She's not entirely correct, he reflects. A knife cannot feel or think; it cannot hurt when it hurts others. But Orlesians have always conceived of humans as things, haven't they. The occupiers looked upon Fereldan freemen and saw tools, to be worked to breaking like hoes and picks. The Empress looks upon the Inquisition and sees in them swords and shields to be employed in her struggles for power, her base ambition. Even his Orlesian mother had looked upon her children and seen nothing but a bit of diversion -
The ghosts emerge once more. This time, a woman - voice faintly slurred with drink - speaking the twittering high Orlesian of a certain generation of ladies. Speaking to two children, the boy with a violin and the girl with a lap-harp, instructing them in music. When they play, she sings with them, her voice a pleasing soprano that's just starting to thicken and decay due to the effects of less-than-pleasing habits. Still, it's a charming scene, domestic and sweet.
And oddly, the anger on Byerly's face is far more apparent here than it was with the prior memory. For some reason he feels so much angrier. And for some reason he feels doubly ashamed - for some reason, it was less humiliating to watch the scene of his abject humiliation than it is to see this quietly intimate one. He turns his back on it, shoulders hunched, jaw set.
"You will," he answers. "Of course you will. By the mere fact of your existence, you will hurt me. And I will hurt you. The Maker created us as a grand joke, you see - giving us the desire for love but granting us only the capacity for destruction. The moment that Maferath first spoke to Andraste was the moment he began tearing her to shreds." He shakes his head, tight and jerky. "A kindly intention cannot undo the Maker's curse upon us."
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The ghosts emerge once more. This time, a woman - voice faintly slurred with drink - speaking the twittering high Orlesian of a certain generation of ladies. Speaking to two children, the boy with a violin and the girl with a lap-harp, instructing them in music. When they play, she sings with them, her voice a pleasing soprano that's just starting to thicken and decay due to the effects of less-than-pleasing habits. Still, it's a charming scene, domestic and sweet.
And oddly, the anger on Byerly's face is far more apparent here than it was with the prior memory. For some reason he feels so much angrier. And for some reason he feels doubly ashamed - for some reason, it was less humiliating to watch the scene of his abject humiliation than it is to see this quietly intimate one. He turns his back on it, shoulders hunched, jaw set.
"You will," he answers. "Of course you will. By the mere fact of your existence, you will hurt me. And I will hurt you. The Maker created us as a grand joke, you see - giving us the desire for love but granting us only the capacity for destruction. The moment that Maferath first spoke to Andraste was the moment he began tearing her to shreds." He shakes his head, tight and jerky. "A kindly intention cannot undo the Maker's curse upon us."