There's some rustling, then Beleth peeks out, blinks in surprise, and then climbs out of the tent, straightening up.
"Yes, I wasn't doing anything--Did you walk all the way here?" Beleth isn't an expert on pregnant women, but the pregnant women of the clan always had priority to ride in the aravels when they moved. So. Walking up and down a mountain seemed. Iffy.
"Yes," Pel says in a tone that is not unfriendly, but certainly confident and inviting no criticism. She steps inside and looks for a flat spot. "May I sit?"
Beleth shrugs at Pel's tone. Well, whatever. Pel didn't look like she was about to keel over, so it was probably fine. "Yes, of course." she replied as she ducked into the tent. The tent had at one point suited two comfortably, but Beleth had certainly made use of the extra space. Gifts from Sorrel (mostly little trinkets made from whatever he could gather in the woods) and others were spread around, pictures he'd drawn hung on the wall of the tent with pins.
It's a clear effort to make sure that some of her home stays with her, even here. She settles down on her pile of blankets, turning to Pel. "Is everything okay?"
Pel sees those pictures and her heart breaks a little. All this time she has tried to put Clan Ashara behind her, and her fledgling relationship with Beleth has suffered for it. Beleth surrounds herself with it, yearns for a twin left behind. She looks up at Beleth, hands folded on her lap.
"A great many things have changed in our lives in the last year. Worldviews are the least of them. I expect the only thing in your world that hasn't changed is your place in it. The same cannot be said for the rest of us. But in all the upheaval, I don't think I have ever asked you how you felt about that. Ir abelas, lethallan. How do you feel?"
Under the conversational phrasing, Pel appears very solemn indeed. Inscrutable, even. It is clear the question is not at all casual, though neither is it judgmental. It is done with the same efficiency as a doctor who tests a temperature. Her attention is fully on Beleth; indeed, the full attention of Pel as she seldom gives, normally having some task in her hands during conversation.
Beleth's first thought is panic. Which isn't all that surprising, since panic tends to be her default. What could have possibly prompted this, what did it really mean--and what did Pel want, exactly? When was the last time anyone asked how she felt (plenty of times, but that's inconvenient to Beleth's panic)? And she's told everyone how she felt when they told her of their decision to leave. One by one, as Clan Ashara got a little smaller.
Seconds tick by as Beleth studies her hands carefully, trying to figure out how to possibly answer the question.
"I feel like someone trying to hold a handful of sand. I feel like when all of this is over, when Corypheus is finished and the Inquisition is disbanded, that it will be a lonely journey, traveling home alone."
There's a moment of hesitation, but Pel asked, and it's something that Beleth has had on her mind from the first day they stepped into Skyhold. She keeps her head down, but her eyes turned up to look at Pel carefully. "And I wonder if this wasn't the Keeper's plan from the beginning."
To isolate her daughter? To shed herself of young people she could not control?Pel normally looks away when she processes things, but this time, her eyes remain on Beleth. Absorbing, considering how to proceed.
"Why?" she asks simply. No words Beleth could mistake for disagreement, agreement, or criticism. Why does she wonder this? Why would the Keeper do such a thing, in her estimation? Pel accuses nothing. Offers nothing. She simply allows Beleth to come to her, rather than pouring herself out in an attempt to relate and connect. Beleth will feel safer that way. Heard, not guessed at or painted over with Pel's own self-image.
Beleth is quiet for a long time. Not because she doesn't know what to say, but because...she's not sure if she wants to say it. But at the same time, the worries that have been crowding in her head for a year are desperate to come out, to be known to someone--whether she's validated or villified.
"When gardening, you pluck dead leaves off of flowers, to keep them healthy," She murmurs, now staring intently at her hands, clasped in her lap. "I wonder if we are the dead leaves. That the Keeper knew this would happen when she let us go." After all, the majority of them were troublemakers, or loose ends. People who were already overeager to interact with shemlen. Beleth wasn't sure what she had done--but she'd asked. Maybe that was enough. Her hands unclasp, so her fingers could dig into the leather of her pants.
Considering how much work Deheune had had Pel doing, Pel isn't certain about that. Maybe she wanted to clear the way for her son to be Keeper after having used Pel so hard. But Pel doesn't need those answers. Her life is what it is, now.
"If so, then she is wrong." Pel shakes her head slightly. "Those of us who left might have been the most disillusioned with her way, but also some of the best hearts in her clan."
There's a pause now, as Pel tries to redirect her brain from sage advice back to that intense focus on Beleth.
"Regarding Alistair--"
She stops long enough to let Beleth's mind come around to Alistair, and give her a chance to prepare for questions about him. She would like to keep from blindsiding Beleth as much as she can, despite this being a moment of revealing.
There's a frown at Pel's words, because that's not how it works--and honestly, the clan is probably better off. And she's still frustrated, that even if they're disillusioned, they're just...running away. Stripping themselves of their clan names and running to shemlen, like they have any answers.
But before Beleth can consider how to delicately word any of these thoughts, Pel mentions Alistair. It causes her head to shoot up, looking at Pel with a startled expression. What could Alistair possibly have to do with the Clan?
Pel's gaze does not waver from Beleth. Doesn't dart away to make it seem like Beleth is the one in charge here. But she walks a fine line. Beleth is no enemy. The purpose is to hold her accountable, not to punish her.
"When I told you about my pregnancy," she says evenly, "you told me, 'at least it's an elf.' I said nothing of it, at the time--I thought you had the right to say it. I had shirked my duties, in courting James, even if it had been for a few weeks. I couldn't blame you. Then, you asked to court Alistair. And when I learned, I was very angry."
Pel does not sound angry. Pel sounds stern, if anything, but mostly neutral if direct. And she is not angry any longer. She has taken the time to think before confronting, and found that she is mostly concerned for Beleth now. She does not need Beleth's approval, but she would like to know if there is anything she can do for her. Beleth is a good heart, as all who devote their lives to the Inquisition.
It's disconcerting, when Pel is this serious. Beleth doesn't like it, and shifts uneasily under her stare. A frown starts to form on her face, as Pel begins talking about Beleth's comments on her pregnancy. Well, of course she was glad it was an elf, did Pel want to give birth to some half blood?
But when Pel touches on her confession to Alistair, all thoughts of anything else go out the window. A cold, sick feeling forms in the pit of her stomach, spreading through her veins. Pel knew. And if Pel knew, that meant that the rest of the clan--that Skyhold could know--
Beleth stares at the ground in dread while she processes this, but when she turns to look back at Pel, there's an intentness in her eyes. "Who told you that?" Panic can (and will) come later, but it'll have to wait for Beleth's righteous indignation to have a turn. After all, she'd gone well out of her way to try to limit the amount of people who knew, and now...That number could be far more than she imagined.
There is a pause as Pel weighs her own words. Considers how to answer the question without diverting from the purpose of this discussion.
"He asked after you," she says gently. "He was afraid for you. You weren't speaking to him. And I've come to you now to ask whether I should also be afraid for you. Because I think, I wonder--when you judge us, do you also judge yourself? Are you just as angry at yourself for wanting to go down the same path? Or is it that you wanted to go down that path because you did not want to travel home alone?"
Pel keeps talking, but Beleth can barely hear them. Her world is still spinning, just at the notion that Alistair--he's gone around, telling over people. How many other people? How many people would Pel share it with? How long before all of Skyhold was laughing at her, calling her a hypocrite--
"Of course I judged myself," She spits out the words distastefully, expression resentful as she turns back to Pel. "I spent months wrestling with whether or not I should even try telling him. I thought--maybe I'm the one that's wrong, maybe I should just go for it, like everyone else did. And it blew up in my face." She looks away again, hands curling into fists. "Stupid to even think--But it was for the best. It made me have to reevaluate...everything. The choices I was making, the advice I was taking, the path I was following. And I realized just how far I had strayed from my goals."
She takes a deep breath, steeling herself and straightening her back. "So I don't need anyone's pity. Yes, I made a mistake--a stupid, hypocritical mistake--but suffice to say, I learned my lesson. I'm stronger now."
Beleth settles her hands on her lap, fingers crossing neatly. "To aid the Inquisition in settling the chaos in Thedas, as well as defeating Corypheus before he accomplishes...whatever his goals are. Additionally, to pursue my current career path as a bard in order to gain a better political foothold in Orlais, and represent the Dalish as relevant players in The Game."
Would you like the pamphlet or will the business card do.
Beleth furrows her brows, eyeing Pel with reservation. This certainly isn't what she thought a conversation about Alistair would lead to--or a conversation where she spilled so many personal thoughts. But then, it's probably best if they don't linger on those.
It certain;y gives her time to try to puzzle out Pel's next question. 'Become a cautionary tale to scare young Dalish' probably won't go over well. "Help the Inquisition as well, I would assume." That's fairly neutral.
Pel is starting to look neutral in a way Beleth will never have seen--almost glassy and grey, the evenness of her voice calculated to the microsecond. But she does not look angry. She does not look numb or superior. She puts on no airs. She is simply speaking to Beleth.
"You would assume?" she asks. "But you would not ask. You never have. You have spoken to me as if I left the clan without a plan. As if I went into this--the Inquisition, leaving the clan, even motherhood--without thinking it through. That my life, my child, is just a little less pathetic than it could be because 'at least it's an elf.' And at the moment you said that, you were pursuing a human."
Silence settles in the tent for a spell, as Beleth glances to the side, taking slow, measured breaths, and wondering if it would be worth it to burn this bridge. It's one of those times that she misses Sorrel more than ever, and his sharp tongue. He wouldn't hesitate.
"You have been away from the clan just as long as me, Pel, so surely it has not escaped your notice, just how half-bloods are treated, from elves and humans alike. So yes, at least it's an elf, because no one will think you're your own child's nursemaid, or realize the situation and hate the both of you for it. But by all means, if that sounds pleasant to you, go for it. And while you're at it, continue to put words in my mouth, and assume thoughts I have never had. I've never called, nor made any overtones that either you or your child were pathetic. If you've assumed that, then it is a failing on your part, and your assumptions of me. If you came here to lecture me about what a terrible person I am, because I had to gall to develop feelings for someone, and contemplate that maybe I was wrong--something that happened after you told me of your pregnancy, by the way, if you'd bothered to listen to me--then you are wasting your time. But if that is the story that you wish to tell everyone about me, I can hardly stop you."
She calmly turns back to Pel, fingers laced together on her lap. "But have the common courtesy to get out of my tent before you do."
With that, she turns her attention to examining her hands. The implication isn't particularly subtle.
"The only way to smooth out a miscommunication is to communicate, Beleth," she says, sounding slightly tried at last. "I haven't told anyone about Alistair. And I won't. I don't think it's anything to be ashamed of, but since you do, no one has heard or will hear it from me. It's not mine to tell anyway.
"But I'm not going to beg for forgiveness for the implication that your behavior has raised questions. Because that is what I came to talk to you about--privately, with dignity. I don't think you were wrong to want to be with Alistair, but it doesn't matter if I do. You're a grown woman capable of deciding your own heart. But I do think shouting at Cyril in a camp in which we are visitors is inappropriate, and also a red flag. And I think that criticizing me for past human suitors while entertaining one yourself is both inappropriate and a red flag. If something is wrong, I want to listen. But I will not tell you it's all right for you to treat your friends this way."
Beleth continues studying her hands while Pel speaks, and then when Beleth replies. Her voice is still measurably calm, expression bland.
"You know what I think is a red card? Coming in here to accuse me of an attitude that you have assumed of me. It's a red flag to reveal that you know a secret I've tried to keep, and demand an explanation for it. A red flag is ignoring that demanded explanation because it doesn't fit into the narrative you're trying to push." She pauses for a moment, and glances up, and off to the side.
"Yelling at Cyril while being a guest in another clan was rude to our hosts, I admit. I lost my temper, and that was unseemly of me. But he insulted my brother, and I'm afraid that I will always be unseemly when confronted with that." And back down to her lap, tapping her fingers on her legs.
"Let me repeat myself, in the interests of communication. I was not pursuing Alistair at the time that you were with Norrington. I was not pursuing him when you told me of your pregnancy. I had...feelings, but I pushed them aside, because I believed that was the correct thing to do. It was...some time after all of that, where I decided that maybe I was wrong, and maybe it wouldn't hurt to try." She clicks her tongue, expression sour. "But it did. And now I know better. So kindly stop lecturing me on it."
She briefly presses her lips together. She is tempted, but she won't repay passive-aggressiveness with the like. She's going to keep being straight.
"All I wanted from you is 'I'm sorry you felt hurt and betrayed, but you have it all wrong.' I didn't want to be right about this, Beleth. I wanted to know there was more to it than you saying one thing and then doing another. And I wanted to believe you would see more in me than a dead leaf, and more in my child than that it's the correct race. I didn't know you were so deeply in doubt at the time. That's why I kept asking you questions. I wanted to know what's going on."
That seems to mollify Beleth to an extent--she relaxes some, expression softening (though still looking rather sullen).
"It felt pretty accusatory," Not that it takes much to convince Beleth that everybody hates her and all her life decisions. "You weren't saying a lot in the form of a question. You were saying them all as statements. That I had all these red flags." She feels petulant, but indignation is stronger. Still, she settles, sighing.
"I apologize for assuming you were accusing me of anything. Is there anything else you need clarified on." An attempt to not just be a grumpy gus.
A squint, though Beleth has always had something of a selective memory. Over half their conversation has been questions. But Beleth likes to be a martyr, so let her think herself one. It's not worth derailing the conversation to nail down that one tangential point.
"Any apology you make toward Cyril is business between you and him, and not my business to arrange, but I urge you to consider it. I urge you to consider making reparations where you have made tears, as people ordinarily do when they learn they have been hurtful and have long since calmed down. I would do the same for you."
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arlathvhen) wrote2015-02-18 01:05 am
action - backdated to earlyish Haring
"Beleth?" Pel's voice is heard. "May I speak with you?"
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"Yes, I wasn't doing anything--Did you walk all the way here?" Beleth isn't an expert on pregnant women, but the pregnant women of the clan always had priority to ride in the aravels when they moved. So. Walking up and down a mountain seemed. Iffy.
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It's a clear effort to make sure that some of her home stays with her, even here. She settles down on her pile of blankets, turning to Pel. "Is everything okay?"
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"A great many things have changed in our lives in the last year. Worldviews are the least of them. I expect the only thing in your world that hasn't changed is your place in it. The same cannot be said for the rest of us. But in all the upheaval, I don't think I have ever asked you how you felt about that. Ir abelas, lethallan. How do you feel?"
Under the conversational phrasing, Pel appears very solemn indeed. Inscrutable, even. It is clear the question is not at all casual, though neither is it judgmental. It is done with the same efficiency as a doctor who tests a temperature. Her attention is fully on Beleth; indeed, the full attention of Pel as she seldom gives, normally having some task in her hands during conversation.
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Seconds tick by as Beleth studies her hands carefully, trying to figure out how to possibly answer the question.
"I feel like someone trying to hold a handful of sand. I feel like when all of this is over, when Corypheus is finished and the Inquisition is disbanded, that it will be a lonely journey, traveling home alone."
There's a moment of hesitation, but Pel asked, and it's something that Beleth has had on her mind from the first day they stepped into Skyhold. She keeps her head down, but her eyes turned up to look at Pel carefully. "And I wonder if this wasn't the Keeper's plan from the beginning."
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"Why?" she asks simply. No words Beleth could mistake for disagreement, agreement, or criticism. Why does she wonder this? Why would the Keeper do such a thing, in her estimation? Pel accuses nothing. Offers nothing. She simply allows Beleth to come to her, rather than pouring herself out in an attempt to relate and connect. Beleth will feel safer that way. Heard, not guessed at or painted over with Pel's own self-image.
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"When gardening, you pluck dead leaves off of flowers, to keep them healthy," She murmurs, now staring intently at her hands, clasped in her lap. "I wonder if we are the dead leaves. That the Keeper knew this would happen when she let us go." After all, the majority of them were troublemakers, or loose ends. People who were already overeager to interact with shemlen. Beleth wasn't sure what she had done--but she'd asked. Maybe that was enough. Her hands unclasp, so her fingers could dig into the leather of her pants.
"...Even so. It's frustrating to watch."
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"If so, then she is wrong." Pel shakes her head slightly. "Those of us who left might have been the most disillusioned with her way, but also some of the best hearts in her clan."
There's a pause now, as Pel tries to redirect her brain from sage advice back to that intense focus on Beleth.
"Regarding Alistair--"
She stops long enough to let Beleth's mind come around to Alistair, and give her a chance to prepare for questions about him. She would like to keep from blindsiding Beleth as much as she can, despite this being a moment of revealing.
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But before Beleth can consider how to delicately word any of these thoughts, Pel mentions Alistair. It causes her head to shoot up, looking at Pel with a startled expression. What could Alistair possibly have to do with the Clan?
"What about him?" She asks, cautiously.
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"When I told you about my pregnancy," she says evenly, "you told me, 'at least it's an elf.' I said nothing of it, at the time--I thought you had the right to say it. I had shirked my duties, in courting James, even if it had been for a few weeks. I couldn't blame you. Then, you asked to court Alistair. And when I learned, I was very angry."
Pel does not sound angry. Pel sounds stern, if anything, but mostly neutral if direct. And she is not angry any longer. She has taken the time to think before confronting, and found that she is mostly concerned for Beleth now. She does not need Beleth's approval, but she would like to know if there is anything she can do for her. Beleth is a good heart, as all who devote their lives to the Inquisition.
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But when Pel touches on her confession to Alistair, all thoughts of anything else go out the window. A cold, sick feeling forms in the pit of her stomach, spreading through her veins. Pel knew. And if Pel knew, that meant that the rest of the clan--that Skyhold could know--
Beleth stares at the ground in dread while she processes this, but when she turns to look back at Pel, there's an intentness in her eyes. "Who told you that?" Panic can (and will) come later, but it'll have to wait for Beleth's righteous indignation to have a turn. After all, she'd gone well out of her way to try to limit the amount of people who knew, and now...That number could be far more than she imagined.
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"He asked after you," she says gently. "He was afraid for you. You weren't speaking to him. And I've come to you now to ask whether I should also be afraid for you. Because I think, I wonder--when you judge us, do you also judge yourself? Are you just as angry at yourself for wanting to go down the same path? Or is it that you wanted to go down that path because you did not want to travel home alone?"
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"Of course I judged myself," She spits out the words distastefully, expression resentful as she turns back to Pel. "I spent months wrestling with whether or not I should even try telling him. I thought--maybe I'm the one that's wrong, maybe I should just go for it, like everyone else did. And it blew up in my face." She looks away again, hands curling into fists. "Stupid to even think--But it was for the best. It made me have to reevaluate...everything. The choices I was making, the advice I was taking, the path I was following. And I realized just how far I had strayed from my goals."
She takes a deep breath, steeling herself and straightening her back. "So I don't need anyone's pity. Yes, I made a mistake--a stupid, hypocritical mistake--but suffice to say, I learned my lesson. I'm stronger now."
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Would you like the pamphlet or will the business card do.
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"And me? What are my goals?"
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It certain;y gives her time to try to puzzle out Pel's next question. 'Become a cautionary tale to scare young Dalish' probably won't go over well. "Help the Inquisition as well, I would assume." That's fairly neutral.
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"You would assume?" she asks. "But you would not ask. You never have. You have spoken to me as if I left the clan without a plan. As if I went into this--the Inquisition, leaving the clan, even motherhood--without thinking it through. That my life, my child, is just a little less pathetic than it could be because 'at least it's an elf.' And at the moment you said that, you were pursuing a human."
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"You have been away from the clan just as long as me, Pel, so surely it has not escaped your notice, just how half-bloods are treated, from elves and humans alike. So yes, at least it's an elf, because no one will think you're your own child's nursemaid, or realize the situation and hate the both of you for it. But by all means, if that sounds pleasant to you, go for it. And while you're at it, continue to put words in my mouth, and assume thoughts I have never had. I've never called, nor made any overtones that either you or your child were pathetic. If you've assumed that, then it is a failing on your part, and your assumptions of me. If you came here to lecture me about what a terrible person I am, because I had to gall to develop feelings for someone, and contemplate that maybe I was wrong--something that happened after you told me of your pregnancy, by the way, if you'd bothered to listen to me--then you are wasting your time. But if that is the story that you wish to tell everyone about me, I can hardly stop you."
She calmly turns back to Pel, fingers laced together on her lap. "But have the common courtesy to get out of my tent before you do."
With that, she turns her attention to examining her hands. The implication isn't particularly subtle.
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"The only way to smooth out a miscommunication is to communicate, Beleth," she says, sounding slightly tried at last. "I haven't told anyone about Alistair. And I won't. I don't think it's anything to be ashamed of, but since you do, no one has heard or will hear it from me. It's not mine to tell anyway.
"But I'm not going to beg for forgiveness for the implication that your behavior has raised questions. Because that is what I came to talk to you about--privately, with dignity. I don't think you were wrong to want to be with Alistair, but it doesn't matter if I do. You're a grown woman capable of deciding your own heart. But I do think shouting at Cyril in a camp in which we are visitors is inappropriate, and also a red flag. And I think that criticizing me for past human suitors while entertaining one yourself is both inappropriate and a red flag. If something is wrong, I want to listen. But I will not tell you it's all right for you to treat your friends this way."
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"You know what I think is a red card? Coming in here to accuse me of an attitude that you have assumed of me. It's a red flag to reveal that you know a secret I've tried to keep, and demand an explanation for it. A red flag is ignoring that demanded explanation because it doesn't fit into the narrative you're trying to push." She pauses for a moment, and glances up, and off to the side.
"Yelling at Cyril while being a guest in another clan was rude to our hosts, I admit. I lost my temper, and that was unseemly of me. But he insulted my brother, and I'm afraid that I will always be unseemly when confronted with that." And back down to her lap, tapping her fingers on her legs.
"Let me repeat myself, in the interests of communication. I was not pursuing Alistair at the time that you were with Norrington. I was not pursuing him when you told me of your pregnancy. I had...feelings, but I pushed them aside, because I believed that was the correct thing to do. It was...some time after all of that, where I decided that maybe I was wrong, and maybe it wouldn't hurt to try." She clicks her tongue, expression sour. "But it did. And now I know better. So kindly stop lecturing me on it."
I am so sorry for all the edits
"All I wanted from you is 'I'm sorry you felt hurt and betrayed, but you have it all wrong.' I didn't want to be right about this, Beleth. I wanted to know there was more to it than you saying one thing and then doing another. And I wanted to believe you would see more in me than a dead leaf, and more in my child than that it's the correct race. I didn't know you were so deeply in doubt at the time. That's why I kept asking you questions. I wanted to know what's going on."
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"It felt pretty accusatory," Not that it takes much to convince Beleth that everybody hates her and all her life decisions. "You weren't saying a lot in the form of a question. You were saying them all as statements. That I had all these red flags." She feels petulant, but indignation is stronger. Still, she settles, sighing.
"I apologize for assuming you were accusing me of anything. Is there anything else you need clarified on." An attempt to not just be a grumpy gus.
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"Any apology you make toward Cyril is business between you and him, and not my business to arrange, but I urge you to consider it. I urge you to consider making reparations where you have made tears, as people ordinarily do when they learn they have been hurtful and have long since calmed down. I would do the same for you."
(no subject)