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[thenovice]

... I'm sorry that you had to endure that.

[Diarmuid frowns at that after listening with that careful, soft way of his. It's important to hear the struggles of others, to understand that they're flawed creatures and not the monsters you perceive them to be — even easier when you at least know they weren't in their right minds, that it wasn't always under their control.

It doesn't help that Diarmuid's a little too familiar with bullying, be it a teen-aged jock who think it funny to step on the edge of his robes, or a lordship who thinks it's alright to torment monks for conquest and power, or... a fellow monk, who hides behind his faith to hurt people.

He couldn't imagine people who should love you, doing such things...

But then again, he was abandoned; perhaps fortune truly did smile upon him, then.

Then Eliot says that.

And Diarmuid's quieted by it. It is not any deep, unrealized secret to himself, that he's unsure of his value. That he's unsure if he's being punished by his errors and mistakes in his young life. He's only just accepted that Geraldus' death was not a murder, but self-defense, an accident caused by the other man's attempts to smother his life out.

... But this... He's not sure what to say, really.]

How does one know? That they deserve better? How does one measure such a thing?

[He would honestly love to know.]

[endlessflask]

Well -

[ It's a perfectly reasonable question. Eliot doesn't really know how to answer it. He's not even sure there is a right answer. He can only speak from experience, which is funny, because he's not even entirely sure he's deserving of anything better.

But he acts like he is, and that helps his attitude come across as confident and un-fuck-with-able. ]

I guess you just have to believe it. Even if you have no reason to, you just have to trust you do. And, you know, take it from the people that care about you. Trust me when I say that if anyone in this place deserves anything good, it's you. You're … Very exceptional.

[thenovice]

[He scoffs, glancing aside, surprisingly skeptical. Not of Eliot's sincerity, but...]

There are many exceptional people in this town; I would not count myself among them.

[Clearing his throat, he motions to the food.]

I, um. I should leave you to lunch. It's better warm.