faderift | [open] but I'll soon find out, that's for sure

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[open] but I'll soon find out, that's for sure

WHO: Benedict, Kit, Anders, anyone else who wants to visit
WHAT: He's still in baby jail! Everything is terrible!
WHEN: Harvestmere
WHERE: the Kirkwall dungeon
NOTES: even though his beard is gross he wears it well

It's been months now, and Benedict has lost track of time. He's aware via the draft coming in from the dungeon door, when it opens, that the weather has grown colder, and he's picked up via context in the guards' chatter that Satinalia's coming up fairly soon. That means they're well into autumn, and he's still here, and that's all he knows. If his family ever received his letter, if it was ever sent at all, he hasn't heard back and has begun to doubt he will.

Occasional card games with Kit and the books granted by generous souls only stave off boredom for so long, and Benedict has taken to long stretches of time wherein he just stares at the wall, not quite sleeping, not forcing himself to operate at full capacity. The boredom is torture in itself. That and the limited access to basic hygiene, but by now Benedict has accepted that he will smell and itch and have an awful scrubby beard and there's nothing he can do to change that.

Perhaps all this would be manageable on some level if it weren't for the magebane, which keeps him constantly drained and sluggish, and which he has no choice but to consume now that the hunger strike has long since become untenable. He's fallen into a state of dull acceptance, still sullen but with little left of the fire.

Of course it wouldn't take long to break him, before this he'd never known a day's hardship in his life. This isn't even hardship, it's just nothing. It's hard not to wonder if maybe the Tranquil have a point.

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The captive is slumped against the wall as usual, fiddling with a pack of cards that he can't shuffle terribly well even when he isn't drugged to such languidness. When he hears an unfamiliar voice, Benedict leans forward to peer out of the cell, looking rather like most people would after having been imprisoned for several months with no sign of any imminent release.

In a way, he's the very picture of the purpose this dungeon used to serve. A mage, powerless, hopeless, and, at least as far as he knows, forgotten.
"I'm cold," he replies dully, bearing no particular friendliness for Anders. He'll just go away again too.

Cold. It's always cold down south, and dungeons especially are chilly. Anders focuses for a moment and produces a controlled bonfire close enough to the Tevinter mage to give warmth but not so close that it's threatening.

"I can at least help with that." There's something wrong with caging a person, in his mind. Execute them, set them to work with a guard, pardon them, those are all completely find options. But people should not be locked away.

"And I can help shuffle and even play a game or few, if you'd like. Your choice of game." Benedict seems physically unharmed, but Anders understands all too well what it's like to be forgotten and trapped.

Benedict looks a little surprised by the fire, but he's not sure why. Perhaps just that magic in such proximity to him after so long seems out of place, and makes him nervous, as though he might get in trouble for it.
He watches the flames for several moments, then lifts his eyes to meet Anders'. "Diamondback," he says hesitantly. That's the one he's been playing with Kit, and getting good at it.

Anders holds out a hand. "Diamondback it is. I've played it more than a few times." That's not to say he's any good. The opposite, really - cards are luck-based and Anders has always had shit luck.

"I can't promise any sort of challenge, but it's fairly hard to play Diamondback with yourself." There's something in Benedict's eyes and actions that make him want to stay despite what a dungeon means to him.

Usually Kit comes in with him, but perhaps this man can't. Maybe it's for the better, since Bene's never seen him before and he could be anyone.
Scooting closer to the bars, he starts to deal out a hand for Anders, silent and thoughtful until they're both ready. Then he looks up at him, curious and wary. "Who are you?"

He studies his cards for a moment after the question before looking up with a slightly guarded expression.

"Anders," he says. If even the guy who can't be choosy about his company in the dark dungeons rejects his company... he doesn't know. It certainly won't feel good. "That Anders, to be specific, yes."

Benedict narrows his eyes and tilts his head, trying to recall where he's heard the name before. Eastern and Southern politics haven't been of much interest to him since very recently, and though the name sounds familiar, he's not sure why.
"What does that mean," he asks dully, unsure if this is a trick or not.

"Um." He's not used to having to explain that, so he's caught a little off guard and plays a card poorly. Not like he would have played it well even with focus, but it's a handy mental excuse.

"The mage who, who blew up the Chantry here in Kirkwall? One of the people who lead to the vote for freedom and the rebellion. A mage they'd like to have dead or at least stuck in here as well except I've allies."

Benedict blinks, and then recognition dawns in his dark eyes. "Oh!" he says, surprised, "you." The most reaction he gives beyond that is actually a smirk to see Anders draw a bad card, and he lays his own down to beat it.
"It's ridiculous," Benedict says casually, "how southern mages are treated like livestock. I don't know how most of you stand for it."

"You say," Anders drawls, "to the one who blew up the Chantry. There are people who could stand to hear that, but I'm already quite aware of how we're treated."

That's one round lost. He plays again, this time something slightly better but still not great. Luck has never been his friend.

"Granted, they likely won't listen. A great many of them seem absolutely determined to get all of us caged and beaten and worse all over again because... they didn't have to worry about going hungry, apparently. Or spending the night out in the open. Poor, poor them."

There's no sympathy in his voice. "How dare we act like they should be slightly uncomfortable? They're not the ones dying or being abused, therefore they're the ones that matter."

A bit surprised by Anders' defensiveness, Benedict squares his shoulders. Aside from the obvious, the problem is a foreign one to him, and difficult though it is for him to conceive of mages wanting to be in captivity, he supposes it's one of many things about the South that's totally backwards.

"I don't know about that," he says (because he really doesn't know), preparing another hand, "but tell me. Tranquility. Is it... does it happen... often?" Benedict is maintaining a decent poker face, or diamondback face in this case, but being lonely and afraid every day has taken its toll. Especially with 'Tranquility', such a serene and pleasant word made so fearsome, ever looming in the distance as a possibility.

He looks up from his cards at Benedict, thinking that he hears the real question. They've got two hostage mages who haven't been put on any sort of trial, and the Inquisition is helmed by people who are mostly fans of old Chantry ways.

"I hope it's over. I hope it never happens again, because the Circles are broken and there is no place for that level of cruelty." Taking a careful breath, Anders draws a few more cards. He doesn't look at them yet. The question is a little more important.

"But I don't know if it's finished, and it was a popular tactic for inspiring fear and creating control. The answer I think you want to hear isn't one I can give you. What I can give you is that if they're headed that way and I catch wind of it I will fight for you if you want that. Better to die, than be forced to live Tranquil."

Edited (word choice) 2017-11-04 23:26 (UTC)

Benedict hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath until Anders' response causes him to let it out, a sigh of almost-relief even if they don't have confirmation it doesn't happen. Of course, then the other mage continues, and a little more hope is sucked away.
"...you'd do that?" Bene asks, looking warily at Anders. A few people have been kind to him. None have suggested they'd go out of their way for him."

"I want the practice gone." It's fairly simple, in his mind. If the Inquisition ever uses Tranquility as a punishment then it will be like they condone it and others will push for it again. But right now there's a lull. Right now there's a chance of it being cast aside as barbaric. Which it is.

"It's cruel. Deliberately so. And it needs to be abolished." He plays a card, glancing down after to find that it's actually decent. It's... less for Benedict than it is for the future of Southern mages. Far less. But Benedict is the one of the two in direct danger. "If another mage is made Tranquil while the Circles are broken, it keeps the fear lingering."

The fact that it's not Benedict's specific interests at heart is not lost on him, and he wilts a little, but tries not to show it. He plays a losing card, his expression becoming more closed off as a result.
"The Knight-Commander told me it might happen," he murmurs, his voice sullen so it won't be frightened. He starts to say more, but tenses instead, his heart lurching at the memory. He was helpless, and the Templar knew it, but he took pains to scare him anyway.

He sees the freezing and it betrays the sullen notes in Benedict's voice. The man has been imprisoned and now he's being taunted with the worst fate possible. ...The young man, it sinks in as Anders looks at the other mage. Much younger.

Anders looks down for a moment before folding his cards and holding a hand out. Physical contact had always helped him. Maybe it would help someone else too.

"That was cruel of him, and undeserved." This man was not Atticus. It's possible that most of this is an act, Anders isn't always the best at reading people, but he doesn't think it is. "I cannot swear that I will win. But if you'd like, I can visit you down here more often, and I can ask you what you'd like done if they do succeed in making you Tranquil. I..."

He breaks off for a short moment before he continues.

"I'd a mage I loved who asked me to kill him when it, when he became Tranquil." More or less. "I did. If you want that mercy, I will give it to you as well."

As Anders continues, the wrenching fear fills Benedict's chest, and he wraps his blanket around himself, resting his mouth on it as he curls over his knees. How is this even a conversation, how could it come to this? How is it a reality that he has to prepare for?
He didn't do anything.
"My mother would stop it," he murmurs, his eyes tearing up in spite of himself, "she would kill them before they could try."

Make that estimate even younger.

"I'm sorry." It's heartfelt. "I will do what I can so that it does not get to that point. And I will deal with Knight-Commander Norrington for the taunting because that's uncalled for. I..."

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry that I'm limited. I'm sorry that you've been left down here so long. And I wish I'd more to offer. Can I, is there anything I could bring you?"

The apology has its intended effect, and Benedict nods, comforted slightly. It's rare that he feels he has an ally here, but at this point he'll take what he can get.
And... you know, what he can get someone to give him.
"...better food?" he requests, carefully. Kit gives him cigarettes and plays cards with him, and he's been lent a book or two. It's hardly a life, but at least those bases are covered. "And... a bath," he adds, suddenly despondent. The worst part of all this is feeling so revolting. Even animals can clean themselves.

Both of those are entirely reasonable. Anders nods. "I can certainly do better food. Not every day, I'm afraid, but on days I've shifts at the infirmaries I can deliver food down here. Baths... I'll speak with your guards on the way out. If they can't manage to see to treating you with basic decency, at least I can bring a bucket and cloth down here and fill the one with hot water."

There'd been nothing for him when he'd been in solitary for a year, and he knows how miserable it felt. It's a cruelty that isn't deserved.

"We can make this a little better for you."

Months ago, Benedict would have curled his lip and rolled his eyes at what he'd consider incompetence and unwillingness to go along with fairly uncomplicated requests. Now, it's relief that crosses his face, a faint smile as desperate and hopeful as a child being promised a cake if he's good.
"Really?" he asks, curling his fingers around the bars. "...you'd do that?"

"Yes." He doesn't know the mage enough to say that he'd do it just for Benedict, but he recognizes the situation.

"I would, and I will." Hopefully there will be a little less darkness in this place, metaphorically speaking. Anders stretches slowly.

"I need to head out for now, I'm afraid." The walls are feeling a little too close around him, and there's work to be done as there always is. "But I'll see you again before long, Benedict."

The boy's face falls, but he tries not to throw a fit, not while this is only the second of many people who has shown kindness toward him. "...fine," he concedes, the best he can do, "...see you later, then." He sounds disappointed, perhaps a bit sullen, but that comes with the territory.

"This is only for now," Anders says gently as he gets up. He can't fault the boy too much here, but there's no doubt he's used to far more kindness in Tevinter than southern mages could ever have expected.

On his way out, Anders stops by the guards and makes his request. He doesn't expect them to follow up on it, but he will go a little further and talk with Norrington about this too.

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[open] but I'll soon find out, that's for sure

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