The Hanged Man was a little quieter than usual, perhaps owing to the fact that it was midafternoon rather than evening. The only people in here were those who sought a warm meal cheaply or the truly dedicated alcoholics, and honestly, there were few who could afford such a habit, even on the copper-swill the place ran on like human beings ran on blood. Given the recently-cleaned plate in front of him, Lucien was of the former kind, though he usually made do for himself in terms of food preparation. Heād had a bit of an adventurous morning, though, and hadnāt felt much like the extra work that cooking himself something would have been, so heād stopped in here instead.
He remained still only to finish his mulled wine, really, the watered-down beverage a fair bit safer than actual water here, but entirely too weak to do more than warm him a little. He was staring off into space a little, his thoughts preoccupied with reminding himself of the tasks still left to him today, which were more than heād anticipated since the morning escort job had almost gone sideways. He probably should have brought someone else, in retrospect, but he didn't feel he should yet take any of the Lions on anything that wasnāt a known quantity, just in case. The majority of them had a fair bit more training to go before he was comfortable assigning them to anything more than routine. There were but a few veterans among them, most of them greener than grass in spring. They were improving though. Maybe heād let Fitch run the afternoon drills while he caught up on the paperworkā¦
Too quiet if you asked her, but somewhat fitting for what she wanted to ask the daydreaming knight. There was so much she wanted to ask him. So many questions she'd kept to herself because the sight of him was too much. Sparrow hesitated in the hallway leading up to Varric's chamber, foot poised on the staircase, while the other remained firmly perched where she'd been standing moments before. Studying him from behindāconvincing herself that she'd moved beyond her fears, and buried them like a good dog. Apparently, she hadn't buried them deep enough. Her knees felt weak as she descended the staircase, focusing on her breaths. In, out. In, out. One step, two step, three. These questions wouldn't wait. Besides, it wasn't as if Sparrow minded bothering someone who was obviously busy and working on something else. Who worked in the Hanged Man, anyway?
She leaned her elbows on the table, wove her fingers together and glanced down at the knots twirling in the wood just below Lucien's right arm. It felt much safer than meeting his eyes, though she stole a quick glance and focused her attention above his shoulder, as if to study the ugly boar's head hanging over the mantle. āFancy seeing you here, figured you'd want company,ā she greeted with a grin, bobbing her head, āYou look like you've got something on your mind.ā One small lie; she'd been watching him since he first sat down, grimly wringing her hands for an opportune time to approach him. He did look rather pensive, or rather, lost in thought. Rarely did she know a person that actually came to the Hanged Man for a meal, and little else. Rather than spitting out what she wanted to say, Sparrow waited for Lucien's answer. For once in her life, the questions, and the answers he might give, frightened her. She was afraid of what he might say.
Lucien, entirely oblivious to the fact that heād been watched, blinked slightly when Sparrow sat in front of him, but he did offer the half-elf a warm smile as she sat down. The way she wouldnāt quite look at him was familiarāNostariel had been like that, once, and even she was hardly the first. He understood that he looked oddly similar to someone she would rather forget, and that was bound to be difficult, so in all honesty, he was rather surprised that she had approached him at all. Surely, thought he, there was a purpose in it, but he didnāt mind. If there was some way he could help her, he would. He understood perhaps only a fraction of what she had endured, but that fraction was enough to stir his sympathy. Perhaps it was unfortunate that she looked ready to bolt at any moment, but he did his best to keep his body language as nonthreatening and unobtrusive as possible. Physical resemblance, he could not help, but he could certainly make the attempt to be different enough in demeanor to allay some of her anxieties.
āI certainly donāt mind company,ā he agreed amiably, and the smile widened a bit. āThat obvious, am I? Not unusual, Iām afraidāsome of us are not capable of much by way of subtlety.ā The corner of his visible eye crinkled; it was an obtuse reference to Rilien, who had often pointed out, in those dry tones of his, that Lucien was not subtle. He had the feeling Sparrow had been informed of the same. āBut yes, I was thinking. Mostly about the rest of the day; nothing that canāt wait. Is there something I can help you with?ā He leaned back in his chair a bit, folding his hands, fingers interlocked, flat on the table in front of him. He did at least have a sense of when someone needed something, and that was, to him at least, what she seemed to be projecting. Whatever it was, it had brought her here, and not to any of their mutual friends, a fact that piqued his curiosity.
āI never apologized, did I?ā Sparrow lamented offhandedly, partially to keep her voice from creaking like a rusty door. For all that he'd done for her on that one day, she owed him an awful lot. Not only had he played a hand in freeing her from Rapture, but he'd also helped Rilien seek out the ingredients he'd needed in the first place. Perhaps, he'd done much more behind the scenes. She'd never know because Rilien refused to divulge into any details. Only that it'd been more difficult than he'd imagined, and that in the end, the results were what he'd expected. There were no lines to read between, nor any secret tells she could decipher. Ever the secret-keeper, Rilien could pull the wool over anyone's eyes, even her own, without so much as a wink. It was startling how much she wanted to creep in and tear down those walls.She cocked her head and leaned her chin atop her fingers. āSo, I'm officially offering my apologies. No more running.ā Diving straight into fear was the least she could do if she wanted to understand and continue moving forward. Standing still, and expecting things to simply flow over her, hadn't done her any good. Change only came with action, and she wanted hers done by her own hands.
It was disarming to see how kind and open her companions were (she's not so stubborn to say they haven't weaseled themselves into her heart). They never asked for anything in return. Even after so many years of being on the receiving end of such warmth, of such loyalty, Sparrow wasn't used to it at all. She'd grown better at seeing the gray areas in-between. Nothing was as black or white as she'd always imagined; clear-cut, evil and good and something else hunkered in a Darktown hovel. The differences between right and wrong were, at times, still hazy in her mind; blended into a murky gray. She was not all smiles and brightly colored eyes; not always. Most disarming of all was knowing that her companions would stick around, even if she behaved like a beast. Lucien was no exception, either. From what she'd gathered from Nostariel, and even Sophia, he was the embodiment of a knight. Not that she had much experience with them herself, but she'd heard stories. The Hanged Man, if anything, was notorious for loud storytelling.
Her grin simpered into a smile, and her gaze drifted from his fingers to his chin. āDon't worry. Neither am I,ā Sparrow chuckled, waggling her eyebrows, āI suppose that's the only way I could tell.ā She gave no oral indication that she'd caught the reference, besides a much louder laugh. Everyone appeared much more obvious compared to Rilien, and even though she was godawful at reading atmospheres or understanding when things were appropriate, and when she should just shut her mouth, Sparrow had grown unusually good at reading Rilien's cryptic words. Or else, she blindly groped for them, coloring their conversations with hidden meanings. How she thought of him might have been far different from how Rilien saw himself. She supposed that Lucien had much on his mindādealing with the guards in Kirkwall, or whatever else he did alongside Sophia. Whatever it was, must have been of great importance if he was crinkling his forehead over it. Social etiquette had no place in her life, so when the opportunity arose to declare her intentions, Sparrow's eyes flew away from his chin and met his.
āI need to know what happened!ā She burst forth, planting her hands palm-down and nearly rising from her seat. An awkward beat passed and her shoulders visibly sagged. āAt the cave, I need to know. I understand that you all went to gather some ingredients, but...ā She looked away and focused on her knuckles. āI feel as if there's something missing. From the whole story. And you would know, wouldn't you? You were there, I askedā,ā she sighed and screwed up her eyebrows, āI noticed something different, I just don't know what it is.ā
Lucien sighed. It was as heād both expected and feared thenāRilien had not taken his advice and kept his cards played close to his chest, as he tended to do. Strange, that someone so entirely, flawlessly blunt could have more secrets than the average spymaster. Or at least he suspected that that was the case. As with any good spymaster, it was impossible to say with any great certainty. He was for a moment very unsure what to do. On the one hand, he felt it more than a little gauche to casually bandy about Rilienās personal business, even if he had never been asked to keep it quiet. There was an understanding between friends that one simply didnāt do that sort of thing, and the fact that his friend happened to be Tranquil made exactly no difference in this or any other matter as far as Lucien was concerned.
But thenā¦ was telling Sparrow really the same as telling anyone else? The matter concerned her just as much as it concerned Rilien, perhaps even more, if some details were omitted. This was about what had been necessary to save her, to help her, and it was her demon that had driven them all down into that place to begin with. To call it relevant seemed an understatement, making it her personal business just as surely. He knew what he wanted to do, and now all that remained was to determine if he truly believed his considerations or if he simply convinced himself of their truth so they aligned with the result he already desired, for his own reasons. Because he believed it would be better, somehow, if she knew. If she understood. Rilien didnāt let people in past a certain pointānobody knew that better than Lucien did. But something was different about Sparrow, and he knew exactly what that something was.
That much, he really wouldnāt tell her. But the restā¦ he did hope Ril forgave him for it. The traces of humor disappeared from his face, leaving him looking solemn, the corners of his mouth downturned, but not unkind. āIt isā¦ a complex matter,ā Lucien said at last, his voice soft, intentionally beneath the hearing of anyone but her. āButā¦ my understanding is that Rilien faced a choice. He wasnāt Tranquil, in the tunnels where we found the last ingredient. He had his magic back, and his emotions, from the moment we entered the place until the end. The demon we fought seemed to be telling him that he had a choice. Help youā¦ or keep it all permanently.ā He decided to leave off the part where heād done it because of his love. In Lucienās humble opinion, that was obvious from the enormity of the gesture alone. But there was something quite private, perhaps, about the actual admission of it, and that line, he would not cross.
The shift on Lucien's face chilled her like a morning frost settling across the room. Had she been given more time to brace herself, then perhaps... she'd still have the same reaction. He had the look of a man about to confess that someone had died. That they'd gone through the funeral without her, as well. Half of her wanted to slam her fists against the table to keep him from uttering another word, because the fear that clenched its hands around her constricted as soon as he began, and the other half stood stock still, waiting for a blow that might have been better if it had come as a fist.
Thump. Sparrow's chair clattered on the ground behind her. Some of the Hanged Man's dedicated regulars swung their gazes over to them, though they soon turned back to their drinks, nonplussed. Those who came to drink generally didn't care what was happening around them, and the ones that were eating instead of drinking were far and few in between. Her heart felt as if it was hammering against her chest, battering itself like a rickety stick snapping between rib-made fencing. āWhat?ā She breathed, eying Lucien as if he'd said something ridiculous. She heard him the first time, and did not want him repeating himselfācouldn't bear to hear what he'd just said again, because nothing at that moment made any sense. Why would anyone sacrifice so much for someone like her? It made no sense. It was illogical and Rilien did not do things that were illogical. Slow and steady, efficient and always, always choosing the option with the highest probability of success. Slim chances, and pointless sacrifices, hardly factored in.
āHe wasn't... Tranquil?ā Her voice came out as a hoarse, strangled whisper. Sparrow's touch soils things. Cuts them up, snip snip. She'd never been afraid of hurting anyone before, because she believed herself incapable of it. She did not shy away from anyone's touch, because she believed that given the choice, they would choose other paths. Paths that suited themselves, as she might have done in their place. āHe, he never told me. No one told me! If I'd been there, I would'veā,ā she rambled, breathless: stopped him. She would have stopped him from choosing wrongly. This time, she meant it. The revelation sent her reeling backwards, away from the table, away from Lucien. They were too good for her, these kind-hearted, selfless friends. They brought all of her flaws to light, all of the things that made her selfish and needy and despicable. Had she even pressed Rilien hard enough for the truth, or had she been content with her freedom?
āThat price,ā she said, clutching the collar of her tunic. āYou shouldn't have let him... He should've chosen differently!ā Sparrow shook her head, eyebrows bunched. He could have had a normal life with all of the people he'd surrounded himself with. He could have gotten back everything he'd lost. Everything that had been taken away from him, stripped from him. It hadn't been his choice, but saying yes, however quietly, to Rapture, had been her own mistake. She should have been the one to pay the price, not him. Lucien's face wavered in front of her, and her grip tightened into the fabric, whitening her knuckles. Too much. It was too much. āYou should've let me die,ā she croaked, nearly tripping over her chair in her haste to reach the doorway. She hadn't meant to say that to him, not to Lucien. He didn't deserve her reaction, but her feelings shaped her. Moved her limbs, released her words, before her head had any time to catch up. Heads turned to see what had happened, though they might have only seen the shape of a fleeing form, and a slamming door.