So having been bitten by the fic bug I offer my response to the Happy prompt, from the Briar Hawke snark!rogue universe. She's a bit of a brooder in private.
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“It’s not enough to
want you to be happy?”“Happy is for fools.”Blunt. To the point. Perfectly Aveline.
I should be sleeping. It’s late, and Maker knows tomorrow will be busy. Even if I’ve nothing planned, my life just seems to work that way, bandits to be killed and politics to be attended to. Or something like that anyway. But I can’t get her words out of my head, and I’m lying in my bed wondering if I’m as happy as I thought I was this morning.
Or rather, our bed. Takes some getting used to that, although he doesn’t snore, so his presence isn’t that obvious most nights, so long as he’s not having a nightmare. After 3 years of fighting, Anders finally gave in, finally came to me, finally let me admit that I love him as much as he does me. Or maybe he just managed to ignore Justice long enough to take what he wanted. With him I’m…something. Overwhelmed maybe, overflowing, like whatever’s
in my heart and mind and soul belong to him and with him, like there’s more to me than I thought. And with him I am finally honest, I don’t need to hide behind the jokes and the charm, but I can be who I am and believe what I believe and for once I don’t have to pretend.
I love a good man, but sometimes he is more than a man and sometimes he is less, so the happiness I feel is mixed with and marred by a multitude of worries. Worries for him, for the cause, for the limits of my ability to protect him from the forces in this Maker-forsaken city, full to the brim with wealthy hypocrites who call themselves nobles but who use their wealth and power simply to gain more wealth and more power, the selfish pricks,
there’s nothing noble in them but the name. Full to the brim with Chantry preachers who claim to help but ignore those who need them most, the elves and the refugees and the poor, rotting in the sewers and the gutters, who have no hope of ever achieving anything more than an early death, facedown in a puddle of filth. Sweet Andraste but I hate this city. It’s love that keeps me by his side and his cause which keeps him in this cesspool. Happiness has nothing to do with it. Aveline was right. Happy is for fools. The most we can hope for is a bittersweet respite from the world, a shutting out of the darkness for a short time, before we have to turn and face it again. I may not be happy, but at least I can hold my love close to me in the night, and draw enough courage to face whatever tomorrow may bring. It will have to be enough.
Modifié par dpMeggers, 20 avril 2011 - 10:43 .