[ Denemrim seems heavy with silence tonight, in spite of the sheer number of people who live within its walls. It's in this quiet that Morrigan's words echo so loudly still, after the Witch of the Wilds had angrily decried the Warden's choice and left (assumedly for good). Robyn stood in that room for some time after, eyes lingering on the dying fire - on the bed - wondering if she had made the right choice.
"Then you are a fool." Perhaps so, to turn away what may be their one and only chance to avoid the loss of one of the few remaining Grey Wardens. But...to choose something that didn't sit well at all with her in this eleventh hour would be a betrayal of the path she had taken thus far. Robyn feels this, objectively, and...still mourns. For the loss of a friend and ally: the sharp sting, as if one of her fingers had left her hand.
Not long after, now saddled with the knowledge of what she may have declined, she walks. Leaves the room where Morrigan had offered life over death, down the cold halls of stone, and then up and out onto the battlements. Calen - attentive, as all mabari are - trots at her heels, tongue lolling. Though Robyn's mind is very certainly still looping her earlier argument with the mage, she admits a faint smile as the dog huffs and puffs and pants the whole way up. ]
Maker. [ She sighs and it's visible in the chilled air. Robyn presses her back to the stone and slides against it to the ground, arms crossed over her chest, hands grasping tight. What next? It seems clear, based on how Morrigan - Riordan - everyone was speaking that "next" is "a slaughter." Hopefully, if the Maker is indeed on their side, the sacrifices that must be made will ultimately lead to the end of the Blight. An icy hand curls around her heart as she tries and fails to avoid picturing who might be counted among the dead tomorrow, as she sees the faces of her friends and companions glassy-eyed and gone. If I have anything to do with it... Though her power is limited, she knows already that everything within her ability will go toward being the one to strike that final blow, as one Warden must, rather than her seniors.
Time - fate - would tell. She exhales again, trying to steady. Feeling decidedly unmoored. ]
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"Then you are a fool." Perhaps so, to turn away what may be their one and only chance to avoid the loss of one of the few remaining Grey Wardens. But...to choose something that didn't sit well at all with her in this eleventh hour would be a betrayal of the path she had taken thus far. Robyn feels this, objectively, and...still mourns. For the loss of a friend and ally: the sharp sting, as if one of her fingers had left her hand.
Not long after, now saddled with the knowledge of what she may have declined, she walks. Leaves the room where Morrigan had offered life over death, down the cold halls of stone, and then up and out onto the battlements. Calen - attentive, as all mabari are - trots at her heels, tongue lolling. Though Robyn's mind is very certainly still looping her earlier argument with the mage, she admits a faint smile as the dog huffs and puffs and pants the whole way up. ]
Maker. [ She sighs and it's visible in the chilled air. Robyn presses her back to the stone and slides against it to the ground, arms crossed over her chest, hands grasping tight. What next? It seems clear, based on how Morrigan - Riordan - everyone was speaking that "next" is "a slaughter." Hopefully, if the Maker is indeed on their side, the sacrifices that must be made will ultimately lead to the end of the Blight. An icy hand curls around her heart as she tries and fails to avoid picturing who might be counted among the dead tomorrow, as she sees the faces of her friends and companions glassy-eyed and gone. If I have anything to do with it... Though her power is limited, she knows already that everything within her ability will go toward being the one to strike that final blow, as one Warden must, rather than her seniors.
Time - fate - would tell. She exhales again, trying to steady. Feeling decidedly unmoored. ]