Jigano sighed. "No," he agreed,"he did not. Neither he nor we knew enough about the Voice to suggest it earlier." Hindsight was perfect, after all, and knowing what the Voice had revealed would have changed how the bard would have approached things significantly. But they had not come seeking answers, after all, Remi had come seeking favors, and the lorekeeper had given his approval and done nothing to stop him. He meant the 'we' for he was as much at fault for doing nothing to intervene or change the alchemist's mind when he discovered that the boy had, as usual, ignored his advice and bulled ahead, certain of his own infallibility and rightness in the face of any other opinion or suggestions.
Had he been so insufferably confident at the pup's age? ...Perhaps. But he'd learned, early and painfully, that there were costs and consequences for mistakes. His world had shifted to shades of grey in subtle increments until it was too late to reclaim his naive certainties that good things would happen to good people, but in exchange he'd learned much from his experiences. He wouldn't let the pain of those lessons be for naught. The ones he had lost, or suffered because of his past failures, deserved better.
So it hurt, to have the knowledge he'd earned at such a high price be shoved aside so cavalierly. Perhaps Remi had to learn his own lessons the hard way, but when Sam was the one to pay the price, the bard found his frustration hard to hide. "You and he both," the bard said grimly as they walked in the dark, their lanterns casting shadows all around them. "Tell him of your gift, see what 'adverse effects' might occur... or don't. But if you don't, and you send him to the Voice, she may very well ask him about the... the 'upgrade' she called it? That you didn't give him. That he may come asking about on his own a few days later." Indeed, they had set up shop right next to each other, which could make things awkward indeed if one or the other wanted to avoid running into each other.
The lorekeeper sighed, resisting the urge to reach up and rub at his temples, and the incipient headache starting to form there. "There are no good answers, now," he said quietly. "The best we can hope for is that your device works without adverse effects... but we have no way to guarantee that it will." Or that the Voice hadn't done something else to it while it was in her hands...
Had he been so insufferably confident at the pup's age? ...Perhaps. But he'd learned, early and painfully, that there were costs and consequences for mistakes. His world had shifted to shades of grey in subtle increments until it was too late to reclaim his naive certainties that good things would happen to good people, but in exchange he'd learned much from his experiences. He wouldn't let the pain of those lessons be for naught. The ones he had lost, or suffered because of his past failures, deserved better.
So it hurt, to have the knowledge he'd earned at such a high price be shoved aside so cavalierly. Perhaps Remi had to learn his own lessons the hard way, but when Sam was the one to pay the price, the bard found his frustration hard to hide. "You and he both," the bard said grimly as they walked in the dark, their lanterns casting shadows all around them. "Tell him of your gift, see what 'adverse effects' might occur... or don't. But if you don't, and you send him to the Voice, she may very well ask him about the... the 'upgrade' she called it? That you didn't give him. That he may come asking about on his own a few days later." Indeed, they had set up shop right next to each other, which could make things awkward indeed if one or the other wanted to avoid running into each other.
The lorekeeper sighed, resisting the urge to reach up and rub at his temples, and the incipient headache starting to form there. "There are no good answers, now," he said quietly. "The best we can hope for is that your device works without adverse effects... but we have no way to guarantee that it will." Or that the Voice hadn't done something else to it while it was in her hands...
