Debate she says, and he hears in it a fight of no insignificant violence. True, it would take as much to stop him, at his worst— or Elgar'nan, as his unwitting proxy. He cannot imagine it, in truth— the blight could not be soothed, that boundless, endless rage was undefeatable. It could only be killed, or bound and locked away, surely.
How could he ever agree to such a thing, in the first place? And to leave the veil intact and the world thus crippled, how could he ever have agreed to such a disgrace to all who had suffered, had died, to get this far? How could Mythal ever forgive him, how could... how could he ever bear to let it go, his great duty, the only thing he might ever have done to correct his betrayals, and leave it unfinished on the precipice? No. No, never. It is a fantasy that she holds out to him, an impossible dream.
But it is so beautiful. And that vow, the promise he himself had given to his own first love, so many ages ago... Always, always she tempts him, to dream and put aside the unending weight of his long regrets.
"Oh, ma Vhenan. Ar ghilas vir banal, ir fen'harel," He tells her. It can bring only pain, this terrible daydream. He will only hurt her further, where he is going. He can only betray her, and yet his arm is rising of its own accord, his hand reaching forth, "You should turn away, and walk another path. Ar lasa mala revas, do not ask me for it a second time. I am not a good enough man. I have not the strength."
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How could he ever agree to such a thing, in the first place? And to leave the veil intact and the world thus crippled, how could he ever have agreed to such a disgrace to all who had suffered, had died, to get this far? How could Mythal ever forgive him, how could... how could he ever bear to let it go, his great duty, the only thing he might ever have done to correct his betrayals, and leave it unfinished on the precipice? No. No, never. It is a fantasy that she holds out to him, an impossible dream.
But it is so beautiful. And that vow, the promise he himself had given to his own first love, so many ages ago... Always, always she tempts him, to dream and put aside the unending weight of his long regrets.
"Oh, ma Vhenan. Ar ghilas vir banal, ir fen'harel," He tells her. It can bring only pain, this terrible daydream. He will only hurt her further, where he is going. He can only betray her, and yet his arm is rising of its own accord, his hand reaching forth, "You should turn away, and walk another path. Ar lasa mala revas, do not ask me for it a second time. I am not a good enough man. I have not the strength."