Bethany stood atop the hill, nearly wiped out from her efforts. She wanted to turn her back on the sight of it, the fire that burned what was once a village full of people, a place that reminded her too much of Lothering, but she stood steady. Outwardly she must look calm, though her hands shook from the drain on her mana, and every limb throbbed with fatigue. The ash was so thick that it started to hang low in dark, choking clouds like a menacing warning to anyone poor traveler off in the distance thinking to seek refuge: go elsewhere. There was nothing left here.
The fire was of her own making, and Nathaniel stood to her side, shooting his arrows at anyone that tried run from the flames. Again and again she heard him draw an arrow from the quiver and then ready it, aiming for a target with narrowed eyes. He would always hit them, the distant cry of death echoed up to them as he worked with terrible accuracy.
"Is it always like this?" She asks, and her voice is smaller than she would like it to be. One day she may live up to this uniform, but that day is not today.
"No. This place was one of the worst I've seen outside of the Blighted lands in Ferelden. Whatever magicks were worked here to make these people think that the spawn were their gods - no, Bethany, this is one of the worst." He said solemnly. "It is a mercy, what we do."
She couldn't hold in her sob then, but she understood the logic. It was oddly comforting, though not in the way he meant it to be. It was something that she could hear her sister or Isabela saying, in that strangely pragmatic way of theirs. She supposed it was a way of looking at the world that she never mastered, the way that allowed her sister to become Champion of Kirkwall and Isabela to be a fearsome pirate.
She wasn't sure when the arrows stopped flying, but Nathaniel's grip on his bow eased and they were reduced to simply watching the slow burn of the town below. When she reached over and took his hand, he didn't shy away. She thought he might, for a moment, but instead he pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed it. His lips were chapped against the soft skin on the back of her hand, but his kiss was feather light and gentle.
"My lady." Nathaniel said when she looked over at him. Bethany felt her cheeks flood with color but she didn't let go of his hand. Even when their clasped hands dropped down to their sides again, she held on still, as if he might disappear too. When they were done here, she would see to it that they had a proper kiss, someplace away from the death and ash and dust that they'd brought to this place.
The Hard Mercy - T
The fire was of her own making, and Nathaniel stood to her side, shooting his arrows at anyone that tried run from the flames. Again and again she heard him draw an arrow from the quiver and then ready it, aiming for a target with narrowed eyes. He would always hit them, the distant cry of death echoed up to them as he worked with terrible accuracy.
"Is it always like this?" She asks, and her voice is smaller than she would like it to be. One day she may live up to this uniform, but that day is not today.
"No. This place was one of the worst I've seen outside of the Blighted lands in Ferelden. Whatever magicks were worked here to make these people think that the spawn were their gods - no, Bethany, this is one of the worst." He said solemnly. "It is a mercy, what we do."
She couldn't hold in her sob then, but she understood the logic. It was oddly comforting, though not in the way he meant it to be. It was something that she could hear her sister or Isabela saying, in that strangely pragmatic way of theirs. She supposed it was a way of looking at the world that she never mastered, the way that allowed her sister to become Champion of Kirkwall and Isabela to be a fearsome pirate.
She wasn't sure when the arrows stopped flying, but Nathaniel's grip on his bow eased and they were reduced to simply watching the slow burn of the town below. When she reached over and took his hand, he didn't shy away. She thought he might, for a moment, but instead he pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed it. His lips were chapped against the soft skin on the back of her hand, but his kiss was feather light and gentle.
"My lady." Nathaniel said when she looked over at him. Bethany felt her cheeks flood with color but she didn't let go of his hand. Even when their clasped hands dropped down to their sides again, she held on still, as if he might disappear too. When they were done here, she would see to it that they had a proper kiss, someplace away from the death and ash and dust that they'd brought to this place.