The choice loomed large in his immediate view, and though heād perhaps become better than he would like to be at ignoring it, there was no keeping it at bay forever, and he understood that well. Heād always been a bit of a slave to duty, in truth, but in some ways, that had made things rather simple for him. Do what was right, evenāand especiallyāwhen it was difficult. Seldom had he encountered situations in which what was right was hard to discern, but that was not to say never. Still, he could not recall those decisions being as hard as this one. Stay, and remain here with what he had built with nothing but his merit, his labor, and the help of his friends, or go, and try and regain that which had been lost to him? Phrased that way, the question wasnāt easy, but the true difficulty of it was still masked.
The implications of his fatherās message had been clear: if he went back, and succeeded in what heād be attemptingā¦ heād finally achieve what heād come here to do. Heād have restored his honor. Heād have earned the right to pick up a sword again, and call himself a knight for truth, not whatever he played at being now. Some kind of half-chevalier mercenary, he supposed. More than that... if Guy was suggesting what Lucien thought he was suggesting, heād probably be doing a service to Orlais. And it was hard to ignore a call like that when youād been born and raised to heed it. For most of his life, that call had been his only mandate. He was what he could do for his homeland. Be that as a soldier, or as a nobleman. As heir, even.
Sighing, he ran a hand down his face. On the other handā¦ he liked being here. This may not be the lifestyle to which his history had accustomed him, but all the important parts were still there. He served a good cause, with good people, genuine friends and allies, andā¦ she was not to be found anywhere but here. Nor many of the other people he had come to value most. He must do what was right, it was true, but right for whom? Heād never really felt like two different people before, but he did now. The person he had been, and the person he was becoming. Altered by unfortunate circumstance, yes, but perhaps not in unfortunate ways. His fingers raked back into his hair, and Lucien crossed one ankle over another on the second chair, casting a glance over at the other man in the room.
āHave you ever wanted to go back?ā He asked quietly, wondering if it was the kind of thing the Tranquil had ever thought about. But of course it was. Largely bereft of emotion or not, Rilien had doubtless at least put the question to himself at some point, even if the purpose it had served to do so was purely practical.
āNo,ā Rilien replied immediately. He was presently working on Violetteās swordāthe actual lyrium folding had been done already, and so what remained was to smooth and sharpen the re-honed edge with special tools while the blade was still somewhat hot. If he wasnāt careful in this step, the whole sword could become incredibly brittle, but the concentration required did not preclude him from talking, as the actual process of enchanting did. Currently, he was at work with a file, having concluded his use of the hammer and anvil already. His sleeves were tied back with string, the heavy material of the gloves on his hands his only protection from the heat of the cherry-red metal.
āBut you are not sentenced to death in that country; nor is your exile in effect any longer. It is not illogical for you to consider what I may not.ā He paused for a moment, almost as if hesitating. But that was absurd, of courseāRilien did not hesitate, because Rilien was Tranquil, and there was no logical reason for hesitation. āBesides,ā he continued, his voice slightly muffled by the way he was focused on the weapon he worked on, āI do not have to consider the benefits to Orlais were I to return. This is a factor that will necessarily enter into your decision which would not affect any deliberation I made on the matter.ā Being to the benefit of an entire country was the stuff of princes and kings, not elves and bards. This was simply the truth of the matter.
Rilien was, of course, right. He usually was, Lucien had discovered. That was perhaps why heād breached the subject with his friend in the first place. Then againā¦ he also wasnāt particularly helpful, in this case. It would be a simple enough matter to ask the elf to make the hypothetical decision for him, but that really wasnāt what the knight was after. He knew, in some way, what the barest logic demanded of him. The chance that he could do some good for his slowly-destabilizing homeland was too great to pass up, regardless of the ties he might now have to Kirkwall. This was what he expected Rilien the Tranquil would say. But thenā¦ his friend was not simply a Tranquil, not anymore. Heād seen the evidence of that, down in that mountainous cavern. Heād been floored by the lengths to which his friend was willing to go for the sake of an emotion, albeit a powerful one. Perhaps the most powerful of all emotions.
But could Lucien turn from duty and logic alike for the same emotion? āHow much is it worth?ā he asked. āWhat I might be able to do there?ā That at least was not a question he expected his friend to have an answer to. He shook his head slightly, a frown etched into his features, and rubbed absently at the side of his jaw, where his stubble was coming back in again. He hadnāt quite committed to the wearing of a short beard as a full-time practice, but he did let it grow from time to time. Sighing though his nose, the chevalier tipped his head back to look at the ceiling of his friendās shop. Immaculately clean, of course. Somehow, the idea of Rilien washing his ceiling struck him as amusing, and the frown became a rueful smile and a soft snort.
He sobered immediately afterwards though, and turned his head sideways to observe the enchanter at work. āDid you ever tell her? About what happened down there?ā
The methodical motions of Rilienās craft paused, for just a moment longer than they rightly should have, before they resumed, and he dunked the blade in a vat of water to his side. The hissing of steam filled the silence left by the absence of an answer to the query, and Rilien used the moment to decide what he wanted to say. This was an immensely-complex matter, as he saw it, but one for which the solution had been relatively simple: the less Sparrow knew, the better. Fanning away the worst of the steam, he met Lucienās inquiring gaze steadily. āI did not. There was no use in it. She knows we slew a Fade-beast, and that is all that matters.ā The rest did not have consequence. Could not have consequence.
Lucienās fingers laced together, and he rested them on the upper part of his abdomen, returning his eye to the roof. āThe rest of it matters, Ril. It has to. Maybe not to you, anymore, but to me. Surely to her, if she knew.ā Surely it did; because otherwise what Rilien had done made no sense, not logically, not emotionally, not by any metric Lucien could come up with. It was as if the act had been random. But it wasnātāit was chosen. Just like he had to choose something, here and now. Or at least quite soon. āI think it must matter to you, still, or you wouldnāt be keeping it from her.ā Why hide it if it didnāt matter?
Rilienās hand curled around the hilt of the sword, but he did not lift it from where it rested on the counter. In fact, he simply stared at it, for quite a few minutes, and the silence swallowed them both. Thatā¦ he had not thought of it that way. He wondered how such a simple consideration had managed to escape him. āIt doesnāt,ā he repeated, slowly, still in his monotone, but sounding somehow less flat than usual. āBut what it might do to her does. She already thinks more of me than I am, Ser Lucien. Iāve no wish to chain her with a misplaced sense of obligation.ā She might well begin to believe that she owed him something, if she knew, and he refused to allow that.
A misplaced sense of obligation. Lucien turned the phrase over in his mind, shaking his head faintly. Heād been accused of having such things more than once himself. Frankly, heād never seen the harm in it. Feeling obligated wasnāt the prison some people took it to be. It just meant there were things in the world that you cared about, things you would kill and die for. Heād never seen that as a weakness, not when he identified it so readily as his strength. āWould it be so bad?ā he asked thoughtfully. āThereās nothing wrong with having something in life to hold onto, is there?ā Perhaps, in situations like his, the problem was that he tried to hold onto too many things, but heād prefer this over feeling entirely untethered. If only there were a way that he could satisfy all of his obligationsā¦
But then, why couldnāt he? Heād never stopped being a knight, of a kind, simply because heād left the nation he was knighted in. Heād never stopped considering his father his father and his mother his mother. Heād never decided he wasnāt Orlesian. Heād changed, but not so much as to lose what he really thought himself to be, when all the trappings were trimmed away to what lay underneath. Perhapsā¦ perhaps there was a way to balance everything that was needed from him with everything he required now of himself.
āI suppose,ā Rilien said flatly, āthat it depends upon which end is doing the holding.ā
The implications of his fatherās message had been clear: if he went back, and succeeded in what heād be attemptingā¦ heād finally achieve what heād come here to do. Heād have restored his honor. Heād have earned the right to pick up a sword again, and call himself a knight for truth, not whatever he played at being now. Some kind of half-chevalier mercenary, he supposed. More than that... if Guy was suggesting what Lucien thought he was suggesting, heād probably be doing a service to Orlais. And it was hard to ignore a call like that when youād been born and raised to heed it. For most of his life, that call had been his only mandate. He was what he could do for his homeland. Be that as a soldier, or as a nobleman. As heir, even.
Sighing, he ran a hand down his face. On the other handā¦ he liked being here. This may not be the lifestyle to which his history had accustomed him, but all the important parts were still there. He served a good cause, with good people, genuine friends and allies, andā¦ she was not to be found anywhere but here. Nor many of the other people he had come to value most. He must do what was right, it was true, but right for whom? Heād never really felt like two different people before, but he did now. The person he had been, and the person he was becoming. Altered by unfortunate circumstance, yes, but perhaps not in unfortunate ways. His fingers raked back into his hair, and Lucien crossed one ankle over another on the second chair, casting a glance over at the other man in the room.
āHave you ever wanted to go back?ā He asked quietly, wondering if it was the kind of thing the Tranquil had ever thought about. But of course it was. Largely bereft of emotion or not, Rilien had doubtless at least put the question to himself at some point, even if the purpose it had served to do so was purely practical.
āNo,ā Rilien replied immediately. He was presently working on Violetteās swordāthe actual lyrium folding had been done already, and so what remained was to smooth and sharpen the re-honed edge with special tools while the blade was still somewhat hot. If he wasnāt careful in this step, the whole sword could become incredibly brittle, but the concentration required did not preclude him from talking, as the actual process of enchanting did. Currently, he was at work with a file, having concluded his use of the hammer and anvil already. His sleeves were tied back with string, the heavy material of the gloves on his hands his only protection from the heat of the cherry-red metal.
āBut you are not sentenced to death in that country; nor is your exile in effect any longer. It is not illogical for you to consider what I may not.ā He paused for a moment, almost as if hesitating. But that was absurd, of courseāRilien did not hesitate, because Rilien was Tranquil, and there was no logical reason for hesitation. āBesides,ā he continued, his voice slightly muffled by the way he was focused on the weapon he worked on, āI do not have to consider the benefits to Orlais were I to return. This is a factor that will necessarily enter into your decision which would not affect any deliberation I made on the matter.ā Being to the benefit of an entire country was the stuff of princes and kings, not elves and bards. This was simply the truth of the matter.
Rilien was, of course, right. He usually was, Lucien had discovered. That was perhaps why heād breached the subject with his friend in the first place. Then againā¦ he also wasnāt particularly helpful, in this case. It would be a simple enough matter to ask the elf to make the hypothetical decision for him, but that really wasnāt what the knight was after. He knew, in some way, what the barest logic demanded of him. The chance that he could do some good for his slowly-destabilizing homeland was too great to pass up, regardless of the ties he might now have to Kirkwall. This was what he expected Rilien the Tranquil would say. But thenā¦ his friend was not simply a Tranquil, not anymore. Heād seen the evidence of that, down in that mountainous cavern. Heād been floored by the lengths to which his friend was willing to go for the sake of an emotion, albeit a powerful one. Perhaps the most powerful of all emotions.
But could Lucien turn from duty and logic alike for the same emotion? āHow much is it worth?ā he asked. āWhat I might be able to do there?ā That at least was not a question he expected his friend to have an answer to. He shook his head slightly, a frown etched into his features, and rubbed absently at the side of his jaw, where his stubble was coming back in again. He hadnāt quite committed to the wearing of a short beard as a full-time practice, but he did let it grow from time to time. Sighing though his nose, the chevalier tipped his head back to look at the ceiling of his friendās shop. Immaculately clean, of course. Somehow, the idea of Rilien washing his ceiling struck him as amusing, and the frown became a rueful smile and a soft snort.
He sobered immediately afterwards though, and turned his head sideways to observe the enchanter at work. āDid you ever tell her? About what happened down there?ā
The methodical motions of Rilienās craft paused, for just a moment longer than they rightly should have, before they resumed, and he dunked the blade in a vat of water to his side. The hissing of steam filled the silence left by the absence of an answer to the query, and Rilien used the moment to decide what he wanted to say. This was an immensely-complex matter, as he saw it, but one for which the solution had been relatively simple: the less Sparrow knew, the better. Fanning away the worst of the steam, he met Lucienās inquiring gaze steadily. āI did not. There was no use in it. She knows we slew a Fade-beast, and that is all that matters.ā The rest did not have consequence. Could not have consequence.
Lucienās fingers laced together, and he rested them on the upper part of his abdomen, returning his eye to the roof. āThe rest of it matters, Ril. It has to. Maybe not to you, anymore, but to me. Surely to her, if she knew.ā Surely it did; because otherwise what Rilien had done made no sense, not logically, not emotionally, not by any metric Lucien could come up with. It was as if the act had been random. But it wasnātāit was chosen. Just like he had to choose something, here and now. Or at least quite soon. āI think it must matter to you, still, or you wouldnāt be keeping it from her.ā Why hide it if it didnāt matter?
Rilienās hand curled around the hilt of the sword, but he did not lift it from where it rested on the counter. In fact, he simply stared at it, for quite a few minutes, and the silence swallowed them both. Thatā¦ he had not thought of it that way. He wondered how such a simple consideration had managed to escape him. āIt doesnāt,ā he repeated, slowly, still in his monotone, but sounding somehow less flat than usual. āBut what it might do to her does. She already thinks more of me than I am, Ser Lucien. Iāve no wish to chain her with a misplaced sense of obligation.ā She might well begin to believe that she owed him something, if she knew, and he refused to allow that.
A misplaced sense of obligation. Lucien turned the phrase over in his mind, shaking his head faintly. Heād been accused of having such things more than once himself. Frankly, heād never seen the harm in it. Feeling obligated wasnāt the prison some people took it to be. It just meant there were things in the world that you cared about, things you would kill and die for. Heād never seen that as a weakness, not when he identified it so readily as his strength. āWould it be so bad?ā he asked thoughtfully. āThereās nothing wrong with having something in life to hold onto, is there?ā Perhaps, in situations like his, the problem was that he tried to hold onto too many things, but heād prefer this over feeling entirely untethered. If only there were a way that he could satisfy all of his obligationsā¦
But then, why couldnāt he? Heād never stopped being a knight, of a kind, simply because heād left the nation he was knighted in. Heād never stopped considering his father his father and his mother his mother. Heād never decided he wasnāt Orlesian. Heād changed, but not so much as to lose what he really thought himself to be, when all the trappings were trimmed away to what lay underneath. Perhapsā¦ perhaps there was a way to balance everything that was needed from him with everything he required now of himself.
āI suppose,ā Rilien said flatly, āthat it depends upon which end is doing the holding.ā