"Yes. You were." For once Dimitri doesn't try to equivocate.
"Duscur was our neighbor. Smaller. Less martial. It wasn't a war, it was a massacre." Dimitri's knuckles whiten on his elbows. "I know my father's killers did not belong to Duscur. But the greedy and the grieving swallowed the lie readily. My witness was dismissed. They wanted vengeance, and they claimed it in the blood of innocents."
Dimitri grinds his knuckles into his eyes. His head's starting to pound.
"And with my father dead, every ambitious minor lord began squabbling for power. My uncle the regent did nothing. And the people who weren't drafted into their skirmishes began to starve and freeze, and they turned to raiding and banditry to survive, and Faerghan justice would say they deserve death for that. And yes, some of them learned true cruelty, but if they changed once, can't they change back? Doesn't the true guilt lie with the lords who failed them? And -- " He sucks in a breath -- "When I was fifteen I was sent to fight against an uprising in the west. I recognized their general from the massacre. His spear pierced my guts and I clawed my way down it to crush his beating heart in his chest and I don't regret it, but only the Goddess knows how many poor bastards I tore apart on the way to him. Dozens, I think, whose only crime was taking their pay from the wrong lord. Because I wanted vengeance, and found them worthy targets. Because I hated, and they were in my way, I enjoyed killing them. And I face no consequences, because it was war, and I'm a prince. How is that right? How -- "
Pain stabs back through his eye, fierce enough that he flinches, broken on a gasp.
" ... I have to believe," he croaks, "that we can be better. Or I live in a world where the massacre in Duscur was justified. Where parents and children and elders can be slaughtered in their beds without consequence. Where my people deserve death for being cold and hungry and afraid. Where I'm the one who's strange, and wrong, and foolish, for being horrified by all this. And I couldn't bear a world like that." He sniffs and scrubs the back of his hand across his eyes. "If we can be better -- then there may be some hope for me. If Erin Peters can change -- so can I."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2022-11-19 10:27 pm (UTC)"Duscur was our neighbor. Smaller. Less martial. It wasn't a war, it was a massacre." Dimitri's knuckles whiten on his elbows. "I know my father's killers did not belong to Duscur. But the greedy and the grieving swallowed the lie readily. My witness was dismissed. They wanted vengeance, and they claimed it in the blood of innocents."
Dimitri grinds his knuckles into his eyes. His head's starting to pound.
"And with my father dead, every ambitious minor lord began squabbling for power. My uncle the regent did nothing. And the people who weren't drafted into their skirmishes began to starve and freeze, and they turned to raiding and banditry to survive, and Faerghan justice would say they deserve death for that. And yes, some of them learned true cruelty, but if they changed once, can't they change back? Doesn't the true guilt lie with the lords who failed them? And -- " He sucks in a breath -- "When I was fifteen I was sent to fight against an uprising in the west. I recognized their general from the massacre. His spear pierced my guts and I clawed my way down it to crush his beating heart in his chest and I don't regret it, but only the Goddess knows how many poor bastards I tore apart on the way to him. Dozens, I think, whose only crime was taking their pay from the wrong lord. Because I wanted vengeance, and found them worthy targets. Because I hated, and they were in my way, I enjoyed killing them. And I face no consequences, because it was war, and I'm a prince. How is that right? How -- "
Pain stabs back through his eye, fierce enough that he flinches, broken on a gasp.
" ... I have to believe," he croaks, "that we can be better. Or I live in a world where the massacre in Duscur was justified. Where parents and children and elders can be slaughtered in their beds without consequence. Where my people deserve death for being cold and hungry and afraid. Where I'm the one who's strange, and wrong, and foolish, for being horrified by all this. And I couldn't bear a world like that." He sniffs and scrubs the back of his hand across his eyes. "If we can be better -- then there may be some hope for me. If Erin Peters can change -- so can I."