"You say that now." Caius mumbled quietly, content to make himself comfortable in their shared bed, in the delicate pianist's arms. He'd kept everything to himself for long enough, that much he knew, but how much would change between them when he laid the whole truth, every last detail, at her feet?
Eyes fluttering closed heavily at the brush of Darcy's hand over his face, he sighed and spoke plainly, his tone full of a restless hurt. Processing for what felt like the first time as he let the words fall from his too-warm lips, there were moments where the young Gawyne paused, where his breath hitched, or where his voice broke, points that were obviously difficult to relive or hard to retell in her presence, but he just attempted to keep going,
"I'm going to start at the beginning, then, which would be the end of Vhalar. You've heard all of the rumors, and you know that I was there. You also know I have never answered your questions with detail, but I owe you that and more. I was not an observer, I was not someone in the audience, and I was not tucked away in the safety of the Courthouse. No, Darcy, the Lord Inquisitor sent for me personally, handed me my position of Lord Arbiter without leaving me room for refusal, and then led me straight into the dungeon to meet the mage—the Professor Terrence Thomas himself. I knew him—knew of him, I suppose—in passing. He wasn't a stranger in the University library, wasn't a stranger to me. Beaten, he was far from broken, and yet even he admitted he was willing to be executed so that others would see—"
Caius hissed frustratedly, still wrestling with the issues as they had happened, jaw clenching and closed eyes scrunching tighter in wordless agony, visions of the man leaving the courtyard with the Seekers, with Aeodan in someone else's skin flooding his mind and causing his next words to sound forced and gravely against the pale skin he curled closer against.
This was the magic he knew. How could it not be evil?
This was the magic he'd seen. What was he missing?
He didn't know. After a whole season, he still didn't know how to feel about any of it. Everything hurt. Speaking the truth out loud to Darcyanna threatened to immolate him from the inside out—the churning, molten sensation inside his chest became almost unbearable and he exhaled a sound of pain,
"—well, it was a trap. Ser Wine wanted the Professor's compatriots to come, other mages, the lot of them, and he wanted those in the crowd to see what would happen. I do not believe he expected the disaster it became, I believe even the Lord Inquisitor planned to have the upper hand, but everything quickly spiraled out of control. And I was complicit in every ugly moment by my very presence. I am just as culpable for the destruction, and my actions there were by no means heroic."
The northern noble growled then, turning so that he could open his now-dark eyes and stare up at Darcy, desperate to hold her gaze, to make sure who he saw was her face and not the Stranger's,
"There were explosions—magical ones—and innocent people died. Not just soldiers, for the numbers were true: women and children included. I cannot describe to you the violence that ensued, for it's just a blurry smear of blood to me. On me. I was covered in other peoples' blood, Darcy, because they died in front of me: their skulls crushed, their bodies broken." Caius was crying again, his words stretched thin and broken by ragged breaths, and he went on to describe seeing the mages and the explosions, seeing his once-friend wearing someone else's skin, DuKette and so much more,
"—I was there, in the middle of the chaos, sword in hand, to defend people for the King from things I still don't understand. Or, perhaps, to stop the ones who caused the terror. Only, I couldn't. We couldn't. I had no choice—One of the Seekers opened a portal—a magical hole between two places—and undead creatures poured out of it and into the crowd. I—I was attacked by an undead bear. An undead fucking bear. It wasn't alive anymore, hadn't been alive in Fates know how long, but it fucking moved. I stopped it, even as a Purifier died to protect me ... Then, bogs, as if that wasn't fucking enough, one of the mages was a Sessfeind, cursed of the Immortal Syora—"
Ah, there his voice caught, faded, and drowned.
In silence and tears, Caius struggled to find his words again, to tell Darcyanna not only the minimum truth, but all of it, every last moment, no matter what it meant for her. She had to know—his wife who'd shared all of her secrets, the woman he loved.
He could describe the death and the gore, he could hear the sounds of the dead and dying, but then, as if speaking the Woman's name who had Marked him made it all that much more real, Caius stopped speaking. For a moment, Darcy could feel his body tense, could feel his sudden desire to move—away, anywhere—but he didn't,
"Syora herself was there while one of the mages twisted into her cursed creature, neither indifferent of the conflict nor of the execution, perhaps uncaring of her own Sessfiend so much as interested in something more, something I can't say I entirely understand but—Darcy, she grabbed me—she cornered me—she—I was—"
The young Gawyne moved then, sliding away from her both to show her the results of his rather scandalous encounter in dark lines that stretched from shoulder to shoulder and down his spine, as well as coil in retrospective horror at the way in which he'd somewhat reveled in his choice. Because he had. Giving the delicate pianist a view as he raised hands to his face and dug palms into his eyes before curling fingers into his hair, back to her while he stared at the orange glow of the crackling, warm fire he'd brought to life, Caius' shoulders sagged,
"—An Immortal attacked me on the street in plain view, and it wasn't a battle with weapons. Just ... my body. I—It was desire—my desires—no, more base than that, my lust, and I wanted something—I don't know what I wanted—but She gave me very little choice. I could accept her Favor, her watching me as one of her Blessed, and save innocents by stopping the Sessfiend with her assistance. Or I could refuse and watch more people die."
Quiet again: pained and afraid.
Caius held in more tears, but the implication of his body language when he turned to look at Darcy was that what she saw on his back between his shoulders was Syora's Mark, not something ordinary like a tattoo. It was in stark contrast to what Ziell had left like a scar on his chest,
"I made the right choice—"
Desperate, he groaned those words as if he clung to them, as if he'd clung to them for a whole season, for all of Zi'da. He'd made the right choice and had he died when he was supposed to, he would have died ... mostly well.
Now, though?
Now he was a monster. Complicit to murder. To destruction. To his own ruin.
"—I keep telling myself, to give her what she wanted in exchange for all those lives. I think I did, but who knows? She made me want things in the way, well, in the way I want you, but this was different. I spoke the creature's name—she told me his name was Nolan—and then it was gone. The other mages had escaped, and I'd just allowed the Immortal of Fury and Lust, Acting and Transformation to have her vested interest in whatever's happening here in the Kingdom. Through me. And, for a moment, for a trill or two, I sarding liked it—horrifying and wrong—and yet ... I made the right choice."
Not that he felt at all as important as that sounded, laying back in their bed with a sob—a sound of guilt and confusion. He spread his arms out for a moment before he hid his face, attempting to gather what had been shattered and failing,
"Every moment of that day was a mistake, everyone a pawn. So much death and for what? No one won. No one was right that trial—no one. Especially me."
