[Anders understands wanting to push things you have no control over to the dusty, moth-eaten back corners of your mind and forget about them--it's his life wrapped up in a single, miserable bow. He's dredging difficult thoughts up on purpose, which he feels some distant regret over, but he does want to hear Alistair's take on them. His thoughts have followed the same sort of channels--and like Alistair, every road leads in a confused circle, back to the beginning to contemplate a universe that keeps ever expanding. It's a drag.
It's such a drag, in fact, that it's hard not to smile at the sheer magnitude of ridiculousness they're debating. His lips twitch.]
Actually, I think you're just the person to ask.
[His smile kicks higher, coming dangerously close to warm appreciation. All this thinking about life and liberty has made him go soft, maybe. Softer.]
In some ways, it'd be easier to think we're trapped in a delusion and this is some demon's idea of a fun afternoon. I don't even know if there'd be a way to prove what's true and what's not without consulting a Revered Mother or going on a soul-searching pilgrimage.
[He blows out a breath.]
Let's say it's not a delusion and everything is real--the places we remember, the things that have happened. Could it be then that there other versions of us? Of all of us? Not identical, but... products of different circumstances? Like the Hero of Ferelden being born a man or a woman depending on nature's coin toss? Or another version of you that went right instead of left? Or another me who... [Anders falters awkwardly, searching for a better description than "became a joyless villain."] ... did some things the me who's sitting here hasn't done, I guess. Does that make sense? Listen to me, I sound like a philosopher reading off a cosmology text.
action;
It's such a drag, in fact, that it's hard not to smile at the sheer magnitude of ridiculousness they're debating. His lips twitch.]
Actually, I think you're just the person to ask.
[His smile kicks higher, coming dangerously close to warm appreciation. All this thinking about life and liberty has made him go soft, maybe. Softer.]
In some ways, it'd be easier to think we're trapped in a delusion and this is some demon's idea of a fun afternoon. I don't even know if there'd be a way to prove what's true and what's not without consulting a Revered Mother or going on a soul-searching pilgrimage.
[He blows out a breath.]
Let's say it's not a delusion and everything is real--the places we remember, the things that have happened. Could it be then that there other versions of us? Of all of us? Not identical, but... products of different circumstances? Like the Hero of Ferelden being born a man or a woman depending on nature's coin toss? Or another version of you that went right instead of left? Or another me who... [Anders falters awkwardly, searching for a better description than "became a joyless villain."] ... did some things the me who's sitting here hasn't done, I guess. Does that make sense? Listen to me, I sound like a philosopher reading off a cosmology text.