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The events of the past days weigh heavily on Ilya`s mind as she stares up at the fishes swimming before her. The thing is vile, yet it is comfortable to watch as her thoughts race at rapid speed. It somehow felt like she too was trapped in there, unable to escape, like a puppet show. Yet it beat tossing and turning in her bed, and wandering aimlessly around the bedroom she had claimed for herself, the noise often waking Taash. With a sigh, she leaned back against the couch, the stone floor cool against her bare feet. She never meant to make a sacrifice like this, wasn't prepared for the cost of her decision. She did not want to choose one over the other, did not mean for lives to be lost and whole cities to ache. She genuinely thought at the time she had made the right choice, that one could fend for themselves while the others could not. Yet the challenge had been much greater than she realized, any of them had perhaps. Would her being there even have made a difference? Neve was angry, and Ilya understood that. She too blamed herself, but at the same time she could not regret it. Not entirely. She did not mean to hurt Neve, or sacrifice something she treasured, but what would be the consequence if she had gone there instead. Would more lives be lost, or less? How many died because of her call? How many suffered? How had her decision welcomed evil? Could she have done anything different, anything better? She buried her head in her hands and let out a frustrated groan. She was desperate for sleep, mind and body weary, but her mind would not shut off. She wasn't suited to be a leader - not when she could not find a way to save more people. She stood abruptly, so fast her head spun, leading against the wall as she made for the exit. She couldn't stand this room, and she surely did not want to risk Solas slipping into her head at this time. It was busy enough in there as was, it didn't need an elven god yapping in her ear too. He could just sign himself up to be on the list of people currently not liking her, because it was getting rather long. She intended to make her way outside for some fresh air, not minding that she was clad only in light cotton pajamas and her slippers were lost amongst trinkets and books and forgotten clothes that she should clean up soon. Perhaps some air would finally clear her mind and allow her to go to sleep, but she wasn't feeling too hopeful.
“Rook,” A voice cut through the silence, startling her so that she leapt into the air.
While she was the picture of grace in battle, formed as a perfect rogue after years of running through ancient runes and exploration, this somehow did not translate to real life. She stumbled over her own feet, barely able to catch herself on the banister.
“I`m awfully sorry, I did not mean to startle you,” A now familiar voice continued.
Emmrich had stood from his chair, as if to steady her before she could fall despite being too far away from her to do so, his hands now folded before him. He looked poised and collected, as he always did, but the tips of his ears had turned pinkish. It did not match how her freckled cheeks had surged red from her fumbling, though, and she shook the wild locks in front of her face in hopes of covering the worst of it. The color was more red than blonde now, though, and only highlighted the flush of her skin, and she too became painfully aware of that. Fantastic. As usual, she had already managed to make a fool of herself during a very short interaction.
“Are you alright?” He asked her,
Right. She still had not responded. This was going well. She attempted to collect herself somewhat and stepped forward, leaning against the chair the favored.
“I`m fine, I just wasn't expecting anyone to be awake at this time. I was just going out for some air,” She finally replied, glancing up at him.
He was watching her intently, a slight frown on his handsome face.
“I had no intention to disturb you during your nightly endeavors. I must offer my sincere apology,” Emmrich said, sitting back down. “But if you want company, I would be happy to escort you,”
Ilya was somewhat taken by surprise by his offer, but decided to take a seat - now suddenly self conscious of her attire. He too was wearing pajamas and a pair of cozy robes, his feet in slippers, and he looked… domestic. It was charming. She found herself blushing further, and she shook her head, trying to reset herself. This was fine. It was just Emmrich who had caught her off guard. Sweet, polite and well-spoken Emmrich. Wise and oh so handsome. Okay, this was not helpful. And she still was not speaking.
“I just needed to get out of my room. Well, rooms,” She explained finally, forcing a slight smile. “I wasn't expecting anyone to be out here, but its not unwelcome, so you do not have to apologize,”
He nodded thoughtfully, the book in his lap forgotten. She liked that about him - the way he would give his full attention to whoever was speaking and genuinely seemed interested.
“You have been… troubled ever since the dragon attacks,” He mused softly. “I`ve been worried about you,”
“Oh.. No need to be worried at all,” She said hastily, breezily, but her tone was too high-pitched for it to sound casual.
He did not believe her, and gave her an almost stern look that gave her the urge to smile.
“You worry about everyone else, leap into action to solve their pains and hurts and problems. And while I think we all appreciate it, sometimes we… I, worry you shoulder too much responsibility yourself,” He said.
Ilya allowed herself to watch him for a moment, although she did not quite dare to meet his gaze. He was fidgeting with the numerous rings that always adorned his fingers, and while he was ever composed, she thought she could see a hint of shyness from him. She sighed.
“Do you think I made the right call?” She whispered under her breath, so low she thought he might not be able to hear it.
He is quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed as he contemplates an answer. She waited impatiently, her leg bouncing as the nerves set in. He had every right to say no. Part of her wanted him to. Wanted the guilt she felt to be confirmed by someone else, so she could tear herself apart over it.
“I think you were put in an impossible position without any forewarning or preparation, and that you chose thoroughly and considerately, dear. You believed one city would stand stronger than the other, and you were not wrong for that,” He carefully chose his words, but he seemed thoughtful still.
Ilya leaned back into her chair, closing her eyes for a moment as she recalled the moment she finally reached the then aftermath. Even though she was battered and bruised from the fight before, seeing a city in ruins because she chose to let people suffer and die had made her nauseous.
“People died because of me. People are being tortured because of me. Innocents,” She muttered, voice shaking.
Tears were threatening to spill, but she refused to let them. She was a leader, and she had to start acting like one. She distracted herself by playing with her curls, a notion he meticulously watched.
“People died because there was an attack. My dear, I understand you made an impossible decision and that you are hurting because of it. You chose the city most likely to defend itself, and the fact that they couldn't - and that the attack was beyond what any one of us had imagined - is not your fault. You are allowed to feel hurt, to be sad from the consequences. Yet you made an impossible call, but a good one. You saved people too, and now we must rebuild. You ARE rebuilding,” He had placed his elbows on his knees and was leaning forward, his gaze so genuine and gentle that her throat tightened.
She wished he would embrace her, that she could curl up against him, feel his lips mutter soft reassurances against her temple. But that was not who they were, and certainly not the kind of proper manners he adhered to. He didn't even like her like that, so she ought to put those thoughts out of her head.
“Neve is angry at me, and I don't know how to fix it,” She says lamely, pathetically, desperate for comfort.
He nodded calmly and gave her a kind smile, one she longed to reach out and trace so she might remember it for the darkest nights. When had she begun to feel this way?
“Sometimes things cannot be fixed, dear, but that does not mean they are broken beyond repair. You show up, as you have always done, and you persist. You show you care, and you fight. As you have, and as you are doing now,” He reached out for her, his long arm barely closing the distance between them as his fingers brushed against her knee. “You are kind, and strong, and you care. And caring hurts, but that hurt is good. It means your decisions matter to you, and you wish to do good. Remember that, and you will be able to repair anything,”
For a moment his touch was a caress through the thin fabric of her pants, before he seemed to catch himself in the act and withdrew as he had been scorched. It was his turn to blush now, clearing his throat and straightening up in his chair. Did he react this way because he was uncomfortable with such proximity, or because he too was beginning to care for her? It could not be the lather, Ilya thought. He must just have realized it was improper to touch a lady in such a fashion - even though she was not a lady at all. She wasn't sure why a boldness overcame her, but it struck her entirely unexpected. She stood dizzyingly fast and closed the gap between their chairs, lightly touching his shoulder. He tensed for a split moment before relaxing, staying impossibly still as if he thought any movement from him might startle her away. She brushed her hand past the collar of his pajama shirt, ghosting over the skin just behind his ear. He shivered, and she let that urge her on, entirely entranced as her gaze locked with his. She was waiting for any sign that he might not want this, or be uncomfortable, but while his hands remained folded in his lap, he watched her intently, almost as if he was curious to see what she would do. Her fingertips brushed the hairs at the nape of his neck and he let out the smallest of breaths, his eyes bright. And then she caught herself in what she was doing, the embarrassment washing over her and she withdrew. Still, she forced herself to look at him instead of fleeing without another word.
“Thank you, Emmrich,” She whispered, and truly meant it. “Good night,”
“Sweet dreams, Rook,” He responded softly, his gaze still on her as she climbed the stairs to her room, entirely bewitched by her.