The wheeze of the rogue's breath through ruined nose and teeth; the crunch of bone--none of that is quite drowning out the sounds that pick their way clear, however quiet they began: Gwen, panicked. It would not be inaccurate to say that Bellamy is tuned mostly keenly toward people he cares about. At the same time, it is easy to hit that plane, the part of the fight where you don't give a shit about anything except the person you're grappling with, and, in vague periphery, the next person you'll have to grapple with, the shadowy future foes that could be the death of you in the next second so stay focused, stay here, present--easiest by comparison to that honed spike of lyrium but not so zealous, and here's how the difference goes:
Bellamy drives his elbow into the rogue's face a second time, and a third, then shifts, presses his hand to her forehead and uses that as a brutal leverage point. Her fingers are witless now and offer him no resistance when he takes her dagger from her and cuts her throat with it. And then he actually looks up and finds Gwen, across the field, closer to the trees than she ought to be, and the useless nobleman with her being suddenly not useless. And Gwen is knelt over her maid, and he picks out what she's saying next, clear as day.
If he thinks of his own mother in that second, who knows. But he does feel helpless. That's familiar, and he knows how to dispel it. Reality tries to order itself around this new fact, Mama; reality simultaneously comes together in the cacophony of the Dalish mage's spell. Bellamy's gaze whips over to Herian, twisted in the roots that have torn suddenly out of the earth. One thing at a time. One thing at a time, and he shoves up from the ground and runs right for the mage, who is still for now gripped in Herian's slow mire of a spell.
"Get her out of here!" is what he spares for Lex, shouted across the field, and he means Gwen, not her maidservant, her mother, whatever, only one of them is alive now and it's the one Bellamy cares about anyways, and no one better screw that up. He's got to kill the mage or at least draw the mage's focus, get Herian free enough that she can do it herself, because as long as there's a mage, there's a threat to them. The rest of it comes later. He jumps over one of the roots, ducks under the next--clearing the space between him and this particular foe with the rogue's dagger in one hand and his sword in the other.
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Bellamy drives his elbow into the rogue's face a second time, and a third, then shifts, presses his hand to her forehead and uses that as a brutal leverage point. Her fingers are witless now and offer him no resistance when he takes her dagger from her and cuts her throat with it. And then he actually looks up and finds Gwen, across the field, closer to the trees than she ought to be, and the useless nobleman with her being suddenly not useless. And Gwen is knelt over her maid, and he picks out what she's saying next, clear as day.
If he thinks of his own mother in that second, who knows. But he does feel helpless. That's familiar, and he knows how to dispel it. Reality tries to order itself around this new fact, Mama; reality simultaneously comes together in the cacophony of the Dalish mage's spell. Bellamy's gaze whips over to Herian, twisted in the roots that have torn suddenly out of the earth. One thing at a time. One thing at a time, and he shoves up from the ground and runs right for the mage, who is still for now gripped in Herian's slow mire of a spell.
"Get her out of here!" is what he spares for Lex, shouted across the field, and he means Gwen, not her maidservant, her mother, whatever, only one of them is alive now and it's the one Bellamy cares about anyways, and no one better screw that up. He's got to kill the mage or at least draw the mage's focus, get Herian free enough that she can do it herself, because as long as there's a mage, there's a threat to them. The rest of it comes later. He jumps over one of the roots, ducks under the next--clearing the space between him and this particular foe with the rogue's dagger in one hand and his sword in the other.