dreadinquisitor | Mask or Menace

Was Corypheus a demon?

[He frowned, brow furrowed.]

Did he just promise that guy something or did he actually twist his mind to believe it? Because when you saw me - you didn't even recognize me. It was like you thought I was someone - or something - else entirely.

[He makes a sound like a laugh. Wry and low.]

The million sovereign question. I still don't know.

Corypheus was human, once. A powerful mage.

When he first revealed himself, we thought perhaps he was an Archdemon - he all but claimed to be, but... Whatever he was, he was powerful. He did things-- no one has ever seen. Or should have to see.

[He holds the bottle back out.]

...I see the point you're trying to make and truthfully, were it the other way.... Unfortunately, it isn't as easy for me to absolve myself.

Especially once I saw-- it was so clear after.

It isn't just guilt, it's foolishness.

[He took the bottle back, but didn't take another drink. Not yet. He had no idea who the people Maxwell had seen were, but he could make a guess. Based on Kay's dream. He could assume they were his family. Either by blood or by love.]

... I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that back home, things don't look so rosy. [It was quiet.]

But seriously, Maxwell. In mine - Mine gave me a whole six years that didn't exist. I still remember them as if they happened, but full of holes. What I saw - it wasn't even real to begin with. And I still believed it completely.

[Maxwell meets his eyes, and says only--]

Neither was mine.

[He's quiet for a moment, before taking another drink and passing the bottle back.]

... Who were they? If you don't mind me asking.

[He takes a breath. When he finally takes the bottle, he holds it just a little too tight.]

My parents. They've disowned me. They'd been wanting to-- Maker, I don't even know how long, but after the Chantry labelled me a heretic and I offered sanctuary to the rebel mages, well, that gave them all the final excuse they needed, I suppose.

...The other was Dorian. My-- one of my inner circle. ...And I thought more, but not long before I was brought here, he told me he was leaving. Returning to his homeland and I was not welcome to come along.

[He smiles then, a tight and bitter flash.]

Not quite the same picture, is it.

I'm sorry, Maxwell.

[It was said with the solemnity of truth. He was sorry. Sure, he and his dad fought sometimes, but it was nothing on that scale. And he'd never had a relationship serious enough to severely regret its loss.]

Even if I go back, and even if it's true that it's the same breath and nothing's changed, what I saw in that room can never be.

[The smile, such as it was, is gone again.]

That's how I figured it out. The way they were looking at me.

That's why I should have known from the start.

Edited 2017-11-01 01:58 (UTC)

That's not how it works. [And he knows it.]

You can only figure it out if someone else points it out. Left alone - Well. Eventually you'd have turned to stone, still living in a dream.

[Maxwell looks away, falling silent again. Guilt is never so easy to absolve, as the house's other rooms made so apparent, but he doesn't argue this time. Some part of him recognizing the logic in Poe's words.]

How many times were you there?

Yours was the third time. Well - the second, but the first time we didn't get out before mine started.

It- that room was the worst one. In the whole place.

[He starts to ask, taking a breath to voice the words, but stops. There are only so many things the glimpse of Poe's desire he'd seen could be, and Maxwell couldn't imagine any of them being pleasant to relive.]

...Give me a dragon any day.

[That got a laugh, if a little forced. He took another drink.]

I can deal with danger. People trying to shoot me, death traps, whatever. But that...

[He paused, a frown pulling at his lips.]

I don't know how to get it out of my head.

[He takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders.]

This. Friends. Work. Some honey for the wine.

Time.

Then it scars over like anything else.

And if I don't want it to?

[He hadn't meant to say it, and he grimaced after he did.]

No, you're right. We'll be fine.

If you're not going to let me wallow, then I'm contractually obligated to keep you from it. So, no, sorry.

[He glances at Poe, an attempt at humor in his eyes.]

You're going to be fine, and you'll like it.

[Poe gave a low chuckle, so attempt success.]

... Yeah. I've been through worse. [In a way, he hadn't, but. He could tell himself that.]

[He held up the bottle like a toast.]

To being totally fine, definitely, and liking it.

That's the spirit. Chin up, stiff upper lip, the whole bit.

[He makes a soft sound, like the ghost of a laugh, and silence falls for a moment.

Maxwell takes a deep breath.]

...If you want to talk about it, what you saw... well, you listened to me, it's only fair.

[He takes another long drink, stalling from replying.

Part of him wants nothing more than to talk about Shara. But the rest of him - he doesn't know if he can handle it.]

... I don't know that I can. [He handed the bottle back.]

It wasn't - like yours or Kay's. It wasn't based in anything real, or anything in the past. It just... [He trailed off, frowning.]

Pilot's don't have a long life expectancy.

[Maxwell's eyes are like a mirror, the same mix of fatigue and sadness, but he says nothing as he takes the bottle. This is Poe's turn, if he wants it.

And if he doesn't.... Maxwell takes a drink, a slow pull, enjoying the burn for the simple sensation that it was, and allows himself to slump slightly. He leans gently into Poe, taking comfort in the easy solidarity, and offering Poe support in return.

He can just be, if that's what Poe needs.]

[He leans into the slump almost gratefully - fond of physical attention but not keen to take it unless offered first. He doesn't seem to want to add anything to that thought, the silence continuing for a while, until, very quietly.]

I hadn't even thought about kids, if I'm completely honest. Just- not really an option, given everything.

Now I feel like I have six years worth of memories that never existed.

[Maxwell fixes his gaze on a point across the room, where the light from his beside lamp falls into shadow, sensing that it might easier for Poe if Maxwell's weight was only in the support of his shoulder and not in watching eyes as well.

No waiting. No judgement.

Just there.

When the man does finally speak, and then fades again, it takes a long time for Maxwell respond.]

Maybe there's something there- nothing that absolves this pain, but... Perhaps it could be a motivation. Something beyond the expectation of death. A dream.

Even if it's nothing something that's real now, you could make it so.

There's hope in that.

No.

[The answer is so fast, so certain and so heavy that he has to shoot Maxwell an apologetic smile after it.]

Sorry. No. That's the thing. I can't do that. Short life expectancy, remember? Not a burden I want to put on a kid. Trust me. I know it from the other end. So as long as I'm flying - no. Not an option, and not even a dream.

Wars don't last forever. Even if they don't always end, like the blighted Darkspawn always there beneath us even without an Archdemon to guide them, there is respite.

[Maxwell reaches across, touches Poe lightly, then pulls back and offers the bottle instead.]

Don't sell yourself short.

The enemy isn't the only thing that kills you in a cockpit, Maxwell. [He took the bottle but he didn't drink it, looking down into it instead.]

It has nothing to do with me. Even the best pilot in the galaxy dies some time - and probably a lot sooner than if he stayed on the damn ground.

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