[open] far from my mother's home

[altusimperius]

WHO: Benedict and you
WHAT: October catch-all
WHEN: throughout Harvestmere
WHERE: Kirkwall dungeon/gay baby jail
NOTES: will add if necessary

For Riftwatch members in good standing, there's a built-in captive audience residing in a cell below the Kirkwall mage tower. One barred window peeks out onto the dreary courtyard, and on the opposite wall an interior door opens onto a dark, torchlit hallway, a bench placed on the wall facing in for the comfort of guests and interrogators.

Inside the cell, every day is the same. Sometimes Benedict is sleeping on the little bed supported by chains from the wall, sometimes he's pacing, sometimes he's standing on his toes to rest his chin on the windowsill, hands gripping the bars to keep himself upright, starved for any form of stimulation whatsoever.

Increasingly, he can be found sitting or lying on the floor of his cell, staring at the ceiling or fiddling with the straw scattered on the floor, bending and twisting it in such a way that, on closer inspection, he might be trying to figure out how to weave it.

Visitors will find him quite receptive, even excited to see them. Unless they're Flint.

Comments

[altusimperius]

Having been Silenced himself, Benedict nods with a wince. There's a terror that comes from powerlessness, one of which he feels a constant thrumming in the back of his mind as long as he's on magebane: the only way he has of defending himself isn't available to him. It's not difficult to imagine how easily one might take advantage of a mage under such circumstances.

He's sympathetic as it is, but the story takes a turn, and he blinks in surprise. A few months ago, he was in Tevinter, and had no idea. He might've come back and Colin might not even be here, might not have sat with him the night he thought he was about to die.

At a loss for words, he just stares, waiting for Colin to continue. Obviously, he didn't kill himself. There must've been a reason.

[keenly]

Colin gives him a moment to process, gives himself a moment to collect. This is a more recent hurt, and the shame is sharper because it’s a hurt he gave himself. A hurt he gave Lexie, Anders, and Myr. His eyes are developing a redness from rubbing away tears.

“Lexie found me. She saved my life. But I still couldn’t, I couldn’t imagine living in the Circle again. And I thought, if I had justice for what he did to me, maybe I could make peace with it. If I wasn’t just going back to the same situation I left. Except this time, I’d have nothing to bribe anyone with for my safety. So...we took him to court in Ferelden. Dredged up a witness, had all sorts of fun at the trial, I got accused of all sorts of things, but he was found guilty. But his sentence was left up to the Templars, and all they did was eject him from the order. By that point, his father disowned him because it got out and became a scandal. I don’t know where he is now, but...it’s a lot more justice than other mages got. And you can imagine the Chantry wasn’t pleased.”

[altusimperius]

Well that's... better than nothing.
Rather than offer commentary, Benedict quirks his mouth to one side and shakes his head: he can't imagine they were pleased, no.

[keenly]

Colin gives Benedict a somewhat blank look. Usually people interject by now and give him some manner of pity or impotent anger. Benedict is just...listening. No pity, no pontificating. Colin can’t recall if that’s happened before. He quite likes it. Except it does leave it up to him to fill the silence, which he is not used to. He tries to think of something else to say.

“So,” he begins, “we both almost died this year. And I’m still not sure if, if the trial and everything, if it’s going to be enough. I, I don’t...know. If I go back to that place in my head, the place that says everything is hopeless and no one can help me, and everything from the past is my inevitable future, Lexie might not be there to save me next time. And I don’t want to die.”

More tears are rubbed away. The floodgates have opened.

“You and I talked a bit after that. That’s probably why I remember it so well. That was when you said you’d rescue me. Maker I so wanted to be rescued, in the Circle. But no one could know, so no one did. And if I go back and something happens, no one will be able to know, and frankly I’m already marked because I took down a Templar this summer.”

[altusimperius]

A place of hopelessness where no one can help him: that's a familiar place, Benedict recognizes. He curls his arm against one of the bars so he can lean into them, still gripping with both hands, one side of his face pressed gently against the cold iron.

"Do you really think they'll make Circles again?" he asks uncertainly. "I thought... things had changed enough, so many people have done things they wouldn't have... how could it ever go back to being like it was?"

[keenly]

"They'll try," Colin says honestly, with a nod. He sniffs and finishes rubbing his eyes, offering a watery smile. "But I've been reminded that we mages are a community. When the rebellion started, I ran and hid while brave people fought for our freedom, and not one of them I've met here have blamed me or resented me for it. They fought for my freedom. And they'll do it again, if it comes to it. That's why the Divine hasn't said one way or another."

[altusimperius]

That's a thought that fills one with dread: the Circles not only coming back, but reabsorbing all the Southern mages. Of which Benedict is now one.
He nods, but looks uneasy, pursing his lips. "...I've never been in a Circle." He has no concept of what they'd be like, only that he understands them to be little better than where he is now.

[keenly]

"I know." Colin nods again. "But you should know it's probably not as bleak as it looks to me. If nothing else, neither you nor I have phylacteries. Most of the people here won't. Lots of people would escape, including us."

[altusimperius]

"Maybe."
Benedict drums his fingers on the bars, pursing his lips. Then,

"...I don't think I would."
He is, after all, about as easy to capture as a person can get.

[keenly]

"Sure you would. You'd be with me. Presumably."

[altusimperius]

But Colin doesn't have the key. Does he?
All the same, the sentiment is there. Benedict smiles faintly, looking just as much as though he might burst into tears. Then,

"They'd make me Tranquil," he says, despair surging into the words before he can stop it. "...I'm a traitor. And I'm shit at magic."

[keenly]

Colin knows that fear. He was nearly made Tranquil himself. He shakes his head, keeping his tone light.

"It won't happen. I'll rescue you. And I'll teach you how to be a proper boring commoner. I'm the world's leading expert at that."

Whether that makes Benedict smile again or not, he continues more seriously.

"I don't think you're going to be either of those things forever. I think by the time they try to round up mages, you'll be something quite different."

[altusimperius]

The anxiety doesn't vanish, but Colin has a way of calming things. Benedict nods, feeling foolish for getting worked up again-- in a way, it's even worse because Colin had just been sharing a vulnerability of his own, though Bene isn't sure why he feels guilty about that.

"Maybe," he concedes, settling back against the bars, partly using one to support himself.

[keenly]

"They said I'd be made Tranquil as well," Colin says softly. He reaches out to take one of Benedict's hands wrapped around a bar. "And frankly, even now, you're not who you were when you returned. You're definitely not who you were when you left."

[altusimperius]

Benedict's hand shifts to grip Colin's back, and he smiles faintly, worriedly.

"...really?"

He imagines he's become something of a worse version of himself, an unwashed wretch now defined by what he doesn't have.

[keenly]

"You don't complain. You don't try to wheedle things out of people. Don't ask for much of anything at all, really, and what you do ask for isn't, I don't know. Softer pillows. It's just been a couple of sentimental things, and you're not really leaning on me to get them for you. You're not blaming other people for what you did. You've turned down offers I've made that would make you more comfortable because you don't want me to get in trouble. And today, you...listened. To me. My problems, instead of just brooding about your own or something. You didn't have to do that, but you did. Most people outside of prison won't do that."

[altusimperius]

Continuing his bout of shocking behavior, Benedict doesn't interrupt, just listening and hanging onto every word. Perhaps he's not as far gone as he thought, as people seem to think he is; perhaps, with or without the cigarette box, Kit wasn't wrong about him.

He nods, silently acknowledging Colin's words. It's reassuring for what it is, even if there's no guarantee he'll ever be able to prove it.

[keenly]

Colin still isn't comfortable with being the talkative one, but this is worth a bit of discomfort. He offers a smile.

"You're whatever you want to be, at this point," he says gently. "Which is remarkably freeing, from my experience. Nobody is making you be anything. And who you are underneath all that pressure and compulsion is worthwhile. You're not about to die. So you get to rewrite yourself however you like."

[altusimperius]

Benedict nods again, letting Colin's words wash over him. Whatever he wants to be.

"Is it... should I know what that is," he asks sheepishly, "...what I want to be."

[keenly]

"Well, it's not like drafting a blueprint. There's always going to be things you try but don't fit, or things you admire in someone else but just...aren't you, when you put them on. The thing I found helped me was, um, well, dealing contraband lyrium to the Templars meant I had skill with money, so I became a ship's purser for four years. I hated that job, but it got me through the first few years. During those years, I got to learn not so much who I was, but who I wasn't. And that's, I think that's your problem. You've tried all your life to be your mother's ilk. That's clearly not who you are, and frankly, that's a good thing.

"So you need to show the people upstairs that. That that's not who you are, and who you are is surprising. You were deeply misguided, and maybe a little thick. But even if you're not sure who you are, you definitely know who you aren't."

[altusimperius]

Though he's still a rapt listener, a bit of the old Benedict creeps back in when he pulls an affronted face. Thick? Who is Colin calling thick?
But he thinks better of calling it out, for the same reasons as always: Colin is the only one here to see him, one of the few willing to help.
"I do know that," Bene admits with a sigh.

[keenly]

Colin sees that face. It's not something he's willing to dwell on, lest it make more of an impression than necessary. He meant what he said, but doesn't want to rub it in. He glances away and appears to change subjects.

"What were you like as a kid?"

[altusimperius]

That took a turn. Benedict looks a little surprised by the question, and looks away for a moment as he measures his answer.

"Oh, um. I don't know. ...probably the same." Either he's terrible at self-reflection or he recognizes how much of an insult that is to his current self-- or, knowing him, it's a little of both.
"I got everything I asked for.

[keenly]

"What else?"

There's a point to this. Not that Colin would be incredibly surprised to hear this man never grew past childhood, only that he wants to know what he was like in his purest form, without the baggage.

[altusimperius]

What else indeed.

"I, um..." He thinks about it, scratching at the layer of stubble that's begun to form on his jaw. "Was good at lessons. When I wanted to be." A sheepish smirk. "But I was lonely a lot of the time. There weren't ever really other children around, except at parties, and I wasn't allowed in the room when my parents had company."

Being seen and not heard, and all that.

"...so I read a lot, and painted, and. Pretty much did whatever I wanted, as long as I wasn't bothering Mother."