Prove it, combined with tears. Anders abandons healing for a few moments, wrapping his other arm around the Elf as well to hold him close. Prove it. He doesn't know what Zevran saw, what they showed him, which means the only way to convince him would be to say something Zevran's subconscious couldn't.
And make it something that made the Elf crying against him feel like it's no shame to break down.
"My sixth escape attempt was, I thought, my last. They were hauling me back, talking about what they intended to do, how they'd enjoy rolling dice to see who got to wield the sword that took my head off. When they threw me in the dungeon cell it was nothing new, and I paced, fearing my end."
He takes a slow breath, forcing back the demons that haunt him from this. There are so many of them, but if he can use them to help his friend, he will.
"Only the Templars didn't come back that night. I could see a little light from outside through a little crack of a window, and was shocked when dawn didn't bring them either, or midday. Evening brought a plate of gruel, deliberately half-dumped, and no explanation. Days went on, one plate of gruel, four walls, and the whispers of demons promising me freedom. Every time I closed my eyes I saw a way to get out. I saw K-- I saw friends coming down and saving me. I saw the First Enchanter relenting. I became so powerful I blew a hole in the wall and fled. On and on. For a year."
Nausea is rising, burning the back of his throat, but he fights it down with practiced efficiency. Later he can be sick. Later he can submit to the emotions that are making his hands tremble and his already-hushed voice shake.
"When they finally opened the door for me to walk out, I thought it another demon trick. The first... the first sign that it wasn't was when I could barely get my legs to work and fell over and the Templars near me started laughing. After they dragged me up the steps, knees hitting as many as they could manage, I began to wonder. It was only when they dropped me on the floor and one knelt close and promised that next time I'd be silenced, gutted, and would take a great deal of time to die that I realized I was out."
He's almost done with the story. Almost. He feels like he's run miles at this point, cold sweat on his brow and stomach twisted in knots.
"I laid there and sobbed. I don't know how much time passed before the friends who recognized me after that found me there and helped me back to a room, but I sobbed the whole time. And no Crow, no Blood Mage, not even your own mind, could summon that up. You're out, Zevran. I've no stairs to bang your knees against now that we're clear of the fortress, but you're out."
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And make it something that made the Elf crying against him feel like it's no shame to break down.
"My sixth escape attempt was, I thought, my last. They were hauling me back, talking about what they intended to do, how they'd enjoy rolling dice to see who got to wield the sword that took my head off. When they threw me in the dungeon cell it was nothing new, and I paced, fearing my end."
He takes a slow breath, forcing back the demons that haunt him from this. There are so many of them, but if he can use them to help his friend, he will.
"Only the Templars didn't come back that night. I could see a little light from outside through a little crack of a window, and was shocked when dawn didn't bring them either, or midday. Evening brought a plate of gruel, deliberately half-dumped, and no explanation. Days went on, one plate of gruel, four walls, and the whispers of demons promising me freedom. Every time I closed my eyes I saw a way to get out. I saw K-- I saw friends coming down and saving me. I saw the First Enchanter relenting. I became so powerful I blew a hole in the wall and fled. On and on. For a year."
Nausea is rising, burning the back of his throat, but he fights it down with practiced efficiency. Later he can be sick. Later he can submit to the emotions that are making his hands tremble and his already-hushed voice shake.
"When they finally opened the door for me to walk out, I thought it another demon trick. The first... the first sign that it wasn't was when I could barely get my legs to work and fell over and the Templars near me started laughing. After they dragged me up the steps, knees hitting as many as they could manage, I began to wonder. It was only when they dropped me on the floor and one knelt close and promised that next time I'd be silenced, gutted, and would take a great deal of time to die that I realized I was out."
He's almost done with the story. Almost. He feels like he's run miles at this point, cold sweat on his brow and stomach twisted in knots.
"I laid there and sobbed. I don't know how much time passed before the friends who recognized me after that found me there and helped me back to a room, but I sobbed the whole time. And no Crow, no Blood Mage, not even your own mind, could summon that up. You're out, Zevran. I've no stairs to bang your knees against now that we're clear of the fortress, but you're out."