A Letter to Bethany, #3
Mar. 19th, 2011 12:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bamftastikTitle: A Letter to Bethany, #3
Characters: Hawke/Anders, Hawke/Fenris
Rating: T
Words: 750
Summary: Enter Act 3
Bethany,
Another year, another letter. I sometimes wonder why it is that I still force myself to sit, to wrench these words from unwilling fingers. But it is important that I write this now, for I suspect that this letter will be my last. I cannot explain it, but nor can I chide myself for foolish fears.
You would not recognize Kirkwall now. This morning I happened upon the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter arguing in the very street, with the Grand Cleric herself playing referee. They would have raised a mob between them, perhaps even come to blows. When our leaders worry the city between them like mongrels with a bone, what then will become of us?
But it is not only they who are at each other's throats. Mother's words rang truer than she realized when she told me that I was alone. I cannot blame that fateful premonition; the fault is my own.
Three years and still no sign of Isabela. Even after she had fled I half expected her to return, to stroll in at the eleventh hour with the relic that would save us all. But gone she remains, long after the Qunari have left our shores. The damage has nearly been repaired, their empty compound sealed and a statue raised in honor of my duel with the Arishok. Hideous thing. But still I wonder if it could have ended differently, whether I was the greater fool to trust and trust to hope.
Aveline has Donnic now. Merrill I passed in the market last week and I received only a mumbled "hello." She is too kind-hearted to avoid me altogether, the poor dear, but her discomfort in my presence is clear. All because I refused to help her use blood magic to repair that accursed mirror. Three years and, for this, she hates me still.
How is it that in trying to do the right thing I achieve the worst results? Varric still visits – we even share a drink from time to time – but he has been distant since Bartrand's death. I was so certain, so certain that if we could only kill the man who sealed you in the deeps... In truth, I do not know what I expected. Even Varric turned from the deed when it came time to strike him down. It was I who pushed, I who held to my convictions. It was because of me that he took his brother's life. He knows this; we both do.
The only one who remains is Fenris. Thank the Maker for him. Were it not for his shadow ever at my side, I do not know if I would be here to write these words. But I find myself left only with an increasingly silent lover, one for them the very act brings naught but pain. It is as though the horror that I've caused so many has been given face and form, a wincing, straining hiss where words of comfort were meant to be. I try not to think of it this way, try not to wonder why he would continue to endure such a thing for me, but my thoughts cannot help but stray.
Of course, I have not mentioned Anders. We have not much spoken since Mother's death. Lately, he will not even meet my eye. On my last visit to his clinic, I found Aveline there ahead of me. He had turned on her, swearing that she would bring the Guard down upon them. When I asked why he did not fear the same from me, he only stared. In those eyes was something more terrible than words could ever be, but he turned away then, issuing orders to his assistants. The way he speaks to them now, to his patients... he is as a general preparing for war. That poor place of hope and healing is a barracks, a last refuge in more ways than ever before. We do not speak of how the mages have fallen under Meredith's new rule. We do not speak of anything. Because we cannot.
You claimed to believe the power of my premonitions, Bethany. I am uncertain still what this dark foreboding means, but I know now where my power lies. The more good I strive to bring, the more harm will come. The stronger my affection, the deeper the rift that will open at my feet. For all my best intentions – because of them – I will burn the world around me.
Perhaps it is time I stopped trying.
Yours,
Alara
Characters: Hawke/Anders, Hawke/Fenris
Rating: T
Words: 750
Summary: Enter Act 3
Bethany,
Another year, another letter. I sometimes wonder why it is that I still force myself to sit, to wrench these words from unwilling fingers. But it is important that I write this now, for I suspect that this letter will be my last. I cannot explain it, but nor can I chide myself for foolish fears.
You would not recognize Kirkwall now. This morning I happened upon the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter arguing in the very street, with the Grand Cleric herself playing referee. They would have raised a mob between them, perhaps even come to blows. When our leaders worry the city between them like mongrels with a bone, what then will become of us?
But it is not only they who are at each other's throats. Mother's words rang truer than she realized when she told me that I was alone. I cannot blame that fateful premonition; the fault is my own.
Three years and still no sign of Isabela. Even after she had fled I half expected her to return, to stroll in at the eleventh hour with the relic that would save us all. But gone she remains, long after the Qunari have left our shores. The damage has nearly been repaired, their empty compound sealed and a statue raised in honor of my duel with the Arishok. Hideous thing. But still I wonder if it could have ended differently, whether I was the greater fool to trust and trust to hope.
Aveline has Donnic now. Merrill I passed in the market last week and I received only a mumbled "hello." She is too kind-hearted to avoid me altogether, the poor dear, but her discomfort in my presence is clear. All because I refused to help her use blood magic to repair that accursed mirror. Three years and, for this, she hates me still.
How is it that in trying to do the right thing I achieve the worst results? Varric still visits – we even share a drink from time to time – but he has been distant since Bartrand's death. I was so certain, so certain that if we could only kill the man who sealed you in the deeps... In truth, I do not know what I expected. Even Varric turned from the deed when it came time to strike him down. It was I who pushed, I who held to my convictions. It was because of me that he took his brother's life. He knows this; we both do.
The only one who remains is Fenris. Thank the Maker for him. Were it not for his shadow ever at my side, I do not know if I would be here to write these words. But I find myself left only with an increasingly silent lover, one for them the very act brings naught but pain. It is as though the horror that I've caused so many has been given face and form, a wincing, straining hiss where words of comfort were meant to be. I try not to think of it this way, try not to wonder why he would continue to endure such a thing for me, but my thoughts cannot help but stray.
Of course, I have not mentioned Anders. We have not much spoken since Mother's death. Lately, he will not even meet my eye. On my last visit to his clinic, I found Aveline there ahead of me. He had turned on her, swearing that she would bring the Guard down upon them. When I asked why he did not fear the same from me, he only stared. In those eyes was something more terrible than words could ever be, but he turned away then, issuing orders to his assistants. The way he speaks to them now, to his patients... he is as a general preparing for war. That poor place of hope and healing is a barracks, a last refuge in more ways than ever before. We do not speak of how the mages have fallen under Meredith's new rule. We do not speak of anything. Because we cannot.
You claimed to believe the power of my premonitions, Bethany. I am uncertain still what this dark foreboding means, but I know now where my power lies. The more good I strive to bring, the more harm will come. The stronger my affection, the deeper the rift that will open at my feet. For all my best intentions – because of them – I will burn the world around me.
Perhaps it is time I stopped trying.
Yours,
Alara
