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I'll tell you whatever it's safe for me to share. [It's the closest compromise he can come up with; Yngvi's secrets aren't his to spread around, even to Vandelin--even to soothe his fears. This may remain a point of contention between them indefinitely, but for now, there's nothing more to be done about it. Kit closes his eyes and lets out a slow breath.]
...all right. Take care out there, you hear?
...all right. Take care out there, you hear?
I meant for you. [As little as he wants to be left out of the loop, as much as he hates the idea of having to worry for Kit without knowing what he's up against, he'll survive it.] I don't want you going into this with so little information. It doesn't matter if you tell me. I just want you to have all the precautions you can.
I'll be fine. You know me.
I'll be fine. You know me.
I overheard something on the crystals, and I'm curious. What would you say are the needs of mages that should have advocation?
[The question is abrupt, from a voice he recognizes but not well, but he takes that in stride. It's a subject Vandelin can speak about at length, and is almost always happy to.]
Freedom from Chantry rule, above all. Full integration into society should be the ultimate goal, and that will require winning the peoples' trust, but everything flows from our independence from the institution responsible for creating this climate of fear in the first place.
Freedom from Chantry rule, above all. Full integration into society should be the ultimate goal, and that will require winning the peoples' trust, but everything flows from our independence from the institution responsible for creating this climate of fear in the first place.
[Can they achieve that? Can they leave the Templars behind altogether? Or get Templars to stay away from the Chantry? He likes the sound of it, though.]
What of the portion of mages who fear themselves and the world around them, who want walls and guards?
What of the portion of mages who fear themselves and the world around them, who want walls and guards?
[Another subject rather near and dear and personal to Vandelin, though the characterization of that mindset sounds a bit different from someone else than it does in his own arguments and uncharitable thoughts.]
As long as they don't want walls and guards for the lot of us, then perhaps accommodations ought to be made. We'll never be a monolith. Forcing a single universal fate onto everyone who happens to be born a mage is never going to do enough good to justify the harm.
Those who want us to remain subject to the Chantry and under the thumb of the templars will have to compromise, to be sure. But if they want to live out their days in a safe, familiar community of the like-minded, I can't say I don't see the appeal. And if they want guards to prevent harm in the event of possession, there are schools of magic suitable for that. I'd take a knight-enchanter with a good nullifying glyph over a templar any day.
As long as they don't want walls and guards for the lot of us, then perhaps accommodations ought to be made. We'll never be a monolith. Forcing a single universal fate onto everyone who happens to be born a mage is never going to do enough good to justify the harm.
Those who want us to remain subject to the Chantry and under the thumb of the templars will have to compromise, to be sure. But if they want to live out their days in a safe, familiar community of the like-minded, I can't say I don't see the appeal. And if they want guards to prevent harm in the event of possession, there are schools of magic suitable for that. I'd take a knight-enchanter with a good nullifying glyph over a templar any day.
[He agrees with all of that, though he has a feeling a large portion of the Loyalists won't choose to compromise, and they'll have Templars and Chantry and Seekers on their side. But if the rebels can have something of a united front, they stand a better chance.]
I'd take a knight-enchanter over a Templar as well, [he says thoughtfully.] A mage community, though, might terrify surrounding villages. I wish the burden of workability and preemptively solving what issues might arise was not on us, but most want to see those of us who want freedom fail.
[Anders takes a breath.]
Would you have the time or inclination to sit down with me and perhaps what other like-minded mages we can gather and see if we can come together to find a shape that may protect our freedom and future?
I'd take a knight-enchanter over a Templar as well, [he says thoughtfully.] A mage community, though, might terrify surrounding villages. I wish the burden of workability and preemptively solving what issues might arise was not on us, but most want to see those of us who want freedom fail.
[Anders takes a breath.]
Would you have the time or inclination to sit down with me and perhaps what other like-minded mages we can gather and see if we can come together to find a shape that may protect our freedom and future?
Vandelin. I was wondering if you'd be free tomorrow for the conversation we discussed before, with a third mage as well.
[It's probably for the best that Anders keeps names and details out of it, though Vandelin has been given no reason to mistrust the other occupants of the Diplomacy offices. He excuses himself quietly from them, and finds a solitary place to reply.]
I can make time, certainly. Is this third mage someone I would know?
I can make time, certainly. Is this third mage someone I would know?
[A beat.]
Yes. At least conversationally. Forgive me, but I don't... know where you are, exactly.
[And he doesn't want to come out and ask if Vandelin's alone because that could get them both in trouble.]
Yes. At least conversationally. Forgive me, but I don't... know where you are, exactly.
[And he doesn't want to come out and ask if Vandelin's alone because that could get them both in trouble.]
Empty storage room near the offices in the Gallows. It's all right; that's all I wanted to know.
[He's still curious, because there's nothing Vandelin hates more than walking into a situation unprepared, and it's best to grab the upper hand with whatever knowledge you can possibly rustle up, but he doesn't want to seem cavalier or careless about security. He'll be all right. If the third mage is Myr, Vandelin knows better than anyone how to handle him, and if it's anyone else, he'll be starting from neutral ground at worst.]
Where would you suggest for the meeting? You know Kirkwall better than I do.
[He's still curious, because there's nothing Vandelin hates more than walking into a situation unprepared, and it's best to grab the upper hand with whatever knowledge you can possibly rustle up, but he doesn't want to seem cavalier or careless about security. He'll be all right. If the third mage is Myr, Vandelin knows better than anyone how to handle him, and if it's anyone else, he'll be starting from neutral ground at worst.]
Where would you suggest for the meeting? You know Kirkwall better than I do.
[He takes Vandelin at his word and moves on.]
Death's Death's Proud Bear.
[A beat.]
I know. It's an awful name. But it's... it's somehow enough to keep the people who will talk about anything they see for a price out of there, and dumb enough that the people who just want to start stabbing everyone and throwing punches don't go there.
Death's Death's Proud Bear.
[A beat.]
I know. It's an awful name. But it's... it's somehow enough to keep the people who will talk about anything they see for a price out of there, and dumb enough that the people who just want to start stabbing everyone and throwing punches don't go there.
Edited (Clarity) 2017-10-25 01:12 (UTC)
[He's so tempted to laugh, and if the atmosphere weren't quite so businesslike, he would.]
I didn't think anything could beat that Northern-style restaurant with the ridiculous punctuation, but that'll do it. Still. As long as the place keeps us out of trouble, it can have as stupid a name as it pleases.
[Really, it's almost charming.]
I'm assuming it might be emptier in the afternoon, unless it's better to blend in with the evening crowd.
I didn't think anything could beat that Northern-style restaurant with the ridiculous punctuation, but that'll do it. Still. As long as the place keeps us out of trouble, it can have as stupid a name as it pleases.
[Really, it's almost charming.]
I'm assuming it might be emptier in the afternoon, unless it's better to blend in with the evening crowd.
It's better to blend in. More noise means less of a chance of being overheard, and in the chaos we'll stand out a little less.
[He's kinda fond of stupid names. His cat is named Hero of Purrelden, after all.]
What's the Northern-style restaurant with ridiculous punctuation? I'm not sure I've noticed it and I could certainly go for a northern level of spice in my food. The south doesn't seem to understand the concept whatsoever.
[He's kinda fond of stupid names. His cat is named Hero of Purrelden, after all.]
What's the Northern-style restaurant with ridiculous punctuation? I'm not sure I've noticed it and I could certainly go for a northern level of spice in my food. The south doesn't seem to understand the concept whatsoever.
[It is a good bet that Myr doesn't even know what time it is--otherwise, he wouldn't be calling.
Though from the very careful way he enunciates, the odd bit of slurring, the pauses--he's drunk.]
Van-- Vandelin. 've got a--a question for you.
You don't need to answer if you don't want. It's politics.
Though from the very careful way he enunciates, the odd bit of slurring, the pauses--he's drunk.]
Van-- Vandelin. 've got a--a question for you.
You don't need to answer if you don't want. It's politics.
Edited 2017-11-09 07:02 (UTC)
[There was a time, before the war, when Vandelin was notorious for sleeping so soundly that not even a bell rung directly in his ear could wake him. No crystal summons would have had a chance at rousing him at this hour. But that was then, and this is now, after long enough months spent on the run that he can't afford not to wake instantly at the sound of his name.]
Wha?
[Not so instantly that it doesn't take several seconds for this all to register, though. He sits up, carefully processing that softly-slurred request, and then slips out of Kit's bed to avoid waking him.]
Politics at this hour? It must be serious. [It's gentle enough not to be a rebuke at all.] What happened?
Wha?
[Not so instantly that it doesn't take several seconds for this all to register, though. He sits up, carefully processing that softly-slurred request, and then slips out of Kit's bed to avoid waking him.]
Politics at this hour? It must be serious. [It's gentle enough not to be a rebuke at all.] What happened?
Oh you were--you're asleep. Were asleep. Sorry--must be past fuckin' midnight. Uhm.
[A quiet clink of glass against glass.] You used to be so hard to wake up; s--sorry, figured this might reach you...in the morning.
[When he'd be sober. And maybe regret the question. But right now it seems like a perfectly sensible thing to ask--
Once he's answered Van's question, anyway. As much of it as he can parse right now.] Everyone, [an exaggeration he puts particular stress on,] gave me things to drink for Satinalia and I had to try them all before I wrote cards so I'd know what I was talking about. Think I might've overdone it a--a little. Posca's great, though. And I got a half-cup of the garum before I realized it was too salty for wine--
...Wait, you mean--the politics. The question that's politics.
[He ruminates briefly, before:] D'you think I deserve what happened?
For standing with our templars when everything went to shit. Getting in th' way of your freedom. All that. [His tone's suddenly somewhere between miserable and dejected resignation.]
[A quiet clink of glass against glass.] You used to be so hard to wake up; s--sorry, figured this might reach you...in the morning.
[When he'd be sober. And maybe regret the question. But right now it seems like a perfectly sensible thing to ask--
Once he's answered Van's question, anyway. As much of it as he can parse right now.] Everyone, [an exaggeration he puts particular stress on,] gave me things to drink for Satinalia and I had to try them all before I wrote cards so I'd know what I was talking about. Think I might've overdone it a--a little. Posca's great, though. And I got a half-cup of the garum before I realized it was too salty for wine--
...Wait, you mean--the politics. The question that's politics.
[He ruminates briefly, before:] D'you think I deserve what happened?
For standing with our templars when everything went to shit. Getting in th' way of your freedom. All that. [His tone's suddenly somewhere between miserable and dejected resignation.]
Probably for the best that I'm not anymore. [Hard to wake, that is. It's light, with the cadence of a joke, and he doesn't know where he'd go with the joke anyway, so he moves on and breezes past the rest of that too. He doesn't mind being woken, not really--not when he doesn't think Myr would be calling about something inconsequential, even drunk.
He laughs at the garum story, quiet but genuine, and if only he weren't waiting for the shoe to drop, he would have something teasing to say about it--
--but there it is. The smile fades from his face without a moment's pause, and he leans on the doorjamb of the living room with faintly clenched fingers as he lets the brief ache in his chest subside. He doesn't need to think about the answer. (Not anymore. Not like he used to.)]
Of course you don't deserve it. I never meant for--
[The question isn't about him. He swallows.]
It should never have happened to you. None of it should ever have happened to you.
He laughs at the garum story, quiet but genuine, and if only he weren't waiting for the shoe to drop, he would have something teasing to say about it--
--but there it is. The smile fades from his face without a moment's pause, and he leans on the doorjamb of the living room with faintly clenched fingers as he lets the brief ache in his chest subside. He doesn't need to think about the answer. (Not anymore. Not like he used to.)]
Of course you don't deserve it. I never meant for--
[The question isn't about him. He swallows.]
It should never have happened to you. None of it should ever have happened to you.
Oh.
[That's all, for long stretch of time, as he slumps against his desk--exaggerated in his care for the bottles on top of it--and makes a noise between a laugh and a sob.
Fortunate it's the only one he's got in him because right now it could easily turn into a crying jag.]
Oh--thanks. Thank you. Didn't think you'd say I did because--because you're still talking to me and if you really thought so you wouldn't, I don't think, you wouldn't still be t, trying like we're family and I'm sorry, Van.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. S--still don't think any of this is a good idea, we don't belong out here, but you don't belong in a cage either. That's not why I did it.
[That's all, for long stretch of time, as he slumps against his desk--exaggerated in his care for the bottles on top of it--and makes a noise between a laugh and a sob.
Fortunate it's the only one he's got in him because right now it could easily turn into a crying jag.]
Oh--thanks. Thank you. Didn't think you'd say I did because--because you're still talking to me and if you really thought so you wouldn't, I don't think, you wouldn't still be t, trying like we're family and I'm sorry, Van.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. S--still don't think any of this is a good idea, we don't belong out here, but you don't belong in a cage either. That's not why I did it.
[He flinches physically at that sound nonetheless, haunted by the memory of those sobs-that-aren't-sobs, different and alien and horribly broken-sounding without eyes or tears to produce them. Even when Myr quiets, Van's spine stays on edge.
Because you're still talking to me is a two-way street. It grows increasingly harder to push that intrusive fact away. Because we're family is a privilege that has afforded Vandelin a lot more benefit in these past months than it has Myr. The pleading apology makes him white-knuckle the door frame, swallowing down a wave of guilt-nausea stronger than he's ever felt and frightening for that.
At a better time, maybe if it were light out, he would dispute the "we don't belong out here." But at this hour, on the border between Lowtown and Darktown, feeling small and uncertain and very alone with his unfamiliar shame, it sounds like a self-evident truth.]
I know that's not why you did it. I never thought that was why you were doing it.
You wanted to keep us in the Chantry's fold. [Not "grip," not "grasp," not "clutches," the way he's always described it before.] Even I can't compete with the Maker.
Because you're still talking to me is a two-way street. It grows increasingly harder to push that intrusive fact away. Because we're family is a privilege that has afforded Vandelin a lot more benefit in these past months than it has Myr. The pleading apology makes him white-knuckle the door frame, swallowing down a wave of guilt-nausea stronger than he's ever felt and frightening for that.
At a better time, maybe if it were light out, he would dispute the "we don't belong out here." But at this hour, on the border between Lowtown and Darktown, feeling small and uncertain and very alone with his unfamiliar shame, it sounds like a self-evident truth.]
I know that's not why you did it. I never thought that was why you were doing it.
You wanted to keep us in the Chantry's fold. [Not "grip," not "grasp," not "clutches," the way he's always described it before.] Even I can't compete with the Maker.
[Legionnaires, on the whole, tend not to be heavy sleepers. With the earlier strange events of the evening still tumbling around in his head, it's not like he's sleeping easily--but he also isn't about to get up and eavesdrop on Vandelin's personal conversations, either.
..He doesn't mean to, anyway. Still, even with his hearing, it's hard not to overhear something.
Kit sits up in bed and looks towards the ladder leading downstairs, but doesn't get up to follow yet.]
..He doesn't mean to, anyway. Still, even with his hearing, it's hard not to overhear something.
Kit sits up in bed and looks towards the ladder leading downstairs, but doesn't get up to follow yet.]
Yeah. [There's no arguing with the truth.] You'd try, though--try'n show Him you could do a better job of it. [No malice behind the words--just a forlorn affection.
He pours himself another drink. Hopefully it's the posca, but at this point he's past caring much.] Wanted you to be be safe and--and happy. But nobody's ever safe and you can't, you can't make them be, and you weren't happy, I know.
I just thought--things m, might get better, if I were just good enough. Prayed hard enough--things would change, inside and outside the Circles and you'd be, you'd be all right.
But they didn't and you weren't and things got worse and you left and everyone blamed you for what happened to me and-- I thought you'd die out there and I'd never, never see you again, [and then he interrupts himself with another of those awful halfway noises,] except I can't now anyway but you know. You know.
He pours himself another drink. Hopefully it's the posca, but at this point he's past caring much.] Wanted you to be be safe and--and happy. But nobody's ever safe and you can't, you can't make them be, and you weren't happy, I know.
I just thought--things m, might get better, if I were just good enough. Prayed hard enough--things would change, inside and outside the Circles and you'd be, you'd be all right.
But they didn't and you weren't and things got worse and you left and everyone blamed you for what happened to me and-- I thought you'd die out there and I'd never, never see you again, [and then he interrupts himself with another of those awful halfway noises,] except I can't now anyway but you know. You know.
[He has not allowed himself to think much about what the loyalists left behind must have had to say about him--even before he'd known exactly what kind of destruction his escape had left in its wake. The notion of having his former peers crafting a narrative about him that he couldn't shape, of letting them run wild and being unable to defend himself, of having no control anymore of his legacy in the only place he'd ever actually been anybody, had been one of the worst things he could imagine after he left.
He knows better now. Even had the carnage of outright war not taught him better--those jagged noises from his cousin's throat are worse than anything else that could ever have come of the Hasmal uprising. It shouldn't be juxtaposed with that sweet fervent prayer for Vandelin's safety and happiness; the reminder of what Vandelin has done to him has no business coming on the heels of an expression of love like that. He draws in a sharp breath of his own, reacting, for once, on instinct and without careful planning.]
Don't--
[Don't what? Don't joke about it? Don't make that sound? Don't show affection Van doesn't deserve? He leans his forehead on the door frame, and forces calm.]
Call it providence that we got another chance. Even I have to wonder if it isn't. [He hasn't wondered, not really, but...maybe he ought to.] We're both here now, and we're alive, and--that's what matters, isn't it?
[Can he even convince himself of that?]
He knows better now. Even had the carnage of outright war not taught him better--those jagged noises from his cousin's throat are worse than anything else that could ever have come of the Hasmal uprising. It shouldn't be juxtaposed with that sweet fervent prayer for Vandelin's safety and happiness; the reminder of what Vandelin has done to him has no business coming on the heels of an expression of love like that. He draws in a sharp breath of his own, reacting, for once, on instinct and without careful planning.]
Don't--
[Don't what? Don't joke about it? Don't make that sound? Don't show affection Van doesn't deserve? He leans his forehead on the door frame, and forces calm.]
Call it providence that we got another chance. Even I have to wonder if it isn't. [He hasn't wondered, not really, but...maybe he ought to.] We're both here now, and we're alive, and--that's what matters, isn't it?
[Can he even convince himself of that?]
Don't what?
[There's something there behind that word, something to spark offense off the cold and unwelcome anger that had lodged in his breast three years ago. But he can't quite make the intuitive leap he did before, can't quite scavenge disparate elements into a real cause for offense. Maybe if--
Gears slip, catch, and fall apart. He lets it go. There are some weapons you shouldn't use; some people you don't use them against.
This is Van, cousin and friend, best ally and loyal opposition. Even in those black days--weeks--months following the uprising, even when the only light in the darkness was a miserable fury over what had happened, he'd defended Vandelin to his detractors. It was instinct--automatic, disconnected from feeling, but as so often happens sentiment had followed action and even if Myr had started with doubt (Did he do this? Did he mean it?) and hurt, a part of him believed, and that belief grew.
Doubt gave way to conviction, gave way to-- Providence. What a perfectly Vandelin way to put it.
Myr smiles to himself to hear it, rueful and fond.] Yeah. Maybe you should wonder-- You could ask Him about it.
[Not "you should thank Him for it". He knows, he remembers, he gets it. But he can't stop leaving that door open--]
That's--that is what matters. That we're here. That you were out here, for me to find again. That kept me going, you know that? Even if I didn't know we'd find each other again--even as angry as I was--
["Your cousin is still out there," someone had said, when he was flat on his back in feverish agony and heartbreak. Maybe it had been meant as a spur to revenge, a don't give up, justice needs to be served--maybe that's how he'd taken it at first.
Or maybe the voice hadn't belonged to anyone in the Circle at all. Maybe that's the kinder way to imagine it--divine reminder--and Myr in all his need to believe the best had come round to that. Van was still out there.]
--even when I thought it would be better to b, be Tranquil and not have to feel things anymore about what had happened, like Cas--o, or just go to sleep and never wake up again because I could still see in the Fade--even then, I thought about you and thought you'd be so fucking mad if I did that. You'd never forgive me. I wouldn't hear the end of it. So I kept--I kept going.
[It isn't meant to wound.]
[There's something there behind that word, something to spark offense off the cold and unwelcome anger that had lodged in his breast three years ago. But he can't quite make the intuitive leap he did before, can't quite scavenge disparate elements into a real cause for offense. Maybe if--
Gears slip, catch, and fall apart. He lets it go. There are some weapons you shouldn't use; some people you don't use them against.
This is Van, cousin and friend, best ally and loyal opposition. Even in those black days--weeks--months following the uprising, even when the only light in the darkness was a miserable fury over what had happened, he'd defended Vandelin to his detractors. It was instinct--automatic, disconnected from feeling, but as so often happens sentiment had followed action and even if Myr had started with doubt (Did he do this? Did he mean it?) and hurt, a part of him believed, and that belief grew.
Doubt gave way to conviction, gave way to-- Providence. What a perfectly Vandelin way to put it.
Myr smiles to himself to hear it, rueful and fond.] Yeah. Maybe you should wonder-- You could ask Him about it.
[Not "you should thank Him for it". He knows, he remembers, he gets it. But he can't stop leaving that door open--]
That's--that is what matters. That we're here. That you were out here, for me to find again. That kept me going, you know that? Even if I didn't know we'd find each other again--even as angry as I was--
["Your cousin is still out there," someone had said, when he was flat on his back in feverish agony and heartbreak. Maybe it had been meant as a spur to revenge, a don't give up, justice needs to be served--maybe that's how he'd taken it at first.
Or maybe the voice hadn't belonged to anyone in the Circle at all. Maybe that's the kinder way to imagine it--divine reminder--and Myr in all his need to believe the best had come round to that. Van was still out there.]
--even when I thought it would be better to b, be Tranquil and not have to feel things anymore about what had happened, like Cas--o, or just go to sleep and never wake up again because I could still see in the Fade--even then, I thought about you and thought you'd be so fucking mad if I did that. You'd never forgive me. I wouldn't hear the end of it. So I kept--I kept going.
[It isn't meant to wound.]
Edited (rearranged the meat on the bones, minor sentiment fixes) 2017-11-11 19:05 (UTC)
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