CLOSED — And I am done with my graceless heart

[soothsighs]

Who: Urianger + Thancred
When: Early June
Where: Their residence in Thorne
What: A discussion about possession (spooky) over dinner
Warnings: TBA!

The wooden tub that Urianger uses for his ablutions is far from suited to his Elezen proportions, but the water is hot and fragranced with a poultice of cedar and dried lavender that soothes away the stresses of their training session. It has been some time since Urianger was last put to work like that: his life in Thorne has been that of an academic and potion-brewer, and while he has partaken of light excercise to maintain a base level of fitness he cannot claim to have worked especially hard.

Thancred had seen to that, of course. They had sparred hard and sparred well, and his companion had allowed him to push his magicks further than he has yet tested upon training dummies and the like. Urianger can't deny his pleasure in seeing his moons of labour finally bear fruit: the Arcana respond to him easily now, allowing him to tap into the celestial bodies that govern the lands of Abraxas, and Urianger took Thancred at his word in not holding back whenever the opportunity presented itself to press an assault.

He needed this, he thinks. Something to help him settle back into a normal routine with his companion — to rid himself of the way his gut twists just a little when he thinks back to the gala at Hayle. It makes him uneasy to think that yes, actually, he has been avoiding Thancred somewhat, and that he found it so easy to lie to him when he had pointed it out to him. That, on top of the gnawing stress he's been feeling in the aftermath of his loss of control ...

Urianger sighs heavily, sluices hot water over his tired muscles to rinse off the last of the soap clinging to his skin, before rising from the tub to dry himself off and change into something long and dark and loose. Those are thoughts for later — when he's lying in his cramped, Hyur-sized bed and seeing the third bell of morning pass again. For now, Urianger has dinner to prepare.

He's pulling his damp hair up into a loose bun as he steps through into their little kitchen. Somewhat embarrassingly, Urianger's stomach growls when his gaze lands on the basket of food he'd brought back from the castle, and he realises quite suddenly that their training has left him ravenous. He tosses a furtive glance towards Thancred's room (from which he's yet to emerge) before lifting a turkey leg from their selection, and is quick to take a bite of the well-seasoned thigh with a groan that sags his shoulders.

Sorry, Thancred. Looks like turkey just wasn't in your horoscope today.

Comments

[soothsighs]

Urianger falls quiet for a moment, his expression drawing into something a little pinched as he curls a fist beneath his chin. The problem is that he does want to talk about it — that there's no one he's closer to than Thancred — but the very last thing he wants to do is trigger a slew of bad memories with the potential to seriously hurt him.

"'Tis not a matter of sharing, Thancred ..." He lowers his hand with a sigh, then reaches for his own cup of wine. "But of protecting thee from memories that may cause thee significant pain. Thou art most dear to me, as thou knowest, and I would not have thee suffer on my account. I trust—"

But then his voice dies in the back of his throat, because that's what this is all about, isn't it?

Trust.

Urianger has always struggled with trusting others to make decisions in their very best interests; has always thought that by taking away their opportunites to encounter pain, he was doing his duty as a companion. He would give anything to spare Thancred further suffering in this lifetime — but does he not also trust Thancred to know what he can and cannot bear? To make those decisions for himself, and to trust in his own ability to be there for him should he need it?

"... No. Thou art right. I trust thee."

He nods, then sips his drink.

"The matter which hath plagued me since my return from the Pit is that of possession — the loss of control thou didst witness from me in the aftermath of the acolytes's foul ritual. I confess, it hath caused me much discomfort to know that my mind could be so easily compromised, and—" He pauses, his lips thinning minutely. "It frightens me."

Another beat, longer this time.

"I did not wish to burden thee with such concerns, when taking into consideration thine own experiences with the Ascian Lahabrea."

[funbreaker]

As soon as Urianger explains that his hesitation comes from not wanting to dredge up memories that would bring him pain, Thancred can almost instantly guess at what this is about. It's not that he doesn't have a slew of painful memories to choose from, but there is one particular incident that will almost always top the list.

Because yes, he lost Minfilia in a most unorthodox way. Yes, he had to bid farewell to Ryne. But people lose loved ones or have to separate from them all the time.

Suffering possession from a dark, ancient being, turned into nothing more than a slab of meat while horrible acts were perpetuated with one's own hands? That's a bit more unique.

However, Thancred doesn't need to make a point to Urianger about how he would weather the storm of his own trouble memories if it might help a good friend. He's come to peace with what happened to him as best he can, and he'd been oddly relieved that he had that experience to pull from when Himeka suffered something similar as a result of Fandaniel and Zenos' plot. He would be happy to serve the same role now, for Urianger.

"Does that not mean I'm the best person to discuss this with, Urianger? I've had years and years to work through it." He sends him a wry smile as he indulges in another sip of his wine. Alcohol is not the answer here, he learned that long ago, but Urianger's already figured that out, clever as he is.

He's silent for a few moments, gathering his thoughts before he glances back to Urianger's expectant face. "It throws everything into question. The deep violation, realizing how quickly someone can simply wrench control away." His brow furrows as he reaches forward to take Urianger's wrist and hold it loosely on the table. "But it isn't some sort of commentary on you. Ascians seize vessels as easily as if they were picking an outfit for the day." Or Lahabrea had been that sort, at least. "And these cultists specifically fed you something to make you susceptible."

It seems his meal and drink have been forgotten in lieu of making his point. His grip on Urianger's wrist tightens, a brief squeeze meant to be reassuring. "And even then, Urianger, even while under their influence, you still worried for others. You still insisted on rendering aid, on seeing your fellow captives to safety. What does that say?"

[soothsighs]

It thows everything into question.

Such a simple statement, really, but it cuts to the core of Urianger's very being, because it throws into question the decicisions he's already made as well as those he will make. One of the reasons he chose to take the hard decisions onto himself is because he felt he was strong enough to bear them — that he was capable enough to carefully divorce himself from his emotions to make the most appropiate, objective decisions — but now?

He isn't sure. He isn't sure he can trust the things he'd always declared sacrosanct, or if he can be trusted with making such decisions as might be necessary in future.

"I am aware," he nods, long ears drooping minutely at the commentary on the process in the Pit. "And yet I had thought ..."

Thought what? Thought that it would never happen to him? In hindsight it seems like arrogance— but that line of thought is quickly severed when Thancred reaches across to clutch at his wrist. It startles him for a moment — he's still getting used to the idea of comforting touches, after all — but then Thancred squeezes as he carries on and Urianger feels the worst of his worries melt away.

"I ..."

Perhaps his friend is right. Perhaps it wasn't a weakness of his own that was responsible for what happened; perhaps he did do everything he could for those in the Pit. Perhaps he was simply unlucky — as they all were — and making the best of a terrible situation was all he could do. Urianger ruminates on his thoughts for a moment before placing his other hand over Thancred's; it's tentative at first, but then his palm settles and he curls his fingers around his friend's.

"Thou hast my thanks," is his eventual reply, a hint of a smile touching the corners of his lips. "For this reminder of my character. Yet there must be something I can do — not only for myself, but for thee, for Himeka — to assist in guarding us against such ploys in this place. Wouldst thou not agree?"

[funbreaker]

While Urianger cuts himself off before finishing the thought, Thancred can't help but relate to what he suspects he was going to say. Until something like this happens to you, until some other force worms its way into your mind and makes it not your own anymore, it's hard to imagine ever going through such a thing. They all consider themselves strong-willed people, and they are, but there are dark beings and so-called gods who care little for such things.

It's why they've always endeavored to not do such things alone. Thancred and Himeka had eventually been there to snap Urianger out of his muddled thoughts, and other Summoned had worked on the cure that cleared his mind.

Thancred smiles, something warm and encouraging, when Urianger's other hand rests over his. He knows this single conversation may not be enough to chase away all of Urianger's doubtful thoughts, but perhaps it is something he'll be able to think back on, to help him weather those dark moments.

When Urianger suggests that there must be something to do to prevent this in the future, Thancred tilts his head to one side, curious despite himself.

"It wouldn't be quite the same as the cure we developed for tempering." Each situation is different, after all, and they know so little about this ritual that Urianger was put through. "What do you have in mind? Or do you intend to research the possibilities, now?"