To recap, from Alistair's perspective—which is very similar to the perspective of an overtired toddler, to whom everything seems like too much and nothing can possibly be good—what's come out of this talk so far is (1) a mother who would have been willing to go the rest of her life without talking to him and (2) the knowledge that Duncan and Arl Eamon and probably Teagan lied to him and (3) —
(3) would be the idea that Maric might have neglected to ever say a word or even look at him for a better reason than an inability to be bothered, but Alistair can't deal with that right now.
He can't really deal with anything.
He spreads his hands above the table, like a shrug, or maybe a display. A what do you want from me gesture. Nothing, she's just said. She doesn't seek anything. And at the moment he can't think of anything he might want from her that it isn't too late for her to give. (He'll thaw, probably, with some time to feel less ambushed and overwhelmed.)
One of those hands drifts toward his shirtfront. There's a pendant beneath it, has been for most of his life, but just as quickly as it occurs to him to ask if it's hers, he decides, viciously, that he doesn't care. He picks up his fork instead and jabs at his food.
"This is really good, Zev," he says. He's not good at sounding casual and dismissive. He sounds like he's trying to sound casual and dismissive but actually speaking with a sharp rock in his mouth.
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(3) would be the idea that Maric might have neglected to ever say a word or even look at him for a better reason than an inability to be bothered, but Alistair can't deal with that right now.
He can't really deal with anything.
He spreads his hands above the table, like a shrug, or maybe a display. A what do you want from me gesture. Nothing, she's just said. She doesn't seek anything. And at the moment he can't think of anything he might want from her that it isn't too late for her to give. (He'll thaw, probably, with some time to feel less ambushed and overwhelmed.)
One of those hands drifts toward his shirtfront. There's a pendant beneath it, has been for most of his life, but just as quickly as it occurs to him to ask if it's hers, he decides, viciously, that he doesn't care. He picks up his fork instead and jabs at his food.
"This is really good, Zev," he says. He's not good at sounding casual and dismissive. He sounds like he's trying to sound casual and dismissive but actually speaking with a sharp rock in his mouth.