A corner of his mouth tugs downwards, and he says, "I don't think any four people in Riftwatch are capable of being harmonious."
He includes himself in that, of course. But John's question isn't one he's considered too seriously until now; he knows Tony personally, Flint on a much smaller level, and Byerly and Yseult hardly at all. They may be Riftwatch's leadership, but the order of operations is so loose that he doesn't think of them that way much of the time.
(Or maybe that's just the fact that if he really thought something was right, and any or all of them disagreed, he'd do the goddamned thing anyway. Fred and Avasarala can certainly attest to that.)
"But there's a difference between being able to agree, and being willing to leave someone for dead. I don't think Tony would do that. I don't know the Ambassador well enough to tell."
A flicker of memory, or not-quite-memory: Wysteria in a snowy mountain range, explaining the Ambassador's attempt to murder her and Tony. But that, he reminds himself, isn't fair.
"But," he says, watching John, "you seem to have an opinion."
Otherwise why call Holden here to talk in the first place? Why ask the question at all?
A good joke, the kind of observation that rings true even as John has set himself to gathering up a clutch of mages and setting them towards a particular goal.
Riftwatch is not so unlike the Walrus crew: harmonious as long as they can be shown such a state to be within their best interests, and even then, the harmony still carries a discordant undertone. The similarity has stuck in John's mind, particularly as he has yet to hit upon a way to remedy the situation within Riftwatch, bring the discord to bear in any kind of productive way.
But the general state of Riftwatch is not what they are discussing here. In the future, perhaps, but now—
"I have many opinions," is an answer, albeit nonspecific. John's fingers trace along the knots of wood in the tabletop, gaze momentarily leaving Holden's face to observe the activity before he says, "And I have suspicions, though for the moment it seems they are unfounded."
James Holden is a straightforward man, and that means he prefers to be dealt with straightforwardly in turn. His incredulous amusement at the idea of joining Diplomacy, back when they first spoke, had a lot to do with this. Subtle maneuvering can feel a lot like bullshit, unless the context is ship navigation. He has a certain level of respect for people who can manage situations in this way, same as how he can understand that negotiations and power plays are an integral part of politics. But it's not for him.
All this to say: he could easily be frustrated with John's equivocation. But John's clearly going somewhere with this, and he can start to see the shape of it. John was willing to meet with him to talk. And maybe just as importantly, he likes John Silver; and he understands that this is a difficult time for him. Given all of that, it's easy to be patient.
How strange it is, to think back and consider the amount of time that had passed since Nascere had shattered apart. Stranger still, to think back to the decision to seek reinforcements from the then-Inquisition, now Riftwatch.
"Before we came here, Captain Flint and I had been engaged in a fight to expel Tevinter forces from our home. It was a place called Nascere, and it no longer exists," John begins, straightening in his chair. "I suppose if our goals had begun and ended with breaking Tevinter's grip on our island, that would have been palatable enough. But Flint and I both understand the conditions which had allowed the Imperium to proceed as it has for all these years, and we had set our sights beyond simply freeing ourselves from its grasp."
There is a way to tell this story differently. John's turned the facts of it this way and that, everywhere from Lowtown taverns to Hightown salons, and yet, the outcome—
Nascere is still a broken wreck, inhabitable. They have still been unmoored. And now Flint is missing, and Madi somewhere in Antiva, and John is here, looking across the table at a man who fell out of the sky, who likely has no frame of reference for what John is telling him.
"There is...injustice, in Thedas. And there are many who would like to pretend it is contained to Tevinter, and turn a blind eye to what has played out anywhere south of the Imperium. Certain cruelties will never touch them, and so they are satisfied in directing their attentions to a present threat, and never consider what will be left if Corypheus is thrown down. It is a discomfort, to have someone in their midst who raises the question of what comes after, and what responsibility we have to that, with such frequency."
There's something like understanding dawning across Jim's face, as he listens to this tale. As he takes in details like and it no longer exists, as he compares John's story to his dealings with the man. Maybe surprisingly, by the end of that he's looking down to the table with a brief smile. There's more grim than humor to it; but he shakes his head at himself, and then looks up.
"I went with him to Val Chevin this spring. It was a good wake-up call, but only partially because of the city. We had a good conversation about perspectives on Tevinter, and the Chantry's influence."
Which explains a damn lot about Flint's interest in both subjects, not to mention his perspective on the Inquisition, something that had eluded Holden at the time. There's a stack of books in his room even now, titles suggested by the Commander, additional books they'd referenced. He's been thinking of returning to them now that he's back in Kirkwall.
And he also thinks, you're still not naming any names. But maybe he doesn't have to; he's clearly talking about leadership among Riftwatch, maybe among the Inquisition, who are natives of this world.
"You think Riftwatch might leave him for dead because of that? It'd mean abandoning the Scoutmaster too."
Here is what John fears: a day when Yseult walks back into Kirkwall and says, We were ambushed and says he was killed. Who would question her?
(John had been the one to say, Propose to her you go together.)
But this is not a fear to unearth in front of James Holden. It might have been a fear to unearth to Madi, had she remained in Kirkwall, but perhaps this never would have come to pass had she remained in Kirkwall. (There is a letter that John should have written, but has not. Cannot.)
"It would," is all John says, tepid over the agreement. "You know as well as I do that we are a small company, and that at a certain point, there would be some discussion over when to cut losses."
And just who would lead that discussion?
John sips from his cup. This too is something he has considered, knowing such a discussion would take place behind closed doors, knowing how little he would be able to influence the outcome.
John doesn't speak that fear, but there's something about his hesitation, everything that he doesn't say, that seems to make the notion rise its head in the back of Holden's mind anyway. No, the only options aren't to save them both or doom them both.
Accidents happen, don't they?
There's a grimness to the thought that sharpens the lines of his face, thins his lips. What John does say — and that, too, is undeniable — only serves to underscore the reality of the situation. When they'd started this conversation, he'd wondered what it really had to do with the concern he'd shown John. But this is, itself, an answer: framed in politics, spoken in broad terms, but undeniably painting an image of exactly what it is John Silver fears. They've lost a home already. How could a betrayal like what John imagines be anything but excruciating?
"I can talk to Tony about rescue efforts," is what he volunteers after a pause. "If there's a plan," and he's sure there is, "I can get an idea of what it is."
Is it a betrayal? Maybe, maybe not. There is a blurriness to the space Yseult and Rutyer occupy that has made them difficult to trust fully. But the thing John fears, an inescapable possibility that looms in his mind and remains impossible to confirm one way or another, carries a similar sting.
If John had underestimated them—
He lifts his cup from the table, tipped slightly towards Holden before he drinks.
"I'm not asking you to involve yourself."
Because John means to be clear in this. He didn't bring Holden here with the intention of eliciting favors, though maybe he should have considered the possibility of it. The tankard lowers, cupped between John's two hands, as he considers Holden.
"I know you're not interested in playing politics," is almost a joke, comes with a half-smile. John does remember the day they'd met.
Ask, that is. The tension in the room slackened, he returns to his own drink, still cool with the breeze, the shade of where they sit. There was no version of this conversation where Holden didn't find a way to try to help. If he thought reassurances would work, he would've tried that first; but he understands the shape of this. Some fears need to be fed, not soothed. Doing this costs him nothing.
The corners of his mouth slant upwards, and he corrects, "Talking to a friend. That isn't the same thing."
That can, in fact, be the same thing; he knows that full well. Self-awareness isn't hard to read in his expression.
There is a moment, John gathering his thoughts. It's a visible process, for once. This minor form of transparency is due to Holden. A small thing, following along after the trust that's already been bestowed.
"I suppose I don't need to ask you for discretion."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He includes himself in that, of course. But John's question isn't one he's considered too seriously until now; he knows Tony personally, Flint on a much smaller level, and Byerly and Yseult hardly at all. They may be Riftwatch's leadership, but the order of operations is so loose that he doesn't think of them that way much of the time.
(Or maybe that's just the fact that if he really thought something was right, and any or all of them disagreed, he'd do the goddamned thing anyway. Fred and Avasarala can certainly attest to that.)
"But there's a difference between being able to agree, and being willing to leave someone for dead. I don't think Tony would do that. I don't know the Ambassador well enough to tell."
A flicker of memory, or not-quite-memory: Wysteria in a snowy mountain range, explaining the Ambassador's attempt to murder her and Tony. But that, he reminds himself, isn't fair.
"But," he says, watching John, "you seem to have an opinion."
Otherwise why call Holden here to talk in the first place? Why ask the question at all?
no subject
Riftwatch is not so unlike the Walrus crew: harmonious as long as they can be shown such a state to be within their best interests, and even then, the harmony still carries a discordant undertone. The similarity has stuck in John's mind, particularly as he has yet to hit upon a way to remedy the situation within Riftwatch, bring the discord to bear in any kind of productive way.
But the general state of Riftwatch is not what they are discussing here. In the future, perhaps, but now—
"I have many opinions," is an answer, albeit nonspecific. John's fingers trace along the knots of wood in the tabletop, gaze momentarily leaving Holden's face to observe the activity before he says, "And I have suspicions, though for the moment it seems they are unfounded."
Unless Yseult returns on her own, unaccompanied.
"Do you know why we came here, Flint and I?"
no subject
"No, I don't."
James Holden is a straightforward man, and that means he prefers to be dealt with straightforwardly in turn. His incredulous amusement at the idea of joining Diplomacy, back when they first spoke, had a lot to do with this. Subtle maneuvering can feel a lot like bullshit, unless the context is ship navigation. He has a certain level of respect for people who can manage situations in this way, same as how he can understand that negotiations and power plays are an integral part of politics. But it's not for him.
All this to say: he could easily be frustrated with John's equivocation. But John's clearly going somewhere with this, and he can start to see the shape of it. John was willing to meet with him to talk. And maybe just as importantly, he likes John Silver; and he understands that this is a difficult time for him. Given all of that, it's easy to be patient.
no subject
"Before we came here, Captain Flint and I had been engaged in a fight to expel Tevinter forces from our home. It was a place called Nascere, and it no longer exists," John begins, straightening in his chair. "I suppose if our goals had begun and ended with breaking Tevinter's grip on our island, that would have been palatable enough. But Flint and I both understand the conditions which had allowed the Imperium to proceed as it has for all these years, and we had set our sights beyond simply freeing ourselves from its grasp."
There is a way to tell this story differently. John's turned the facts of it this way and that, everywhere from Lowtown taverns to Hightown salons, and yet, the outcome—
Nascere is still a broken wreck, inhabitable. They have still been unmoored. And now Flint is missing, and Madi somewhere in Antiva, and John is here, looking across the table at a man who fell out of the sky, who likely has no frame of reference for what John is telling him.
"There is...injustice, in Thedas. And there are many who would like to pretend it is contained to Tevinter, and turn a blind eye to what has played out anywhere south of the Imperium. Certain cruelties will never touch them, and so they are satisfied in directing their attentions to a present threat, and never consider what will be left if Corypheus is thrown down. It is a discomfort, to have someone in their midst who raises the question of what comes after, and what responsibility we have to that, with such frequency."
no subject
"I went with him to Val Chevin this spring. It was a good wake-up call, but only partially because of the city. We had a good conversation about perspectives on Tevinter, and the Chantry's influence."
Which explains a damn lot about Flint's interest in both subjects, not to mention his perspective on the Inquisition, something that had eluded Holden at the time. There's a stack of books in his room even now, titles suggested by the Commander, additional books they'd referenced. He's been thinking of returning to them now that he's back in Kirkwall.
And he also thinks, you're still not naming any names. But maybe he doesn't have to; he's clearly talking about leadership among Riftwatch, maybe among the Inquisition, who are natives of this world.
"You think Riftwatch might leave him for dead because of that? It'd mean abandoning the Scoutmaster too."
no subject
Here is what John fears: a day when Yseult walks back into Kirkwall and says, We were ambushed and says he was killed. Who would question her?
(John had been the one to say, Propose to her you go together.)
But this is not a fear to unearth in front of James Holden. It might have been a fear to unearth to Madi, had she remained in Kirkwall, but perhaps this never would have come to pass had she remained in Kirkwall. (There is a letter that John should have written, but has not. Cannot.)
"It would," is all John says, tepid over the agreement. "You know as well as I do that we are a small company, and that at a certain point, there would be some discussion over when to cut losses."
And just who would lead that discussion?
John sips from his cup. This too is something he has considered, knowing such a discussion would take place behind closed doors, knowing how little he would be able to influence the outcome.
no subject
John doesn't speak that fear, but there's something about his hesitation, everything that he doesn't say, that seems to make the notion rise its head in the back of Holden's mind anyway. No, the only options aren't to save them both or doom them both.
Accidents happen, don't they?
There's a grimness to the thought that sharpens the lines of his face, thins his lips. What John does say — and that, too, is undeniable — only serves to underscore the reality of the situation. When they'd started this conversation, he'd wondered what it really had to do with the concern he'd shown John. But this is, itself, an answer: framed in politics, spoken in broad terms, but undeniably painting an image of exactly what it is John Silver fears. They've lost a home already. How could a betrayal like what John imagines be anything but excruciating?
"I can talk to Tony about rescue efforts," is what he volunteers after a pause. "If there's a plan," and he's sure there is, "I can get an idea of what it is."
no subject
If John had underestimated them—
He lifts his cup from the table, tipped slightly towards Holden before he drinks.
"I'm not asking you to involve yourself."
Because John means to be clear in this. He didn't bring Holden here with the intention of eliciting favors, though maybe he should have considered the possibility of it. The tankard lowers, cupped between John's two hands, as he considers Holden.
"I know you're not interested in playing politics," is almost a joke, comes with a half-smile. John does remember the day they'd met.
no subject
Ask, that is. The tension in the room slackened, he returns to his own drink, still cool with the breeze, the shade of where they sit. There was no version of this conversation where Holden didn't find a way to try to help. If he thought reassurances would work, he would've tried that first; but he understands the shape of this. Some fears need to be fed, not soothed. Doing this costs him nothing.
The corners of his mouth slant upwards, and he corrects, "Talking to a friend. That isn't the same thing."
That can, in fact, be the same thing; he knows that full well. Self-awareness isn't hard to read in his expression.
this is so crusty forgive me.
Tony, surely.
There is a moment, John gathering his thoughts. It's a visible process, for once. This minor form of transparency is due to Holden. A small thing, following along after the trust that's already been bestowed.
"I suppose I don't need to ask you for discretion."
Holden is an observant man, after all.
shhh shhh
Tony, a friend. And also John Silver, if with less familiarity to it. Friendly allies, certainly, but
well, the word comes more easily to Holden, and that's alright.