((A homeless bit of RP, since the plotline moved in a different direction then I first expected. So, here this goes! Probably happened at some point, just not recently. ))
“Well, what do you expect? He was a magister!”
Keelath followed her into the library. She had fled here to get away from the staring eyes of the Doomguard. She knew by now that most of them were kind and wouldn’t remark on her panicking, but she still didn’t want them to see her breaking down.
Normally she would have welcomed Keelath’s presence through this, but at the moment it was just a reminder of her own confused feelings–another person to fight the misconceptions of, before she could even come close to the misconceptions she was holding onto herself. “Don’t say that, Keelath,” she squeezed past the lump in her throat. “It’s not right.”
“Why?” He navigated around a couple of stacks of books to get closer to her. He honestly didn’t seem to notice he was frightening her. “Hasn’t it always been the case it’s one of them to blame for the problems of our society? The greed, the imbalance of power–”
Mirium put her hands up and backed away from him. Obligingly, Keelath finally stopped, watching her with just a little confusion crossing his face now. It was his way, she knew. Leap first, look later. She usually loved him for that; she couldn’t blame him for it now. And she couldn’t blame… “I don’t blame his profession for what Talthan did to me, Keelath. It’d make just as much sense to blame it on the fact he was a man, or blame all humans for Arthas’ role in the Third War.”
There was a sound from behind the bookshelf at her back, like something had fallen off the shelves. Mirium was too overwhelmed to pay much attention to it.
Keelath hesitated more. “There are some who would, you know. There are women who hate all men for the one or two who violated them…” He winced before he went on. “…as there are elves who hate all humans for what Arthas did to them–what their negligence allowed during the Second War.”
Mirium shook her head, taking a moment to dry her face since Keelath was staying put. “And there is nothing in common with any of that but the shape of their ears. You can’t tell me a round ear makes a person inherently cruel, Keel.” She looked away. “I don’t understand this comparing of suffering you’re doing anyway. The humans had enough to deal with. They also were massacred and raised into undeath. Who’s really so surprised they didn’t have time for us?”
“Not me doing it.” Though he also looked away, as if ashamed. He licked his lips. “I suppose it is always easier to blame another than wonder what about you might have caused an attack–”
“–rather than just say, there are things in life that are bigger than us, that we’ll always meet when unlucky enough. Keel, if our people had lived somewhere else, it would’ve been those others living in Quel’Thalas who’d been massacred. More humans, or the Wildhammer dwarves–”
“You can’t say it is wise to just assume luck or a location is all it is!” Keelath protested. “What kind of tactical sense is that? I heard about the breaching of the warding runes. That was deliberate! And what kind of arrogance is it to put the safety of the kingdom in the hands of one greedy magister, who of course turned out to be a traitor–!”
“A magister, again, Keelath? Or a person? A bad person, but a person. I don’t think there are any other magisters who’d condone what Dar’khan did.”
“Well, if they did, then I’d kill them.” Keelath huffed.
“Maybe,” said Mirium, still looking away.
“You wouldn’t?”
“No. Because…because there’s likely some reason–some rational reason–that had them thinking that was a good idea, Keelath. You can’t just assume things like that.”
“You put rather a lot of faith into the rationality of mortals,” Keelath returned stonily.
“Not faith… E-experience. There’s always a reason, Keel! Maybe one that the person turns around at some point in the future and agrees was misguided, and that is the best outcome. But if they hadn’t believed in that reason then, they wouldn’t have gone to the lengths they had. No one would.”
“But how…” He was listening to her, but he seemed a bit lost.
Mirium took a deep breath. “The reasons don’t have to be of careful thought. Maybe they were scared. Maybe they were desperate. Maybe their rage at a hurt done them grew and festered until it became a need for revenge. Or maybe all along there was some other need, going unmet, that no one had listened to before.”
Keelath went very quiet. When he didn’t reply, Mirium lost the edge off her nerves, stepping forward and folding into him, as if begging he forgive her for speaking her mind so strongly. That bothered Keelath more than anything else she had done, and he turned so she couldn’t hide in him completely. Yet, her movement gave him another thought, a clue to the puzzle she has presented him.
“I’ve always thought of tactics and battle as if I would always have the strength I needed,” Keelath said slowly. “With magic, our supply lines during the Troll Wars were never unduly threatened. There was always more help to call in from home.”
Mirium looked up at him, and he looked down.
“Those supply lines were maintained by magisters. And I suppose it true, if I had had to fight without them, I would have been much less effective. Less generous, even, with my troops…cruel perhaps…in how I gave out my own powers and resources to them, in their times of need, in turn.”
“Hurting, desperate people hurt others,” Mirium said gently. “But beyond just…putting them out of their misery, it makes most sense to help them not be desperate, doesn’t it?”
Keelath shakes his head. “No. No, that’s not quite true, as you’ve just shown me. Arrogant, ignorant people also hurt others. But it’s madness to believe that everyone who’s hurt you is either one or the other. Talthan wasn’t desperate. Tyrric wasn’t ignorant. You have to read the battle before you know what kind of troops to send to best counter the threat, yes? Not just…assume they are one way or another because they are wearing robes–like a magister’s.”
Mirium blinked a few times, and her eyes went swimmy when she realized what he was really saying: a shy admittance that she was right. But so was he, in his own way. Her mother had once called them two sides of the Light’s single coin, and it was times like this one when Mirium most recognized that and understood.
She stood on tiptoes to kiss the end of Keelath’s nose. “I would never blame you for what Talthan did, Keelath, even if you have the same powers or are the same sex as he. I’d never blame anyone for that but Talthan.”
“What about yourself?” Keelath said, remembering her earlier struggles with just that question.
Mirium grimaced and shuddered. Her voice broke when she spoke. “Maybe. Maybe there was something I could have done… Been less stupid, or less trusting…”
“Or maybe the battle was just sheer luck, and all the attempts to shame yourself into common sense are useless,” Keelath finished smartly.
She sighed, relenting on the awful memories, and nodded into him, looking unseeingly through his chest. “I imagine there’ll be some things I’ll be changing in my approach as I go forward anyway,” she admitted quietly. “But mostly, it was something to learn from…not something… to assume I was damaged goods from all along. That’s the main lesson to this.”
“I’m glad of that,” Keelath said, putting his arms around her and giving her a squeeze. “That you can come to that mindset. I think it’s good for you.”
Mirium nodded. “Me too.” She tapped him on the chest. “You taught me that, you know. Maybe strength is oblivious or maybe it’s feigned or taught, but I get nowhere going over and over it in my head. I either do the thing and what will happen happens…or I don’t.”
“Don’t let the fear stop you.” Keelath agreed with a nod.
“Unless it really would be wiser to be stopped.” She grinned softly and hugged him again, and this time he let her in fully, satisfied she wasn’t clinging to him to hide from her fears, that he knew she’d have to face eventually, with or without him around to help.
“Eyes wide open,” she murmured into his chest, as if to punctuate the sentiment.
“Unless you wish to take the sword to your face.” Keelath completed the saying, quoting one of their Blood Knight drill-masters.
Mirium chuckled weakly. “Look at that. There’s more wisdom to these military drills than we knew.”
“Than you knew,” said Keelath slyly. “I always knew it, because it was my profession! Say what you will about the military, but us true warriors think alike.”
Mirium whacked his shoulder. “Oh, and I suppose you’d last long out there without your healer, Mister True Warrior?”
“Probably not,” Keelath admitted.
Mirium chuckled again, more freely, at the chagrin on his face. “I’m not angry. …and I’m not angry at Talthan, anymore. So I don’t want to hear bad about him just to placate me, though I know you just thought it would help. I want to–to study the tactics. So if he comes at me again, I can face him. Without wild emotions getting in the way.”
Keelath nodded slowly. “Then allow me,” he said. “I’ll teach it if you want to learn, but learning to fight doesn’t come without bruises, you know. Are you certain you are ready?”
“Does anything come without it, truly?” Mirium asked softly, as she broke away from him and led the way back to the barracks.
“That’s life for you,” Keelath agreed lightly, relaxing now that she seemed to be over her panic. Mirium glanced back to him as they stepped through the door, giving her answer by linking one hand in his.
**
“That’s life for you,” Tyrric repeated quietly, looking down at the book he’d nervelessly dropped and almost given away his position, earlier in their conversation. Now that Keelath and Mirium were gone, he let it slip again–along with the tears that had been building behind his eyelids.