"...because for every thing of him I find vexing, there is something I find endearing. I am annoyed that he meddles- but that he bothers to meddle? Shows that he cares. And he can be taught to back away when I need space. He is, more than anyone I have ever known, the most honest man I have met." For all his sarcasm and secrets- none of which he kept from Zevran- Alistair has never outright lied to him about anything.
It isn't in his nature.
"And the first to look at me and see not a Crow, not an elf, but me in a time when even I was not certain who that was. Oh, he hated me on sight, of course, but he saw me! That is more than most humans bothered to offer."
This is all news to Cade, but then, he hasn't known the man for a good twenty years.
He watches Zevran quietly, torn between sympathy and the knowledge that Alistair can look at a literal assassin sent to murder one of his companions and forgive him, befriend him, but can't spare the same magnanimity for an out-of-touch childhood friend. When Cade had first seen him here, he had hoped. He had hoped for a while, actually, and then it had soured so quickly.
"I still think you ought to speak to one another and attempt to resolve...whatever it is that has tone sideways. I have not known him to be quite so deliberately awful to one that might consider him a friend- or something close to it. Normally when such things happen and there isn't money, sex, or blood involved? There has been a miscommunication." People talking solved things. Who knew? "But- I think it may need to wait, yes? You and he are still sore with one another. You justly so and he...Maker only knows."
Almost, Cade looks like he might protest. But he doesn't, allowing Zevran to continue speaking, and instead ducks his head to nod wearily. His anger and resentment is giving way to that familiar empty ache, the knowledge that regardless of what kind of stupid spats he gets into, the outcome will always be the same. "...is it even worth it?" he asks, his voice quiet but strained. He keeps his eyes averted from Zevran's, now looking down at his hands.
"..." Now there is a question. Zevran leans back in his chair, arms crossed as he gauges Cade's expression and posture, considers the fight he'd come across and what little he knew of their friendship in childhood and... "Honestly?"
More people might be too much for Cade to handle, too many expectations, too many demands- and Alistair has a long habit of being demanding. But he is also terribly supportive when given cause and- there is too much here for him to judge. "I do not know. Childhood friendships- I never had my own and as such I do not know what has gone amiss, here. Only that something apparently has for how you both fight like cats."
Cade shakes his head, lifting it to reveal that he doesn't look quite so dismal as before; instead he looks... still strained, but almost amused. Desperate, worn down. "No," he says quietly, and now offers Zevran a glance, if only to see what his expression is before he continues. "...not just him." He rubs the back of his neck, pushing up the curls that rest against it. "If I were to walk off the battlements, few would notice, and fewer would have a problem with it." He lowers his hand again, raising his eyes to Zevran's. "Am I wrong?"
"Perhaps whoever has to clean your corpse off the stones the next morning." He himself could not say 'do not do this thing' when it is a thing he himself considered not terribly long ago. It is a rather final gesture but- a man's life is his own. Or. At the very least it ought to be.
"Beleth, perhaps, might be upset. Alistair would find reason to be upset, or smug, or...find a way to make it his fault. Or your fault. For someone that says he is so simple he can be annoyingly complicated. Nerva would notice. The templars would likely take offense to the fact that you have done so, they are terribly good at that." He does not list himself as- well. He is uncertain if he wants his opinion to be the thing that keeps or pushes Cade over that ledge.
Not if he fell into the chasm outside of Skyhold, all mountains and sharp rocks and snow. No one would find him there, no one would even look for him.
Beleth, hah. Alistair, even moreso. Nerva perhaps, and it's almost amusing to imagine that he could disappoint the Templars even in removing himself entirely from their jurisdiction. It's... heavy. He's thought about it countless times, and yet only now ever spoken about it.
"It's stupid," he admits, in a near-whisper, with a half-laugh. "I don't know why I don't." His arms fold up and around him as he curls his body forward slightly. "...it scares me." For someone as tormented and miserable as he is for every waking moment, he finds it almost laughable that he's still too cowardly to just do the thing.
"It is my understanding that people tend to want to keep living if given a choice." It is a solid rule with few exceptions. Being one himself...he does not like to think of it. Today is a brighter day rather than a darker one. Taking that step off into nothing holds no true appeal at the moment.
He has no desire to disappear.
"Death is frightening. Pain all the more so. What if you don't die? What if you lay there, broken and bloodied for hours, days?" Unlikely, but stranger things have happened. "Perhaps you feel there is something yet left to be done- I cannot believe I just said that. No. Fear is what keeps you from doing it. And I suppose that fear is a good thing."
Fear of his own death had been beaten out of him ages ago. "For this you are speaking to the wrong person, I think."
Cade nods, and then immediately shakes his head, briefly cupping his face in his hands. He curls his fingers, takes a deep breath, then lowers them again. "I thought I'd rather die than stop being a Templar," he says, "...but instead I'm just... stuck somewhere in between both." He hugs himself again, glances at Zevran, and is suddenly struck by how pathetic he sounds. "I'm sorry," he says quietly, "I... this isn't what we were talking about."
"Why?" Ah, yes Zevran. Use the same tactic that worked so well when Wynne turned it upon you a decade ago. What could possibly go wrong?
Still the question is set and in for a copper, in for a sovereign. "Why is it so vital to you that you be a Templar? Is it a matter of faith or needing to be of use in some way?"
Things he truly cannot wrap his mind about. Faith is a thing for other people, a salt for their diet. For Zevran it is like...tarragon. Excellent when he has need of it, but most often? He can do well enough without.
Through all his trials at Skyhold, the one thing about Cade that has never wavered is his faith. Or at least... his determination to try to uphold the tenets of his faith as dictated by the Chantry. Even while screwing up unimaginably. Even while destroying himself.
His eyes actually tear up a little when he looks back at Zevran, his eyelids red and the rest of him tense with the sort of misery that starts to build slowly when he's left with his thoughts for too long. "...I've never been anything else," he says quietly, his voice quavering, "I don't... if I... if I'm not this, I'm nothing." He might be nothing anyway.
Oh. Shit. Tears. He has never been terribly good with tears- the usual means he can think of to mitigate them involve physical contact which Cade does not want, not truly, and thus he is forced to remain in his chair and wonder where exactly he lost track of this conversation.
Perhaps he ought to have kept his mouth shut about Alistair.
"It can be...a terrifying thing. Trying to find a new purpose...to untangle your life from that which you once knew and- that...is not at all what you need to hear is it? You like being a Templar. You like this life." Such as it is.
With every assertion Zevran makes, Cade becomes less and less convinced of his own dedication. When the elf has finished speaking, he finally just shakes his head, covering his eyes with one hand. "No," he says in a quiet, shaking voice, "I hate this life. I hate everything it's ever been." Somehow simultaneously exhausted and right on the very edge of his nerves, he glances around the room. "My one job is to do the Maker's work, and I can't do it, not the right way. I ruin everything I touch." He gives a light, mirthless laugh, then abruptly calms himself again, looking apologetically at Zevran. "I should go," he says weakly, and gets to his feet, "you didn't ask for this."
And now he is no longer out of his depth, he is in over his head. The bottom of the river looks very nice, very comfortable. He should become accustomed to it for it seems there is no finding his way back to the surface with Cade.
"A question, then, before you go." Because this is- Cade is a mess, this he knows. Perhaps a greater mess than he can ever untangle but that will not stop him from trying. But this is more than he expected. More than, perhaps, Nerva understood. "What is it that you want?"
If one has never seen the surface, can one be certain it even exists? Cade pauses with a hand still on his chair, looking at the ground as he considers Zevran's question. It's something he's thought about before, and never had a clear answer to, but he's so wound up right now that perhaps there's clarity to be found. "...to... be liked," he lamely says, realizing even as the words exit his mouth how pathetic he sounds. "...by anyone." He looks at Zevran with a distant, sad almost-smile. He may be paranoid, but is also perceptive, and he's not so presumptuous as to think he and Zevran are anything but associates brought together by mutual benefit. Or at least, this is what he tells himself to keep from trusting him too much.
"Ah." He brightens at that. This? This is something he can do! This is something he can teach, if Cade is willing to learn. Whether or not it will work to help him form real, lasting relationships...
Zevran frankly does not care. But something to make the problem less? All the better.
"That is easy enough. And- also- solved by talking to Alistair. If all you need is someone, anyone to like you? He is your man. He would like most anyone. He likes me, and I tried to kill him."
Cade doesn't find this entirely helpful, and this is clear by the dubious, still-strained look on his face. "...but he doesn't," he points out, "he's made that clear." He purses his lips and shakes his head. "...and I'm no good at talking." Perhaps except for now, but they have a certain established rapport in which this kind of thing is okay. Only here. Nowhere else. "I'm no good at any of it." He adds this in a way that is less self-pitying than simply stating a problem, as he hasn't the faintest idea of how to go about solving it.
"Normally I would say it is a simple thing to fix but very little of you two is simple." And again, why is this his problem. He stuck his nose in where he shouldn't, again, and it's made a mess, again, and he is attempting to clean it up by being...helpful.
Weighing this against how ten years ago he might've stabbed the man and move on, Zevran isn't entirely certain this is a sign of growth or softness. "The first thing you need to learn is not everyone actually wants to kill you- while also being aware that everyone probably could."
Wait that probably isn't helpful. "The average person does not default to murder." There! Better.
The stare Zevran receives isn't quite blank, but it is... certainly ambivalent. How exactly does one react to that sentiment? "Oh," he says benignly, then tilts his head a little. "...but they do... want me out of their presence, generally," he adds, with a near question mark at the end. If they just wanted him dead, it would be stressful, but probably would have come to fruition by now. Instead they just want him to go away.
"To be blunt: you are awkward. No one seems to know how to deal with you." Zevran does not know how to deal with him and has been managing on pure luck and guesswork thusfar. Eventually? It is going to bite him in the ass. But until that day- guesswork it is. "I know why you are timid and skittish- most people do not. Now I am not saying you ought to tell the whole world- but offering some grounds for understanding why you are the way you are might help. A bad mission, nightmares, a traumatic childhood accident-"
Which is the understatement of the century, truly. "Something like that.
Cade doesn't even try to argue here. He just nods lightly, seeing no reason to beat around the bush. No one is as aware of his awkwardness as he is, impossible as that may seem.
"Won't that be like...." he ventures, "...excuses?"
"Yes. But it might help. It might not- honestly? I cannot remember exactly how I was taught to be personable as it was less something taught and more something I forced myself to become. If I was liked it was less likely I would be beaten." A normal upbringing the Crows did not exactly provide. "
A fully reasonable response, and even as someone who has always made himself as small as possible to avoid being disliked, Cade isn't without empathy. Or sense.
"...maybe you're right," he admits. After falling silent for a time, he timidly adds, "I'll try."
"What's the harm?" Well. Getting beaten is the harm but so long as it did not happen outside this room, all ought to be well. "Now, on to more pleasant things, yes? What have you been reading?"
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Date: 2016-05-31 08:54 pm (UTC)It isn't in his nature.
"And the first to look at me and see not a Crow, not an elf, but me in a time when even I was not certain who that was. Oh, he hated me on sight, of course, but he saw me! That is more than most humans bothered to offer."
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Date: 2016-06-01 04:50 am (UTC)He watches Zevran quietly, torn between sympathy and the knowledge that Alistair can look at a literal assassin sent to murder one of his companions and forgive him, befriend him, but can't spare the same magnanimity for an out-of-touch childhood friend.
When Cade had first seen him here, he had hoped. He had hoped for a while, actually, and then it had soured so quickly.
"That's good," he says, his voice a bit hollow.
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Date: 2016-06-01 06:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-06-03 01:16 am (UTC)"...is it even worth it?" he asks, his voice quiet but strained. He keeps his eyes averted from Zevran's, now looking down at his hands.
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Date: 2016-06-03 01:32 am (UTC)More people might be too much for Cade to handle, too many expectations, too many demands- and Alistair has a long habit of being demanding. But he is also terribly supportive when given cause and- there is too much here for him to judge. "I do not know. Childhood friendships- I never had my own and as such I do not know what has gone amiss, here. Only that something apparently has for how you both fight like cats."
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Date: 2016-06-03 01:40 am (UTC)"No," he says quietly, and now offers Zevran a glance, if only to see what his expression is before he continues. "...not just him."
He rubs the back of his neck, pushing up the curls that rest against it. "If I were to walk off the battlements, few would notice, and fewer would have a problem with it." He lowers his hand again, raising his eyes to Zevran's. "Am I wrong?"
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Date: 2016-06-03 01:46 am (UTC)"Beleth, perhaps, might be upset. Alistair would find reason to be upset, or smug, or...find a way to make it his fault. Or your fault. For someone that says he is so simple he can be annoyingly complicated. Nerva would notice. The templars would likely take offense to the fact that you have done so, they are terribly good at that." He does not list himself as- well. He is uncertain if he wants his opinion to be the thing that keeps or pushes Cade over that ledge.
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Date: 2016-06-03 01:52 am (UTC)Beleth, hah. Alistair, even moreso. Nerva perhaps, and it's almost amusing to imagine that he could disappoint the Templars even in removing himself entirely from their jurisdiction.
It's... heavy. He's thought about it countless times, and yet only now ever spoken about it.
"It's stupid," he admits, in a near-whisper, with a half-laugh. "I don't know why I don't." His arms fold up and around him as he curls his body forward slightly. "...it scares me." For someone as tormented and miserable as he is for every waking moment, he finds it almost laughable that he's still too cowardly to just do the thing.
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Date: 2016-06-03 02:00 am (UTC)He has no desire to disappear.
"Death is frightening. Pain all the more so. What if you don't die? What if you lay there, broken and bloodied for hours, days?" Unlikely, but stranger things have happened. "Perhaps you feel there is something yet left to be done- I cannot believe I just said that. No. Fear is what keeps you from doing it. And I suppose that fear is a good thing."
Fear of his own death had been beaten out of him ages ago. "For this you are speaking to the wrong person, I think."
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Date: 2016-06-03 02:06 am (UTC)"I'm sorry," he says quietly, "I... this isn't what we were talking about."
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Date: 2016-06-03 02:25 am (UTC)Still the question is set and in for a copper, in for a sovereign. "Why is it so vital to you that you be a Templar? Is it a matter of faith or needing to be of use in some way?"
Things he truly cannot wrap his mind about. Faith is a thing for other people, a salt for their diet. For Zevran it is like...tarragon. Excellent when he has need of it, but most often? He can do well enough without.
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Date: 2016-06-03 02:54 am (UTC)His eyes actually tear up a little when he looks back at Zevran, his eyelids red and the rest of him tense with the sort of misery that starts to build slowly when he's left with his thoughts for too long. "...I've never been anything else," he says quietly, his voice quavering, "I don't... if I... if I'm not this, I'm nothing." He might be nothing anyway.
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Date: 2016-06-03 03:01 am (UTC)Perhaps he ought to have kept his mouth shut about Alistair.
"It can be...a terrifying thing. Trying to find a new purpose...to untangle your life from that which you once knew and- that...is not at all what you need to hear is it? You like being a Templar. You like this life." Such as it is.
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Date: 2016-06-03 03:14 am (UTC)"No," he says in a quiet, shaking voice, "I hate this life. I hate everything it's ever been." Somehow simultaneously exhausted and right on the very edge of his nerves, he glances around the room. "My one job is to do the Maker's work, and I can't do it, not the right way. I ruin everything I touch." He gives a light, mirthless laugh, then abruptly calms himself again, looking apologetically at Zevran.
"I should go," he says weakly, and gets to his feet, "you didn't ask for this."
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Date: 2016-06-03 03:29 am (UTC)"A question, then, before you go." Because this is- Cade is a mess, this he knows. Perhaps a greater mess than he can ever untangle but that will not stop him from trying. But this is more than he expected. More than, perhaps, Nerva understood. "What is it that you want?"
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Date: 2016-06-03 03:57 am (UTC)Cade pauses with a hand still on his chair, looking at the ground as he considers Zevran's question. It's something he's thought about before, and never had a clear answer to, but he's so wound up right now that perhaps there's clarity to be found.
"...to... be liked," he lamely says, realizing even as the words exit his mouth how pathetic he sounds. "...by anyone." He looks at Zevran with a distant, sad almost-smile. He may be paranoid, but is also perceptive, and he's not so presumptuous as to think he and Zevran are anything but associates brought together by mutual benefit. Or at least, this is what he tells himself to keep from trusting him too much.
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Date: 2016-06-03 04:19 am (UTC)Zevran frankly does not care. But something to make the problem less? All the better.
"That is easy enough. And- also- solved by talking to Alistair. If all you need is someone, anyone to like you? He is your man. He would like most anyone. He likes me, and I tried to kill him."
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Date: 2016-06-06 04:00 am (UTC)"...but he doesn't," he points out, "he's made that clear." He purses his lips and shakes his head. "...and I'm no good at talking." Perhaps except for now, but they have a certain established rapport in which this kind of thing is okay. Only here. Nowhere else.
"I'm no good at any of it." He adds this in a way that is less self-pitying than simply stating a problem, as he hasn't the faintest idea of how to go about solving it.
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Date: 2016-06-07 09:05 pm (UTC)Weighing this against how ten years ago he might've stabbed the man and move on, Zevran isn't entirely certain this is a sign of growth or softness. "The first thing you need to learn is not everyone actually wants to kill you- while also being aware that everyone probably could."
Wait that probably isn't helpful. "The average person does not default to murder." There! Better.
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Date: 2016-06-08 11:17 pm (UTC)"Oh," he says benignly, then tilts his head a little. "...but they do... want me out of their presence, generally," he adds, with a near question mark at the end. If they just wanted him dead, it would be stressful, but probably would have come to fruition by now. Instead they just want him to go away.
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Date: 2016-06-09 06:30 am (UTC)Which is the understatement of the century, truly. "Something like that.
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Date: 2016-06-09 11:03 pm (UTC)"Won't that be like...." he ventures, "...excuses?"
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Date: 2016-06-10 04:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-06-14 01:40 am (UTC)"...maybe you're right," he admits. After falling silent for a time, he timidly adds, "I'll try."
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Date: 2016-06-14 01:49 am (UTC)Maker please save them from this awkward knot.