(no subject)

[apostsassy]

[You don't say no if the Inquisitor requests to speak to you.

It was an unspoken rule that was more common sense than anything. If the head of the organization you are part of wants to see you there are very few reasons in which you would say no. That being said, if the only reason you're with said organization is because you were very graciously granted asylum after being captured by very angry guards who were bent on sending you to the nearest group of Templars at their earliest convenience you absolutely do not ever refuse a request from the person in charge.

Shael had only ever spoken to the Inquisitor once after he was conscripted and that was to thank him. He'd since seen him around Skyhold, but never spoke another word to him other than a brief hello from time to time. The man seemed affable enough, but to be honest Shael had no desire to talk to him. He liked the relative solitude Skyhold afforded him. The rumors about Shael's rather abrasive personality as well as the circumstances surrounding his conscription had spread through the hold like wildfire so he was often left to his own devices. With the exception of Leilith who had no concept of personal space or an ounce of tact, there weren't many people who wanted to go out of their way to talk to a surly, potentially dangerous, apostate.

He found it curious, and a bit frightening, when he heard rumors that the Inquisitor was looking for him and wanted to speak with him. Shael being Shael, he immediately assumed the worst -- that he was going to be kicked out. He hadn't shown himself to be useful enough. He wasn't worth the trouble he brought with him.

He starts a little when the man approaches him, swallowing thickly and bracing himself for bad news.]

... Is there something I can help you with, Inquisitor?

Comments

I need a ~SPARKLING SMILE~ icon...ffff

[magerpain]

[It had taken a bit of doing to find Shael, truth be told.

Taliesin had seen the other mage in passing, but had never really had the chance to speak with him properly. Whenever they'd run into each other, he'd always had some pressing Inquisitor-related matter to attend to, and when he did have the time, he hadn't been able to locate Shael. Eventually he decided to pull an Irving, and learn from the other occupants of Skyhold where the apostate mage spent most of his time.

And, finally, he'd found him, in the downstairs library. Which...looks a great deal cleaner than Taliesin had last remembered seeing it, the redhead notes with some appreciation.

When the elf speaks, he lets his attention shift from the (cobweb-free, organized) bookshelves to the other man, and gives him one of his trademark friendly smiles.]

Please, "Taliesin" is all you need call me. Formalities are naught but a burden on both parties, not to mention a waste of time, in an informal setting.

[Briefly distracted by the improved state of the books or not, Taliesin didn't miss that nervous start, however, though considering what he knows of Shael's past, it isn't terribly surprising. In answer to the question, he lets his eyebrows go up, well...inquisitively.]

Yes, I suppose there is something, actually...a task that only you can do.

You really do!

[apostsassy]

[For as much time as Shael spends in this library he would have been remiss to have left it in the state it had been when he first came across it. It wasn't right for a place of knowledge and learning to look so neglected. It had taken him the better part of a week to clean and organize it all, but he found it to have been well worth the effort.

Despite the friendly smile, Shael watches him warily, still unsure of his actual intentions.]

If you're certain, Inquisit--

[He stops himself. Takes a breath.]

I mean, Taliesin.

[Even though the Inquisitor asked him to use his actual name, it still feels strange to say it. His brow furrows, uncertain.]

I'm... not sure what I could do that another mage can not, but I'll certainly try to help in any way I can.

Tal: /INTENTIONALLY LIGHTS A FUSE AND SITS BACK TO WATCH 8D

[magerpain]

[He's used to people being nervous around him. Ever since he was a mere boy and had learned that he was a mage--and quite a talented one at that--people had looked at him sideways, whispered about him behind their hands. During his time inside the Tower, some of the younger and more twitchy Templars had never truly warmed to him as many of their compatriots had, and for all his attempts at being open and inviting, there had been other mages who treated him similarly. Becoming the Inquisitor just made the nervousness increase a hundredfold, for now not only was he a powerful mage with a mysterious rift-sealing mark on his hand; now he was the unchallenged leader of an entire organization, with armed soldiers and beautiful assassins and even other mages willing to kill or die at no more than a simple command from him.

No, the nervousness is nothing new. But this is one case where Taliesin hopes that it will also not be permanent. Which is largely why, after some careful information-gathering, he'd decided to take this particular approach with the taciturn apostate elf.

Taliesin continues to beam at Shael, giving him a genial clap on the shoulder on receiving that hesitant agreement.]

Excellent! I'm very glad to hear that.

[Gesturing to the ornate wooden chair behind Shael, indicating for him to take a seat, Taliesin steps over to the desk, clearing aside a small space and then setting down the unobtrusive bag he'd had slung across his back...and withdrawing a pair of pewter glasses, followed by a bottle of West Hill brandy. With the easy assurance of a man who's done such a thing countless times, he opens the bottle, pours each of them a half-glass, then passes one of the twain over into Shael's hand before favouring him with another amiable smile.]

So! Tell me about yourself, Shael. 'Tis something that I would only trust you to do with any sort of accuracy, after all.

omfg

[apostsassy]

[Shael takes a seat as instructed, watching the other man curiously as he busies himself with something in his bag. He watches as he pulls out... glasses and some brandy? What on earth is he doing...?

A glass is pressed into his hands, the Inquisitor is giving him a winning smile, and he asks...

He asks him to tell him about himself?

... He couldn't be serious.

The elf blinks, brows furrowing incredulously. His eyes flick from glass in his hand to Taliesin and he tilts his head, unsure.]

... I'm sorry, what?

[magerpain]

[He is completely serious.

And although Taliesin knows quite well that the other mage heard what he'd said, he'll repeat himself, as requested, with an added bit of explanation.]

I like to get to know the people who are a part of the Inquisition. [That usual warmth dims just a bit, something colder and more purposeful briefly showing through.] My Inquisition, rather.

[He'll take a small mouthful of the brandy, briefly savouring the notes of black currant before swallowing it and lowering his glass, all his previous warmth now present in his smile, just like before.]

If you don't like brandy, there are plenty of other options.

[apostsassy]

[For just a moment Shael swears he feels his blood freeze at the tone in Taleisin's voice. There was no denying the purpose in it. No denying the underlying sentiment.]

No, no, the brandy's fine.

[He just can't believe he tracked him down just to ask him to talk about himself, that's all.]

I'm not sure what there is to tell. As swiftly as rumors fly in Skyhold, I'm sure you've already heard plenty about me.

[Also he'd, you know, really prefer to not talk about himself if at all possible.]

[magerpain]

[Taliesin waves away that protest, however, his tone light and his smile so bright it nearly sparkles.]

Indeed, I have heard the rumours. In fact, I've made it my business to hear the rumours that circulate about Skyhold. However, while I do like to know what's being said, I am not one to simply and unquestioningly believe every blessed thing I hear. Thus, I should very much prefer to hear the tale straight from the dragon's mouth, as they say.

[That bright smile shifts ever so slightly towards something that is undeniably a smirk.]

...Unless you'd rather I tell you, one by one, the rumours I've overheard, and let you either confirm or deny the truth of each?

[apostsassy]

[Shael takes a long sip of brandy, before finally meeting the other man's eyes. He knows there will be no getting out of this without telling the Inquisitor something. That's just not how this was going to work and as soon as he mentally concedes to this truth he knows exactly how he wants to play it.

And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't the least bit curious to know what's been said about him.]

I suppose that's as good a place as any to start. Go right ahead.

[magerpain]

[Eye contact, that's good. A step in the right direction, certainly.

But Taliesin has no doubts that Shael is going to regret this choice. Very quickly.]


Very well, then.



[In fact, he intends to make certain of it.]


True or false. You're an apostate.

[apostsassy]

[He nods his head.]

True. Next?

[magerpain]

[Taliesin had already known the answer to that one, of course. Shael wouldn't have been forced into joining the Inquisition otherwise. But it was one of the most common "things people said about him," so it was as good a starting point as any.

Just like the next question, obvious, simple, and easy.]

You were born in the Denerim alienage, and lived there for much of your young life.

[apostsassy]

[... Shael already regrets this decision. This was not an obvious question. It was not simple. It was not easy.

His face pales and his breath catches painfully in his chest. How... how did he know that? Shael had never told another soul where he grew up. No one except the man who taught him how to control his magic was privy to any part of his life before he became an apostate. At least not until recently.

Leilith knew though. Leilith and Deidre both knew now, but... surely they wouldn't have said anything about it? Leilith is many things, but she knew how important it was for him to keep his life private. For all that she likes to talk, she wouldn't have said anything. Right...?

No, she wouldn't have. She's not one to share secrets that aren't hers and neither was Deidre. His sister could have told him, but... he hardly sees the point in her sharing that with anyone either. Still, it's not outside the realm of possibility.

Whatever the case may be, that sort of information is relatively boring. He can't see why it would be a rumor. All things considered there was nothing exciting about growing up in Denerim.

Just where was he going with this? How did he get this information?

His lips purse into a thin line as he slowly nods his head, a small waver in his voice.]

That's... that's true.

[magerpain]

[It's plain to Taliesin from the other mage's sudden pallor and that soft but telling catch in his breathing that Shael didn't expect to hear that. Well then, this might be over sooner than he'd thought.

The Inquisitor just nods thoughtfully, outwardly not seeming to notice the hesitance in Shael's admission, his tone and smile incongruously amiable as he continues,]

As a child, you lost your temper and killed anywhere from two to ten guardsmen in Denerim with your magic.

[There's no judgment, only a matter-of-fact tone in Taliesin's voice as he adds,]

Fire magic, to be specific.

LET THE TERRIBLE TIMES CONTINUE~

[magerpain]

After leaving Shael (and the brandy) in the basement library, Taliesin had withdrawn to his own private quarters. After the conversation he'd had with the other mage, the urge to find another bottle of brandy was stronger than usual; but he knew better, and his willpower was stronger than that. He'd had his one drink for the day, and a touch more besides. That was all he ever allowed himself, regardless of the occasion, for a variety of reasons, not least of all his desire to always be certain of his control. He was the leader of the Inquisition, after all, and one never knew when duty might call. Best that duty not find him drunk off his ass and incapable of making intelligent decisions.

There had originally been guards posted outside his room--Leiliana must have been particularly concerned about something or other--but on a hunch, Taliesin had sent them away. Truthfully he more than half-expected Shael to hunt him down tonight, and he knew the hyper-wary elf would appreciate any strides towards privacy that Taliesin might take (in the morning or some later date, at least, if not here and now). Dismissing the guards was but a precaution: the fewer ears nearby to hear and later repeat anything Shael said, the better. For both of them. And perhaps for Leilith, too.

Leilith was the catalyst in all of this, the real reason that Tal anticipated another round of emotionally-charged conversation with Shael. From what he'd seen, and even more from what he'd heard, the fiery Dalish elf-maid couldn't seem to leave the decidedly acrimonious apostate alone for very long. The reasons for that had varied depending on whom he spoke with and whose conversations he listened in on, but one thing was certain: whether her intentions and attentions were ultimately romantic or truly were simply platonic, none of the gossipers had ever even considered the fact that she might leave Shael in peace for long, much less permanently.

("That's the famed Dalish stubbornness, right there," Varric had said with his usual easy, amused smile. "But in this case, it's probably a good thing. The kinda walls Sunshine puts up between himself and the rest of the world...anyone else would give up, especially after smashing into 'em dozens of times. Cricket, though? I think it just makes her even more determined to get through to him somehow.")

It would be just Shael's luck, and Taliesin's as well, if Leilith paid him a visit tonight.

Which was why Taliesin had sent away the guards, and left the fire unbanked, and the door unlocked. Not a single candle still burned, but the moon was high and full, bright enough that its radiance spilled through his windows and over the floor in a glorious cascade of liquid silver, leaving the entire room awash in argent and casting everything in stark black and white or shades of blue, save the parts of the room still touched by the warm red-gold light of the hearth.

It was a beautiful night. Despite his weariness and the stifled desire to let his tired eyes find sleep, Taliesin was enjoying it: the peacefulness of the late hour, the gentle breeze blowing in from the balcony, the book in his hands.

And as the moon rose higher and the shadows shortened, as the fire in the hearth burned down to glowing embers, the Inquisitor began to wonder if he'd misjudged things this time, and if, perhaps, Shael might not seek him out tonight after all.

[apostsassy]

Shael was, to put it lightly, a mess. After leaving Leilith down in the library he made his way to the gardens, spending the better part of the hour pacing endlessly through them. It was one of the few places he frequented in Skyhold, though he never went during the day. Only after nightfall, when most of residents had already turned in for the night and he was all but guaranteed to have it all to himself.

It was easier to enjoy in solitude. At least, that's what he told himself.

Usually his visits here were relaxing. It was a way to unwind in silence. A place to look at the stars and sit in humbled wonder while basking in soft light of things he doesn't quite understand. Somewhere it was easy to forget, if only for a moment, all that he'd been through.

The garden was not doing what it was supposed to tonight. Instead, all he could think of was the many, many times Leilith had found him here alone. How often she had sat with him, head craned to the sky right along with him, talking quietly (and sometimes yelling), even a few times when they had sat in complete silence, simply enjoying the company of a trusted ally.

... Enjoying the company of a friend.

Or at least... she was a friend. Shael wasn't sure if she'd even want to apply that title to herself after what happened tonight.

If only the Inquisitor hadn't stuck his nose in everything. Why had he even cared? Why did any of it matter? Why did he leave him there with only a bottle of brandy and his own thoughts?

He couldn't stop thinking about it all. The questions the Inquisitor asked, the tone of his voice and the way his words still weighed on him, the way he'd snapped at Leilith, the way... the way he'd hurt her. He can still see her face. Still hear her voice.

Shael had to talk to the Inquisitor. He had to know why he'd bothered. Wanted to yell at him, scream at him, blame him, just... something. He had to do something.

So, he marches himself up the office in a whirlwind of emotion. He's sure there were usually guards posted at his quarters, but tonight they're not present. Shael doesn't stop to consider why, only takes it as an invitation the throw the door open, to stalk into the Inquisitor's quarters red faced and puffy eyed and demand of him a single question. It's not one that's well thought out. Not one that he expects the Inquisitor to have a clear answer to as the question in and of itself is as vague as it can be, but he asks it anyway. Asks because it's all he can muster.

"Why?"

FIXING THE TAG STYLE omg I'm sorry for prosing errywhar ;_;

[magerpain]

[Taliesin's eyes flick upwards the moment Shael bursts into the room, though for a long moment, that's the only part of him that moves. The drowsiness that had been creeping over him, claiming him by inches, had vanished in an instant, and though he's still tired, his mind is yet sharp enough for him to consider his response carefully.

Because he knows very well what Shael was asking. The choice he has to make is: should he let the other mage off easy and simply answer the question, or...should he make Shael explain himself? The former was the simpler option, to be sure--for himself as well as Shael--but...simpler was not always better, and wasn't always what was needed.

And in this case, he thought to himself, I should think it would be for the best if he talked it out. Maker knows people like him express their truest feelings little enough...

Finally, the Inquisitor closes the book in his hands with a pointed snap, sits up, then leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, all the while never once looking away from Shael or changing his intent, openly contemplating expression.]

I'm sorry...

[Those words, as well as the ones following them, come so slow as to nearly qualify as a drawl, utterly calm and unruffled in the face of the other mage's wild-eyed appearance.]

...But I'm going to have to ask you to expand on that a bit. 'Why'...what?

PROSE IS FINE. ALL TAGS ARE GOOD TAGS REGARDLESS OF STYLE.

[apostsassy]

[The fact that the Inquisitor doesn't immediately start explaining himself only agitates Shael more. Huffing like an indignant child, he sets his jaw and tilts his head up defiantly. He was not willing to be toyed with.]

Oh don't give me that, you know exactly what I'm asking!

[He chews absently at his lip, running a hand through his now disheveled hair while the other stays firmly clenched at his side.]

Why? Why did you bother? I'm... I'm nothing. Do you understand that? Nothing. No one. I'm an unremarkable, cowardly, insignificant elf. You have so many capable mages here, so many people who are more than willing to throw their lives down at your feet because your cause is one they believe in, so many truly good people who do things that matter and yet...

And yet you sought me out and you... and you...!

[He laughs quietly, desperately, raising a shaking hand to point accusatorially at Taliesin.]

You had the gall, the audacity to pretend that I matter in all of this. That I'm someone deserving of sympathy. Why are you putting up this... this... charade of concern? No one should. I-I'm not worth caring about. I'm not worth worrying about. I'm not worth the effort, so why...

[Shael trails off quietly. His breathing hard and ragged, his lip quivers uncertainly, and his hands are clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles have turned a stark white. He opens his mouth once more, but closes it just as quickly, taking the time to consider his next words.

It's a question he's always wanted to ask, but never thought he'd have the courage for. He still doesn't, but he's come too far in this already. He already knows what the worst answer would be, it's not like it's hard to guess. Even though he's not ready ask it, even though he's not ready to hear the answer, even though he's not ready to face the consequences, even though he'd rather run, he raises his eyes to meet the Inquisitor's and asks:]

Why in Andraste's name did you let me live? Why did you give me a chance here? I'm an apostate and it's not like I'm a talented mage, either. I had nothing to offer you.

\o/ (& now Shael gets to see *just how much of an idealist* Tal really is...

[magerpain]

[Taliesin doesn’t react outwardly to any of that, even the pointing. It’s what he expected to hear from Shael, really--the self-loathing, the soul-deep shame, the desperation, all of it rising to the surface now that the alcohol has loosened his usual deathgrip hold on his emotions.

And so he takes it in, the whole tirade, not looking away, just listening calmly (because heaven knew one of them had better remain completely calm here, and it certainly wasn’t going to be Shael). And once the elf is finished, the Inquisitor gives him his answer, without any need to pause to think about it...because Taliesin already knows why he did it. He wasn’t the sort to do things without knowing why he did them, and even something as serious as this was no different.]

Because I could.

[His voice is soft, but he says those words matter-of-factly, still sitting and watching Shael intently, and he doesn’t stop there, the rest of what he has to say coming at a more normal volume.]

Because I have lived in this world, and seen many things that I would have changed, if only I had the power. I didn’t then. I do now.

[At that, a faint smile, visible even in the light of the dying fire, pulls at one corner of Taliesin’s mouth, the expression and his tone both a bit wry.]

It’s called compassion. It means caring about someone else without expecting anything in return, and without any ulterior motives. Because you would want to be cared about too, if you found yourself in their place. Because it’s the right thing to do. Because regardless of the details, they’re a person, the same as you, which means that if you can offer them any sort of slight comfort and ease their suffering for even a moment, then you should do so.

[His half-smile goes a bit sad, those usually-bright green eyes going a little dim.]

Because this world can indeed be harsh and terrible, so much so that death would seem to be a mercy...but it isn’t always as cold and cruel as you think it is. At least, not everyone in it is that way.

[apostsassy]

Because you could.

[Shael repeats the words slowly, incredulously.

It was compassion, he said. Compassion. Caring about his situation simply because he was a person and people should be cared about regardless of deeds or details. Caring without expectations or motives other than to do good, to ease the suffering of another life on this earth.

A bitter, hollow laugh escapes him and he shakes his head, rubbing at his face.]

You people... you all keep spouting the same nonsense about compassion and goodness. How there's still some to be found in this miserable world. Tell me, do you think I’m a fool? Nothing in this world, no action good or otherwise, comes without a price. I learned that very early on.

Before Ci--

[He stops himself, forces the name of the man who found him trembling and alone in the woods back down his throat.]

Before I was found by that group of apostates my very existence was treated as a sin by the world around me, but they took me in. Showed me kindness. Treated me well. Told me I’d found somewhere to belong. Taught me. Cared for me. Showed me compassion.

Do you know what that compassion did for them in the end? It got them killed. It turns out that no matter how well you try to prepare an apostate child for the inevitability of dealing with Templars, being faced with one is still enough to scare him senseless and unwittingly lead said Templar and his friends right back to camp.

So you’ll have to forgive me for not putting too much stock in something as quixotic as “compassion”.

[magerpain]

[Shael had mentioned that group of apostates before. He hadn’t mentioned what had happened to them, though considering the fact that the young elf was on his own now, Taliesin had already assumed the worst. It was a harsh world they lived in, after all; he’d meant it when he’d said that.

But the fact remains that he’d meant all of what he’d said. Which is why he can’t let Shael’s cynical outburst go unanswered.]

And yet you said it yourself. Those apostate mages showed you compassion. The fact that they weren’t shown any themselves doesn’t change the fact that they took you in for no reason other than a desire to help you.

[Taliesin shifts in his chair, eases himself fully upright, still never looking away from Shael, though his eyes do narrow slightly.]

Compassion, like mercy, isn’t weak. It requires an acceptance of risk. An acknowledgement of possible danger...and the resolve to carry through with it anyway. There’s nothing quixotic about it.

[That wry smile is back, almost a little mocking this time, because drunk or not, Shael should know better.]

Or do you really think a former Circle Mage doesn’t know the risks of welcoming an unknown apostate into the ranks of his army?

[apostsassy]

I never said it was weak. Foolish, perhaps, but not weak. I only said there was a cost. There's always a price to be paid. How could you be so sure that letting me live was the right choice? Why choose kindness when it would be easier, safer, to do otherwise? I didn't have the training or education that you did. I'm sure there's still so much I don't know or understand, so why take that risk? Why let me stay when I'm wholly unremarkable? When all I'm good for is destruction?

Maybe I've just been on my own too long. Maybe I don't understand the concept anymore. Maybe I've seen that kindness turn sour one too many times for it to matter. Be it by my own doing or... things that are beyond my control, compassion has never worked out well for me or those who dare to try.

[Just like today. Just like with Leilith. She showed him kindness. Told him she cared. Worried about him. Talked to him. Tried to show him that there was more than just darkness in the world and look at how that was repaid. He looks down, wringing his hands and, for a moment, staring at them pointedly before looking away.]

[magerpain]

If my only choice is to be cruel, or to be foolish, then I choose to be the fool.

[Or at least play the fool. Because he's far too calculating to truly be one.]

You speak of things with such certainty--and yet I should argue that the only real certainty is that the future is uncertain. I had no way of knowing what sort of price I might pay in return for your life, 'tis true--but life itself is worthwhile, and saving it doubly so. Being paid back pain or some other inconvenience in return for kindness isn't so terrible as to prevent me from making future attempts. If it were, then I would have lost something even more precious than whatever payment might come due in return for my compassion.

[Death before loss of self. Compromise was necessary to survive, but it's undeniable that some things were worth taking a stand. Some compromises were unacceptable, and some things were worth dying for.]

Also: consider the fact that an army is made up of individuals. Perhaps taken alone, no single one of them is particularly powerful; but together, fighting as one, they are a force to be reckoned with. If I turned away everyone with a slightly suspect past, there would be no army for the Inquisition to command, for we all of us have our secrets, our shadows, our skeletons in their closets.

[...Speaking of which...part of what Shael said before is still bothering Taliesin. What he'd said again just now, really: that he is wholly unremarkable. It's all a part of that deep self-hatred, the way the younger man internalizes everything and makes it his own fault...and so Tal decides to press the issue, as one might squeeze a wound in an attempt to drain it.]

...Truth be told, I do take issue with something you said before...rather, an accusation you leveled at me, that this is naught more than a "charade of concern". Are you truly so desperate to blame yourself for everything, so lost in your own miserable cycle of self-hate, that you honestly can't believe that anyone can care about you without some sort of consequence? That you don't deserve to be cared about?



[...Then again, perhaps at times Taliesin does choose to be cruel, if only to be kind.]

[apostsassy]

Are you telling me that I do?!

[Taliesin sounds like Leilith and he hates it. This is pointless. What is he hoping to accomplish? Why does this matter? Why is he trying? Why doesn't everyone see that's he's not worth it? Why do they keep pushing?]

Knowing full well what I've done and what I've been running from how can you look me in the eye and tell me with a straight face that someone can really truly care about a person like me?! I'm selfish and cowardly and all I ever do is run, and run, and run, and I never... I never stop running! I'm a fool who has never once done anything right in the entirety of my worthless existence. I don't deserve the chance you've given me! I don't deserve compassion, or mercy, or friendship.

Why... why do you keep trying... both of you... you keep trying to tell me that I'm worth the effort when all I do, when all I've ever done, is hurt everyone who cared about me? My sister blames me, my parents most assuredly blame me, why does it matter so much to everyone else that I willingly take blame that I rightly deserve?

[magerpain]

["Are you telling me that I do?!"

The sheer amount of raw pain in that question plays havoc on Taliesin's empathic nature--not because he can in any way "feel" what Shael feels, but because he's observant enough to see it. And as Shael throws out those two questions, flinging it down like a gauntlet, all that pain is enough to bring the Inquisitor swiftly to his feet, green eyes sharp and flashing, his voice equally sharp, each word spoken with all the careful precision of a rapier thrust.]

Because. You. Don't.

You don't deserve that blame. Not all of it, at least, which is what you're so bloody determined to take on.

[Taliesin tilted his head back a bit, the snapping heat of his gaze fading back into his more usual cool observation.]

Those men who threatened your sister were the cause of your first outburst and, frankly, the lives of scum like that aren't worth even a fraction of the weight of guilt you've been carrying around all these years. I'm not saying that we aren't responsible for our actions--or that you made all the right decisions--but you can only choose from the options that are granted to you. As an elf child trapped in an alienage with no real knowledge of the Circle, your choices were painfully limited. If your family faults you for running when there was absolutely nothing that they could have done to protect you, then that's their own selfishness and cowardice showing...and believe me, I know a fair bit about selfish and cowardly families.

[He'd been a Circle mage. But of course, he hadn't been born in the Circle. Even while drunk, it's not impossible for Shael to put two and two together there. But then again, Tal has never seemed bitter about his time in the Circle, so maybe that's not quite what he's saying...]

'A person like you'...someone who merely tried to protect his sister, you mean? [Taliesin can't help it--he gives a low, dismissive snort.] I'd bloodied my hands even before I was marked so, and came to lead the Inquisition. If your accidental murders of the would-be rapists of your sister mean your mortal soul is damned, then how black must mine be--and so many more in this august company? No, Shael...your past sins are not nearly the worst I've chosen to overlook. And as for your running...

[One shoulder hitches upwards in a casual half-shrug.] Well, you've stopped now, haven't you? And despite your claim of only ever harming others, there are more than a few members of the Inquisition who have your healing talents to thank for their continued existence on this plane. In any case...magic aside, I've seen the care you take in dressing wounds. I'm a healer myself; I know skill when I see it.

[The Inquisitor blinks, slow and deliberate, offering the faintest lopsided smile, more of a smirk really, that dares Shael to disagree with him on this again.]

So, in answer to your first question...yes. Yes, you do deserve to be cared about. But even if you didn't, you couldn't stop me from doing so.

[apostsassy]

[Once upon a time Ciaran had told him similar things. He too had tried to convince Shael that his actions were more than justifiable, that they had been noble in intent. If he wanted to stay alive the only thing he really could have done was run. Leaving Denerim was only way to assure his safety and if they blamed him for that, no matter what the situation he had left them to deal with, it was a fault of their own and not one of his making.

He couldn't quite believe it then. He believed it even less after leading the Templars to their camp and watching as everyone he cared for was slaughtered and after he found his sister that sliver of belief that he clung to faded away completely.

He doesn't believe it now.

He can't. Not after he's lead the lives of those he cares about to ruin. Not when he's seen villagers turn on him in an instant. Not when only moments ago he hurt yet another person who believed there was something in him worth saving.

He doesn't want to believe it.]

You're wrong. I'm always running from something and the world seems intent on seeing that my face never leaves the dirt. I've ruined the lives of my family, I'm to blame for the deaths of the entirety of the clan that took me in, and --

[he laughs again, quiet and bitter]

-- do you know why I was in custody before I was conscripted? Have you heard that little gem? I was arrested because I used magic to heal.

I'd come across a hunter in the grips of death, far beyond anything herbs could take care of. I should have let him die. I should have left him where he was and went on my way, but instead I healed him. He thanked me, all but prostrated at my feet telling me how he owed me such a great debt for saving his life. Do you know how he repaid that debt? By tracking me down with a host of guards. You know how it is, right? If you use magic and you're not a Circle mage, then clearly you're up to no good.

If I show kindness it blows up in my face and if someone tries to show kindness to me then they're the ones who end up hurt. The world has all but screamed at me that I'm not worth it!

[Time and time again he's seen it happen. It's safer not to get close to anyone. Safer to push them all away. Safer to keep his distance and be cold and cruel. It's what's kept him alive.]

So who in Andraste's name are you to tell me that it's wrong?! I have fought and clawed my way through life and you just think you can make it all better with a few words and bottle of brandy?!

[His hands clench furiously at his sides and between the lingering drunkenness brought on by the brandy and his own tumultuous emotions, doesn't notice the flames that have begun to lightly encircle his fists.]