hard jobs to take, and even less to complete. Heād almost forgotten to ask them to surrender, and admittedly, heād probably been a bit glad that they hadnāt. Whatever else he was or wasnāt, he was very good at killing thingsātoo good at it, actually. That would probably never change. And it was exactly the thing he hated most about himself.
The question produced a mirthless smile. If heād been in range of a mirror, it might have shocked him how much it echoed the one heād seen many a time on his fatherās face. He knew he was quite similar to the old man, and probably never more than at the moment. For once in his sodding life, he wanted to lie, but even when he tried to form the words, they caught in his throat, so instead he tipped back the rest of the wineglass to buy himself time and then filled it again. āIām still alive. Iām always still alive, and thatās really the problem, isnāt it?ā The last part of the sentence was murmured, and mostly to himself, but it was heavy with guilt.
It wasnāt that he wanted to die or anythingāheād never been suicidal. He justā¦ the things heād done, he shouldnāt still be alive. Something along the way should have killed him, but nothing ever had. He stared morosely at the deep red liquid in the glass. Red like her dress, like her blood. Red like a chevalierās armor. It was an unpleasant thought, and he suddenly rather wished heād requested this yearās white instead.
"I... don't understand," Sophia said truly. He was pained, she could see it clearly, and it seemed like he was just doing it to himself. It was as frustrating as anything she'd ever felt. Did he know that when he struck himself, that others took the blow as well? Of course he did. So then, he thought to avoid her entirely? Make her no longer care, so that he could dwindle away in peace, without hurting anyone? It was far, far too late for that now, whether he liked it or not. Years too late.
"Can you please just talk to me?" she asked. "I can't help if I don't know what's wrong. And I will help. You've known me long enough to know that." She didn't understand what had changed, and that was killing her. Everything had been going so well, she'd finally thought she'd been breaking through to him somewhat, and then suddenly he completely shuts everyone and everything out. Why? Because he overstepped himself? Because he had finally cared, beyond just doing what was right?
āI am afraid that that is precisely the problem, Sophia,ā he said softly. Emptying the glass again, he set it down this time and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his posture unusually slumped over. āYou will help, and then I will inevitably do something stupid, and you will suffer for it. It might even kill you, and I couldnātā¦ā he trailed off, clearing his throat uncomfortably. Maybe if he just laid it out, she would understand. The chances werenāt great, because he knew what kind of person she was, and she was likely to argue, but at least it would make his reasons for his recent behavior clear. He couldnāt bear the thought of being thought just a cold, unfeeling person without regard for others. Especially not by her.
āYouāve seen the way I live. I expect you understand that it presents me with a number of difficulties. I tell no lies to men who want me dead, I give no platitudes to institutions I do not trust. I am a man with more enemies than I know how to count, and I was thus before Iād even properly earned them. I am, as more than one friend has been kind enough to tell me, a sodding idiot, if youāll forgive the language for proper quotation. But Iām still alive.ā He glanced down at his hands, lacing his fingers before seeming to think better of it and pressing the tips together instead. āThatās not to say that what I do has never produced negative consequences. They are just rarely ever mine to bear.ā
He swallowed thickly. āI find, in fact, that it is the people around me who suffer for my honor, my kindnesses. People believe in meānot my ideas, or anything abstract like that, but me, and then they die, or lose everything that made their lives worthwhile. My mother was killed by poison meant for me. I told you already that two of my friends died for following me in my insubordination, because I asked them to. I did not tell you that one of them had been my best friend since childhood and my most ardent supporter, nor that the other one was one of the women who taught me to fight when my father gave up on the effort. I told you that Rilien tried to assassinate me. What I didnāt tell you was that he testified at my trial, confessing that he was a Bard and naming the man whoād hired him, because I asked him to. And that brought him nothing but his own trial and a death sentence. He can no longer set foot in the country to which he was born and raised, because any citizen therein is authorized and encouraged to kill him on sight. And thatās my fault.
When people believe in me or help me or trust me, rather than simply asking things of me, they suffer for it. What happened at your party reminded me of one thing and taught me another: it reminded me that my interference is not good for people, and it taught me that I am not willing to expose you to those consequences. I was entirely useless to help you, despite that being my reason for attending in the first place. I donātā¦ I canātā¦ā the stream of words died, leaving only the unfortunate taste of guilt in his mouth. His father had taught him that leaders had to be willing to make sacrifices, give up the lives of those they led. His life had taught him that he couldnāt be a leader, if that was what it took.
Now she wondered if she ever really wanted to hear it in the first place. Now that he'd opened everything to her, she wondered if it would have been easier to think of him as cold and closed off, impossible to reach. But she'd finally reached him, only to find that the truth was, as she should have expected, more painful than the unknown. That he'd closed himself off to protect her. In that case... he was a fool to open himself up in the first place, wasn't he?
"So what do you intend to do?" she asked. "Act like nothing in the past year happened? Ask me to try and pretend like you're just one of my future subjects, capable of only serving me? Are you going to leave?" She was dreading the last one, that he would decide it was best if he left entirely, went far, far away, somewhere where his enemies reaching him wouldn't have consequences for those he cared for.
"You know it's too late, right?" she asked, finding a little bit of fire where she'd thought there was none. She'd seen it in her mother's eyes for the first time when Lucien had painted her, and she knew that this was what she would do. Pursue what she felt. Let the consequences come. Fight them off. Maybe she would die for it, but she would not let fear of pain prevent her from living how she wanted. She would not let her circumstances, and his circumstances, drag them into the dirt and convince them to be miserable just so they could live. Neither of them could change who they were, or what they felt. If they had to suffer for that, so be it.
"Maybe you never should have opened up to me, never should have helped me when I was doubting. Maybe the things I should ask of you should always be the kind where we risk our lives. Maybe I should just let you go, so that you can suffer the consequences of your goodness on your own, without letting anyone share your burden because they care for you." She was certain all of those things would make it easier on the both of them, but both of them had been brought up to believe that the easy thing was not always the right thing. Sophia could not let him suffer alone just because of who he was.
"Maybe you are a sodding idiot, but I want you to be my sodding idiot."
Lucien was silent for a long while after that, clearly contemplating what sheād said. Leaving probably would be for the best, but it would be far from easy. Heād made friends here, and a life, but he wondered yet if they were enough to keep him from uprooting himself and departing when the time came. Heād proven to himself that he was more than capable of living a life on the road, with no roots at all. He could be as transient as the wind itself if he wantedāthe challenge would be in the initial departure. Before, he hadnāt had a choice. Now, well, he wasnāt sure he had one, but it felt as though he should.
Frankly, heād been expecting more or less half of what sheād said. A friend had told him something similar, once, and it had assuaged his guilt for a while. But as heād learned quite recently, it had failed to heal those wounds over entirely, and this city seemed to be tearing them open afresh. Or maybe it was just him. He liked having friends, people who knew more of him than a name and a job, and heād thought that here might be different, that it might be all right to keep them. And in truth, he still desired to believe that it was possible, that he might be a stronger person, a wiser one, than he had been back then. But the temptation to remove himself would always be present, and he honestly didnāt know if ever he would succumb to it.
Taking a deep breath, he met her eyes. āMaybeā¦ā he replied, āI already am.ā She was rightāin a way. If heād wanted to prevent this, these were things he should have realized a number of years ago, not just now. And he doubted that any of his friends would be so willing to pretend those bonds hadnāt been formed. Maybe the solution was to put down more roots, or, more aptly, take on a few more chains, tether himself here so he need not fear leaving. It felt a little too simple, and he knew it would not be an easy thing to do. But it would be no harder than leaving her behind. āIām notā¦ I lack certainty about what is right here, Sophia, and I canāt promise that Iāll never second-guess myself, especially not at first. If I am to stay, there are a number of things Iāll have to figure out before Iāll feel that the choice was rightly-made. I still donāt want to risk any more than I absolutely must.ā
Plans, hasty but gaining solidity, sketched themselves before him in his mind, and he nodded slowly. āIā¦ ask that you be patient with me. I canāt change who I am overnight, and these things will perhaps always worry me. But I will try to overcome them. And I will try to remember that I am surrounded with the best of people, and some of the most capable Iāve ever met. If I should forgetā¦ Iād ask that you remind me.ā He smiled, and this time, it was genuine again, if small. Perhaps it wasnāt simply a matter of risk their lives or leave them. Maybe he just needed to work harder to protect them, call on parts of himself that he hadnāt seen the need for since he left Orlais. āI canāt promise that tomorrow, things will be as they were. But I can promise that I will get there again, however long it takes.ā
Sophia smiled at him, hers a little bigger than his. It wasn't the overwhelming feeling she'd wanted, the one she'd dreamed of, but she was beginning to think that wasn't something that was real. The real joy was something that had to be worked towards, each and every day, together, and he was willing to attempt it with her. It would be a long, hard road, and they would struggle, but they would struggle no matter which road they took in life, because people like them were incapable of making things easy on themselves. The important part was that they used the strengths of each other to bolster their own when they were feeling weak. Sophia was happy beyond words that she could help him see that tonight.
"Of course," she said. "Take however long you need, Lucien. I'm not going anywhere." And neither was he. The thought widened her smile.
She always got them to see her way in the end.
She made good time to Lowtown, deciding to try the Hanged Man first, but after a search, she learned from a patron that the man she was seeking had already departed for home, and so it was there she went next, heading a little further into the district, the route she'd come to know rather well. She'd become quite comfortable working her way through Lowtown over the past few years, doing Maker-knows what with those she'd come to be so close to.
With measured breaths she made her way before Lucien's humble home and stood at the door. She wanted to remember how the beginning of her birthday night went, how it felt, but all she could seem to remember was how cold it had seemed after Lucien had convinced himself of his wrongness. They put on false faces for the crowd of nobles, but for the rest of the night, she'd felt like he was wearing one for her, too. No armor had a chance at stopping that.
She knocked gently on the door, not saying anything, mostly because she didn't trust her voice at the moment, but also because she was worried he wouldn't open.
For a man of Lucienās size and dubiously-acquired tolerance, becoming intoxicated was rather a challenge. Heād never been one to back down from a challenge, and by the time he left the Hanged Man, he thought heād probably succeeded. He wasnāt a complete foolāwell, okay, that was a lie, he was a complete and utter foolābut regardless, he hadnāt taken himself under so badly that he could no longer think, speak, or walk properly, just enough that his thoughts detached from his emotions a bit and his vision fuzzed very slightly at the edges. Compared to the entirely self-imposed torment heād been lingering in for the past almost-week, this was damn near pleasant.
Heād arrived home, and gotten halfway through unstrapping his armor before he abandoned the effort, piling the plates in a corner to deal with later. His attention had been drawn by the still mostly-blank canvas on the easel at the back of his room, and heād ventured over there and stared hard at it for some indeterminate amount of time, his eye growing flinty-hard and the tension coiling again beneath his skin until heād sighed and forced himself to relax, taking off the strip of fabric that covered his bad eye and trying again. He still saw nothing he could keep, and so heād spent a half hour of constant activity moving it and the easel into the second bedroom of the houseāshack, if thatāwhere he kept the rest of his completed works. As though heād ever been suited for it. The sketches and smaller bits on his walls, the faces of friends, architectural drawings of Kirkwall and an old rendering of home, followed, pressed neatly enough into a folded bit of heavy paper.
It left his walls bare of anything but the old coat of arms and his weapon rack, which at present he found far more fitting. Still in his chainmail (and why not? It wasnāt like he was ever comfortable without it anymore), he lit himself a fire, uncorked a bottle of wine his father had sent him, and slumped in one of his armchairs, moving the end table around so as to prop his feet on it, and stared with both eyes into the fire. The oddness of using each at the same time was further contemplated by the alcohol, and it seemed to vaguely shimmer in front of him. It might be interesting enough to keep him from thinking about much for a while, but he honestly doubted it. Tipping the wine into a glassāone of two, because heād forgotten himself so much heād grown used to having guests of all thingsāhe set the bottle down and quaffed half the glass in one go. A shame, really. This was the good stuff, and he should be savoring it. Today wasnāt really a savoring day, however.
A knock sounded at the door, and he sighed, dragging a hand down his face. Whoād want to see him at this time of night? Doubtlessly, one of the people that considered him a friend, without knowing nearly enough about what that meant. Maybe heād be as damned lucky as he always seemed to be, and it would be a business contact instead. Or an assassin. A fight would be nice. āItās not locked,ā he informed the person on the other end, his diction clear save for the slight predominance of his accent. āIf you really want in, Iām not stopping you.ā He stared at the glass in his hand for a moment, and muttered darkly into it. āYet.ā
Sophia was slightly scared by the reply, but pushed the door open all the same. She found Lucien sitting and staring into his fire, still drinking, although she'd heard from the patrons that he'd been at the Hanged Man earlier. She took a slow half step inside and stopped, quite suddenly forgetting why she was here, what she'd planned on saying first to him.
"... Lucien?" was all she ended up saying, and she felt stupid for it, like she'd opened her guard for a blow.
Well, that made it official. He was the unluckiest man under the blue sky of Thedas. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, he fixed them on Sophia, the look they conveyed easily-describable as stricken. Why did she have to be here now? He was trying not to think about how hard it was going to be to do what he felt he must, and then the predominant object of those thoughts heād tried to escape for just one night showed up on his doorstep. Someone, somewhere in the universe, really despised him, indeed. He tried for a wan smile, but failed rather miserably and just sighed instead. āUnfortunately, yes,ā he responded dryly, but then shook his head a bit.
āMy apologies. My words were perhaps more brusque than they should have been. I'm not sure I'm in much of a state to be using them, this evening.ā He had much more than that to apologize forāhe just wasnāt sure he had the strength to do it tonight. And sheād probably come here because she had something to say, and he wasnāt quite rude enough to send her away before sheād said it, drunk or no. āWine?ā he offered. āItās the first bottle my fatherās sent me in a year. Apparently the family vineyards are doing quite well.ā He sounded like he wasnāt quite sure if he wanted to sound bitter or nostalgic about that, so his tone occupied some nebulous in-between that wasnāt quite either.
The blow did not come, and so Sophia slid the door closed behind her, slowly moving forward to take a seat in the other armchair present. She certainly did not sink into it, and indeed, she was uncomfortable with how tense she was in Lucien's own home, where he'd first told her of his past in Orlais. The wine seemed like quite a good idea, and she accepted a glass, drinking slightly more deeply than normal, feeling a warmness rush through her. It was a pitiful imitation.
She felt like she was trying to carry something extremely fragile, while also precariously balancing on something. There was the issue she wanted to get around to, but she didn't think bluntness was wise right now. "I've recovered quite well from the poison. That's... probably your doing, in a way, since you brought Amalia." Well, that had felt stupid. She was obviously fine if she was making walks down into Lowtown and holding her father's court all day. She wanted to say something about her father, but the only thing that came to mind was that he was furious about the result of the night, and that he didn't want to hang up the painting yet.
In the end, the wine was probably enough to push her to the question. "Are you well, Lucien? I hadn't heard anything from you since the party. I was... worried." About too many things to go into detail on.
Lucien flinched. He should have been by to check on her long before this point. Heād wanted to, with an urgency that heād channeled into irritation and mostly let off on bandits and a gang of raiders. They hadnāt been hard jobs to take, and even less to complete. Heād almost forgotten to ask them to surrender, and admittedly, heād probably been a bit glad that they hadnāt. Whatever else he was or wasnāt, he was very good at killing thingsātoo good at it, actually. That would probably never change. And it was exactly the thing he hated most about himself.
The question produced a mirthless smile. If heād been in range of a mirror, it might have shocked him how much it echoed the one heād seen many a time on his fatherās face. He knew he was quite similar to the old man, and probably never more than at the moment. For once in his sodding life, he wanted to lie, but even when he tried to form the words, they caught in his throat, so instead he tipped back the rest of the wineglass to buy himself time and then filled it again. āIām still alive. Iām always still alive, and thatās really the problem, isnāt it?ā The last part of the sentence was murmured, and mostly to himself, but it was heavy with guilt.
It wasnāt that he wanted to die or anythingāheād never been suicidal. He justā¦ the things heād done, he shouldnāt still be alive. Something along the way should have killed him, but nothing ever had. He stared morosely at the deep red liquid in the glass. Red like her dress, like her blood. Red like a chevalierās armor. It was an unpleasant thought, and he suddenly rather wished heād requested this yearās white instead.
"I... don't understand," Sophia said truly. He was pained, she could see it clearly, and it seemed like he was just doing it to himself. It was as frustrating as anything she'd ever felt. Did he know that when he struck himself, that others took the blow as well? Of course he did. So then, he thought to avoid her entirely? Make her no longer care, so that he could dwindle away in peace, without hurting anyone? It was far, far too late for that now, whether he liked it or not. Years too late.
"Can you please just talk to me?" she asked. "I can't help if I don't know what's wrong. And I will help. You've known me long enough to know that." She didn't understand what had changed, and that was killing her. Everything had been going so well, she'd finally thought she'd been breaking through to him somewhat, and then suddenly he completely shuts everyone and everything out. Why? Because he overstepped himself? Because he had finally cared, beyond just doing what was right?
āI am afraid that that is precisely the problem, Sophia,ā he said softly. Emptying the glass again, he set it down this time and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his posture unusually slumped over. āYou will help, and then I will inevitably do something stupid, and you will suffer for it. It might even kill you, and I couldnātā¦ā he trailed off, clearing his throat uncomfortably. Maybe if he just laid it out, she would understand. The chances werenāt great, because he knew what kind of person she was, and she was likely to argue, but at least it would make his reasons for his recent behavior clear. He couldnāt bear the thought of being thought just a cold, unfeeling person without regard for others. Especially not by her.
āYouāve seen the way I live. I expect you understand that it presents me with a number of difficulties. I tell no lies to men who want me dead, I give no platitudes to institutions I do not trust. I am a man with more enemies than I know how to count, and I was thus before Iād even properly earned them. I am, as more than one friend has been kind enough to tell me, a sodding idiot, if youāll forgive the language for proper quotation. But Iām still alive.ā He glanced down at his hands, lacing his fingers before seeming to think better of it and pressing the tips together instead. āThatās not to say that what I do has never produced negative consequences. They are just rarely ever mine to bear.ā
He swallowed thickly. āI find, in fact, that it is the people around me who suffer for my honor, my kindnesses. People believe in meānot my ideas, or anything abstract like that, but me, and then they die, or lose everything that made their lives worthwhile. My mother was killed by poison meant for me. I told you already that two of my friends died for following me in my insubordination, because I asked them to. I did not tell you that one of them had been my best friend since childhood and my most ardent supporter, nor that the other one was one of the women who taught me to fight when my father gave up on the effort. I told you that Rilien tried to assassinate me. What I didnāt tell you was that he testified at my trial, confessing that he was a Bard and naming the man whoād hired him, because I asked him to. And that brought him nothing but his own trial and a death sentence. He can no longer set foot in the country to which he was born and raised, because any citizen therein is authorized and encouraged to kill him on sight. And thatās my fault.
When people believe in me or help me or trust me, rather than simply asking things of me, they suffer for it. What happened at your party reminded me of one thing and taught me another: it reminded me that my interference is not good for people, and it taught me that I am not willing to expose you to those consequences. I was entirely useless to help you, despite that being my reason for attending in the first place. I donātā¦ I canātā¦ā the stream of words died, leaving only the unfortunate taste of guilt in his mouth. His father had taught him that leaders had to be willing to make sacrifices, give up the lives of those they led. His life had taught him that he couldnāt be a leader, if that was what it took.
Now she wondered if she ever really wanted to hear it in the first place. Now that he'd opened everything to her, she wondered if it would have been easier to think of him as cold and closed off, impossible to reach. But she'd finally reached him, only to find that the truth was, as she should have expected, more painful than the unknown. That he'd closed himself off to protect her. In that case... he was a fool to open himself up in the first place, wasn't he?
"So what do you intend to do?" she asked. "Act like nothing in the past year happened? Ask me to try and pretend like you're just one of my future subjects, capable of only serving me? Are you going to leave?" She was dreading the last one, that he would decide it was best if he left entirely, went far, far away, somewhere where his enemies reaching him wouldn't have consequences for those he cared for.
"You know it's too late, right?" she asked, finding a little bit of fire where she'd thought there was none. She'd seen it in her mother's eyes for the first time when Lucien had painted her, and she knew that this was what she would do. Pursue what she felt. Let the consequences come. Fight them off. Maybe she would die for it, but she would not let fear of pain prevent her from living how she wanted. She would not let her circumstances, and his circumstances, drag them into the dirt and convince them to be miserable just so they could live. Neither of them could change who they were, or what they felt. If they had to suffer for that, so be it.
"Maybe you never should have opened up to me, never should have helped me when I was doubting. Maybe the things I should ask of you should always be the kind where we risk our lives. Maybe I should just let you go, so that you can suffer the consequences of your goodness on your own, without letting anyone share your burden because they care for you." She was certain all of those things would make it easier on the both of them, but both of them had been brought up to believe that the easy thing was not always the right thing. Sophia could not let him suffer alone just because of who he was.
"Maybe you are a sodding idiot, but I want you to be my sodding idiot."
Lucien was silent for a long while after that, clearly contemplating what sheād said. Leaving probably would be for the best, but it would be far from easy. Heād made friends here, and a life, but he wondered yet if they were enough to keep him from uprooting himself and departing when the time came. Heād proven to himself that he was more than capable of living a life on the road, with no roots at all. He could be as transient as the wind itself if he wantedāthe challenge would be in the initial departure. Before, he hadnāt had a choice. Now, well, he wasnāt sure he had one, but it felt as though he should.
Frankly, heād been expecting more or less half of what sheād said. A friend had told him something similar, once, and it had assuaged his guilt for a while. But as heād learned quite recently, it had failed to heal those wounds over entirely, and this city seemed to be tearing them open afresh. Or maybe it was just him. He liked having friends, people who knew more of him than a name and a job, and heād thought that here might be different, that it might be all right to keep them. And in truth, he still desired to believe that it was possible, that he might be a stronger person, a wiser one, than he had been back then. But the temptation to remove himself would always be present, and he honestly didnāt know if ever he would succumb to it.
Taking a deep breath, he met her eyes. āMaybeā¦ā he replied, āI already am.ā She was rightāin a way. If heād wanted to prevent this, these were things he should have realized a number of years ago, not just now. And he doubted that any of his friends would be so willing to pretend those bonds hadnāt been formed. Maybe the solution was to put down more roots, or, more aptly, take on a few more chains, tether himself here so he need not fear leaving. It felt a little too simple, and he knew it would not be an easy thing to do. But it would be no harder than leaving her behind. āIām notā¦ I lack certainty about what is right here, Sophia, and I canāt promise that Iāll never second-guess myself, especially not at first. If I am to stay, there are a number of things Iāll have to figure out before Iāll feel that the choice was rightly-made. I still donāt want to risk any more than I absolutely must.ā
Plans, hasty but gaining solidity, sketched themselves before him in his mind, and he nodded slowly. āIā¦ ask that you be patient with me. I canāt change who I am overnight, and these things will perhaps always worry me. But I will try to overcome them. And I will try to remember that I am surrounded with the best of people, and some of the most capable Iāve ever met. If I should forgetā¦ Iād ask that you remind me.ā He smiled, and this time, it was genuine again, if small. Perhaps it wasnāt simply a matter of risk their lives or leave them. Maybe he just needed to work harder to protect them, call on parts of himself that he hadnāt seen the need for since he left Orlais. āI canāt promise that tomorrow, things will be as they were. But I can promise that I will get there again, however long it takes.ā
Sophia smiled at him, hers a little bigger than his. It wasn't the overwhelming feeling she'd wanted, the one she'd dreamed of, but she was beginning to think that wasn't something that was real. The real joy was something that had to be worked towards, each and every day, together, and he was willing to attempt it with her. It would be a long, hard road, and they would struggle, but they would struggle no matter which road they took in life, because people like them were incapable of making things easy on themselves. The important part was that they used the strengths of each other to bolster their own when they were feeling weak. Sophia was happy beyond words that she could help him see that tonight.
"Of course," she said. "Take however long you need, Lucien. I'm not going anywhere." And neither was he. The thought widened her smile.
She always got them to see her way in the end.