narrative: prelude (Part I of II) Who: Constans and Desiderio Ledaal. Where Vigil's Keep. When: Evening of 12 Molioris, 9:45. Summary: Desiderio has two-thirds of a conversation with himself. Constans talks, but it remains to be seen if Desi listens. Rating: T, little bit of swearing.
Slouching against the wall at the end of his brother’s bed, Desiderio frowned at Constans, twisting a quill pen idly between his fingers. “So you really just explain to the guards that you’re not a mage, and they let you go anywhere. They seriously believe you?”
“It is not so simple.”
Constans did not look up to answer the question, his head bowed over a shirt the sleeve of which he was, somewhat clumsily, stitching. Although plenty dexterous with a smith’s hammer and tongs or the hilt of a sword, his large and calloused hands simply did not seem fit to maneuver a needle and thread. “I have been refused on occasion. It happens less frequently now.”
How did Constans manage to never quite answer a question the way it was intended? It was impossible to tell most of the time whether his brother was being evasive or just dense. Trying not to scowl in his impatience, Desi stopped twirling the pen and leaned forward, arms draped over his knees. “What I mean is, most of the time all you have to do is tell them you’re a Tranquil and they’ll let you right out into the village? They don’t check or anything?”
“What would they check, Desiderio? I possess no indication of rank save the color of my robes, which means little to the soldiers here.” Constans pricked himself as he spoke, wincing faintly and pausing in his uncoordinated attempt to fix the sleeve. He rubbed his fingers together to check for blood before returning his attention to the fabric.
Yep, leave it to Constans to totally miss the point.
At some undetermined point over the last couple of weeks Desiderio had begun to welcome Constans’ company, although admittedly this acceptance had been somewhat begrudging. While he still… cared about his brother and did his best to be kind, the man could be absolutely infuriating. It was difficult, for example, to have a friendly chat with a girl in the mess hall when one had a six foot tall shadow hovering at one’s shoulder, giving her the creeps with his thousand-yard stare. Unfortunately for Desi’s already depressingly lackluster social life, by the time he had become annoyed enough at being followed everywhere by the wayward Tranquil to help his brother find employment elsewhere in the keep, he came to discover he’d gotten rather used to having the big dope lurking around. Now with Constans suddenly busy most of the day (the keep’s various artisans engaging in a quiet but as yet unresolved war over who got to keep him, once they’d noticed that there was a compliant source of endless free labor hanging around unutilized) Desi had taken instead to stopping by his quarters at night to keep up the rapport between them. He even fancied that Constans liked the attention… well, no. Like might be too strong a word. He seemed to get something out of it though.
For one thing, it hadn’t slipped past Desi’s notice that Constans only used his full name sometimes. Sure, maybe that sometimes was when Constans meant to scold him, but to his little brother the distinction felt like something important. Still… it was probably nothing, as much as he wished it were otherwise. He often had to remind himself not to get his hopes up, but to Desi the denial of this hope was like swallowing poison, his rage every time he looked into those dull, dead eyes just as fierce now as it had been the moment he first realized what they’d done to him.
At least they treated him well here. Constans had his own room now, and someone had given him a sword. Desi knew that some knight was even sparring with his brother in the mornings, which was decent of him. Plus Bethen was around, apparently kicking ass and taking names in defense of the Tranquil if what he had managed to pry out of either of them about the incident with that blonde Enchanter was to be believed. It helped him to know that Constans would be taken care of, no matter what.
Thinking of Bethen, though, brought up a whole new tangle of worries that left Desi feeling no less apprehensive. While Desiderio mused sullenly on this, Constans worked; a scenario which neatly summed up their entire relationship these days.
“Con,” Desi hazarded, drumming his fingers against his knees as he regarded the Tranquil anxiously, “you know the Joining is tomorrow night?”
Constans bit off the end of the thread and held his new shirt aloft, solemnly inspecting the garment’s seams for any more spots that might need mending. He folded the garment and set it aside, apparently satisfied. “I am aware.”
“Some of our friends are doing it. Byron and Emrys are.” He chewed his lip worriedly. “Bethen is too. Whatever it is, you know they say it can kill you?”
“I have heard indistinct accounts to that effect.” The Tranquil folded his hands neatly in his lap.
“Beth could die, Constans. Doesn’t that bother you even a little? Andraste’s tits,” Desi swore in frustration.
He was so helpless in all of this, and the thought that he could do nothing just fueled the anger that seemed to simmer in him constantly these days. What’s more, he found he was jealous of the Grey Warden recruits. There was risk involved, sure, but to think that they would have the chance to escape the Circle entirely? He had tried to volunteer himself when the Warden Commander and his party came to the Tower, but he hadn’t yet been Harrowed and had been flatly denied. Funny, wasn’t it, how they tossed him into his Harrowing and out on his arse so shortly thereafter. Why not heap insult upon injury at this point? Don’t let the door hit you where the dog shoulda bit you, and please do have the decency to die in the manner least inconvenient to us.
“Bethen has elected to take that risk.”
“They didn’t say anything about dying like this at the Tower, when they were looking for recruits,” Desi grimaced angrily. “It’s such a load of horseshit. Nine mages in ten are going to jump at an opportunity like this if you happen not to tell them, oh yeah, there’s a chance you’ll keel over dead without ever getting to do anything.”
“There is Blight coming, Desiderio.” Constans stared calmly at his brother, who again suspected he was being chided despite that serene exterior. “Mages and Grey Wardens alike will be called upon to fight, and in all probability many of each faction will die. Disregarding the coming war, death itself is an inevitability; our companions have merely chosen to approach it down a different path.”
Desi swung his legs over the side of the bed, eyeing Constans irritably. He knew his brother couldn’t help it, but he didn’t want logic right now, he wanted… he didn’t even know, but not this.
In a way, at least coming here tonight had helped him make up his mind.
“I’m going to bed,” he muttered, although it probably wasn’t true. Glancing at Constans and feeling a pang of regret for his moodiness, he added, “Goodnight, Con.” As Desi slipped out into the corridor, he barely heard behind him Constans’ gentle reply.