Rhonen doesn’t realize that she even notices his discomfort, much less that it makes her wish to vanish much like he wishes he could vanish. Which is all well and good, really, because he wouldn’t know what to do even if he did understand how she felt. He cannot change that she doesn’t want him to venture back into the storm, and he cannot change his disgust with himself that makes him reluctant to impinge on her space. But he does allow himself to study her as she is thinking, several moments where the sound of the rain and the thunder are the only things that break the silence between them.
If it is a night that feels like a time to share secrets, to Leliana, to Rhonen it feels like a night where long stretches of silence aren’t uncomfortable. She can take her time to form thoughts, and he can take his time to reply, and it won’t feel as if it takes forever. Time moves funny, Rhonen has always thought, in the dark of some strange nights. So he studies her, the way she draws her wings around her body and the minute tensions in her body while she considers her words.
Their eyes meet again, and now he thinks that the shadows in her eyes might rival the shadows in his heart, and so he is prepared for the difficult question. Relative morality in the middle of the night; well, why not? She asks him if intentions matter and he thinks about the desperate fight for the lives of his loved ones, unsure of whether it was real or some tortured dream. He thinks about being willing to die, for the chance that it would keep the world from burning. He thinks about the relief of knowing that his family is probably safe, somewhere, and the pain of wondering if they left him on purpose. He thinks, as he so often does, of his twin. Another thing that he and Leliana don’t realize they have in common.
“I have to believe that intentions do matter,” he says finally, “because how else are we to choose our paths in life? We cannot know everything, so we can only act on what we do know.” If only it were that simple, he thinks, and sighs heavily, wondering if the weight of the world is part of dark nights that encourage the sharing of secrets. “It matters that they were hurt, of course it does, but if you didn’t do it on purpose, it can’t be totally your fault. And feelings are…” he trails off, because even assigning them a word seems too difficult. “Everyone must be responsible for their own feelings.” he decides on, instead; “Unless we are purposefully hurtful and cruel, it seems to me that we are still redeemable.”
Because if darkness is not redeemable, he thinks many are lost. Even, perhaps, himself.
If it is a night that feels like a time to share secrets, to Leliana, to Rhonen it feels like a night where long stretches of silence aren’t uncomfortable. She can take her time to form thoughts, and he can take his time to reply, and it won’t feel as if it takes forever. Time moves funny, Rhonen has always thought, in the dark of some strange nights. So he studies her, the way she draws her wings around her body and the minute tensions in her body while she considers her words.
Their eyes meet again, and now he thinks that the shadows in her eyes might rival the shadows in his heart, and so he is prepared for the difficult question. Relative morality in the middle of the night; well, why not? She asks him if intentions matter and he thinks about the desperate fight for the lives of his loved ones, unsure of whether it was real or some tortured dream. He thinks about being willing to die, for the chance that it would keep the world from burning. He thinks about the relief of knowing that his family is probably safe, somewhere, and the pain of wondering if they left him on purpose. He thinks, as he so often does, of his twin. Another thing that he and Leliana don’t realize they have in common.
“I have to believe that intentions do matter,” he says finally, “because how else are we to choose our paths in life? We cannot know everything, so we can only act on what we do know.” If only it were that simple, he thinks, and sighs heavily, wondering if the weight of the world is part of dark nights that encourage the sharing of secrets. “It matters that they were hurt, of course it does, but if you didn’t do it on purpose, it can’t be totally your fault. And feelings are…” he trails off, because even assigning them a word seems too difficult. “Everyone must be responsible for their own feelings.” he decides on, instead; “Unless we are purposefully hurtful and cruel, it seems to me that we are still redeemable.”
Because if darkness is not redeemable, he thinks many are lost. Even, perhaps, himself.