[He’d anticipated spending the whole of his afternoon as sullen as spent ash. This— as so much of what Byerly seems to manage effortlessly— utterly displaces those designs. And for it he needs a moment longer to regain whatever mindset he’d lost.]
He wishes to change. It pulls at him like a thread laid bare.
[Benedict forgive him for speaking so plainly of his private pains.]
He lacks momentum, guidance, clarity— the means to understand where he falls short, and a deepset fear of that failure. It is a rot, that. It will not heal if he continues on as he does, for the man nearly shattered before me in confession this morning.
For he did try. And he did succeed, however brief, in putting right his own missteps. [To feel guilt is one thing, after all. But to risk life and limb for those that matter, to want to make amends, and thus denied that opportunity to embrace the sting of that moment rather than burying it in indolence— these are hints of something worth grasping, he thinks.]
There was no need for him to fight that dragon, regardless of my own designs in bringing him. Fear froze him, urged him to flee for his own sake, and yet despite opportunity he chose action.
And do not think it was a matter of my influence, for before the battle we'd argued, and cut short our acquaintances.
Unless the dragon took the form of an woman with an astonishing rear end who's draining the blood of her slaves to do magic, I don't know if that displays the sort of courage he's been lacking in the past.
[Well it’s not the description of the Magister he’d expected, but...filed away all the same.]
When one learns to walk, it is not by way of making running leaps.
More opportunities to prove his worth would likely strengthen his resolve. He would not lack for a safety net throughout, for all those who he's so won over.
[He's a blunt instrument, a man who would prefer the simplicity of direction and given orders, rather than any amount of deeper thought. It isn't as if he hadn't needed to devise strategies or discern deeper plots while serving at the Emperor's side— or that of his son's— but that it pulls more from him, those efforts. He's hardly peregrine, only a man with a keen nose and sharper intuition.
Still. He does his best.]
Less talking. Less wine and finery involved in his given assignments, and more grit. His strengths would not be wasted on joint missions where the rest of those gathered make their way by blade, and need only one clever tongue amongst them.
There is merit in it, the absence of thought under press of action at times. It builds instincts, those more inclined to be selfless than selfish.
[The more protective Benedict is of his companions, the better the odds he'll choose in favor of their shared benefit, rather than dreading his own footing. Or so Gabranth thinks, judging by the lesser experiences he'd had in Archades.]
With your permission, I would take him with me for some of my own endeavors.
[ He's quiet a moment. Taps his finger lightly against his desk. Finally: ]
My hesitation comes from the fact that the fear that I've seen from the boy is fear of people, not of mortal peril. He flinches away from scolding, from condemnation. I'll grant you true enough that I've not often seen him in life-or-death situations, but my personal thought is - has been - that he ought to build strength against people. That he ought to be exposed to people, and that he ought to learn to resist or to repudiate them.
[ And then, wryly: ] Wine and finery can require grit, as well, you know.
[ He rubs his chin thoughtfully at that. That's good. ]
Then he's gaining a bit of mettle, it seems. When he first came to me, he vacillated widely between defiance and fear. What were the slights in question?
[Oh Byerly, you had to ask. For a long moment, Gabranth is silent. For longer still, in fact, as he exhales thinly through his nose in steeling preparation to deliver his own recount of events in the most distant and unfeeling way possible.]
He disrespectfully dismissed me before the Orlesian nobility when I came to collect him in order to prepare him for the battle ahead. [Slight one.] He then insulted me in private, disregarding my attempts at reinforcing the gravity of what we had been sent to do. [Slight two.
The last takes a beat longer to dislodge:]
...He then struck me in the eye, when I proposed that he dissolve our association if it was so undesired.
[It would do Benedict no good to be dragged any further through his own misdeeds, as far as Gabranth is concerned.] The matter of his indemnity is seen to. His apologies were sincere.
Had I suspected anything less, I would not be standing here before you now, suing for good faith in his name.
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He wishes to change. It pulls at him like a thread laid bare.
[Benedict forgive him for speaking so plainly of his private pains.]
He lacks momentum, guidance, clarity— the means to understand where he falls short, and a deepset fear of that failure. It is a rot, that. It will not heal if he continues on as he does, for the man nearly shattered before me in confession this morning.
He will break, in time. This much I believe.
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[ By's head tilts to the side. ]
He betrayed us, then betrayed his country to rejoin us. If that pressure wouldn't grind a fine young bough into splinters, I don't know what would.
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For he did try. And he did succeed, however brief, in putting right his own missteps. [To feel guilt is one thing, after all. But to risk life and limb for those that matter, to want to make amends, and thus denied that opportunity to embrace the sting of that moment rather than burying it in indolence— these are hints of something worth grasping, he thinks.]
There was no need for him to fight that dragon, regardless of my own designs in bringing him. Fear froze him, urged him to flee for his own sake, and yet despite opportunity he chose action.
And do not think it was a matter of my influence, for before the battle we'd argued, and cut short our acquaintances.
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Unless the dragon took the form of an woman with an astonishing rear end who's draining the blood of her slaves to do magic, I don't know if that displays the sort of courage he's been lacking in the past.
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When one learns to walk, it is not by way of making running leaps.
More opportunities to prove his worth would likely strengthen his resolve. He would not lack for a safety net throughout, for all those who he's so won over.
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Still. He does his best.]
Less talking. Less wine and finery involved in his given assignments, and more grit. His strengths would not be wasted on joint missions where the rest of those gathered make their way by blade, and need only one clever tongue amongst them.
There is merit in it, the absence of thought under press of action at times. It builds instincts, those more inclined to be selfless than selfish.
[The more protective Benedict is of his companions, the better the odds he'll choose in favor of their shared benefit, rather than dreading his own footing. Or so Gabranth thinks, judging by the lesser experiences he'd had in Archades.]
With your permission, I would take him with me for some of my own endeavors.
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My hesitation comes from the fact that the fear that I've seen from the boy is fear of people, not of mortal peril. He flinches away from scolding, from condemnation. I'll grant you true enough that I've not often seen him in life-or-death situations, but my personal thought is - has been - that he ought to build strength against people. That he ought to be exposed to people, and that he ought to learn to resist or to repudiate them.
[ And then, wryly: ] Wine and finery can require grit, as well, you know.
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As it is, he continues on:]
I was harsher on him than any for his slights against me. He bore them, though as you so accurately stated, he did flinch— only just.
And he has moved on.
For all of it I remain at his side. [This, without saying so, isn't something Gabranth does lightly.]
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[ He rubs his chin thoughtfully at that. That's good. ]
Then he's gaining a bit of mettle, it seems. When he first came to me, he vacillated widely between defiance and fear. What were the slights in question?
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He disrespectfully dismissed me before the Orlesian nobility when I came to collect him in order to prepare him for the battle ahead. [Slight one.] He then insulted me in private, disregarding my attempts at reinforcing the gravity of what we had been sent to do. [Slight two.
The last takes a beat longer to dislodge:]
...He then struck me in the eye, when I proposed that he dissolve our association if it was so undesired.
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He what!
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This is hardly a laughing matter, Byerly.
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[ hee hee hee ]
Were you even able to feel it? I've eaten pease porridge with more bite than the boy.
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...it was not a punch.
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[ He mimes a tiny little slap. Then he crooks his hand into claws and makes a kittenish little scratching gesture. ]
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When you typically aim to blind someone, think about the movement you would employ.
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But yes.]
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[The other guesses remain no less rude either, but Gabranth won't bother to remind him of that fact.]
The matter is dealt with, however. It need not be brought up again.
[Translation: do not bring this up again.]
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[It would do Benedict no good to be dragged any further through his own misdeeds, as far as Gabranth is concerned.] The matter of his indemnity is seen to. His apologies were sincere.
Had I suspected anything less, I would not be standing here before you now, suing for good faith in his name.
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The boy is under my command. And to strike a fellow soldier in anger is a serious breach of discipline.
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I am the offended party, am I not? My stake in this matter must also hold weight.
[A beat, and then, for the sake of respect:]
Still, if you were to punish Lord Artemaeus, I must ask what you would see fit to enforce.
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