There's a spark in his eyes when Stephen starts up again, a defiance, not quite anger but something near a warning. How many times will he say no, how many times suggesting and knowing this is what he's made for (because if it isn't then what the fuck has he wasted his life about--)
But. He lets Stephen talk. Mollified by the understanding, not ashamed but a little shy at the suggestions given freely. "I keep notes. Kept." He raises a hand, waggles it back and forth. "Obviously my handwriting's not near what it used to be, but my wrist still remembers all the motions. Quills and I don't get along." They're too fragile; he snaps them half the time. "I do what I can. Things to remember, in case I forget. Try to keep track when I don't remember. Makes a man a little paranoid," with a scoff of a laugh. "If I forget a word or don't recall a detail of a conversation had weeks ago, is that just human forgetfulness, or is it the lyrium eating holes in my brain?"
He's thought it so many times. So many times it's like a script he could recite from memory. But actually saying it out loud is another experience. Makes his chest tight and his skin crawl to let someone in on the secret fears he harbors every day. Threatens to jostle something loose.
He swallows around his own heart lodged in his throat. "They don't tell you these things, when you join." A breath in, a breath out. "You're told that you're to take lyrium every day so long as you're one of the Maker's own warriors to keep strong. It sounds great. Down some lyrium with your morning coffee, something like that. Of course they're not going to tell you the downsides. If they had...well, if I'm honest, I don't think it would've stopped me. But you don't really know, and the others around you don't tell you until you've already taken the rite. And even then, you pick up on the details as you go. When you miss a dose and everything starts feeling strange. When one of the older knights who seems to lose a step or two gets sent out to pasture."
He licks his lips. "It's not a perfect system." To put it mildly.
no subject
But. He lets Stephen talk. Mollified by the understanding, not ashamed but a little shy at the suggestions given freely. "I keep notes. Kept." He raises a hand, waggles it back and forth. "Obviously my handwriting's not near what it used to be, but my wrist still remembers all the motions. Quills and I don't get along." They're too fragile; he snaps them half the time. "I do what I can. Things to remember, in case I forget. Try to keep track when I don't remember. Makes a man a little paranoid," with a scoff of a laugh. "If I forget a word or don't recall a detail of a conversation had weeks ago, is that just human forgetfulness, or is it the lyrium eating holes in my brain?"
He's thought it so many times. So many times it's like a script he could recite from memory. But actually saying it out loud is another experience. Makes his chest tight and his skin crawl to let someone in on the secret fears he harbors every day. Threatens to jostle something loose.
He swallows around his own heart lodged in his throat. "They don't tell you these things, when you join." A breath in, a breath out. "You're told that you're to take lyrium every day so long as you're one of the Maker's own warriors to keep strong. It sounds great. Down some lyrium with your morning coffee, something like that. Of course they're not going to tell you the downsides. If they had...well, if I'm honest, I don't think it would've stopped me. But you don't really know, and the others around you don't tell you until you've already taken the rite. And even then, you pick up on the details as you go. When you miss a dose and everything starts feeling strange. When one of the older knights who seems to lose a step or two gets sent out to pasture."
He licks his lips. "It's not a perfect system." To put it mildly.