[CLOSED] AND YOU'LL KNOW THE NEXT TIME I WAKE UP SCREAMING

[illithidnapped]

WHO: Astarion, Fenris, Bastien, Emet-Selch, Mobius, Ellie, Dante, Loki
WHAT: fear spirits are no joke when you're a bag of broken glass
WHEN: backdated to Crossroads plot hours
WHERE: the Crossroads
NOTES: so many content warnings: mind control, slavery, torture, blood, mutilation and abuse of every conceivable/literal shade, possibly more warnings to be added later, not joking this is a very horrible space. There's a reason why I'm divorcing this from the main log; Astarion's canon is, in short, unkind.

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[favoriteanalyst]

[Knowing nothing about vampires, he can't call Astarion out on anything. On the other hand: the boneless relaxation from the wooden stiffness of before.

He won't pick at it if Astarion won't.]

I believe you. [Quiet. Sure. About the converting, at the very least, and the details as given.] You don't have to prove anything to me.

[He can't speak for others. But this isn't about anyone else. Not right now.]

Two hundred years...and then suddenly free. Or as free as a Rifter gets. Must've been a fun adjustment period. No wonder you don't want to go back home.

[illithidnapped]

It...could’ve been worse, I suppose. Adjusting, I mean. [No, it could have been so much worse, and that's a thought that thins out the already stolid lines of his present expression, settling like drifting silt.]

Fenris was there right from the start. [A beat, and then:]That was before his memories were stolen, of course.

He made it easier. [He still does.]

Understand that I need this world. I don’t want to leave it, for all the obvious reasons, and I’d rather not be enslaved again either— which is what every Rifter inevitably would be underneath Corypheus’ rule. And yes, I realize telling a Templar that I’ve no intention of being locked away within a Circle is absurd, but I don’t. I won’t ever be.

[No more binding tethers, no more bordering walls, no more lack of agency. Of freedom. He knows precisely what the Chantry plans to do if the war's won.

He won't have it.]

Not again.

[But that isn't aimed bitterly at Mobius. It's only honesty, ugly and coarsely cut. It falls away not long after just as Astarion's crimson stare lifts, honed in with a sharper focus.]

Regardless of all the rest, what I mean is that I’m on your side. And you’ve a weapon against me as much as you have proof that I’m not your enemy, after what you’ve just seen.

[Terrifying, that thought, to someone like Astarion. To have someone holding something so utterly fragile. An easy way to unmake him.]

I hope you realize what a massive generosity it is on my part that I’m not killing you to protect it.

[favoriteanalyst]

We've given each other enough rope to hang with.

[Astarion more so; he realizes this. Mobius being a Templar isn't some near-automatic death sentence, just uncomfortable, would make some people wary and others angry, and that's it. What Astarion is, the combination of things that he is, would be greeted with much more vehemency and violence.

It doesn't seem fair. This isn't about fair. It's not about equal exchange. But still. He looks at Astarion, really looks, takes in this elven man from another world whose life has been lived far too long as a whole, and too long under the unbreakable control of an actual monster. This kicked dog, this cornered wolf, who has tasted freedom and never again will allow himself to get corralled into another cage. This funny, self-assured, dangerous man.]

I can't make any promises about what'll happen when this is over. I don't know if Circles will come back, and I don't know if what Rifters can do should be classified as magic in the same way that natural-born mages are, and I don't have any future sight. But I'm not judge, jury, or executioner. Not anymore.

Used to be. You might have seen your victims in there, but I saw mine. I'll defend Templars until Andraste hears my final breath leave my chest, but I know we're not innocent. I killed people. Good people. Because someone decided they broke a rule just enough that it made them too dangerous to live. Because when everything broke loose, they all became too dangerous. I followed orders until I couldn't abide by it anymore; I had that choice. I always had a choice.

[And when you're entrenched in certain ideologies for decades, it's easy to get numb to it all. Easy to hear someone that is supposed to know better than you 'this is a blood mage' and to draw your sword against it. Easy to not think too hard or look too deep. It doesn't make him different or special that he thought too hard or looked too deep, because he still did as he was ordered, even if others thought he was too soft about it. Some didn't bother making friends or being nice or treating others with basic dignity. Some only saw themselves as a weapon begging to be used.

Doesn't make a difference now, does it?]

I'm not gonna hurt you. Not deliberately; not with this. I'm not a sword hanging over your head. I left that behind me years ago.

[He's not in the business of unmaking people. Not unless it's to build them back up to be better.

He makes to stand and holds a hand out to Astarion to help him do the same.]

We're both on the same side here, so I appreciate the whole not killing me thing.

[illithidnapped]

[His eyeline sinks towards that hand. He’s quiet for so long— so terribly long— remembering the fractal image that’d laid itself across Cazador’s reflection. The way Mobius had prayed, and buckled, and even now beneath all the surety in his words, Astarion can’t help but wonder if he still feels just as unmoored.

But maybe this isn’t the time to ask that just yet.

Not when they’ve both suffered enough.

So he takes it, fingers clasped tight around an easier grip, rising to his feet with little ceremony spared outside the gesture itself. The very least he could do.] It’s a difficult sacrifice for someone like me. But I imagine I owe you, now. Just a little.

This’ll just make us even.

[Normally that’d come with a grin. Not right now, though. Not today.

All that said, though:]

I’m leaving the Crossroads. [Definitive. Decided.]

You should too.

[This place is no friend to them, and Astarion can’t stomach the thought of stumbling into another trap or grasping spirit just yet. Tired as they are. Worn thin as they are, maybe it’s better to retreat while they still can, and leave the rest to the Wardens or native elves. Hardier things.]

Be a shame if a spirit ate you right up.