She hovered in front of Cyrus's door for what felt like eternity. Of course, in reality it had only been a handful of seconds, but Asala's nerves made it feel like much more. She had rehearsed every word she had wanted to tell him many, many times before arriving at his door, but now with it only a short distance in front of her she found her mind to be blank. There's not much she felt could say, to make things right, but she had to try, and she had to try soon. Nervously, she began to thumb the jagged part of her horn that had been broken in Kirkwall.
She'd learned the lesson on how putting things off would only make things worse, but that did not make it easier for her. She had also learned... that a forward approach is somethings a much better strategy than waiting. If she was to try to make things right, then she would have to take a plunge. Waiting would help no one, and that would only leave what-ifs in place. At least this way she could say she tried.
Asala inhaled deeply and forced her hand out, eyes closing on their own and rapped her knuckles across the solid door. Immediately after they'd made contact, heat washed over her face and neck as her nerves once again took hold. If her mind was blank before, it was now completely empty and racing at the same time, with a good measure of fuzz in addition.
It didn't take too long for him to open the door, pulling it halfway back before it appeared to register just who was on the other side. Or that was probably what happened, considering that the slightly-distracted expression on his face flickered briefly before settling into something so neutral it was almost cold. He blinked at her for a moment, eyes dull, then pushed a breath through his nose, taking a step back and tapping the door so it would open the rest of the way on its own.
It wasn't a verbal invitation inside, but from the fact that he turned and receded into the room, door still open, it counted.
Cyrus moved to stand at his desk again, shuffling some of the papers around on it. It was hard to tell if the movements were even purposive. There was a furrow in his brow now; he gestured noncommittally towards the cluster of chairs in his seating area. Perhaps another unvoiced offer. He was either having difficulty speaking or choosing not to, but the result was much the same.
He was not the only one.
Asala silently and almost mechanically followed Cyrus's wordless offers. She found a seat and carefully lowered herself into it. She could not make herself comfortable, her elbows on her knees and her hands clasped together out in front of her. She stared at them, quietly, trying to will herself to find some place to begin. It was easier said then done. "I--" she started before cutting herself off, fearing a sarcastic bite from him. She shook her head again. She couldn't just flounder now, not after she finally worked up the courage to face him again. She would have to weather his cutting remarks-- if he had them. She had to say what she wanted to say. She inhaled once more, and decided to just forge ahead. It had worked for her in the past...
"I am afraid words are not enough, but at the moment... They are all that I have," she stated, lifting her eyes upward toward Cyrus. "I am... Sorry, for how I acted. How I treated you. It's not enough to make it up to you, I know. But I had to say it," she said, earnestly. The heat wrapping around her face and neck had ebbed away, replaced by a cold sensation.
Given the positioning of the desk and the chairs, he stood with his back to her, but it was easy enough to tell that he didn't move at all while she spoke, tension held in the tight line of his shoulders, which were raised higher than they should have been. When she was finished, she watched them lift further as he took in a breath, and then fall when he exhaled through his nose, just loud enough for the sound to reach her ears.
He turned then, leaning back against the edge of his desk and folding his arms over his chest. He didn't seem to be wearing a particularly yielding expression; the lines of his face were hard—something more than just the architecture of his features. It took him a long time to say anything, and when he did, his voice was quiet, barely inflected.
“You're forgiven. Please close the door on your way out."
She blinked. That... was not what she expected. Unconsciously she tilted her head, her broken horn rising as the other fell, as she looked at him, trying to find some sort of answer on his face and of course none were forthcoming. Her eyes fell from him then, and her brows furrowed as she tried to inflect his meaning. It was not the simplest thing in the world to do, especially for her. She wanted to explain everything to him, how she felt when he'd lost his magic, what she felt. But at the moment it seemed... selfish, to try and force an explanation where one did not seem to be wanted.
Asala's brows then unfurled themselves and softened, as she looked back up to Cyrus. She was unsure if his curtness because of her or... if something else was on his mind. And she did not want to leave without at least trying to figure it out. She inched toward the edge of her seat and spoke softly. "Cyrus, is... something on your mind? Are you okay?" she asked, before bracing herself for the answer.
He met her eyes steadily with his own, little changing in his demeanor. “With respect, Asala, I don't think the answer to that question is really your business anymore." He finally moved a bit, if only to tilt his head. “I am in no need of medical assistance—I simply have much to think about." Cyrus didn't say it, but the expectation that she would leave then hung heavy in the air between them. Everything about the way he spoke sounded like a dismissal. A polite one, but a dismissal nonetheless.
She winced. It hurt, yes, but she was not entirely surprised with how harsh he had been the last time they had spoken. Her only saving grace was that he was not as cutting this time. Still, his outright dismissal stung, and it stung a lot. Her gaze fell again, and contemplating leaving as he asked, but something kept her in her seat. She did not want to leave like that. She still had things she wanted to say, and she knew the regret she would face if she left with it still unsaid.
She had to say it, or at least try. So that he would know. What he did with it was up to him. He could hate her, or he keep dismissing her, but at least she told him how she had felt. It was all she could do at the moment. All she had were her words, and she wanted him to hear them, even if he did not want them. After that, she could live with knowing she tried, though the scar would always remain. "I... wish to say something, if you would let me," she began, nothing accusation or confrontational in her voice, instead her tone asked for permission. "Then, I will leave and if you wish it... you will not have to see me again," she finished.
Asala stared not at Cyrus, but rather straight ahead. Perhaps she was being selfish, but she continued regardless. "When you lost your magic," she winced, that day still clear in her mind. The pain in his face when Leon burned the red lyrium poison out still haunted her, "I... felt like I had lost my brother again. I..." she had thought she had lost him too. Maybe she had, regardless. "But when I heard you had lost your magic I... did not know what to do. I wanted to visit, but I was worried what my presence may do," she said, glancing down at her hand.
She still had her magic, of course, and she was worried that to see her still able to use it would hurt. He had taught her many things, she was worried that she may have reminded him of what he had a lost. She realized now that all he needed was a friendly face, but she was so afraid of making things worse for him she did not think it through. "I did not want to remind you of what you had lost. Which was foolish, and selfish looking at it now," she said, feeling a tear well up in the corner of her eye. A simple visit, and all of this could be avoided. She was stupid.
"The weeks after, I threw myself in the books you had loaned me, hoping to find some way to help you, maybe even find a way to help get your magic back," she shook her head, acknowledging how foolish that sounded. She remembered not sleeping much that first week, hoping to find something that Cyrus hadn't thought of himself. Of course she came up with nothing. Of course. "I was naive and arrogant to believe I could find something you could not. Foolish," she hissed at herself under her breath. "But I had to try."
She paused, wiping away the tear that had hung up on the edge of her nose. "I was too weak. So I threw myself into my studies, hoping to get stronger to find a way to help. I... neglected you in favor of my own selfish desires," she said through a shaky exhale. "By the time I realized it, I was... afraid to visit. So much time had passed, I didn't know what you would say, and I was afraid." She winced again, this time in anger. At herself. "So I put it off, and put it off, and--" she shook her head and leaned forward, her shoulders heavy.
"I am... Truly sorry. For being so naive, so selfish, and being so arrogant. I am sorry... for everything." There was nothing else she felt she could do but apologize, and that hurt the worst.
She was quiet afterward, before wordlessly standing. She began to make her way toward the door before she hesitated for one more second. "As I said... You need not see me again, if you do not wish to," she said, the words sour on her tongue. "But... If you will allow me one more bit of selfishness... If you ever need my help for anything, anything, just know... All you need to do is ask." She was silent for a second, before she added, "And I am sorry that is all I can offer."
Cyrus had maintained a steady, almost unblinking silence for the entirety of her speech, but now he pursed his lips, pushing himself off the edge of the desk to stand straight. It seemed to be a signal that he had something to say—but that something was not immediate. He dropped his eyes to the floor, the position of his arms now looking more like a defense than a mark of aggression, and the deep line reappeared between his brows.
He took several breaths, a few of them ending in abrupt stops that might have been aborted attempts to speak. When he finally managed actual words, they were gentle, perhaps even hesitant. “I'm not infallible. You might have found something. I don't have a monopoly on being right. Or on being wrong." An odd part of the whole thing for him to address first, maybe, but he looked like he was trying to work himself up to something else, dragging his eyes from the ground and settling them on her face again, flicking once to the uneven horn, it looked like. They saw each other so seldom it might have been the first time he'd been aware of the injury.
“You—you hurt me." His hands squeezed his arms. “I don't go seeking people to teach, you know. I'm not really a teacher—I don't have the demeanor for it. But I taught you." He grimaced, his mouth pulling to one side, still visibly struggling against himself for the words. “It felt like you stuck around for as long as I had something to give you, and then when my magic was gone, you neither needed nor wanted anything from me any longer. As though my friendship was not enough of a reason to—" Cyrus shook his head, almost violently, but it was hard to place the exact source of his frustration.
“Things like that—they don't just heal. Not because you said sorry, not because I forgive you. If I could wave my hand and set things back to rights, to the way they were before, maybe I would. But no magic can do that, and nothing else can, either." He expelled a heavy breath through his nose.
“I really do forgive you. I'm not—not upset anymore. But that's not enough, either, and I don't think we can ever be like before." He didn't apologize to her for that, but she could read regret in his face nevertheless. It had clearly cost him to say all of this, to speak so openly of emotions he no doubt thought of as weaknesses. Cyrus slumped under the weight of the confession, shoulders sloping downwards, his perfect posture ruined by an uncharacteristic curve in his spine.
"I understand," she said. She did, truly. The damage had been done, and none of her healing magic could do anything to repair it. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but there it was. She tilted her head, scratching at the rough spot at where her horn had been and then shook her own head. "It wasn't because I didn't need you, but because... I did," she said, quietly. "I... never had a teacher. A few had tried but..." It just never had worked out like that. "And I did thoroughly enjoy our lessons. And I wanted to repay you for everything. I... just got caught up in everything that I couldn't do, instead of the things that I could."
She bit her lip, but shook her head. "I... do not want to make that mistake again. So please. I don't care if it won't put things right, but if there is anything I can do just... Let me know. I owe you that much." She could not bear the thought of doing nothing when she could do something again.
She made to leave again, but hesitated in her step for a moment. She turned toward him and gave him a weak smile in farewell.
Either he didn't have a reply to that or just couldn't muster it after what the rest of his words had cost him. His return smile was thready, weak in a way she hadn't really seen in him. Perhaps an artifact of the past year-and-some. No doubt they were both different people now. He inclined his head, though, an acknowledgment of her offer. In the end, he managed a word, at least.
“Farewell."
She'd learned the lesson on how putting things off would only make things worse, but that did not make it easier for her. She had also learned... that a forward approach is somethings a much better strategy than waiting. If she was to try to make things right, then she would have to take a plunge. Waiting would help no one, and that would only leave what-ifs in place. At least this way she could say she tried.
Asala inhaled deeply and forced her hand out, eyes closing on their own and rapped her knuckles across the solid door. Immediately after they'd made contact, heat washed over her face and neck as her nerves once again took hold. If her mind was blank before, it was now completely empty and racing at the same time, with a good measure of fuzz in addition.
It didn't take too long for him to open the door, pulling it halfway back before it appeared to register just who was on the other side. Or that was probably what happened, considering that the slightly-distracted expression on his face flickered briefly before settling into something so neutral it was almost cold. He blinked at her for a moment, eyes dull, then pushed a breath through his nose, taking a step back and tapping the door so it would open the rest of the way on its own.
It wasn't a verbal invitation inside, but from the fact that he turned and receded into the room, door still open, it counted.
Cyrus moved to stand at his desk again, shuffling some of the papers around on it. It was hard to tell if the movements were even purposive. There was a furrow in his brow now; he gestured noncommittally towards the cluster of chairs in his seating area. Perhaps another unvoiced offer. He was either having difficulty speaking or choosing not to, but the result was much the same.
He was not the only one.
Asala silently and almost mechanically followed Cyrus's wordless offers. She found a seat and carefully lowered herself into it. She could not make herself comfortable, her elbows on her knees and her hands clasped together out in front of her. She stared at them, quietly, trying to will herself to find some place to begin. It was easier said then done. "I--" she started before cutting herself off, fearing a sarcastic bite from him. She shook her head again. She couldn't just flounder now, not after she finally worked up the courage to face him again. She would have to weather his cutting remarks-- if he had them. She had to say what she wanted to say. She inhaled once more, and decided to just forge ahead. It had worked for her in the past...
"I am afraid words are not enough, but at the moment... They are all that I have," she stated, lifting her eyes upward toward Cyrus. "I am... Sorry, for how I acted. How I treated you. It's not enough to make it up to you, I know. But I had to say it," she said, earnestly. The heat wrapping around her face and neck had ebbed away, replaced by a cold sensation.
Given the positioning of the desk and the chairs, he stood with his back to her, but it was easy enough to tell that he didn't move at all while she spoke, tension held in the tight line of his shoulders, which were raised higher than they should have been. When she was finished, she watched them lift further as he took in a breath, and then fall when he exhaled through his nose, just loud enough for the sound to reach her ears.
He turned then, leaning back against the edge of his desk and folding his arms over his chest. He didn't seem to be wearing a particularly yielding expression; the lines of his face were hard—something more than just the architecture of his features. It took him a long time to say anything, and when he did, his voice was quiet, barely inflected.
“You're forgiven. Please close the door on your way out."
She blinked. That... was not what she expected. Unconsciously she tilted her head, her broken horn rising as the other fell, as she looked at him, trying to find some sort of answer on his face and of course none were forthcoming. Her eyes fell from him then, and her brows furrowed as she tried to inflect his meaning. It was not the simplest thing in the world to do, especially for her. She wanted to explain everything to him, how she felt when he'd lost his magic, what she felt. But at the moment it seemed... selfish, to try and force an explanation where one did not seem to be wanted.
Asala's brows then unfurled themselves and softened, as she looked back up to Cyrus. She was unsure if his curtness because of her or... if something else was on his mind. And she did not want to leave without at least trying to figure it out. She inched toward the edge of her seat and spoke softly. "Cyrus, is... something on your mind? Are you okay?" she asked, before bracing herself for the answer.
He met her eyes steadily with his own, little changing in his demeanor. “With respect, Asala, I don't think the answer to that question is really your business anymore." He finally moved a bit, if only to tilt his head. “I am in no need of medical assistance—I simply have much to think about." Cyrus didn't say it, but the expectation that she would leave then hung heavy in the air between them. Everything about the way he spoke sounded like a dismissal. A polite one, but a dismissal nonetheless.
She winced. It hurt, yes, but she was not entirely surprised with how harsh he had been the last time they had spoken. Her only saving grace was that he was not as cutting this time. Still, his outright dismissal stung, and it stung a lot. Her gaze fell again, and contemplating leaving as he asked, but something kept her in her seat. She did not want to leave like that. She still had things she wanted to say, and she knew the regret she would face if she left with it still unsaid.
She had to say it, or at least try. So that he would know. What he did with it was up to him. He could hate her, or he keep dismissing her, but at least she told him how she had felt. It was all she could do at the moment. All she had were her words, and she wanted him to hear them, even if he did not want them. After that, she could live with knowing she tried, though the scar would always remain. "I... wish to say something, if you would let me," she began, nothing accusation or confrontational in her voice, instead her tone asked for permission. "Then, I will leave and if you wish it... you will not have to see me again," she finished.
Asala stared not at Cyrus, but rather straight ahead. Perhaps she was being selfish, but she continued regardless. "When you lost your magic," she winced, that day still clear in her mind. The pain in his face when Leon burned the red lyrium poison out still haunted her, "I... felt like I had lost my brother again. I..." she had thought she had lost him too. Maybe she had, regardless. "But when I heard you had lost your magic I... did not know what to do. I wanted to visit, but I was worried what my presence may do," she said, glancing down at her hand.
She still had her magic, of course, and she was worried that to see her still able to use it would hurt. He had taught her many things, she was worried that she may have reminded him of what he had a lost. She realized now that all he needed was a friendly face, but she was so afraid of making things worse for him she did not think it through. "I did not want to remind you of what you had lost. Which was foolish, and selfish looking at it now," she said, feeling a tear well up in the corner of her eye. A simple visit, and all of this could be avoided. She was stupid.
"The weeks after, I threw myself in the books you had loaned me, hoping to find some way to help you, maybe even find a way to help get your magic back," she shook her head, acknowledging how foolish that sounded. She remembered not sleeping much that first week, hoping to find something that Cyrus hadn't thought of himself. Of course she came up with nothing. Of course. "I was naive and arrogant to believe I could find something you could not. Foolish," she hissed at herself under her breath. "But I had to try."
She paused, wiping away the tear that had hung up on the edge of her nose. "I was too weak. So I threw myself into my studies, hoping to get stronger to find a way to help. I... neglected you in favor of my own selfish desires," she said through a shaky exhale. "By the time I realized it, I was... afraid to visit. So much time had passed, I didn't know what you would say, and I was afraid." She winced again, this time in anger. At herself. "So I put it off, and put it off, and--" she shook her head and leaned forward, her shoulders heavy.
"I am... Truly sorry. For being so naive, so selfish, and being so arrogant. I am sorry... for everything." There was nothing else she felt she could do but apologize, and that hurt the worst.
She was quiet afterward, before wordlessly standing. She began to make her way toward the door before she hesitated for one more second. "As I said... You need not see me again, if you do not wish to," she said, the words sour on her tongue. "But... If you will allow me one more bit of selfishness... If you ever need my help for anything, anything, just know... All you need to do is ask." She was silent for a second, before she added, "And I am sorry that is all I can offer."
Cyrus had maintained a steady, almost unblinking silence for the entirety of her speech, but now he pursed his lips, pushing himself off the edge of the desk to stand straight. It seemed to be a signal that he had something to say—but that something was not immediate. He dropped his eyes to the floor, the position of his arms now looking more like a defense than a mark of aggression, and the deep line reappeared between his brows.
He took several breaths, a few of them ending in abrupt stops that might have been aborted attempts to speak. When he finally managed actual words, they were gentle, perhaps even hesitant. “I'm not infallible. You might have found something. I don't have a monopoly on being right. Or on being wrong." An odd part of the whole thing for him to address first, maybe, but he looked like he was trying to work himself up to something else, dragging his eyes from the ground and settling them on her face again, flicking once to the uneven horn, it looked like. They saw each other so seldom it might have been the first time he'd been aware of the injury.
“You—you hurt me." His hands squeezed his arms. “I don't go seeking people to teach, you know. I'm not really a teacher—I don't have the demeanor for it. But I taught you." He grimaced, his mouth pulling to one side, still visibly struggling against himself for the words. “It felt like you stuck around for as long as I had something to give you, and then when my magic was gone, you neither needed nor wanted anything from me any longer. As though my friendship was not enough of a reason to—" Cyrus shook his head, almost violently, but it was hard to place the exact source of his frustration.
“Things like that—they don't just heal. Not because you said sorry, not because I forgive you. If I could wave my hand and set things back to rights, to the way they were before, maybe I would. But no magic can do that, and nothing else can, either." He expelled a heavy breath through his nose.
“I really do forgive you. I'm not—not upset anymore. But that's not enough, either, and I don't think we can ever be like before." He didn't apologize to her for that, but she could read regret in his face nevertheless. It had clearly cost him to say all of this, to speak so openly of emotions he no doubt thought of as weaknesses. Cyrus slumped under the weight of the confession, shoulders sloping downwards, his perfect posture ruined by an uncharacteristic curve in his spine.
"I understand," she said. She did, truly. The damage had been done, and none of her healing magic could do anything to repair it. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but there it was. She tilted her head, scratching at the rough spot at where her horn had been and then shook her own head. "It wasn't because I didn't need you, but because... I did," she said, quietly. "I... never had a teacher. A few had tried but..." It just never had worked out like that. "And I did thoroughly enjoy our lessons. And I wanted to repay you for everything. I... just got caught up in everything that I couldn't do, instead of the things that I could."
She bit her lip, but shook her head. "I... do not want to make that mistake again. So please. I don't care if it won't put things right, but if there is anything I can do just... Let me know. I owe you that much." She could not bear the thought of doing nothing when she could do something again.
She made to leave again, but hesitated in her step for a moment. She turned toward him and gave him a weak smile in farewell.
Either he didn't have a reply to that or just couldn't muster it after what the rest of his words had cost him. His return smile was thready, weak in a way she hadn't really seen in him. Perhaps an artifact of the past year-and-some. No doubt they were both different people now. He inclined his head, though, an acknowledgment of her offer. In the end, he managed a word, at least.
“Farewell."