[Oh, and suddenly Leto wishes he hadn't brought it up. Or, no, that's not true. He's glad he did. He's glad to know this about his Astarion, and he wants to know more— but gods, he wishes they weren't apart for this, for he wants nothing more than to gather Astarion up in his arms right now. A lonely little mage in a locked room that died begging for salvation, and it's not . . . it's not that Leto has such pity for the mages of his world. Don't get it twisted. He isn't some bleeding heart advocate, his ways and outlook suddenly and miraculously reversed just because he himself has magic. The source of his aching empathy begins and ends with Astarion (Astarion locked away in some lightless place howling in agony for a master that might have forgotten him; Astarion begging the gods for a hero that would never come, pleading in the darkness that ate it all up and never once spat out anything save pain in return).
But maybe buried beneath all that, so deep-down that Leto does not want to truly acknowledge it, there is a sliver of pity for that mage, too. Cole, he thinks to himself, and does not wonder that he will try to remember the name.]
Yes.
[That's too vague, he realizes in the next moment.]
Not that it was stupid. But that you saw yourself in him— I can understand why. And why, too, you would befriend him. Why it would feel important to befriend him, perhaps.
[It. A ghostly little spirit that longed for more . . . a spirit of what, Leto wonders. Pity? Compassion? Grief? Certainly not revenge. Not vengeance, and for the first time in a long time, he thinks about Anders. About his own demon, and all the ways in which it urged him to fulfill what it imagined he wanted . . . and what now? Are they still bound together? Is Anders still alive? Or is Justice wandering the plains of the Fade, echoing Anders' voice as it roams aimlessly to and fro . . .
Mmph.]
Tell me what you mean by hope.
Hope that you could be saved? Or that someone would care?
[It's too blunt in text, too cold, and he hopes Astarion understands his meaning. There is no shame in such a thing; he asks not out of judgement, but quiet understanding.
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But maybe buried beneath all that, so deep-down that Leto does not want to truly acknowledge it, there is a sliver of pity for that mage, too. Cole, he thinks to himself, and does not wonder that he will try to remember the name.]
Yes.
[That's too vague, he realizes in the next moment.]
Not that it was stupid. But that you saw yourself in him— I can understand why. And why, too, you would befriend him. Why it would feel important to befriend him, perhaps.
[It. A ghostly little spirit that longed for more . . . a spirit of what, Leto wonders. Pity? Compassion? Grief? Certainly not revenge. Not vengeance, and for the first time in a long time, he thinks about Anders. About his own demon, and all the ways in which it urged him to fulfill what it imagined he wanted . . . and what now? Are they still bound together? Is Anders still alive? Or is Justice wandering the plains of the Fade, echoing Anders' voice as it roams aimlessly to and fro . . .
Mmph.]
Tell me what you mean by hope.
Hope that you could be saved? Or that someone would care?
[It's too blunt in text, too cold, and he hopes Astarion understands his meaning. There is no shame in such a thing; he asks not out of judgement, but quiet understanding.
And then, after a pause:]
It wasn't stupid, Astarion.