Pel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mythalenaste) wrote2015-09-15 06:25 pm
mythalenaste) wrote2015-09-15 06:25 pm
OPEN POST
“All witches are selfish, the Queen had said. But Tiffany’s Third Thoughts said: Then turn selfishness into a weapon! Make all things yours! Make other lives and dreams and hopes yours! Protect them! Save them! Bring them into the sheepfold! Walk the gale for them! Keep away the wolf! My dreams! My brother! My family! My land! My world! How dare you try to take these things, because they are mine!
I have a duty!”
--Terry Pratchett, The Wee Free Men
for shenanigans of all types, especially post-game
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"No," He replies with a good deal of assertion. "No, Pel, of course not. No one... None of you have done anything. I just..." He trailed off, giving a pained smile.
"It's no one's fault but mine. It never has been. I didn't do it on purpose, I just... got distracted." It was a lame excuse, and it felt lame as he said it. He sighed. "I'm not trying to hurt anyone, Pel." Let alone you.
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That one cut to bone, his eyes falling to the ground, his chest tightening, muscles pulling painfully taut over his heart.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, barely above a breath. "I really am, Pel. For everything. But I'm not..." he turned his eyes up. "... I'll go, if you ask me to. If you think it's honestly better. I don't know what else I can do to make it up to you... This is my home. You're--" He cut off there, sighing. No point saying words that weren't necessary anymore. Weren't fair.
"Of course this is my home. But whatever the creators want me to be, I can't find it here."
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She opens her mouth to speak and an unvoiced sob comes out instead. She finds herself curling against him, arms wrapping around his waist.
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He's awkward for a half heartbeat - not expecting the sudden embrace - but then he slides his arms down around her shoulders and pulls her tight against him.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, again, laying a hand on her head and gently brushing her fingers over her hair.
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After a moment, she pushes him away--firmly, but not violently--and turns her face to wipe her tears without looking at him.
"Not sorry enough to change. That's the only kind of sorry that counts."
She takes a deep, shaking breath. When she speaks, the coldness is coming back to her voice.
"Keep looking for yourself. Maybe you'll figure out that you never lost yourself to begin with, but you'll never believe it coming from me. It's not like I've ever earned your trust, or your loyalty, or your love."
Hard now, but still damp:
"Go tell Merrick you're alive again."
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Gavin stood there - not trying to retrieve the embrace when she left it. He half expected her to shove him, but she didn't. At least, not physically. In the end it was more painful, this way.
"Pel--" He started, a plea, but it trailed off, sadly. What could he say? She had every right to hate him. What could he say? That he still cared about her? Of course he did. If he didn't, coming home wouldn't be so hard.
But, like every time they'd had this argument, he didn't fight it. Just looked at her sadly.
"... Alright," He agreed quietly. "I'll go let him know."
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She doesn't know why she blurts that out, except that none of this is worthwhile if he loses all hope in himself.
"You're a good man. You just don't think you know what that means."
Her tears are dry now, and she still hasn't looked at him again.
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"... I'll figure it out somehow, Pel," he replied quietly, his eyes on her face even as hers was turned away.
He raised a hand to rub absentmindedly at his chest, as if pressing against the flesh would make the feeling go away.
"I promise."
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He sighed, bowing his head, picking up his pack from where he'd dropped it and shifting it back onto his shoulder.
"I'd better go find Merrick," He murmured, before slipping away. He'd done enough damage, for today.
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