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cw: child sexual abuse mention

[nishtha]

[ A not so surprising answer, and an astute observation from Gale. Armand only lifts his eyebrows a little, acknowledging the point as its scored. He can't deny that his kind have a tendency to lay claim to the things they want, ancient hunting instincts they've never managed to shake off. One of the many reasons the Great Laws had forbidden congress with mortals -- that, and the tendency for the vampire heart to be far more fragile than it appears.

With a twinge of said heart, Armand's expression cools a little, holding on to his silence for a single pointed moment before he allows the change of subject, reaching for his glass for a swallow of tepid blood before he answers, not looking at Gale when he speaks. ]

My memories from that time are.. fractured. Difficult to hold onto. But I believe I.. I begged him for it, endlessly. His mercy. His gifts. Once I discovered what he was, I only wanted to be with him forever. He saved me. [ His tone warms, becomes almost reverent. Still devoted, even after all this time. His accent slips a little, becoming something else. ] Not just then, but before, when I -- he took me from a brothel. At fifteen, I believe, though I don't know for sure how old I was -- how old he was. Arun. That was my name before, I think, I don't remember it for certain. Stolen from his homeland as a child. A good little slave. A good little..

[ His words falter, his jaw working as he closes his mouth on the word he was going to use, a foul word that that had shaped Arun -- shaped Amadeo, shaped Armand. He struggles with it for a few beats, then continues, looking up at Gale with bright and shining eyes. ]

Yes, I wished for him to change me. For I had already been changed, against my will. So many times. Over and over. Raw metal hammered into a shape I did not understand. But he could give me something that nobody else ever could. And he let me choose. He let me want it, do you understand? I never wanted anything as much as I wanted him. To be him. To be with him. And now I am what he made me, and it has been five hundred years since I last saw him, before he was taken from me.

cw: grooming

[corporeity]

[ Gale watches Armand process and accept his answer, too observant, too learned not to know what Gale might say, in weighing the offer — that it would surely hurt Astarion, as one of his kind. He does not think Armand cruel, but — he’s certainly inclined to push, beyond those boundaries humans would consider acceptable. Another byproduct of eternity, perhaps. Of unrestrained power.

Armand’s explanation, however, proves humbling. A beginning not so different from Astarion’s, though the timelines and mechanics differ in the details. Arun, he sounds out in his mind, knowing Armand will hear it as if spoken aloud. Memorising the shape of it. A good little slave, the word alone making him flinch, though he dares not look away. Gale could identify reverence, absolute devotion, even while blind, while insensate. Immediately, he understands. ]

When you were fifteen. [ Mystra appeared to him long before that, but it was then that she named him Chosen, a token glittering in her transluscent palm. For Arun, he was fifteen and already abused by the world. Fifteen and still naïve, surely, about the nature of eternity. Of belonging, even. Did he let you want it, or did he teach you to do so? ]

That’s terribly young. [ To know what one wants. To know anything, including a saviour from a keeper. ] Still, I’m glad that he changed you, else I might never have met you.

[ A soft smile. Sincere in this, at least, even as he resists questioning the nature of such a dark gift. Selfishly, Armand’s answer calls his own potential futures to mind. He could become a god — and raise Astarion up with him, ensuring neither of them suffers alone ever again. Perfect and protected, no longer vulnerable to potions and foolish mages and resurrections-gone-wrong.

Tempted as he is to ask after the fate of Armand’s master now, he decides against it. Taken is explanation enough. ]

And I do — understand, that is. As much as anyone can.

[ To be him. To be with him. For so long, Gale dreamt of a life as Her peer and greatest love, not one of many Chosen but an equal, ever at her side. The whole of the Weave at his fingertips, the breadth of eternity to explore their love. Is it so different from a vampiric master kneeling at the side of the dying, offering them more when they could possibly understand the cost? To hear it from another. One he cares for, at that, whom he would risk life and limb to keep from loneliness — it shifts his perspective. ]

[nishtha]

[ The ghosts of those boys sit beside them, unseen but present. Armand tries not to look too closely at them, at Arun's pain and Gale's yearning. Both of them taken and used and broken by hands that should have loved them instead. Devotion. A small word for what it cost them, for how little reward they have been given.

He hears the question that sits in Gale's mind. Did he let you want it? Not the first or the last to wonder at it, though Armand can't approach the details without flinching, retreating into the gaps between those jagged mirror shards of memory. The safety of oblivion, back behind Armand's mask. He sees the warmth of Gale's smile, the compliment in his thoughts meant for a different vampire entirely, but can't feel it, not in that cold void. He fidgets with his drink instead, pointed fingernails clicking against the glass, only vaguely aware that he's doing it. His voice is likewise distant when he speaks. ]

Nobody can. Not truly.

[ After a long beat of staring into the distance, a flat nothingness in his amber eyes, he stirs again. Blinks, comes back to himself, or at least appears to. He offers Gale a pleasant smile that goes no further than his mouth. Rashid's polite servitude, yet another mask. ]

I'm sorry, that was -- I'm not used to talking about these things. It was a long time ago. A lifetime ago.

🎀

[corporeity]

[ He need not read minds — or indulge the tadpole’s conquering instincts — to know that Armand goes elsewhere. Back to Arun, perhaps, or the false safety one finds in the depths of the self, in the refusal to face the truths that lie beyond it. Human instincts, despite the hundreds of years between them.

And if Gale were a younger man, he’d pull on that thread until the peace between them unravelled. As he is now, he banishes the stacking questions from his mind. Holds Armand’s gaze, when it returns to him, after a beat of fussing over his food. A soft, sad smile upon his face. ]

It’s all right, my friend. Well, none of it’s all right, exactly — but it doesn’t offend me. [ hopelessly sincere. ] It couldn’t, to know more of you.

[ Gently, then: ]

I hope my curiosity hasn’t taxed you in turn.

[ His relentless pursuit of knowledge being his greatest strength and weakness, the very thing the guided him down that dark, winding corridor to his doom. ]

We’ve lighter things to discuss, besides, like Santiago’s latest exploits.