I'M NO GENTLEMAN

the words seem to get lost on their way to her mouth.  it had seemed so easy ,  a moment ago ;   I’m sorry I’m not her.  an apology for something she can neither rectify nor control ,  one that will not change anything in the grand scheme of things.  but her guilt gnaws at her regardless.  something within her asserting that something more could have been done.  that she’s not trying hard enough  now.  that she should storm back to the tva and demand answers.  reparations.  something that would make this make sense ,  justify the means.  

some part of her still wants to hope.  hope that this is all some misunderstanding.  hope that her faith ,  her dedication hadn’t been so terribly misplaced.  her deeds done on the timekeepers orders weren’t tainted by misinformation and manipulation at peak form.  it’s a feeble ,  weak hope.  but she clings to it regardless.  

her leg bounces erratically ,  stomach twisting into knots.  it’s uncomfortable ,  these  feelings.  it’s not as though she had been  heartless ,  before ,  but the emotions had always felt much more contained.  safer.  the relief of a job well done ,  the pleasant comradery of grabbing coffee with mobius.  nothing like this wild thing that swirls within her.  terrifyingly  human ,  bordering on  unstrained.  

‘  I’m sorry I’m not her.  ’   she blurts ,  barely above a whisper because she feels dangerously close to  exploding.  heart thudding rapid - fire in it’s cage ,  like this confession scared her more than the threat of her coworkers hunting them both down.   ‘  I’m sorry I don’t know how to fix this …  ’   

I’m sorry I’m not her. There’s a sharp inhale, like he’d been struck. His head shakes, automatically trying to deny it. Because he can see the fear, the anxiety rolling off her in waves. And everything in him screams to take it away, to disagree and argue so she won’t look that way, speak that way. So she won’t ever say that again... Please. Please don’t. 

I’m not her. Not her. He swallows hard, trying to get the awful echo out of his brain. He can’t think about that right now. He can’t--! “There’s no reason to be sorry--,” his voice trembles, rushed but adamant. Truly, she never asked for this, didn’t want it to happen any more than he had. Still, she shoulders the blame, ever the martyr. Some things never change... 

He tries not to think, to focus on her, on the present. He seeks her gaze, wishing he could hold it. “I love you, Amelia. I always have. I always will.” There’s a simplicity, an undeniable truth. As if those words are etched into the fabric of the universe, a fact as certain as the sun setting. The smallest hint of a smile, trying desperately to reassure (and perhaps it isn’t just her he’s trying to comfort). “You are who you are. And she--.”

the fatigue seems to punch her in the face ,  these days.  startling ,  and  unfamiliar.  more than ever ,  amelia is convinced that time flows differently at the time variance authority ,  that whilst there ,  they exist outside of it.  for the way it passes here threatens to drive her  mad ,  the subtle ticking of the clocks ,  the unbearably slow crawl of their hands.  the way she  feels it ,  now.  when too many hours have passed between the consumption of meals ,  or since she’s properly shut her eyes.  

more annoying is that even in it’s unfamiliarity ,  it is still familiar to some hidden part of her.  that she can sit with eyes closed and sort of  drift ,  hover just south of  remembering.  there’s no flash ,  nothing concrete.  but she  knows ;   amelia smollet spent much of her time  exhausted.  

the other one ??  the earlier version ??  the one he lost ,  the one she can’t remember …

she’s seen the way he looks at her.  hope and desperation ,  disappointment and  loss  in equal measure.  depending on the day ,  the hour ,  the  minute.  james flickers through emotions like an old television set and it triggered one of those unexplainable impulses within her.  put on hold until now ,  a moment of quiet.  familiar ,  but  not.  amelia sucks a breath into aching lungs and breaks the silence ;   ‘  I’m sorry.  ’   no context ,  no preamble.  she pinches the bridge of her nose ,  gaze still strategically turned towards the window. 

@tostarsabove​ ​

it isn’t comfortable. not like it should be. before, silence between them didn’t weigh heavy with uncertainty and fear. before, quiet was a relief, to curl up together with no expectations or demands, stealing fleeting moments of peace and savoring every second. he’d hold her close, thread fingers through her hair and let himself be lulled by the rise and fall of her chest against his. 

now he doesn’t dare try to take her in his arms. doesn’t even hope to sit close enough to feel the lines of her against his side uninvited. and the absence of those intimacies aches, raw and stinging. instead, james leans on one arm of the couch, leaving an ample gap between them both. for the thousandth time, memories swirl in his mind, threatening to spill over as if speaking them will bring them back. a hollow hope-- he’s already tried. and each time the discomfort and confusion (and terrible lack of recognition) that flits across amelia’s features hasn’t been worth it.

at the sound of her name ,  amelia casts her eyes downwards like a chastised child.  though his following words make it easy to rationalize that he isn’t  angry ,  more frustrated at the situation and how she had handled it up until this point ,  the  disappointment  washes over her regardless.  and it’s a strange quagmire of a situation wherein she feels disappointed in herself for  disappointing him. 

his fingers find her chin ,  gently dragging her gaze from their conjoined hands.   he wants to help.  and whilst asking for it in this sort of a capacity doesn’t always come easily to her ,  amelia finds that denying him would be much more of a challenge.  not to mention ,  there had been no real  asking  on her part ,  james was the one pleading for her permission ,  eyes full of a compassion sincere enough to make her heart squeeze within it’s cage.   ‘  alright.  ’  she manages at last ,  voice soft.

There’s something troubling about her expression, almost hurt. He blinks hard, confused and worried at the turn of events. He’d only meant to make her see her own importance, not add more pain. Just the thought of doing so causes an uncomfortable weight in his chest. Her agreement doesn’t reassure him, grip on her face releasing to brush back her hair with a sigh.  “Thank you,” he replies gently, careful to keep his voice even. “I’ll see what I can do the next time you close a rift. Or...if it flares before then.”  

there’s a quiet appreciation of his words , manifested in the gentle squeeze she applies to his hand.  james’ concern for her well - being sparks a comforting warmth within her and she gently brushes the pad of her thumb against his skin. 

‘  I  —   ’   the question throws her slightly ,  for she hadn’t …  really  ever sought any relief for the pain ,  never wanted to  complain.  so she’d simply gritted her teeth ,  bore it like she so often did.  never wanting to slow ,  to  stop.  to admit weakness so  —   ‘  I’ve never …   uh ,  told anyone ??  not the full extent ,  at least …   but it normally doesn’t last long ,  the worst of it anyways.  then it sort of aches for awhile ,  but it’s fine.  truly ,  it doesn’t trouble me much …   ’   it’s an improvement from when she’d first awoken with it ,  at least.  but the breach  —   it worries her in more ways than one …   ‘  you don’t have to concern yourself with it ,  james …   if I must endure a bit of pain to get the world back to the way it was ,  it is a small price to pay …  ’ 

Thoughts stutter just a moment as her fingers tighten around his own. The soft touch of her thumb soothes, a pleasant distraction. --But it doesn’t last. He wishes he could feel surprised that she’s never sought relief for own pain, and yet there’s not an ounce of it. Instead he exhales sharply, disapproving. The emotion only growing more pronounced with every added word from her lips. Endless excuses, the discomfort doesn’t linger, so why treat it? It’s not so intense she can’t function, so not a priority. HE specifically needn’t bother as her suffering is worth it if she’s fulfilling her self-assigned duty to the world--. 

His clenched jaw finally snaps open, “Amelia--!” The sound of her name exasperated, but not angry. He leans away, loathe to part but needing to look at her. “Do you really think I’m going to sit idly by when you’re hurting? Impossible.” A long breath, trying to gather what composure he can. “I will concern myself because I want to. When anyone else is in trouble or hurts, you stop to help no matter the personal cost. I believe you deserve that same consideration.” If not more. After all she’s done, is doing, will do, doesn’t she merit a fraction of the compassion she gives so freely to everyone else? 

his arm wraps around her waist ,  their closeness adding the warmth of his body to the comfortable temperature of the room.  and it hits her then ,  almost like an  after - thought  —   the  ‘ excuses ’  they’d used to justify this closeness once night fell in the frigid hinterland wild were  just that.  resourceful ,  sure.  but that felt more like an added benefit rather than the main reason ,  now. 

‘  I  —  appreciate that.  I try.  ’   tries to make things safer ,  to right wrongs that have been done.  but most of the time ,  amelia feels as though she has  no idea  what she’s doing.  her eyes squeeze closed again ,  feeling how the anchor reacts to the press of his skin against her own.  she falls quiet for long enough that one might think his plea had fallen on deaf ears ,  or perhaps that she had fallen asleep and then ;   ‘  it’s like …   when I close the rifts ,  there’s this  tether  —   between the rift ,  and the mark  —   and this tension builds ,  and builds  then  snaps.  so , it’s not exactly comfortable ,  and some hurt more than others …  ’

A shake of his head, chin sliding on top of her curls. “You succeed,” he counters, almost as if unable to do otherwise. Silence falls, interrupted only by the crackling fire and their muted breaths (which even now seem to rise and fall in tandem). And it’s strange, there’s no reason here to huddle so close, and yet he doesn’t feel the need to move away. Quite the opposite in fact. He lowers their joined hands, resting the back of his on one knee. 

‘  I suspect it will be ,  also.  which is  unbelievably sad.  ’   it weighs heavy on her heart ,  the treatment all those people faced simply for being born with  magic.  and her thoughts turn to her brother ,  as they often did.  these days ,  especially.  it could have easily been her ,  for all their genetic similarity ,  amelia suspects that it was quite the toss - up.  some days ,  she wishes it  was ,  if only to have spared alex the hand he had been dealt.  his name rest on the tip of her tongue ,  amelia looks at the hand that now marked her as something  other ,  summons her courage and  —   

then james speaks once more.  raises questions about the mark in question and her eyes drift closed as a result.  yes.  the answer is immediate ,  inside of her skull whereas the verbal one takes a bit longer.  amelia gives into the previously suppressed impulse ,  leaning into him with a tired sigh.  it’s easier here ,  after she’s tucked her head beneath his chin to admit that which she struggles to come to grips with.   ‘  yes …  ’   her voice is soft ,  almost disbelieving.  like she knows she should be reaching for a more  reassuring  message ,  but can’t quite muster it.   ‘  it’s …   it’s not so bad.  but most of the time ,  I get the feeling that  this  —   ’   and she raises her hand ,  slowly turning her wrist as they’re washed in it’s ethereal glow ;   ‘  is not where it was meant to be …  ’

A gentle weight settles against him and he welcomes the closeness, resting chin atop her hair. His right arm reaches, curling around her waist. And there’s a quiet sigh at being able to hold her again, even halfway. The day has stretched so long, the last time seems ages ago instead of yesterday.

perhaps.  but likely  not.  strong opinions such as this were difficult ,  if not  impossible  to change and no amount of willing would make it so.  she would just have to make her peace ,  shoulder the weight of the decision which fell to her ,  whether she deserved such a thing or not and watch as the cards fell where they may.  but then he flips the question ,  turns it back on her and amelia taps her fingertips gently ,  idly  against her thigh.  

‘  if not for solas ,  the mark would have killed me.  there would be no  ‘ herald ’ ,  no one to close the rifts.  ’   she makes a dismissive gesture as the word  herald  crosses her lips.   ‘  and it makes the most sense ,  as you said ,  templars are trained to cancel magic ,  which is not what we need.  and ,  though most are loathe to admit it ,  their so - called order has gone just as far astray as the rebel mages ,  perhaps even more - so.  when we had to fight them in the crossroads ,  the mages felt  desperate.  like a formally caged animal fighting for it’s very survival but with the templars …   it was  malice.  it was  hatred.  perhaps ,  it started as fear ,  but something changed within them.  ’   amelia doesn’t know if she’s making sense ,  if that was any kind of proper justification at all.   ‘  all in all ,  I just think it’s the right decision.  I think they deserve a chance ,  and perhaps the inquisition can give it to them …  ’

She fidgets and there’s an impulse to reach out, entwine their fingers. He refrains, focus narrowed to what she says, how she says it. There’s gratitude there, an acknowledgement for the role magic has played through Solas. Practicality, expected, in the logic behind choosing those who already understand the arcane. Unexpected is ...emotion. Not THAT she feels, but HOW.  Distrust and disapproval for the Templars’ conduct in this war, empathy for the escaped members of the Circles. He recalls the desperation too clearly, the frenzied fear in the mages from the Witchwood. Lashes close tightly, briefly, pushing the disturbing image away.

without hesitation ,  he crosses the space and settles in beside her.  and amelia wants nothing more than to lean against him ,  tuck her head against his shoulder and forget about everything that was wrong with the world for a moment.  but she  fights.  fights against a selfish indulgence she does not think she’s quite earned  —   at least not until they’ve completed the conversation that she had started ,  answered a question that would define her   and the inquisition   from this point onward.    

this feels like a practice round ,  a chance to speak on her decision in a small - scale way with a sympathetic audience before she’s forced to make it for real.  before she must face the anger ,  the consequences ,   the potential fall - out.  a soft ,  humorless chuckle.  a subtle shake of her head.   ‘  believe me ,  I know.  ’   it goes beyond what he could even know ,  and in addition to the obvious organizations she was set to anger ,  there were plenty of personal consequences as well.  namely ,   what would her father say ??   another terrifying prospect ,  but —   she looks james in the eyes ,  a fierceness burning in her gaze ,  determination  holding steady in the set of her mouth.   ‘  but no ,  it will not.  ’ 

Surprise flits across his expression, a burning wonder sparking in his eyes. Her own advisors will rage at the decision, leaders across the continent may withdraw and decide against offering aid, even the commoners within their ranks already may desert at such an extreme choice. HOWEVER, if the mages succeed....they help Amelia close the breach, surely that will be significant? 

james does not say anything she hasn’t already considered ,  if not for the elven mage  (  she will  not  call him an apostate ,  not even within the confines of her own mind  )   the mark would have killed her ,  they would not be here having this conversation.  they wouldn’t have this  chance  —   if that alone were not a compelling argument for an alliance with the mages ,  amelia feared there wasn’t much else she could reach for ,  for it would become obvious that no amount of  logic  would sway the unyielding minds.  she would be the first to admit that she doesn’t know much about magic ,  and the idea of powering up something they barely understand is uniquely  terrifying ,  but if it sealed the breach ,  if it  helped  —   amelia would risk it ,  endure it.  

but then ,  james speaks the truth she had asked of him ,  and relief blossoms like a rose in her chest.  there was no questioning of her sanity ,  not from  him.  and amelia had not realized how  truly worried  she’d been until the fear had been fully washed away.  she pats the mattress in a nonverbal invitation ,  and releases a lengthy exhale.   ‘  thank you.  I respect cassanda  —   and cullen  —   but I do fear their preconceived notions are keeping them from seeing the bigger picture …  ’

Despite the slightly controversial edge to his response, there’s no chastisement, no pushback from her. And he’s grateful, a lightness shining through the composure he donned, dissolving it slowly, though not quite completely. Not yet. James fights frantic curiosity, wondering so many things now that allying with the mages is an option she leans toward on her own. But-- of course it might merely be the most reasonable course, the choice with the greatest chance for success...

A palm invites him over and there’s no hesitation. Long strides close the gap and he perches on the bed beside her, his thigh almost pressed against hers out of habit. 

amelia hesitates only a moment longer ,  then drops into a seated position on the mattress and begins to work on the buttons of her boots.  it proves to be a welcome distraction from the renewed sense of  intimacy  that seemed to arise from the two of them finding themselves  alone ,  away from the prying eyes of the faithful in an entirely new setting.  and  speaking of prying eyes …   she’s more aware than ever of the eyes that follow her every move ,  can already imagine the rumors beginning to spark about their so called  herald  taking private meetings in her chambers with the  ‘ new recruit ’.   which ,  bothers her far more for james’ sake than her own.  

she rises once more ,  crossing the space to drop her boots near his own and tosses her gloves onto a side table haphazardly before returning to perch on the edge of her bed once more.   ‘  between the mages and the templars  —   I feel the mages are the better option …   I also feel that cullen and cassandra are going think me mad ,  though that is less a feeling and more of a  fact.  ’   amelia closes her eyes for a couple of breaths before continuing on ;   ‘  so I wondered if you had any thoughts on the matter.  either the decision ,  or  whether or not I’m losing my mind.  ’

Eyes widen a second. Then a change passes over James’ features, like a shade being drawn over a window. What’s left is neutral, an incredibly controlled mask to keep the emotions roiling inside him from bursting. Losing her mind, that’s an apt phrase for how the whole of Thedas will SURELY react should Amelia choose to seek the mages. That she’s even considering it, thinks it the right choice (and after the events and comments in the Hinterlands, it’s almost hard to believe. )-- But if she does, she will practically be declaring support for the rebellion. Showing that mages are worthy of being allies--a pang causes him to swallow hard. 

amelia returns the smile ,  immediately moving into the space she’d been granted upon coming to haven ,  holding the door open for james and ty ,  who trots after them quite contently.   ‘  I suspect my father stayed off the front lines ,  for the most part ,  but yes.  ’   she responds ,  finally.  the temperature difference is obvious as soon as the threshold is crossed ,  a warm fire kept burning in the hearth even though the meeting with her advisors had gone much longer than she had anticipated  —   and the lack of new snow gathering in her hair was an immediate improvement.  then ,  she busies herself with removing her cloak and hanging it near the fire to properly dry before turning back towards james. 

‘  make yourself at home.  ’   it shouldn’t feel different ,  they’ve been sharing a tent in various inquisition campsites the past couple of weeks and yet  —   she  hovers.  almost as if it were his space she were occupying instead of the other way around.  there’s not a lot of seating options ,  the bed and a chair or two.  yet somehow ,  it feels like an weirdly impossible decision.  ty has no such hang - ups ,  and immediately curls up near the fireplace.  but perhaps there are other forces at play …   ‘  I think  —   apologies ,  may I ask your opinion on something ??  ’

He follows just a pace behind, sighing in relief the moment the door closes behind them. A gloved hand swipes icy moisture from his hair, unclasps his own damp cloak, trying to be rid of the lingering chill as quickly as possible. Amelia’s invitation arrives as he’s already stepping out of his boots, lining them up by the door to avoid tracking slush through her home. Even so, he flushes slightly, realizing oddly that this isn’t their space as the tents had been. Truly, that should be obvious but...sharing has been so ingrained at this point, only her words reminded him otherwise. STILL, she seems to indicate that his assumption wasn’t necessarily wrong... Stop. A slow breath and James tries to quit thinking so much, mimicking her earlier actions and hanging the heavy fabric of his cloak by the hearth. 

But despite her own words encouraging him to relax, Amelia’s actions speak another story. It doesn’t lessen the odd feeling he’s tried to ignore since arriving in Haven, where her rank and supposed divinity as Herald can scarcely be forgotten. Outside it’d been easier, but now it tries to creep back. So he remains by the flames a moment, removing his gloves and flexing stiff fingers by the heat with a pleased hum. 

amelia watches with a smile as jolie scoots out of her lap and walks over to james ,  eager to relieve him of his baby shaped responsibility.  when she settles onto the floor ,   emily is placed snugly between her legs and smiles like there’s no place else she’d rather be.  warmth surges in amelia’s chest cavity at the sight ,  and it takes a moment to realize that her husband has moved towards the kitchen ,  that a question has been directed her way.  

‘  I was also an infant at that time ,  so I’m afraid I can’t recall …  ’   probably ,  comes the unspoken thought that she chases with a shake of her head. ‘  he  did  stick bubblegum in my hair ,  once.  maybe that gives you an inkling of what I’ve dealt with during my childhood.  ’   amelia’s eyes roll towards the ceiling before fixing on her eldest once more ;   ‘  can you promise mummy you’ll not follow in uncle alex’s footsteps ??  ’   and holds out her pinky to seal said promise if jolene decides to make it. 

There’s a roll of his eyes, necessary whether Amy can see it or not. “Were you really?” he replies instead, amused sarcasm there. “Let me rephrase: did you hear of him being a little terror?” Even without the personal experience of siblings, it seems to be a thing other families do on occasion, bringing up less than flattering stories about infancy and childhood at the most embarrassing times. 

there’s only a moment’s hesitation ,  teeth embedding in her lower lip for a couple of seconds.  it’s not necessarily a difficult question ,  but one that could raise more complicated ones if james pooled together all the snippets of knowledge that she’s freely given out. ‘  my father was supposed to attend ,  but was called away on business.  he sent me in his stead.  ’   not a particularly unusual outcome ,  maybe made slightly more so if one knew that alexander had a son.   

‘  I would have asked to accompany him regardless ,  I had  —   have  a vested interest in the discussions.  ’   amelia presses on ,  giving more information than she needed to because it was  james  and for some reason ,  it seemed to flow far easier with him.   ‘  do you want to come inside ??   it’s  freezing  out here …  ’

Ah, a matter of family representation. He can understand that, is familiar with the idea of daughters and sons being responsible in their parents’ stead when necessary. “Was your father fighting?” The war was already in full swing at that time, armies from Ferelden and Orlais mobilized to quell the mage rebellion. 

‘  you  have nothing to apologize for.  ’   she counters with a smile and a shrug that seems to say ;   what can you do ??   it was merely a reality of the job she did now ,  some clients would be stubbornly obstinate and there would be no reasoning with them until she proved ,  without a shadow of a doubt ,  that she was  right.  even if it meant going out of her way to do so.  ‘  and it’s highly doubtful ,  but one can hope.  ’

luckily ,  the conversation shifts and she’s able to put the clients that had reminded her an awful lot of his parents out of her mind completely.   ‘  I’d love to baby wrangle ,  jolie can help.  right jolie ??  ’   amelia fixes her eldest daughter with a warm smile before ;   ‘  hazel ,  don’t you dare.  ’   and hazel giggles at her aunt’s words ,  like she knew  exactly  what amelia had said ,  knew  exactly  what she was doing and attempts to whack her brother in the face with the keys regardless.   amelia is faster ,  reflexes kicking in as she moves forward and stops hazel’s arm mid descent.   ‘  you have  far too much  of your father in you ,  sweetie …  ’

A soft chuckle answers her exasperation. He knows the type of people she deals with all too well. Clients with far too much money and time and the absurd ingrained belief that others exist to serve their needs. Even so, perhaps she’ll get lucky on the next project. After all, there is a tiny...almost miniscule amount of art collectors who manage to be decent people, or so says the small collection housed with his grandparents. 

Red curls bob enthusiastically as Jolie agrees, “I can! I can help a lot!” And she’s getting to her feet, crossing to her dad and holding out her arms. James smiles down at her, wondering how, HOW he ever got so lucky. 

“Here, sit down first, okay?”  Jolie settles on the floor with her legs kicked out in a wide v. He places Emily down in front of her, the smaller baby gurgling happily and showing her collection of baby teeth in a grin at her sister. Jolie takes the rattle and gives it a shake.