"Unless I'm mistaken, I don't think he cares enough about you for that to be any kind of deciding factor. He'll be the same whether you've forgiven him or not."
They're good points. Very good points. His gaze falls away as he stews on it.
"I didn't think about it like that," he sighs. "That's not really forgiveness, is it? It's just giving more and more ground so you won't have to have an argument. And my friends aren't ground I can give. I just. Didn't like the feeling when I wanted to go find him and beat the shit out of him."
"I guess that means you have to find him and beat the shit out of him," Bene says with a little smirk, but holds up his hand quickly so Colin doesn't think he's serious.
"...you're too good for this. Giving ground to people who don't deserve it. That's a thing cowards do, and that's not who you are."
A thing cowards like himself do is at least lightly implied-- after all, caving to the demands of someone incapable of showing affection was what landed him in so much trouble in the first place. Perhaps he's learned better since then, but only time can tell such a thing.
That gets a pause from Colin as he tries to sort out what to say to that.
"It's important to know your own weaknesses," he says slowly, "but calling myself names like that makes me think I can never be anything else. I don't know how it is for you."
Colin bobs his head in sympathy. "Yeah. That's...I mean, I ran far as I could from the war with the Templars because I didn't think I could do that. Then I was put basically on the front line at the Battle of Ghislain a couple of years ago, and it was...not my choice. I was terrified at first. Then all your primal instincts kick in and you just wreak as much havoc as possible. That's sort of the trick. The only way not to be scared is to decide you’re going to be the scariest thing on the battlefield. Or elsewhere.”
"I was in a unit of mages who were supplementing the infantry with magic. Doing hexes and all that. We got overrun."
At this moment, he realizes this is the first time he's actually spoken to anyone about what happened that day; several people know he was stabbed, but no one knows the details.
"...I fucked up my barrier, the swordsman was too close. He ran me through." After thinking on it a moment, he rolls over to tug up the hem of his tunic, revealing the scar over his belly.
"A white-haired elf saved me. Dragged me off the field. ...I forget her name."
"Garahel." Colin gives a wistful smile. "Inessa and I were apprentices together. She was always like that, wanting to save everyone. It made sense when she got recruited into the Wardens."
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Benedict narrows his eyes.
"Unless I'm mistaken, I don't think he cares enough about you for that to be any kind of deciding factor. He'll be the same whether you've forgiven him or not."
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"...because some people worked for your forgiveness?" He looks to him with pensive caution. "And actually care a lot what you think of them?"
Whoof, this is hard to say aloud.
"If you forgive anyone no matter what, is your forgiveness even worth anything? Like." Self-consciously, he tucks a strand of hair behind one ear.
"Doesn't that just make you a doormat? Why would anyone bother trying to make it better if they knew it didn't matter either way?"
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"I didn't think about it like that," he sighs. "That's not really forgiveness, is it? It's just giving more and more ground so you won't have to have an argument. And my friends aren't ground I can give. I just. Didn't like the feeling when I wanted to go find him and beat the shit out of him."
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"...you're too good for this. Giving ground to people who don't deserve it. That's a thing cowards do, and that's not who you are."
A thing cowards like himself do is at least lightly implied-- after all, caving to the demands of someone incapable of showing affection was what landed him in so much trouble in the first place. Perhaps he's learned better since then, but only time can tell such a thing.
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"You don't think I'm a coward?" he asks, sounding touched but unconvinced. "I can't think of a time I did something brave when I didn't have to."
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"There's a coward in here, but it isn't you."
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"It's important to know your own weaknesses," he says slowly, "but calling myself names like that makes me think I can never be anything else. I don't know how it is for you."
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He grabs a pillow off to the side and pulls it toward himself so he can mush his face into it, the universal gesture of Ugggh.
"I don't know," he mumbles into it, "I can't know. I can say whatever I want until something happens to prove it, one way or the other."
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"But I mean really brave. Life and death brave."
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"I was scared the entire time at Ghislain. And then I got stabbed. And almost died in a fire."
Sometimes one's instincts are right.
"...at least I was there, I guess."
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Perhaps Colin can be forgiven for forgetting this detail, given the shape everyone was in while returning home.
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He frowns.
"I was in a unit of mages who were supplementing the infantry with magic. Doing hexes and all that. We got overrun."
At this moment, he realizes this is the first time he's actually spoken to anyone about what happened that day; several people know he was stabbed, but no one knows the details.
"...I fucked up my barrier, the swordsman was too close. He ran me through." After thinking on it a moment, he rolls over to tug up the hem of his tunic, revealing the scar over his belly.
"A white-haired elf saved me. Dragged me off the field. ...I forget her name."
Feels bad.
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"Was it Inessa?"
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"She had the mabari with her."
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With the anxiety passed, Benedict picks up the hose again and takes a pull from it, remembering its presence and purpose.
"...anyway, I'm better at conjuring barriers again. I couldn't for a while, after that. It was like my body forgot how."