[There is very little that is beyond the CDC's capacity to accomplish. He's learned that well in the time he's spent with them. They need the 'Yes' in order to keep the crew, and they'll use whatever coercion or bribery is necessary to get it.
The mission is finished. The rewards go out. He is alone in the corridor leading to the Neheda's medical bay when it happens.
There's no way to describe it other than what it is: having his consciousness ripped in two. As it turns out, unmaking an abomination is even less enjoyable than making one was; the separation is not gentle, and Justice does not go willingly. It's a snarl of rage and desperation and pain, like pieces of himself being torn off one by one, as inelegantly as by an apprentice butcher. His vision goes dark around the edges, and it's only distantly that he sees himself hit the floor on his hands and knees.
At first, he feels the protests as his own. Then, just that simply, he doesn't -- the anger is disconnected, an echo, like Justice were back in the corpse and simply shouting in his ear.
Then, nothing. It could be stillness, if there were anything peaceful about how empty his mind suddenly feels. It's silence louder than he's felt in years, since before Kirkwall, before the night he left Vigil's Keep, and it isn't calming in the slightest.
It doesn't take a genius to deduce what happened. It doesn't even take beyond a single leap of logic. Whatever he'd been doing before is abandoned; it doesn't even take him long to search the ship. When he finds Fenris, he's a mess of frayed nerves, jumbled emotions, and bald-faced panic.]
[ Fenris gives him a long look, expressionless except for an armored softness in his eyes that feels almost rueful. He's seated in what passes for his living quarters for the time being, balancing on his tucked-up legs a book that once belonged to Martin before his... disappearance. Martin, who managed in his gentle and patient way to get him to accept that not magic, perhaps, that made an enemy. That even Anders was not beyond redemption, but categorically could not go on without losing himself to the spirit and the brightness of its anger. His feet swinging from the bed to the floor, he closes the book and straightens a bit, aware that Anders may be about to try beating him to within an inch of his life. ]
No. I did not. But it had to be done.
[ Fenris can't know what it's like for man and demon to be cleaved apart, but he does know what it is to have a choice taken from you. He doesn't regret it, but he feels guiltier than he thought he would. A beat passes; he glances away before glancing back. ]
You have absolutely no idea, do you? About what could have happened to me, with them-- digging around in my head. Or do you get to decide that too, which risks are worth taking?
[His connection to the Fade has never felt so fragile as it does now, like he narrowly escaped having his entire self ripped out by the roots, instead of only half.]
It was my mistake to fix. [For once, he can call it that -- a mistake -- without the answering wave of anxiety, fear, and guilt that he'd come to associate with Justice's disapproval. The anger in his expression cracks with either distress or relief. It's hard yet to say which.] You don't get to gamble my life for me and then say sorry.
[ He's surprised to find how much of his fear of Anders has abated. Anders is a dangerous man, a powerful man, but he is, at last, only that. Fenris's life as he's always known it has been steeped in dangerous mages, and they've known each other long enough that he has a sense of how Anders operates. If it came down purely to this, power against power, Fenris thinks maybe—
Without the abomination, has Fenris any reason to kill this man as he always promised he would?
Anders has come deeply enough into the room that the door slides unnervingly closed behind him—Fenris still struggles against the instinct that he's fallen into a trap whenever that happens. He tenses, then lets it abate. He still doesn't stand to meet Anders. ]
You would not have succeeded. Gamble with your life, perhaps. Better that than to allow you to return and gamble with the lives of hundreds more, mine among them. And Hawke's. [ And here he does gain some momentum, leaning forward as though aiming his words for a target. ] After all she has [ meant to me ] given you, you will not sentence her to a wasted life as a hunted fugitive.
[ They've lived their lives running for so long, all three of them. Damn her influence and damn Martin's, too, for instilling in him this foolish belief that the mage might see reason. ]
[Anders understands the power dynamics of space very well. It's why, consciously or not, he's taking up as much of it as he can, in his stance and his body language. But the shot lands true, and the fight in him dissolves. A day ago, bringing up Hawke in that manner might have incited something vicious and defensive in him; today, there's nothing to beat back the guilt and uncertainty that washes over him.
Hawke deserves better. Every mage in Kirkwall deserves better.
When he speaks, his voice is softer. Sapped. He feels clearer, now, but also adrift. There was at least certainty in Justice's warped force of rage.]
You don't know that I won't. Even without him.
[What's truly terrifying about imagining Kirkwall's future is seeing his own logic in it. If he were fearful enough, desperate enough, to somehow think that force was the only option, then the plan is a sound one. Provoke Meredith, hand her power on a silver platter, and let her abuse it in the most egregious manner possible. Demonstrate to the world in blood everything that's wrong with the Templar Order. It's how he would do it, if he were playing at some kind of macabre thought experiment.
It's how he will do it, maybe.]
I know you prefer to think of me as a-- mindless abomination. Like I'm completely at the mercy of some spirit. [A painful pause.] Was. But it wasn't like that, Justice and me. Does doing this really make you so certain anything will change?
[If he were talking to anyone else, he might be looking for reassurance that yes, it could still make all the difference. With Fenris, even he's not sure what he's fishing for.]
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branchandroot
WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN, or: THAT TIME JUSTICE GOT HIS SHIT WRECKED BY THE CDC
Date: 2014-11-16 11:37 pm (UTC)The mission is finished. The rewards go out. He is alone in the corridor leading to the Neheda's medical bay when it happens.
There's no way to describe it other than what it is: having his consciousness ripped in two. As it turns out, unmaking an abomination is even less enjoyable than making one was; the separation is not gentle, and Justice does not go willingly. It's a snarl of rage and desperation and pain, like pieces of himself being torn off one by one, as inelegantly as by an apprentice butcher. His vision goes dark around the edges, and it's only distantly that he sees himself hit the floor on his hands and knees.
At first, he feels the protests as his own. Then, just that simply, he doesn't -- the anger is disconnected, an echo, like Justice were back in the corpse and simply shouting in his ear.
Then, nothing. It could be stillness, if there were anything peaceful about how empty his mind suddenly feels. It's silence louder than he's felt in years, since before Kirkwall, before the night he left Vigil's Keep, and it isn't calming in the slightest.
It doesn't take a genius to deduce what happened. It doesn't even take beyond a single leap of logic. Whatever he'd been doing before is abandoned; it doesn't even take him long to search the ship. When he finds Fenris, he's a mess of frayed nerves, jumbled emotions, and bald-faced panic.]
You had no right.
no subject
Date: 2014-11-17 12:14 am (UTC)No. I did not. But it had to be done.
[ Fenris can't know what it's like for man and demon to be cleaved apart, but he does know what it is to have a choice taken from you. He doesn't regret it, but he feels guiltier than he thought he would. A beat passes; he glances away before glancing back. ]
...I am sorry.
no subject
Date: 2014-11-17 03:44 am (UTC)You have absolutely no idea, do you? About what could have happened to me, with them-- digging around in my head. Or do you get to decide that too, which risks are worth taking?
[His connection to the Fade has never felt so fragile as it does now, like he narrowly escaped having his entire self ripped out by the roots, instead of only half.]
It was my mistake to fix. [For once, he can call it that -- a mistake -- without the answering wave of anxiety, fear, and guilt that he'd come to associate with Justice's disapproval. The anger in his expression cracks with either distress or relief. It's hard yet to say which.] You don't get to gamble my life for me and then say sorry.
decides to end my evening crying
Date: 2014-11-18 04:11 am (UTC)Without the abomination, has Fenris any reason to kill this man as he always promised he would?
Anders has come deeply enough into the room that the door slides unnervingly closed behind him—Fenris still struggles against the instinct that he's fallen into a trap whenever that happens. He tenses, then lets it abate. He still doesn't stand to meet Anders. ]
You would not have succeeded. Gamble with your life, perhaps. Better that than to allow you to return and gamble with the lives of hundreds more, mine among them. And Hawke's. [ And here he does gain some momentum, leaning forward as though aiming his words for a target. ] After all she has [ meant to me ] given you, you will not sentence her to a wasted life as a hunted fugitive.
[ They've lived their lives running for so long, all three of them. Damn her influence and damn Martin's, too, for instilling in him this foolish belief that the mage might see reason. ]
i see your tears and raise you my tears also
Date: 2014-11-19 06:52 am (UTC)Hawke deserves better. Every mage in Kirkwall deserves better.
When he speaks, his voice is softer. Sapped. He feels clearer, now, but also adrift. There was at least certainty in Justice's warped force of rage.]
You don't know that I won't. Even without him.
[What's truly terrifying about imagining Kirkwall's future is seeing his own logic in it. If he were fearful enough, desperate enough, to somehow think that force was the only option, then the plan is a sound one. Provoke Meredith, hand her power on a silver platter, and let her abuse it in the most egregious manner possible. Demonstrate to the world in blood everything that's wrong with the Templar Order. It's how he would do it, if he were playing at some kind of macabre thought experiment.
It's how he will do it, maybe.]
I know you prefer to think of me as a-- mindless abomination. Like I'm completely at the mercy of some spirit. [A painful pause.] Was. But it wasn't like that, Justice and me. Does doing this really make you so certain anything will change?
[If he were talking to anyone else, he might be looking for reassurance that yes, it could still make all the difference. With Fenris, even he's not sure what he's fishing for.]