[This is not the natural order of things. Myr has not, historically, been the one needing extraction from the consequences of stupid decisions, though there always are exceptions. But it's rare enough now to set Vandelin's nerves faintly on edge, because he knows, too, what the gravity of Myr's tone means. And there are so many things out in this wide new world that can hurt them worse than anything within the Circles ever could.]
What did you offer?
[Myr will know what kind of trepidation the calmness of his tone belies.]
[And that's a little why he's afraid to go forward--but the fact he'd say what he did after his near-argument with Herian has his stomach roiling.]
To be made Tranquil. [There's a moment's hesitation before he hastens to explain,] There might be a cure for it. Or--there's strong reason to believe there is, that someone's come up with it, but it would need to be reinvented and tested on someone--and Casimir can't really give consent to it, so I--
[He trails off. The reasoning sounds even more hollow when he puts it that way. What if there weren't a cure at all? And even if there were it still wasn't as if Casimir could give his full consent to it being used on him, it doesn't solve the problem--]
[For anything else--anything short of this--there would be dead silence on the other end of the crystal. But there's no way for Myr to miss that panicked little intake of breath, that sheer and unconcealable horror.
It isn't the outright weeping that resulted from the last time Myr talked about wanting to be Tranquil--nor the pleading, certainly not the desperate apology. But his voice is no steadier when he does respond, like the dangerous and quiet ground tremors presaging an earthquake.]
You're damned right you won't be held to it. Because if anyone calls upon you to do it, I will unmake them from the inside out.
You volunteered this? You thought this--this--was a reasonable solution to any problem under the sun?
[He deserves exactly how much that little noise hurts.
That's what you would have done to your own flesh and blood. That, forever.
His own voice is quiet around the lump in his throat,]
Don't know what I thought. It was--halfway to say that I wouldn't let anyone do something to him against his will. Hyperbole. How far I'd go--you know?
But I think I half-meant it. [There is a strange mix of emotion to those words--fear and shame and puzzlement and dismay. He doesn't know why.]
[Hyperbole, he understands. Nobody could fault Myr for it, for a cause so serious as this one. But to mean it, to come close to meaning it, to know there was ever a time when Myr would have meant it all the more sincerely (and to know, like a frozen ache in the marrow of his bones, that it's his Maker-forsaken fault)--this is what keeps him awake at night.]
Is it an extension of...what you told me, that night we spoke about it?
[His voice is very soft. He can't, for reasons he doesn't understand, bring himself to say "on Satinalia," as if he needs to leave some kind of room for vagueness or denial, as if he can't stand to recall it in that level of detail, even if he can repeat Myr's words verbatim.]
No--Maker, no, I'm out of that. [At least he can say that with certainty and relief. There's been a bad morning here or there since coming to the Inquisition, but not so bad as that. Pray the Maker it's never so bad as that again.]
It's... [He trails off, lapses silent, prodding at the thought. Why had he?]
It was--it was partway my fault, what happened to Cas. [He hadn't been able to admit that at the time.] I think I owe it to him. Or-- [A breath in and back out again before he's silent once more.]
If they invent a potion that can grow eyes back, do I owe it to you to stab my own out on the off chance that the cure will work?
At least I'd still have a self if I did. At least I wouldn't have--
[For once, he can cut himself off in mid-sentence before he says the thing he can't take back. He's already been cruder in his pain and panic here than he's ever been when talking about Myr's blindness before; he's already spoken without thinking, only feeling, and he needs to pull himself back from the edge.]
You do not owe it to him, or to anyone else in the world, to destroy yourself as penance for a mistake. Not even if you think you can be rebuilt afterward. That serves no one and nothing. That isn't how penance is done.
Andraste's tits, of course not! You don't deserve that; I'd never want you to--
[Would Casimir want you to?
The thought gives him pause. No, says his sweet and trusting heart; no, the guilt--curled and ingrown and infected--is his own, the penance--
Even--especially--coming from Van, the words strike home. His cousin might not believe in the Chant any longer, but he knows the framework of it, knows how to speak the language Myr needs to hear. (And maybe there is a small miracle in that.)
You never will know what will be enough if you make some kind of sacrifice like this and it goes wrong.
Everything you could do with the rest of your life, every glyph you could invent, every mission you could undertake, every treatise you could write, every battle you could win--you think one debt you've invented for yourself outweighs all of it, and everyone who loves you besides?
Andraste's pyre, Myr, you make it sound like you're halfway to inventing a cure for Tranquility, and you'd throw a mind like that away just to use yourself as a laboratory mouse out of some misguided sense of justice? You don't think--repairing, and rebuilding, and bringing something good out of the ashes, you don't think that's enough?
Why is that never enough for anyone? [Had he any less self-control, the note of desperation there could be a wail.]
[The truth behind the words is undeniable--but still there's a part that jars off Myr's pride and distracts him, try as he might to listen.]
Invented! I loved him and betrayed his trust and he suffered for it--that's not invented--
[He catches back the rest of the words, presses the back of his hand against his mouth to stop the rest. That note of desperation isn't lost on him, though it takes him a moment to draw the line from why is that never enough back to everyone who loves you.
...Oh. Oh, yes. He deserves this for being so thoughtless.
At least Van can't see how his ears are burning, though the way he swallows back his shame and the rest of his recriminations is audible.]
You're right. You're--you're right about all of it.
It wouldn't be any kind of solution, whatever it feels like.
[It hadn't been a fair thing to say. He doesn't know what that debt really entails or how it came to be; he knows so little about any of it, held at arm's length as he'd always been. And maybe it isn't Casimir or his cousin that he'd been thinking of just then--maybe he'd been too consumed with his imagined picture of the Deep Roads, of poor and desperate dwarves with too-familiar tattoos flinging themselves into the abyss for a code of honor that doesn't need to exist.
You are never enough to prevent this, his mind tells him. You are not a thing to live for. You will never measure up to an abstract concept. Not in the end.]
You already have the solution. It just isn't a big or grand enough gesture to feel like it means what it needs to. But big grand gestures don't win battles, only start them.
It isn't-- [a gesture, he'd say, but now that he's thinking of it-- It wasn't truly about helping Casimir, simply assuaging his own guilt in the most dramatic way possible. Yes, he'd a duty to prevent further harm to his friend--to any of the Tranquil--but this...
He's done stupid things in the grips of emotion before but this is another order entirely. The realization keeps him quiet for a long time.]
We don't, really--have a solution yet. Only the barest hint of something.
Not enough to throw my life away on, and abandon you and everyone else who's counting on me.
But working toward it is the solution. Even if you don't have it immediately. Even if you don't have much. Just because you can't do it all at once and there'll be setbacks and it'll take longer doesn't mean it doesn't count.
Is there--anything I can do to help with it? It might not be much within my field of expertise, but...if there's busywork to be done to speed it along, or something, I could be--
[Another set of eyes, he's about to say, and then...doesn't.]
[Something about Van's reassurance prompts a laugh out of him. It's not much of one, but it is a laugh.]
I know. Just didn't want you thinking we're further along than we were.
[His tone brightens further at the offer.] Please--I don't know it's anyone's field of expertise, though I s'pose as there's spirits involved Kostos will be in his element. As...will Anders, if he's joining us.
[He does not follow with, please come be a buffer for me. But there's a note of trepidation in that name that all the same. He doesn't like not getting along with people and the relative peace feels surreal.]
[Myr, fortunately, does not need to follow explicitly with that. They've had that conversation, or something like it, often enough for it to be understood--even if Van doesn't know half so much about it as he thinks he does.
What he already does know is enough to make him realize that he might be the only one able or willing to mediate between cousin and friend, even if neither of them is aware of the extent of his connection with the other. And this is to say nothing of what he can do for the project itself, though his confidence wavers a little at the description.]
Well, you know I'm not much for spirits themselves, but so long as I don't need to be, I'm there. I'll bring snacks, even, if they've got the actual magic covered between them. Everything's better with moretum.
[The mediation alone would be worth it, should Myr and Anders get crossways with each other again. Somewhere Myr heartily does not want to go--but if Anders restarts that fight, far be it from him not to try and finish it.
...Except it will imperil their research. Damn. Hope Van's in top diplomatic form, then.]
No argument there--and I'd never undersell the importance of snacks in the research process. [Can't pull all-nighters without good snacks.]
Besides, I expect there'll be a lot of reading and you know that's always faster with more people.
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I may've offered to do something very stupid. Don't think I'll be held to it, but I...don't know why it seemed a good idea at the time.
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What did you offer?
[Myr will know what kind of trepidation the calmness of his tone belies.]
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To be made Tranquil. [There's a moment's hesitation before he hastens to explain,] There might be a cure for it. Or--there's strong reason to believe there is, that someone's come up with it, but it would need to be reinvented and tested on someone--and Casimir can't really give consent to it, so I--
[He trails off. The reasoning sounds even more hollow when he puts it that way. What if there weren't a cure at all? And even if there were it still wasn't as if Casimir could give his full consent to it being used on him, it doesn't solve the problem--]
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It isn't the outright weeping that resulted from the last time Myr talked about wanting to be Tranquil--nor the pleading, certainly not the desperate apology. But his voice is no steadier when he does respond, like the dangerous and quiet ground tremors presaging an earthquake.]
You're damned right you won't be held to it. Because if anyone calls upon you to do it, I will unmake them from the inside out.
You volunteered this? You thought this--this--was a reasonable solution to any problem under the sun?
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That's what you would have done to your own flesh and blood. That, forever.
His own voice is quiet around the lump in his throat,]
Don't know what I thought. It was--halfway to say that I wouldn't let anyone do something to him against his will. Hyperbole. How far I'd go--you know?
But I think I half-meant it. [There is a strange mix of emotion to those words--fear and shame and puzzlement and dismay. He doesn't know why.]
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Is it an extension of...what you told me, that night we spoke about it?
[His voice is very soft. He can't, for reasons he doesn't understand, bring himself to say "on Satinalia," as if he needs to leave some kind of room for vagueness or denial, as if he can't stand to recall it in that level of detail, even if he can repeat Myr's words verbatim.]
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It's... [He trails off, lapses silent, prodding at the thought. Why had he?]
It was--it was partway my fault, what happened to Cas. [He hadn't been able to admit that at the time.] I think I owe it to him. Or-- [A breath in and back out again before he's silent once more.]
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At least I'd still have a self if I did. At least I wouldn't have--
[For once, he can cut himself off in mid-sentence before he says the thing he can't take back. He's already been cruder in his pain and panic here than he's ever been when talking about Myr's blindness before; he's already spoken without thinking, only feeling, and he needs to pull himself back from the edge.]
You do not owe it to him, or to anyone else in the world, to destroy yourself as penance for a mistake. Not even if you think you can be rebuilt afterward. That serves no one and nothing. That isn't how penance is done.
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[Would Casimir want you to?
The thought gives him pause. No, says his sweet and trusting heart; no, the guilt--curled and ingrown and infected--is his own, the penance--
Even--especially--coming from Van, the words strike home. His cousin might not believe in the Chant any longer, but he knows the framework of it, knows how to speak the language Myr needs to hear. (And maybe there is a small miracle in that.)
Still,]
I don't know what might be enough, Van.
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Everything you could do with the rest of your life, every glyph you could invent, every mission you could undertake, every treatise you could write, every battle you could win--you think one debt you've invented for yourself outweighs all of it, and everyone who loves you besides?
Andraste's pyre, Myr, you make it sound like you're halfway to inventing a cure for Tranquility, and you'd throw a mind like that away just to use yourself as a laboratory mouse out of some misguided sense of justice? You don't think--repairing, and rebuilding, and bringing something good out of the ashes, you don't think that's enough?
Why is that never enough for anyone? [Had he any less self-control, the note of desperation there could be a wail.]
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Invented! I loved him and betrayed his trust and he suffered for it--that's not invented--
[He catches back the rest of the words, presses the back of his hand against his mouth to stop the rest. That note of desperation isn't lost on him, though it takes him a moment to draw the line from why is that never enough back to everyone who loves you.
...Oh. Oh, yes. He deserves this for being so thoughtless.
At least Van can't see how his ears are burning, though the way he swallows back his shame and the rest of his recriminations is audible.]
You're right. You're--you're right about all of it.
It wouldn't be any kind of solution, whatever it feels like.
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You are never enough to prevent this, his mind tells him. You are not a thing to live for. You will never measure up to an abstract concept. Not in the end.]
You already have the solution. It just isn't a big or grand enough gesture to feel like it means what it needs to. But big grand gestures don't win battles, only start them.
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He's done stupid things in the grips of emotion before but this is another order entirely. The realization keeps him quiet for a long time.]
We don't, really--have a solution yet. Only the barest hint of something.
Not enough to throw my life away on, and abandon you and everyone else who's counting on me.
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Is there--anything I can do to help with it? It might not be much within my field of expertise, but...if there's busywork to be done to speed it along, or something, I could be--
[Another set of eyes, he's about to say, and then...doesn't.]
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I know. Just didn't want you thinking we're further along than we were.
[His tone brightens further at the offer.] Please--I don't know it's anyone's field of expertise, though I s'pose as there's spirits involved Kostos will be in his element. As...will Anders, if he's joining us.
[He does not follow with, please come be a buffer for me. But there's a note of trepidation in that name that all the same. He doesn't like not getting along with people and the relative peace feels surreal.]
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What he already does know is enough to make him realize that he might be the only one able or willing to mediate between cousin and friend, even if neither of them is aware of the extent of his connection with the other. And this is to say nothing of what he can do for the project itself, though his confidence wavers a little at the description.]
Well, you know I'm not much for spirits themselves, but so long as I don't need to be, I'm there. I'll bring snacks, even, if they've got the actual magic covered between them. Everything's better with moretum.
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...Except it will imperil their research. Damn. Hope Van's in top diplomatic form, then.]
No argument there--and I'd never undersell the importance of snacks in the research process. [Can't pull all-nighters without good snacks.]
Besides, I expect there'll be a lot of reading and you know that's always faster with more people.