whatisright | IC Inbox (Drift Fleet)

[The words sting, and here she's not sure if he just said them too bluntly, as he's prone to do, or if he truly means how they come across. He admits that he was angry, and she still wonders if a part of him still isn't, but it seems the worst has passed. Now maybe things can start to mend.]

Angry at yourself? For what, exactly? [Oh, she can easily guess, but Riona wants to hear exactly what Justice is thinking and feeling at the moment.] For what will happen with Anders?

For what will happen, yes. For everything.

[It’s a struggle to put into words, and it shows in how slowly he speaks. He’s never had to talk about things like ‘why he’s angry’ or ‘why he’s sad’ at length before. Spirits would usually either understand instantly or never understand at all, and he’d never have to find the words to say it.]

I was angry that I could not tell that you were lying. I was angry that I had convinced myself I could have friends like mortals do with no consequence. I was angry I hurt Anders. I was angry that I was so easily corrupted, and I hurt all those people.

I was angry I betrayed my virtue.

[His voice breaks a little at that. His virtue is everything. It’s his life, his title, his very being... and if he betrays it, what is he?]

[She reminds herself he speaks in the past tense, though again, she wonders if that anger is entirely gone, or if it's just eased enough to the point where he can talk and (kind of) face them both. It's still a step in the right direction, as much as it reopens the wounds made the night they all talked about this initially.]

The not being able to tell isn't your fault. It's Atroma's doing. Which, I know doesn't help much with the sense of helplessness that can accompany it, but still.

[It's the easiest thing to talk about, because the rest? What does she say? How can she comfort and provide guidance when she's part of the reason he's hurting?]

I wish I had the right words. But maybe there aren't any. It's one of the awful things about being mortal: sometimes it isn't black and white and there's no fixing something, there's no way of repairing it. You just learn to live with the wound and learn from it.

You were both hurt from this. You changed him, it's true, but he had an effect on you, too. Saving each other wasn't a bad thing, even if it led to something bad. And even from that, there's hope.

I do not like this about your world. [It's, as always, completely and painfully honest. He doesn't like this no-win situation. He doesn't like this nuance and murkiness and indecisiveness. He doesn't like that there's no wiping something away and recreating it.] In the Fade, there is always clarity. There is always right and wrong. There is always a way to fix something--and if there is not, then you simply forget it, and it is as if it were never there.

I do not know what to do. It seems that there is no truly just answer, and that has never happened before, not that I can remember.

[His voice begins to break. The uncertainty is perhaps the worst part. If he knew for sure that it was right to die, he would kill himself without hesitation. If he knew for sure that it was right to live, then he wouldn't give any other option a second thought. If he knew for sure...

But he doesn't. He doesn't know what's right. Everyone is telling him that maybe some good came out of what happened, maybe if it hadn't then greater injustices would have continued--but he can't wrap his head around committing injustice and thus fixing a greater injustice.

He doesn't know if he can learn to live with this. It feels like the fabric of willpower and conviction that holds him together is fracturing, and he doesn't know what else he has after that's gone.]

That's the painful, and beautiful, thing about my world. All the complexities, both good and bad. That's part of being human: grappling with those uncertainties and deciding what to do with them, and how they'll shape you as a person. That's also what sets us apart from spirits. Spirits are defined by their virtue. Mortals are defined by our choices.

[What she wouldn't give to reach out and hug him. Her hand stretches out, reaching for his blindly. The pain resonates clearly in his voice, and it's taking everything she has to not beg him to become solid and visible.]

Justice, you learned of things that will be. Or maybe in your case, might not be. Every Thedas is a little different. Maybe things turn out differently in yours, I don't know. I'm not belittling what happened - or will happen. But you're here now, and you're you. Maybe you went down a path you weren't expecting, but you're still you. All your memories and experiences are still there.

It is what I always pitied mortals the most for. How little power they have in their own world. How they are born without any predetermined purpose to fulfill.

[And here he is, in almost the exact same position. Powerless. Lacking conviction in how to fulfill his purpose. The pressure is splitting him at the core of everything he is. Maybe that will kill him regardless of right or wrong.

Her hand reaches out. She doesn't know where he is, but she's trying to find his hand anyway. She wants to comfort him. She wants to help him. She wants to touch him. He wants to touch her back.

He catches her hand in the air, clutching it in a white-knuckled grip, and he can't stay invisible like that. He's not entirely seen--nothing is distinct, like it's too dark to quite make him out--but it's clear he's there, sitting next to her.]

I do not know if I can survive like this. [His voice, usually so flat and assured, is cracking all over, like he's walked out onto ice just to realize too late that it's breaking under his feet.] I do not know if I can be me in this world. You cannot slip and become another person with one misstep, but I can. I am nothing except an attempt to reach an ideal. If I cannot live to that ideal, I am not me. I am worse than nothing.

[It's terrifying. Maybe it's possible that there is no right answer, and if there is no right answer, then there is no way to be just. If there is no way to be just, then corruption is inevitable. This world is so beautiful and charmed him with its delights, but now he sees that it's baited a trap for him, and he doesn't know what to do.]

Perhaps the future you described will not be mine, but I know what can happen now. How long before I face an impossible choice again? How long before the corruption is visible? [He feels like he's a time bomb. He's had to struggle so much against Despair for the past few weeks alone--how long until he fails?]

You can. [It's said with all the earnestness and faith she can muster as she squeezes his hand tightly in hers. At least now she knows where he is, and can look at him as she speaks.] Justice, the reason you became Vengeance was because of Anders's influence over you. His anger seeped into you. Both of you dramatically altered the other. You're not in that situation now. You're both separate. What happened back home to you both won't happen here.

[Whatever it takes, she'll see to it that it doesn't, if it comes down to it. But she doesn't believe it will.]

At your core, you're your ideal, and I understand that, as much as a mortal can, anyway. But you're not just that. You're the sum of your intentions, decisions, feelings and actions. That one decision you made doesn't have to define you. What you do with what you've learned, what happens from here on out, is up to you. And whatever you decide, you have my support.

Can we be sure? Even now, I do not know if I could just watch him die. [If possession were the only means to save Anders' life? Or Riona's? Would he just let it happen?

Knowing that he doesn't know what he would do is a weight on his shoulders. It feels like corruption, like a root of impurity choking his heart.

But she's there. She says that he has her support and he believes her, even if Atroma tampers with his ability to know truth from lie. She believes he can make the right decision, even as fear and despair bite at his heels and she has witnessed the breakdown of his judgment. She has more faith in him than he does.

He can't hide the way his hand shakes in hers. He can't hide the trembles that wrack his body, like all his feelings have form and are fighting to escape his skin.

It's an impulse that suddenly lights in his heart, a deep need with terrible teeth that he's never faced before. Without thinking, he lets go of her hand and wraps his arms around her, burying his head into her shoulder as he pulls her into a tight hug, like maybe he can hide from all his pain in her arms.]

I am afraid, Riona. [The confession is a whisper. He is afraid of the future. He is afraid of himself. He is afraid of this world. He's been stewing in his isolation and paralyzing indecision, and all he has to show for it is fear, grief, and uncertainty.]

[She wants to point out that death isn't permanent here, so he wouldn't have to do anything so drastic in the fleet. But that's not really the point. Just knowing he's capable of it, knowing he became something he never wanted and feared out of a desire to save his friend, damaged him and now he's reeling from the gravity of the truth. She feels so helpless against it all.

In his reduced visibility, Riona almost has to squint. But then she feels it, and realizes in one moment what's going on: he's shaking like a leaf. It feels like someone's tearing a knife through her heart. It's all she can do to hold him tightly when he crumples against her, his admittance barely heard but still strongly felt.

Of course he's afraid. She's afraid for him. In her Thedas, she has no idea where he and Anders are. Her search for a cure to the taint and Calling takes precedence, as much as it pains her, so she can't look for them, but she so wishes she knew so she could help. Words fail her as her mind spins in panic and worry for him.

So she does the only thing she can think of at the moment: she sings. It's a soft song, a lullaby, one her mother used to sing to her after nightmares and when thunderstorms would roll through from the sea. And though Justice's ability to detect lies and pick up on emotions has been hampered, she knows it's working somewhat. So she thinks of happier memories, laughter and joy central in each of them as she plays them out in her mind. The hope is for Justice to pick up on them, even if only a little bit. It worked with Cole; here's to hoping it can help again.]

[Justice has never been a child. He has never known what it's like to be small and nurtured, to be loved unconditionally and protected. He's never desired any of that before either, but now in Riona's arms, he thinks that maybe this is what children feel like.

He focuses on her attempts to soothe him. Her song, imbued with memories of all the times she felt small and scared herself and her mother tended to her. Her warmth, wrapped all around him like a cocoon as she holds tight. Her skin, and the familiar scent of her lingering there.

It's her presence that demands the most attention, though. The memories she conjures to swirl in the air and remind him that there is happiness in this world as well. Somehow, mortals face the depths of pain and uncertainty he faces now, and they still find ways to be happy. He does not know if he is capable of the same, but the fact that someone can do it is still something.

Gradually, his shaking calms until it ceases entirely. He doesn't let her go. He keeps listening, and absentmindedly, he hums softly along with her song, trying to focus on that instead of all the feelings that he doesn't know how to handle.]

[It seems to be working, thank the Maker. Of course, she knows this won't solve the problem, but she knows that when someone - a spirit especially - is so emotionally worked up, it's hard to work through things. If this can even be worked through. Honestly, time might be the only thing that helps here, but that doesn't mean it's not worth trying.

As the shaking ceases, and she hears him humming along, she debates what to do next. Singing won't work forever. She glances around the room, and spots one of her unopened wine bottles. Justice hardly condones alcohol consumption, especially to drown out problems, but she hopes he'll make an exception tonight.]

Here. Hang on.

[She indicates she's going to move before letting go of him briefly to shift over and reach down for the bottle. Once it's in hand, she sits back up and pops it open and holds it out to him.]

I know your stance on it, and I'm not asking you to get drunk, but the alcohol can take the edge off. Trust me on this?

[It's painful to let go of the embrace for even that long. With this closeness, he gives up being unseen.

He allows her to see him, and he knows that he doesn't look well. That note of inhumanity hasn't quite left his face, like he's too uncomfortable in this form to really look truly human. Color has been sucked from his skin and his complexion is ashen, like he's been poisoned and it's killing him slowly.

When she offers the wine, he doesn't even wait for her to finish her spiel before he takes it and tips his head back, swallowing a couple mouthfuls before offering her the bottle back.]

I drank with Wolfe. [The admission is blunt, as everything about him always is. He's not proud of how easily he slipped into alcohol as a means of coping, but considering it hasn't become a habit, he's not ashamed either. He's left with much greater sympathy for mortals' attachment to the stuff.] He was drunk and trying to talk me out of killing myself.

[Well then. And here she thought she'd have to talk him into it, but it seems he's finally come around to the idea. She nods.]

That must have been-

[...wait, what?

Her eyes widen, round and horrified as he talks about how he got talked about of suicide as blase as one would mention the weather. Riona feared he'd neglect himself, but to go so far as to contemplate ending his life?]

Justice! What do you - you were going to kill yourself?

[Well now you've gone and done it.]

[Oh dear. He did something wrong. She's even more upset now. Good job, Justice.

He briefly considers just disappearing so he can stop upsetting her, but he thinks that might just upset her more.]

...Strongly considering it.

[Also still sort of considering it, but he thinks saying that might upset her even more.]

I was planning on telling you once I decided?

[Does that make it better? He wasn't going to just let her wonder where he went until Anders told her.]

[THAT'S NOT HELPING.]

And what did you think was going to happen next? That I was going to just let you do that? I respect your choices, but I would have drawn the line there. Besides, Atroma brings back people who die. You wouldn't have stayed dead.

[And with that, she swipes the bottle from his hand and takes a long, deep drink from it. Wiping her lips, she hands it back to him.]

I expect that you would be able to do nothing if I were truly committed to my decision. [As much as it would pain him to leave her like that, he still was dedicated to justice. If dying is the just thing to do, he will do it whether she likes it or not.]

Atroma brings back mortals who die. Mortals leave behind bodies and souls. Spirits leave behind nothing when we die. No souls, no bodies, nothing we ever created, and often no memories. I do not believe Atroma would be able to bring back that which has dissolved into nothing. At best, they could find another version of me who is not yet dead.

[He’s put a lot of thought into this. He takes another drink of wine.]

[A frown cuts across her face.] Let's not put that to the test. [Because she's rather sure that even if he did manage to do it on her watch, he'd wind up coming back, and the argument that would unfold would be astronomical, to say the least.]

Yes, but you're in a body here. You have your own body, that isn't Kristoff's. That would be left behind. And given Atroma's capabilities, it wouldn't surprise me that they'd find a way to bring you back, even if that wasn't the case.

[Atroma doesn't let its captives off that easily.]

All that aside, it wouldn't do any good. You dying wouldn't erase what was done. And if you thought you had to die to serve justice for what was done in Kirkwall, then Anders would need to die, too. Did you plan on killing him before dying?

[Note to self: if he decides to kill himself after all, leave Riona a note instead of telling her in person. He would hate to do that to her, but it may be necessary.

He feels her digging her heels in. This will be a fight, and he doesn't have the energy to fight. He doesn't have the energy to explain his reasoning, that it's not a punishment but a preemptive strike, that he'd rather die than betray his virtue, and that it seems that betraying his virtue might be inevitable if he allows himself to live, that maybe he could fix everything that happened by just dying before he has a chance to hurt Anders.

But he doesn't expect her to understand. How can she? She's mortal. She's lived and grown and made mistakes and moved on. One mistake won't make her suddenly lose control over who she is. She isn't facing down the possibility that she may betray everything she ever cared about, and she might not be able to do anything about it. In this case, suicide seems like it might be the only way to serve his virtue.

He turns away from her, offering the bottle as he stares at the ground.] Anders is a victim, not a transgressor.

[That's all he has to say. He's shutting down, withdrawing into himself.]

[Somehow, she's misstepped. Badly. Her mind races, trying to backtrack. She's normally not so aggressive when trying to help her friends, but the thought of Justice killing himself has her on edge. Him doing that to himself would shatter Anders, and it would do a number on her.

He values his virtue, and she values his life. That's where they're clashing.]

Funny. If you pose that to him, he'd say it's the other way around. [And he has said as much.] You're both equally the victim and the transgressor. You both made the decision to merge. You both influenced the other and turned each other into something you both never wanted to be. You both planned and executed the plot to destroy the Chantry. It's on both of you.

[She pushes the bottle away, leaning over to try and look at him.]

But that doesn't mean you throw your life away. What do you hope to gain from doing that?

[He came here to ease her pain, but it seems like all he's done is give her more. Had he really expected any different? His interactions with mortals have been disasters from the beginning. The only reason he might have ever thought different was because his mortal friends were generous about what they would tolerate.

He avoids her eyes, contemplating the rejected bottle instead. He doesn't want to drink more, especially not when she isn't. If this is how badly he talks to her when he's sober, he doesn't want to know what he'd say if he were intoxicated.]

I hope to serve my virtue.

[When he says it, it's not the usual strident tone he uses when he talks about service to justice. He only sounds tired. His confidence is shaken in everything, but in this one thing he's sure: he wants to be just. He wants to fulfill his purpose more than anything.

He could go on about his logic: if he dies and saves future victims, then that is just, but if he dies and revictimizes Anders, then it is not just, but if he dies and Anders is never hurt in the first place... on and on.

But he doesn't want to. She doesn't want him to die, not because it is just but because he is her friend. No amount of his logic will persuade her, and even trying to explain it would just upset her more.]

Serving my virtue is all I ever wanted to do.

[Him continuing to avoid her would have caused her more pain. And it's just another part of being mortal, having these messy conversations and trying to make headway. It worries her how much he's withdrawing again, and how tired he sounds. She's so afraid he'll turn invisible again and disappear, with no word from him. Maker, she's got to do better than this. As usual, she's letting her emotions get in the way of things.]

You still can. [Carefully she reaches over to hold one of his hands, to ground him to her.] There are people who will need your help. There will be injustices that need to be righted. Both back home and in the fleet, on the worlds we visit.

[She needs to approach this from his point of view, which is a lot easier said than done. How does one think like a spirit, exactly? Hyperfocused on their virtue, to the point of importance above all else.]

Your virtue means everything to you. You see what was done to those killed in the blast as unjust and want to right it. And you see Anders as a victim of your corruption. [Maker, please tell her she's on the right path with this. If she drives another wedge between them, she'll never forgive herself.] But you're not sure if killing yourself is the answer. If you knew for sure, you'd have done it by now. Wolfe must have said something to you to sway you the other way. [Drunk Wolfe managed to talk to him better than she was doing stone cold sober. If that doesn't make her feel like shit...] I don't think killing yourself is the answer, and not just because you're my friend and I don't want to see you die. We can't change what we've done or will do from here, not unless we can find a way to break free from Atroma. They send us back to the point of time they took us from and things carry on like nothing happened. What that means for you when you're sent back, I don't know. Maybe it'll be the same, maybe things will be different.

In the meantime, if you want to serve your virtue, then that's what you do while you're here. You said you didn't know what the just answer was to what you learned about. There might not be one. Or maybe it'll come to you as time goes on. [She squeezed his hand.] You won't know if you're not around to find out.

[She's trying. He can recognize that much. His line of thought is no more natural for her than her line of thought is natural for him, but she's trying to understand as she always has. He can respect that. He can try in return.

Her hand is soothing. He squeezes it back, and like someone's attached a string to his shoulder and tugs it gently, he leans against her side. He doesn't want to withdraw from her. He wants to be close, wants things to be better, but he doesn't know how to make that happen.]

You are correct that I do not know if suicide is the just thing to do. I do not trust my judgment anymore.

[And there's another issue to deal with. If at some point, he thinks that possessing Anders and blowing up a Chantry full of people is a good idea, when can he be sure that his judgment is truly just? He thought his judgment was sound, but he's been thinking circles about this issue of suicide versus atonement and he's no closer to an answer when he should know instantly what is right.

He has changed. He sees it in himself, and he doesn't know when that change will make him incapable of fulfilling his virtue. Maybe he won't even know when it happens.

Maybe it already has.]

I do not trust that I can serve my virtue. If corruption has already set in, it is better to die. A dead spirit is a better servant to its virtue than a corrupt spirit.

[And if he's right, if Atroma can't bring him back to do all those things... then everything is fixed. Except its not. Wolfe's assertion that more people would have suffered if he hadn't done what he did nags at him. The paradox of the train nags at him. If a train is rushing full speed towards three people, but there is someone on the alternate track, is it better to divert the train and kill one to save three? Or is it better to let the train hit the three so you do not intervene and kill the one?]

[The contact gladdens her, and she leans her head against his as she stares at the far wall, wondering how to navigate this treacherous terrain. He means so much to her, and the last thing she wants is to worsen things.]

Why not stick around and find out? You won't know until you try. There will be cases of injustice for you to attend to. Wouldn't that be the best way to tell?

[As she says that, she remembers what he said about corrupted spirits, about how they couldn't tell they had changed. Vengeance certainly thought of itself as Justice still.]

...if you're unsure of something you've done, whether or not it's just, while I'm no spirit, I can at least provide insight. Provided that you still trust me to tell you as such.

[And under her words lies the worst of her pain. He'd said he wasn't sure he could trust her, back when they last spoke. It still haunts her, and she doesn't know if that was said entirely out of anger or if he really meant it. She's not sure what she'll do if he still doesn't.]

[Justice on instinct doesn't want to depend on anyone else for his judgment. He and Riona have disagreed on matters of morality before, and even the most righteous of mortals are vulnerable to vices like hypocrisy and double standards. And that's not even touching on the fact that he knows that she can lie to him now.

He's always known she lies--all mortals lie. He has yet to meet a mortal that doesn't lie at least in little ways, like saying that they are fine when they are not. It's annoying, but not harmful.

That wouldn't make him hesitate. No, it's the fact that she lied about something so big for so long that makes him hesitate. If telling him the truth would hurt him, or she feared that it would make him reconsider suicide, would she tell it to him?

He could filter out her bias by depending on many people, but he doesn't know if he could filter out the lies. The only people he would trust the moral judgment of would be his friends, and he suspects that all of them would lie to defend his life, even if it was just for him to die.

But he also doesn't trust himself to do this alone.]

Swear to me that you will never lie to me about something important again. No matter how you think the truth will hurt.

[And maybe the truth will mean that he has to die, but he'd rather die than to obliviously betray his virtue.]

[It's not unreasonable, what he's asking. And she deserves it, after what happened. Still, it's a hefty thing to promise, especially considering what's at stake. She feels like she's gambling with his life. But she's also risking their friendship. This will be something she will have to talk over with Anders as well in the future, to make sure they avoid this pitfall a second time. And also as a way to warn him to be careful about what he tells her about Justice from here on out. She doesn't want to have to lie again, not when she's about to swear not to.]

I swear. [Luckily, she's not hiding anything else super important from him. Well, nothing that directly affects him, anyway.] Just so we're both clear about it for future reference: what do you define as important? Obviously anything that directly impacts you, and anything related to dispensing justice and the like.

[Like any mortal, Riona has a few secrets. Most Justice wouldn't care much about, but she's not sure how he'd take learning about how she dodged dying when she killed the Archdemon.]

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