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Entry tags:
OPEN, sort of
WHO: Gavin, a few specific people, but also OPEN
WHAT: Gavin returns from his adventure in the Mire, and has a few things he has to follow up on.
WHEN: Nowish
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Gavin should come with his own warning but otherwise, CW for discussion of suicidal thoughts/tendencies (it's all in point number 2, so you can skip that if you want)
WHAT: Gavin returns from his adventure in the Mire, and has a few things he has to follow up on.
WHEN: Nowish
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Gavin should come with his own warning but otherwise, CW for discussion of suicidal thoughts/tendencies (it's all in point number 2, so you can skip that if you want)
On the long march back to Skyhold, Gavin had decided on at least something of a plan of action. Well. Plan of action was probably giving him too much credit. He had a plan. And plan was also probably somewhat more organized than what he actually had: which was a vague idea of people and conversations he should probably have.
A vague idea of things he should probably do.
Because there were a few truths, that were becoming apparent to him, and they were these:
1. He was not likely to survive this war. This wasn't a huge surprise (he never did have a good sense of self preservation), but it was still something he had to acknowledge. This wasn't the kind of thing he could fuck up and then make up for later by smiling sheepishly with presents. Or bribes, as Zevran so eloquently put it. So. If he fucked up, he was dead. Worse - if he fucked up, he likely also made sure other people were dead. Which brought him to point number two.
2. He wanted to survive this war. This was a surprise, as half of his plan in coming to the Inquisition had involved gallant death, and meant that number 1 was proving to be a bigger problem than it would have been otherwise. Part of it was that he had found people here that he wanted to make sure survived it themselves. But another part, perhaps, came from having a back up plan. Maybe it was strange, to find some sort of odd peace by planning in detail one's eventual death if it was necessary. And as long as Zevran was alive, he had that back up plan. So surviving in the meantime was okay - because if it ever wasn't okay, he had a way out.
3. If he was going to survive the war and have anything left to survive it for, he had to stop running. Somehow. This had already been drummed into him by a few people, but it had never really taken. It wasn't until - ironically - he'd been talking to Alistair about throwing his life away by joining the Wardens that he'd actually started to think any deeper about what he was going to do after the Inquisition. Even what he was doing in the Inquisition. Harding would kill him if he ran away again, and that probably wasn't entirely an exaggeration. If 1 was destined to happen, then at the very least, it should be by Corypheus's hand and not his own.
All this meant that he had to be better, and he had to be better now. Not an indeterminate time later, when the stars aligned, but now. While he had time. While they all had time. While it would still mean something, and make a difference.
Maxwell and Pel. That was where to start, but they weren't the only ones. Merrick. Harding. Maria. So many of his friends.... There were a lot of apologies and the couldn't come with presents. Bribes. They couldn't even really be apologies, because he knew how hollow those sounded, from him, these days. He needed to make an actual effort.
So he sought out each one, wherever they were.
[HOW THIS WILL WORK: Basically if you want to have a chat with Gavin and already know him, tag in wherever you are and he will come find you. If you have not met Gavin but want to, hit me up on plurk or PM and I'll start up a different thread starter for you. Basically I just wanted a catch all for a bunch of different threads for him and then the description got out of hand.]
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"Doesn't matter," she mumbles. "Is something wrong?"
Did someone get hurt?
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The urge to say 'lost something in here', grab a random piece of straw and run out again was intense. But he drew in a breath, held it, and then released it with a sigh. "... I told you we could- finish that talk," He said finally, albeit a bit lamely. "Which - I know it's been a while, but I just finally got back from my mission in the Mire--"
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"Of course. Yes--sit down." She rubs one eye, trying to will herself to be alert.
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"Sorry it's so late," He said, a little sheepishly. "I was very awake so I didn't really think about it. But, ah... hey."
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"... Yeah. Sorry for - running off, last time. I just wanted to clear my head a bit, and then - well." He didn't say 'you know me', because she did, and he didn't want to remind her what a little shit he'd been.
"But I'm here now."
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"It's not... you. I wish I could explain it better, Pel, but you don't do anything wrong, it's more..." He trails off for a moment, trying to formulate the words.
"... It's hard to ignore the wrong I've done, when I'm around you."
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"I'm...not so sure you did wrong. At least, you may have done a good thing the wrong way. I couldn't see we weren't right for each other, but you did. If you'd stayed, if we'd bonded and everything unfolded as expected, we'd have been so unhappy. And I do want you to be happy."
A faint smile, and she peers at him.
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"To be honest I didn't even think quite so... particularly," He murmured. "Pel, I... I don't think I'll be going back to the clan, after this. And I think I knew back then, too, that I would have to leave."
There was another pause and a sigh. "... Better to break your heart then than break it worse, later."
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She spreads her blanket over to his lap to keep him warm.
"There's nothing wrong with the depths of sorrow. I'm wiser now. And I forgive you, I really do. Don't torment yourself over it. I really don't think there's any gentle way of ending such a relationship."
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"I'm pretty sure I could have talked to you, at least," he murmured, rubbing her shoulder with his hand. "So... that's what this is, I guess. Only six years late."
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"Alright," was all he could find to reply, because of just how impossible what she asked of him was. Nothing ever let go - it would just come back in the tendriling darkness when he closed his eyes and keep him up for hours. But he could try. And he could let her believe that he had let it go - which was the more important part.
He wasn't so sure that there were Good people and Bad people, except for maybe the Inquisitor (may her soul rest) and Corypheus (who he would like to put on a pike and then light on fire), but if there was a scale he wasn't really sure which side he weighed more on.
He wasn't sure it mattered.
"Alright, Pel," he murmured lowly. "I'll do my best."
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"You can come to me for anything. Anything at all."
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He gave a lopsided smile and reached out to ruffle her hair fondly.
Yeah. He could fake being okay.
He'd had practice.