faderift | Did I go at it wrong? Did I go intentionally to destroy me?

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Did I go at it wrong? Did I go intentionally to destroy me?

WHO: Zevran and You
WHAT: Zevran back at Skyhold, Recovering
WHEN: Mid to late guardian, covering a span of time
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: CW/TW FOR: Mentions of torture, withdrawal, suicidal ideation, swearing, self loathing, etc. Shit gets dark. This log is also for characters not on the rescue long. Locked thread below will be done on first come, first serve.

[ His Quarters ]

Good day

Sometimes it's good. He's tired from the trip, tired from the ordeal- but he'll see people. Play cards, answer questions- as many as he can stand. Nothing about the side of his face he has hidden under a bandage, nothing about what was done to him- but he'll describe Antiva. Mention how gallant and ridiculously awesome his rescuers were. Share coffee or brandy or whatever he has on hand- and make light. He tires easily early on in his recovery, but later? He might converse for an hour or so before needing a break. Alistair sees most people in and out as needed.

Bad day

Early on he spends more time alone, quiet and isolated, Alistair a silent, stoic wall between him and the world. Notes will be passed along as well wishes- but he'll only see the most demanding and even then? He'll be listless. Snappish. Frustrated that they forced their way and company upon him when he would rather be left in peace.

[ Stables ]

Good day

A target on the far wall and a dagger in his hands, he's attempting to learn to compensate for the eye- under a leather patch now that neatly hides both the eye and his new scars, and talking a small group of strange new students as they work on...carving toys. Or sketching one another. Or working on a lute- a difference from the lessons he'd been giving before. But they do as they're told and laze about while he works on the throwing, or while he walks them through a particular shading technique, curl of the knife, or chord. Even when they're dismissed he continues with the throwing, aim slowly circling about to something better.

Bad day

When his patience with himself is at it's limit, when he's climbing the walls for want to get away from Alistair's oppressive hovering, when he cannot bear to even teach, he hides in the rafters of the stable. More likely than not there is a bottle of wine or brandy or something stronger still hanging from his fingers, head tipped into the shadows as he drums his fingers against his chest. Until Alistair or Beleth hunt him down, he means to remain there, high above where most people don't think to look.

[ Clearing Outside of Skyhold ]

Later in his recovery, when the worst of it is settled, no matter his temperament he is out running drills with those same students, agility drills, knife drills, a highly acrobatic and complicated looking game of tag or one of the most terrifying rounds of hide and seek possible while he lounges under a tree, calling out corrections or instructions. A bottle of wine, a basket of bread and dried sausages. When his mood is poor and his patience low he runs with them, pushing himself to the point of surly exhaustion. When it is high he sits and drinks and sketches out various shapes of armor, tools- things they may need.

[ Battlements - Locked to Bruce, Sabine, Martel, Mia, and Nahariel ]

On the darkest nights he cannot sleep. Not for all the wine in skyhold, not for all the sleeping spells and draughts available. To close his eyes is to see the fade- to be back on that hook, back in that cell with the blood and whispering. The Shades. He's back with the choice- the knife in his hand and the order in his ear. Wakes to find Alistair, so quiet so trusting. It would take nothing. When the weight of this is too much he walks up, out, finds himself a perch, sitting on the edge of the battlements, peering down at the rocks below. All he has to do is lean. All he needs to do is let go. It would be so very easy to let go, to be done. Maker above, he wants to. Even when he has found it in himself to take a step back, to return to bed; another night might have him back on the battlements once again, considering the drop.

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[Here, Bruce hesitates. There are many things he can say in response, so many answers he can give, but none of them will be close to the real truth of why he hides so much. It is easier for people to see a mask than to see the darkness that lies underneath his skin. And besides, he doesn't deserve any of their pity or care. A monster like him doesn't reserve such human things.]

I never said it was simple. [He says instead, voice dipping down, coming out quieter than ever.] But you will have people who will help and support you.

[Zevran has so many people around him, people who would drop everything and go after him at a moment's notice. But Bruce? There would be nobody who would do that for him. And nobody should. He is meant to be alone, forgotten and left behind.]

And you will not?

[ He spreads his arms wide, sleeves billowing about arms that only look all the more thin, all the more fragile for the size of his borrowed shirt. ]

I was a Crow. I killed for fun and profit. Even in this past decade I have killed many that may or may not have deserved it, uprooted whole noble houses in Antiva for their connection to the Crows, ended family lines for old grudges and coin. I can give you every name, every face that I have put to my blade and they are many. How am I any more worthy than you?

[He watches Zevran spreading his arms, seeing how thin they are, the fragility they held, made even smaller by the large shirt that he wore now. A Crow he had been, but here, Bruce sees now, is just somebody who wants somebody to show him the way. Somebody to tell him what to do. Just like how he wanted it to be.

Bruce wasn't going to give him that way out.]

You were a Crow, but you're here now, in the Inquisition. [His gaze flicks between Zevran and the expanse of sky and mountains around them, this fortress in the middle of nowhere, a beacon of hope to so many now.] You have Alistair, everyone who went to Antiva to bring you back, the elves here--they will be there for you, Zevran.

[It isn't about who is worthy or who isn't worthy. The simple truth of the matter is that Zevran has people who do care for him and that should be enough. With them, and with time, he can rebuild himself to be better than before.]

How am I more worthy than you?

[ Diversion, evasion- he knows these tricks well. He's used them as long as he's been able to walk. This is nothing new and he will not sit here, six inches from his doom, and listen to Bruce talk around and bullshit him yet again.

Yes, he is more (apparently) yes he has people (undoubtedly) but that he specifically calls upon the elves? ]

I am no hero to their people. I am a warning, a bad end- a sign of what happens when things go wrong. That I have been lucky and survived as long as I have does not make me good or noble or just. It makes me lucky. Forgive me if I weary of that.

[He never implied that Zevran was their hero, but it was clear that he was still respected nonetheless, for his contributions to ending the Blight if anything. And Zevran may be weary of the luck that has kept him alive but the things he has--he should be grateful to have them. Its not something that anybody can be so lucky to have.

But Bruce knows he can't say that without it coming off the wrong way, and so he doesn't.]

You came back from something that would have ruined so many others. You faced your greatest fears and returned from it stronger. Isn't that worth something to you?

Look at me!

[ How can everyone not see that? He did not come back with so many new scars on his skin but that does not mean he isn't carrying them about like stones around his neck. In the vast ocean of Alistair's good intentions- he drowns. He chokes. He cannot breathe with all this sentiment, all this concern, all this

Everything. He cannot breathe. Why do they keep asking him to sing when he doesn't have the breath for words? ]

I am ruined!

But you can rebuild.

[Zevran's anger, his frustration, his sadness - Bruce can understand. Or at least understand enough of it. It hurts and it doesn't feel like it will ever end but Zevran has so much more than Bruce himself ever could, ever would, ever will. That advantage is what makes all the difference.]

It will take time, and its not going to be easy, but you can do it. You have all the things you need to make it happen - and you will be stronger than before when you are done.

As you have done? Is this what you have built for yourself?

[ This nothing, blank, overly pleasant thing? ]

How has that worked out for you? What strength do you pull from this?

The strength to not do what you are thinking of now.

[It's a lie, of course; the thought is always there but Bruce is simply better at squashing it down. It's easier when he knows that trying it won't get him anywhere - only more pain and bitterness and anger.

But Zevran doesn't need to know any of that.]

You can make a mockery of what I am now, but that simply means you can be better than what I've become.

...You are attempting to annoy me into not jumping and spite me into living another day.

[ Whether accidental or deliberate- it's working. Zevran pushes away from the wall and stalks over to Bruce, glowering up at him. ]

You are a sneaky, stubborn, underhanded bastard. And I must respect that. Fine. I live another night. Go team. Hurrah.

[Bruce certainly didn't plan that, but honestly as long as it works, Bruce isn't going to complain.]

Don't waste the effort and care others have given you. You are not alone, despite how you may think otherwise.

You- [ He glowers. ] You. One day you will make sense to me.

[ Wait. That implies he'll be around long enough to sort it out.

Brasca. ]

It would be simpler if I was, and I am not- how is it you deal with all this- this Sentiment others feel for you?

Just understand why they're giving it for, and acknowledge it. That's the least you can do in return.

[It wouldn't be right to not return the kindness that they give, after all. Perhaps this may not be the best way, but its one that Bruce has managed to make it work for a good amount of time.]

That is the problem. I do not understand.

[ And attempting to learn leaves him with a migraine. ]

Then that's something for you to learn, should you wish to commit.

[It's certainly not going to be easy, but Bruce thinks that Zevran would benefit from it in the long run.]

You are...a singularly frustrating man, Bruce.

[ But fine. He slips from the stones to stand before him, feeling wrung out from the entire ordeal. ]

Been a while since I've heard that.

[He takes a few steps back when Zevran finally comes down from the stones, giving the other the space that he needs. The wind blows again, cold as always, but it doesn't affect Bruce as much, this time.]

So you know and continue to be frustrating.

[ To the Void with space- Zevran was cold, Bruce was here and had conned him down from the ledge- Bruce could deal with Zevran stepping into his space and pressing his forehead against his shoulder. ]

Were I in a better mood I might find it amusing.

[There's a pause when Zevran suddenly steps in close and does that, instinctively tensing up when the elf leans into him - almost, anyway. Physical contact is still a complicated thing with Bruce, but he can put away his own discomfort just for a bit. Zevran obviously needs it, even if Bruce is pretty certain he's not exactly the best choice.]

I'm quite self-aware of my flaws.

Is that not normally the path that leads to correcting them?

[ Pot, kettle, he sighs and leans in a little more, lulled by Bruce's warmth. His bulk. The scent of the healing tents and tea that ever lingers. ]

I assume so, in most cases.

[He's not really 'most', though. And neither is Zevran, he guesses.

Bruce isn't entirely sure what to do, and he's certain that Zevran probably isn't going to appreciate any sudden movements either. So he just stays still and lets Zevran have what he wants - Bruce may be shy of physical contact but that doesn't mean he couldn't understand the need behind it.]

Many cases. [ After a long moment of leaning and attempting to feel grounded (he doesn't) Zevran takes a half step back. Gives Bruce his space again. ] I will see you for another round of 'let's try to make the eye work properly with THIS' in the morning, yes?

It's always better to try out everything possible than to do nothing.

[He manages with a small laugh, quirking a tiny smile after that. At least it seems for tonight Zevran will be alright, for better or for worse.]

But yes, I'll see you tomorrow.

If it is not healed by now, Bruce, it is not going to be healed. I am beginning to resent the false hope.

[ For while it might be hope- it was false. They all knew it to be true. Still. He patted the surgeon on the shoulder before heading to the stairs. It was time to sneak back into his own room. ]

In the morning, then.

[Bruce is pretty sure that the eye is unsalvageable, but that doesn't stop him from trying anyway. Who knows, something always could happen.]

Never hurts to give it a try. [He says mildly, turning around as Zevran passes by him.] Make sure you try to get more than three hours of sleep.

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ombranera - 2016-02-28 07:56 (UTC) - Expand

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