Always, for nearly ten years now, when in a room with a templar Derrica has always felt the kneejerk, panicky flutter of fear high in her throat. The calculation of proximity to a dangerous thing, someone who could do harm to her if they cared to.
Emerging from the far side of the desk to occupy the seat across from him is as much in defiance of that fear as it is about making a clear choice to meet him where he sits. To leave whatever small fragment of leverage the desk affords her to the side.
"I wanted to ask you about lyrium. We needn't speak of you in particular, but I want to try to understand what it is to a templar, before I propose something to you and see if you think it would be something worth pursuing."
As she approaches he shifts in his seat. Little things. One shoulder slouching further, a one-inch twist to face her better, his free arm folding across his chest. The twist and his crossed-over leg put tension into his knee that he'll feel later, if he holds them too long, because aging is terrible.
She is glancingly familiar. Vanya Orlov's long recovery had been instructive, in that lyrium was not something picked up and put down without some effort.
"If there is one," allows for some denial.
He doesn't have to speak of this to her. He may well leave. She has prepared herself for that possibility.
Confirmation taken in stride, along the way to this question put to him again:
"Can you explain it to me? As much as you feel comfortable speaking of?"
What she has is the knowledge of what weaning off lyrium looked like. But what is it to continue using it? What had Vanya Orlov avoided, in the process of laying down the power it gave him?
"Well, it's expensive," is not what she means. He knows it's not what she means. But nonetheless. "If you aren't getting it from the Chantry."
Novel, that getting it from the Chantry or not is even a question. But even if they go to the dwarves for it themselves, the dwarves are hardly giving it away cheap.
"And eventually you lose your memories and all the other parts of your mind. You mix things up—the past and the present. What you've dreamed and what you've seen. Dementia. Same stuff mostly can happen to anyone, you get old enough, but for us it's certain. And sooner."
Stating facts. He doesn't sound frightened or regretful.
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no subject
Emerging from the far side of the desk to occupy the seat across from him is as much in defiance of that fear as it is about making a clear choice to meet him where he sits. To leave whatever small fragment of leverage the desk affords her to the side.
"I wanted to ask you about lyrium. We needn't speak of you in particular, but I want to try to understand what it is to a templar, before I propose something to you and see if you think it would be something worth pursuing."
no subject
With curious confusion: "What it is?"
no subject
She is glancingly familiar. Vanya Orlov's long recovery had been instructive, in that lyrium was not something picked up and put down without some effort.
"If there is one," allows for some denial.
He doesn't have to speak of this to her. He may well leave. She has prepared herself for that possibility.
no subject
"Of course there is," he says. "Otherwise everyone would use it."
no subject
"Can you explain it to me? As much as you feel comfortable speaking of?"
What she has is the knowledge of what weaning off lyrium looked like. But what is it to continue using it? What had Vanya Orlov avoided, in the process of laying down the power it gave him?
no subject
Novel, that getting it from the Chantry or not is even a question. But even if they go to the dwarves for it themselves, the dwarves are hardly giving it away cheap.
"And eventually you lose your memories and all the other parts of your mind. You mix things up—the past and the present. What you've dreamed and what you've seen. Dementia. Same stuff mostly can happen to anyone, you get old enough, but for us it's certain. And sooner."
Stating facts. He doesn't sound frightened or regretful.