( maybe she should have gone with names first, though their conversation had been polite and she'd been curious -- interested. and moiraine still was, how else could she know anything about this place without asking the guidance and experience of others? )
( Moiraine. A strange affliction of a name, light on the tongue. He murmurs it mutely, as if it might galvanise him to learn it, as if the look of her who wears it is somehow insufficient.
Her price paid, the knowledge earned. How long have they whiled here? Mere days, and we have upturned the world. Perhaps there is yet pity in it, that he is king over ash and debris and dying birds, but not over a frozen citadel succumbed to the dead again. Perhaps they have improved the fever of their progress, leaving the living behind. )
Months, uncounted. ( And why? He hesitates, silence oily and seeping, disgusting in its cowardice. Excuses. ) Sickness and disaster distorted timekeeping. ( Not enough. ) We proved negligent.
( Subject to poison and assaults they could not deflect, and every manner of dubious offensive they should, by right, have predicted by now. )
( it's not an excuse but a sympathy. even in their own worlds so many could wish to act and be unable to or would fail to act as it was. here... they don't know enough )
If disaster happens, if you try to help it's more than they would have had.
( He hears her, listens. Would laugh, but he cannot condescend a woman who has surrendered the dregs of her compassion, freely, errantly given. Perhaps she too makes attempt to help.
But the ash in Taravast's sunset skies thickens, minutely ground and pale like mid-winter snow, when the cold beggars it of transparency. All around Lan Wangji, freedom burns, the ruling conclave, the city itself — poetry and metaphor and letter. )
We are not children, to pretend at false gains. ( To whisper to themselves, to ease their own sleep, that attempts have the weight of successes. ) We are not so vain.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
( maybe she should have gone with names first, though their conversation had been polite and she'd been curious -- interested. and moiraine still was, how else could she know anything about this place without asking the guidance and experience of others? )
How long have you been in Taravast?
no subject
Her price paid, the knowledge earned. How long have they whiled here? Mere days, and we have upturned the world. Perhaps there is yet pity in it, that he is king over ash and debris and dying birds, but not over a frozen citadel succumbed to the dead again. Perhaps they have improved the fever of their progress, leaving the living behind. )
Months, uncounted. ( And why? He hesitates, silence oily and seeping, disgusting in its cowardice. Excuses. ) Sickness and disaster distorted timekeeping. ( Not enough. ) We proved negligent.
( Subject to poison and assaults they could not deflect, and every manner of dubious offensive they should, by right, have predicted by now. )
no subject
( it's not an excuse but a sympathy. even in their own worlds so many could wish to act and be unable to or would fail to act as it was. here... they don't know enough )
If disaster happens, if you try to help it's more than they would have had.
no subject
But the ash in Taravast's sunset skies thickens, minutely ground and pale like mid-winter snow, when the cold beggars it of transparency. All around Lan Wangji, freedom burns, the ruling conclave, the city itself — poetry and metaphor and letter. )
We are not children, to pretend at false gains. ( To whisper to themselves, to ease their own sleep, that attempts have the weight of successes. ) We are not so vain.