The moment Agathe reaches, he offers her the bowl—her bowl—and her soup, and his respect. But she has had that since he met her, and she will have it far past when he leaves. He watches her go, with regret, but soothes himself with the promise that he has time, time enough to make a difference.
(Savior, master, benevolent watcher, human guardian, protector- it all boils down to the same thing, in the end, a rhetoric the humans profit from, and the elves still find themselves worse off at the end of. He wonders why they cannot see-- but they will.)
“Peredhil,” he notes, easily. Half-Elven. More common here, though it means less for his purposes. He will not dispute the worthiness of Beren or any of his kin, nor is he reluctant to allow her the title, despite the location. But she glares at him, and he laughs, for if she imagines him of the same sort she may do as she wishes, but he knows what he is, even here, sitting perched on a stump so far from home.
How easily she tars all the Dalish with the same brush, wraps them together as one entity and condemns them. All the Clans, under one name, one ban—
But she is far from unique in this, and it only serves to remind him of what he will fight. Not her, not the people like her, but the elves exposed to such words, again and again, until they believe it. Calls the elves of Thedas her heart, but pushes the Dalish from the dignity of even that and condemns them as animals.
He can hear her heartbeat, a bird beating against the cage of her ribs. “What clan?” Plainly, only interest. “The one that hurt your mother’s cousin, and your father, and the one that attacked you coming here. If you have no names, a sigil would do.”
no subject
(Savior, master, benevolent watcher, human guardian, protector- it all boils down to the same thing, in the end, a rhetoric the humans profit from, and the elves still find themselves worse off at the end of. He wonders why they cannot see-- but they will.)
“Peredhil,” he notes, easily. Half-Elven. More common here, though it means less for his purposes. He will not dispute the worthiness of Beren or any of his kin, nor is he reluctant to allow her the title, despite the location. But she glares at him, and he laughs, for if she imagines him of the same sort she may do as she wishes, but he knows what he is, even here, sitting perched on a stump so far from home.
How easily she tars all the Dalish with the same brush, wraps them together as one entity and condemns them. All the Clans, under one name, one ban—
But she is far from unique in this, and it only serves to remind him of what he will fight. Not her, not the people like her, but the elves exposed to such words, again and again, until they believe it. Calls the elves of Thedas her heart, but pushes the Dalish from the dignity of even that and condemns them as animals.
He can hear her heartbeat, a bird beating against the cage of her ribs. “What clan?” Plainly, only interest. “The one that hurt your mother’s cousin, and your father, and the one that attacked you coming here. If you have no names, a sigil would do.”