Statements from the Accused - Roslin
So, of course, Roslin should be here too.
Same as before. Standard Disclaimers apply - although my imagination is my own, BSG belongs to RDM et al.
As for spoilers, well, if you haven't finished Season One, you shouldn't be reading this!
She made sure she never looked down.
Never failed to make constant eye contact with him as she followed her marine ‘escorts’ into the room. The entire procession through the Galactica, through the ship she had begun to see as a second home, as a refuge, had felt like the running of the gauntlet.
Or the procession of the damned.
She smiled wryly, careful to keep it inside. Maybe that's what it was, at that. Of all those lost, was she, the fabled Dying Leader, not chief among them? Was she not fated to suffer and morn, for no other purpose than to see her people delivered to the promised land?
Again she smiled internally. Who would have thought she would have come to believe in the gods and prophecies, she who had always seen religion as mythology at best and at worst a political tool, a panacea for the weak?
She understood why Adama had found her sudden focus on the scriptures so unsettling, understood why he had looked at her with such disbelief, when he’d looked at her at all, during their aborted discussion of her visions. She understood why he had failed even to consider using the captured Raider to make a run for the Arrow. Putting herself in his shoes, she knew she would have felt the same.
Still, no matter how often she tried to convince herself that she would have acted the same, the excuses fell flat. Maybe that was why she hadn’t tried very hard to convince him. Gods knows she was weak, but she couldn’t stand the look of disdain in his eyes. She’d forced herself to broach the subject, she’d had to try. Still, she’d known immediately it was a lost cause.
Though she tried to tell herself he had every right to doubt her, it hurt all the more that he did.
She’d done what she had to do. Regret was a luxury she didn’t have, hadn’t since the Fall. Hadn't really, since before then, since the day not so long ago when the doctor had sat her in his echoing Caprican office and told her how she was going to die. Ironic, really, she'd been sure from the pity on his face that in that moment he could never of have conceived of a future where she would outlive him.
Gods. She couldn’t remember his name.
Frak. She needed to focus on those she had left. All of those she had left, Bill included. She had limited options, as they all did. The peoples of the Colonies of Kobol had been pushed to the edge, by the Cylons and the Fates, and she was standing on that edge along with them. She’d taken steps she could never have dreamt, done things she would never have imagined.
She’d thrown men out of airlocks and betrayed the friend who was quickly becoming her other half.
She’d do it again.
So yes, she wished she could have done things differently, wished she hadn’t had to sacrifice his friendship in the name of her people, of the prophecies meant to ensure their future. It had been her choice, always her choice, but no matter how many times she considered it, she always knew she’d make the same one.
So. Yes. She’d do it again.
She hadn’t foreseen the cost it would entail, to him. She hadn’t intended to take his son s well as his surrogate daughter. Still, the end result was the same. The gods had promised survival for her people, all of them, including him.
And the gods always claimed their price.
Turning to face him as the heavy door made of iron clanged closed between them, she took care to meet his eyes. Focused on keeping them level and calm. Made sure he understood her willingness to pay the price she’d known he would demand. Ensured he understood that she had known what it would cost her when she gone against him.
Made it clear to him that she had walked in of her own free will. With her eyes wide open.
Same as before. Standard Disclaimers apply - although my imagination is my own, BSG belongs to RDM et al.
As for spoilers, well, if you haven't finished Season One, you shouldn't be reading this!
She made sure she never looked down.
Never failed to make constant eye contact with him as she followed her marine ‘escorts’ into the room. The entire procession through the Galactica, through the ship she had begun to see as a second home, as a refuge, had felt like the running of the gauntlet.
Or the procession of the damned.
She smiled wryly, careful to keep it inside. Maybe that's what it was, at that. Of all those lost, was she, the fabled Dying Leader, not chief among them? Was she not fated to suffer and morn, for no other purpose than to see her people delivered to the promised land?
Again she smiled internally. Who would have thought she would have come to believe in the gods and prophecies, she who had always seen religion as mythology at best and at worst a political tool, a panacea for the weak?
She understood why Adama had found her sudden focus on the scriptures so unsettling, understood why he had looked at her with such disbelief, when he’d looked at her at all, during their aborted discussion of her visions. She understood why he had failed even to consider using the captured Raider to make a run for the Arrow. Putting herself in his shoes, she knew she would have felt the same.
Still, no matter how often she tried to convince herself that she would have acted the same, the excuses fell flat. Maybe that was why she hadn’t tried very hard to convince him. Gods knows she was weak, but she couldn’t stand the look of disdain in his eyes. She’d forced herself to broach the subject, she’d had to try. Still, she’d known immediately it was a lost cause.
Though she tried to tell herself he had every right to doubt her, it hurt all the more that he did.
She’d done what she had to do. Regret was a luxury she didn’t have, hadn’t since the Fall. Hadn't really, since before then, since the day not so long ago when the doctor had sat her in his echoing Caprican office and told her how she was going to die. Ironic, really, she'd been sure from the pity on his face that in that moment he could never of have conceived of a future where she would outlive him.
Gods. She couldn’t remember his name.
Frak. She needed to focus on those she had left. All of those she had left, Bill included. She had limited options, as they all did. The peoples of the Colonies of Kobol had been pushed to the edge, by the Cylons and the Fates, and she was standing on that edge along with them. She’d taken steps she could never have dreamt, done things she would never have imagined.
She’d thrown men out of airlocks and betrayed the friend who was quickly becoming her other half.
She’d do it again.
So yes, she wished she could have done things differently, wished she hadn’t had to sacrifice his friendship in the name of her people, of the prophecies meant to ensure their future. It had been her choice, always her choice, but no matter how many times she considered it, she always knew she’d make the same one.
So. Yes. She’d do it again.
She hadn’t foreseen the cost it would entail, to him. She hadn’t intended to take his son s well as his surrogate daughter. Still, the end result was the same. The gods had promised survival for her people, all of them, including him.
And the gods always claimed their price.
Turning to face him as the heavy door made of iron clanged closed between them, she took care to meet his eyes. Focused on keeping them level and calm. Made sure he understood her willingness to pay the price she’d known he would demand. Ensured he understood that she had known what it would cost her when she gone against him.
Made it clear to him that she had walked in of her own free will. With her eyes wide open.