"No, you weren't," Her voice is firm. "You just didn't know there was anything else. It's not your fault they kept that from you."
The Chantry. The templars. Derrica feels a hot rush of anger and uncurls restlessly, shaking her head.
But still, the question of it just galls her. Who could know Matthias and not love him? How could all these people look at children and think the most they deserved was a blue blanket all to themselves?
Matthias shrugs his shoulders, and then leaves them hunched up around his ears. Leaned forward, he tries to imagine himself a stone, a statue, something carved out of rock. It's an old trick that hasn't ever worked for him. There's heat in his bones, is why. A deep deep down feeling that has always been there, burning away. Secretly, he knows: this is why fire is so easy for him. Because he has some, in him, and he always has. Someday it will go out. For now it can be used. But it's unpredictable too, this flame, it isn't contained so easily, which is why he can't not respond, why he can never just leave it, why silence doesn't last and he's always got to have the last word, or at least a word.
"Don't be sorry." It comes out gruff. He rubs the heel of his hand against his eye, unstoning himself. "You didn't do anything. We're just friends, talking, and I ought not to be so," and he shrugs again, but this one is sharper.
The fire pops. A little spark spits out and lands in the dirt. The canopy of Matthias' tent has kept this area dry. The spark lives a little longer for it, glowing before it fades. Matthias looks at it.
"I'm glad yours was good," he says, after a moment. "Bloody hate Circles still. But I'm glad yours was good. 'Cause you deserve that. You're--nice."
I shouldn't have asked beats in the back of her mind. Derrica uncurls, closes the distance between them. She isn't sure what to do, how to offer comfort, and the need to do something to mitigate the hurt she's dug up manifests in her fingers catching at the bend of his elbow.
"You're good, Matthias," She promises. "I'm glad everything in my life brought me to here, and I got to meet you."
She won't wish for him to have been at Dairsmuid. But she can be clear about this, that she's glad to have met him. There's so much in him that she admires, ways he's braver and better than she is. It's a small thing to set against everything else, but it's something, at least.
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The Chantry. The templars. Derrica feels a hot rush of anger and uncurls restlessly, shaking her head.
But still, the question of it just galls her. Who could know Matthias and not love him? How could all these people look at children and think the most they deserved was a blue blanket all to themselves?
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
no subject
"Don't be sorry." It comes out gruff. He rubs the heel of his hand against his eye, unstoning himself. "You didn't do anything. We're just friends, talking, and I ought not to be so," and he shrugs again, but this one is sharper.
The fire pops. A little spark spits out and lands in the dirt. The canopy of Matthias' tent has kept this area dry. The spark lives a little longer for it, glowing before it fades. Matthias looks at it.
"I'm glad yours was good," he says, after a moment. "Bloody hate Circles still. But I'm glad yours was good. 'Cause you deserve that. You're--nice."
no subject
"You're good, Matthias," She promises. "I'm glad everything in my life brought me to here, and I got to meet you."
She won't wish for him to have been at Dairsmuid. But she can be clear about this, that she's glad to have met him. There's so much in him that she admires, ways he's braver and better than she is. It's a small thing to set against everything else, but it's something, at least.