There's no answer in words, just a sensation of a warm hand clasping his shoulder.
"Someone he loved, and who gave him a son because of it. She wasn't interested in being a parent herself." Evandrin had never told him more than that, and he'd never pried. There's no trace of suspicion or jealousy in his voice, just another layer of mourning.
He'd never regretted not asking more questions, even after losing his husband - she could have approached herself, if she wanted, and he didn't want to put a burden of expectation on her otherwise. Not until Avalir was ashes, and almost all of its people with it.
If Elias ever asks him, all he'll be able to say is that his mother is probably gone.
Bruce's shoulders relax pretty visibly, and his expression... softens a touch, out of the calculated wariness. It's response to Asmodeus, yes, but it's also because there's a less... threatening discussion in front of him.
"Which of them did you choose first?" It is by far not the weirdest arrangement of building a family he's heard of.
The Lord of Hell adopted him and owns his soul. This is comparatively tame. Though he more than half assumes the woman involved was paid for her services. And that she's dead. The dead is unrelated to the paid.
"Hard to say." Judging by that soft, crooked little smile, Zerxus has entirely forgotten where he is and who he's with.
Or it would mean that, if he was a normal person.
"It would have been...a very different first impression, if Evandrin wasn't trying to hold a baby while knocking on my door." He'd been wary about the whole thing; there was a reason he didn't go with Nydas to Avalir in the first place.
He's still reading - or appears to be reading. In truth, it's some of both. Continuing to track down information without giving anything that is irrelevance any real attention. "Yes. While I'm certain he wasn't smart enough to do so, a baby in arms would convince most mortals to be helpful, very quickly."
It's taken some doing, but he seems to be on the right track now; the chapter began with the different ways oracles trained, before a very brief aside: the godless oracles of Avalir, who had learned to forge their own connection to divinity. Apparently, it was a calling of lifelong devotion and meditative seclusion.
"The word you're looking for is 'manipulative', and no, he wasn't."
"Everyone's manipulative, the only variation is in motive." That's an absent aside, though, because he frowns at the page, looks up and tilts his head at Zerxus, studying him intently.
A ripple of playful amusement is timed perfectly with the revelation.
"You only think that because you were raised in Hell." Which makes it extremely understandable but he still has to point it out. "...Not much. The fear, mostly. Being...frozen, I think, on the ground, with violence all around me."
He's frowning, now, leaning forward to get a better look at what exactly Bruce is reading. "I told you it didn't really mean anything - "
"No, I think that because everyone for various motives and by various methods is manipulative."
And yet, his response to Zerxus leaning forward is to light up the passage that he was reading, and that is of immediate relevance, like some sort of magical highlighter. Why? Because there's no reason not to.
That gets an eyeroll, but he does flip the book around to read. His first expression is baffled annoyance, before it shifts to stunned denial as he looks up.
"You think - ? No." That doesn't make any sense at all. "There are similarities, they helped me train as a paladin without a god, but I never - it says right here, you dedicate your entire life to making prophecies that way. No one just dreams about the future by accident."
"I do think. I more than think." He has no proof, but what is missing in the details of what should be possible does little more than explain Asmodeus' interest - and amusement. "Particularly as they helped you train." For a while, of some indeterminate amount of time. "The bigger question is if they knew and that is why they helped, or it was you subconsciously seeking them out."
He sounds very patient, calm, and composed.
He wants to shake Zerxus - or maybe just scream.
He does at least believe that Zerxus didn't know.
Though how he could have not is beyond Bruce. It seems obvious (from Bruce's position of mostly hindsight.)
He's shaking his head, but the nagging doubt is already clear in his eyes. "No, it - Evandrin sought me out to begin with because of what I could do. Avalir doesn't have many healers, and none of them are warriors."
That's the problem with a city of wizards. Some mages had access to healing - certain kinds of bards and sorcerers, mostly - but they were in the minority, and it wasn't a speciality for any of them. The vast majority of the city's defenders were eldritch knights; training to be fighters or barbarians gave them ways to prevent and withstand damage, but not to heal it.
"The oracles were clerics, in a way. They helped me understand my magic, how to hone it, how to extend it." He'd hit a bit of a wall, back home; so much of it was instinctive, but eventually he needed some kind of direction. "They knew about the nightmares, but they never - they would have said something - "
Wouldn't they? He hadn't trusted many people in Avalir, but the oracles had always seemed different. There wasn't the same smug superiority or naked hunger for power he saw in so many others; there wasn't even the constant clash of loyalties and expectations that even the best of them struggled with.
"Everyone is manipulative," he repeats. The only variation is in motive. Sometimes it's to protect someone, sometimes it's another prophesy, sometimes it's to use them as a means to an end. Everyone is manipulative.
Everyone.
He pulls the book back around, lets the lit up words fade and closes the book. Then pushes back in his chair, the chair away from the desk and stands, half sitting on the desk top, in a casually elegant way.
"So the question becomes: What are you going to do about it?"
"They really aren't." He sounds sure of that in the abstract, at least. When it comes to the oracles specifically -
It's been such a long time. Was he wrong, back then? Too young and naive to see what was really going on?
Zerxus sighs, closing his eyes as he reaches up to massage his temples. He's still got a bit of a headache. "What is there to do? Even if they do mean something, they're never - they don't make any sense, even when I can remember them."
He reaches up, bats Zerxus' hands away and replaces Zerxus hands with his own. They're, unsurprisingly, really warm. More surprisingly his touch is really gentle and he's not half bad at easing pain out.
He moves one to the back of Zerxus' neck, too, because this is either a side-effect or tension, and whether or not the headache is caused by tension, he's certainly tense.
But. "Are you trying to tell me you don't understand your dreams?" Seriously? He sounds disbelieving (he is disbelieving).
There's a half-hearted grumble of complaint, but he sinks into that soothing touch despite himself and it takes a moment for his eyes to flutter back open.
"...The broad strokes, yes. Sometimes." What's a concrete possibility and what's entirely metaphor isn't exactly clear. "That's still not helpful." If this really means Asmodeus is going to do something that hurts Bruce - why? What will it be? When will it happen?
Maybe, if he had more details...
His muscles tense all over again beneath Bruce's palm before he says, "I could try meditating."
Bruce... growls at the suggestion that Zerxus meditate. It would be useful if he could have more detail, it would be a stupidly dangerous act for Zerxus. He ... doesn't want Zerxus to do that. He does want detail. He wants Zerxus to go back to relaxing into his touch.
"I understand your dream just fine."
...He doesn't want Asmodeus to have that additional detail, himself, or Zerxus that open to him.
He hasn't felt this touched and affronted at the same time since Eaedalus sent one of their only clerics after him. (He was only a few hours late and hadn't lost that much blood.)
"Then tell me when, why, and how it will happen. Tell me what I can do about it."
"Why do you believe knowing more detail will provide you with a way to avoid what you are concerned about, rather than simply taking another step along the path of causing it?"
There was something wrong with both of them.
It may be the same thing.
Bruce is fairly certain Zerxus is the bigger problem and has more wrong, though. If only out of self-defense and stubbornness.
He's suspecting Zerxus is the cause of it. He also keeps expecting an abrupt interruption that isn't coming, and he's glad isn't coming, but is paranoid about.
While still, deeply, suspecting the man in front of him is the cause of it.
"You trying to help is the most credible threat to my safety that there is."
His gaze had gone distant, as he remembered the brutal shellshock of those first days. Avalir was a ravaged husk of itself but Domunas was still whole, and they'd managed a few brief, scattered reunions in the roiling chaos. Sofyra had recited the prophecy to him that was written off as madness, and the first line is ringing in his head: The stars are leaving us.
Later, he thought it was because of the way Domunas was destroyed; the ash choked the air and cloaked the sky, and to this day no one mortal can see through it. But he knows that every line in a prophecy can have two, three, four meanings -
the stars are falling, and his mouth is full of blood, and the light is screaming
Bruce's voice jolts him out of it, and he jumps sharply enough to dislodge the hand at his neck, if it doesn't tighten.
He's gone clammy and pale, the way he was when he first woke up; it makes the brand of Bruce's palm is even more intense, cutting through the haze. It's enough to focus Zerxus's gaze squarely on Bruce but it's wild, lost, half-panicked.
"I don't know." It's half frustrated growl, half plaintive confession. His heart is a drum in his chest. "It was - it was there, for a moment - "
Softly, as if trying not to intrude overmuch, You need to calm him down.
Bruce is bewildered, concerned, somewhat lost himself - but he isn't frightened or panicked, and he does at least respond both to Zerxus' state once he's back.
Albeit with a little more direction thanks to his Father than he might have otherwise managed. He uses the hand on Zerxus' neck and pulls him solidly in, puts a second hand on his back.
"Breathe. No one and nothing is in immediate danger." For now. He is (or feels) bad at this, but his hands are steady and his voice is low and calm.
Zerxus can't even tell if that was an order or not; he just latches onto it, and it's clear he's done breathing exercised before. Slowly, his heartbeat stops racing.
He's heard a prophecy before, and not one of those trifling fortunes; the sort that can drive a mortal mad. It may, or may not, be connected to the dream. He doesn't sound at all concerned, but he does sound intrigued. You should see how much of it he remembers, once he's settled down.
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"Someone he loved, and who gave him a son because of it. She wasn't interested in being a parent herself." Evandrin had never told him more than that, and he'd never pried. There's no trace of suspicion or jealousy in his voice, just another layer of mourning.
He'd never regretted not asking more questions, even after losing his husband - she could have approached herself, if she wanted, and he didn't want to put a burden of expectation on her otherwise. Not until Avalir was ashes, and almost all of its people with it.
If Elias ever asks him, all he'll be able to say is that his mother is probably gone.
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"Which of them did you choose first?" It is by far not the weirdest arrangement of building a family he's heard of.
The Lord of Hell adopted him and owns his soul. This is comparatively tame. Though he more than half assumes the woman involved was paid for her services. And that she's dead. The dead is unrelated to the paid.
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Or it would mean that, if he was a normal person.
"It would have been...a very different first impression, if Evandrin wasn't trying to hold a baby while knocking on my door." He'd been wary about the whole thing; there was a reason he didn't go with Nydas to Avalir in the first place.
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"Yes. While I'm certain he wasn't smart enough to do so, a baby in arms would convince most mortals to be helpful, very quickly."
Because they're stupid.
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"The word you're looking for is 'manipulative', and no, he wasn't."
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"Everyone's manipulative, the only variation is in motive." That's an absent aside, though, because he frowns at the page, looks up and tilts his head at Zerxus, studying him intently.
"How much of your dream do you remember?"
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"You only think that because you were raised in Hell." Which makes it extremely understandable but he still has to point it out. "...Not much. The fear, mostly. Being...frozen, I think, on the ground, with violence all around me."
He's frowning, now, leaning forward to get a better look at what exactly Bruce is reading. "I told you it didn't really mean anything - "
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And yet, his response to Zerxus leaning forward is to light up the passage that he was reading, and that is of immediate relevance, like some sort of magical highlighter. Why? Because there's no reason not to.
And because he wants to watch Zerxus' reaction.
Doesn't mean anything his ass.
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"You think - ? No." That doesn't make any sense at all. "There are similarities, they helped me train as a paladin without a god, but I never - it says right here, you dedicate your entire life to making prophecies that way. No one just dreams about the future by accident."
They just don't.
They don't, right?
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He sounds very patient, calm, and composed.
He wants to shake Zerxus - or maybe just scream.
He does at least believe that Zerxus didn't know.
Though how he could have not is beyond Bruce. It seems obvious (from Bruce's position of mostly hindsight.)
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That's the problem with a city of wizards. Some mages had access to healing - certain kinds of bards and sorcerers, mostly - but they were in the minority, and it wasn't a speciality for any of them. The vast majority of the city's defenders were eldritch knights; training to be fighters or barbarians gave them ways to prevent and withstand damage, but not to heal it.
"The oracles were clerics, in a way. They helped me understand my magic, how to hone it, how to extend it." He'd hit a bit of a wall, back home; so much of it was instinctive, but eventually he needed some kind of direction. "They knew about the nightmares, but they never - they would have said something - "
Wouldn't they? He hadn't trusted many people in Avalir, but the oracles had always seemed different. There wasn't the same smug superiority or naked hunger for power he saw in so many others; there wasn't even the constant clash of loyalties and expectations that even the best of them struggled with.
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Everyone.
He pulls the book back around, lets the lit up words fade and closes the book. Then pushes back in his chair, the chair away from the desk and stands, half sitting on the desk top, in a casually elegant way.
"So the question becomes: What are you going to do about it?"
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It's been such a long time. Was he wrong, back then? Too young and naive to see what was really going on?
Zerxus sighs, closing his eyes as he reaches up to massage his temples. He's still got a bit of a headache. "What is there to do? Even if they do mean something, they're never - they don't make any sense, even when I can remember them."
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He moves one to the back of Zerxus' neck, too, because this is either a side-effect or tension, and whether or not the headache is caused by tension, he's certainly tense.
But. "Are you trying to tell me you don't understand your dreams?" Seriously? He sounds disbelieving (he is disbelieving).
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"...The broad strokes, yes. Sometimes." What's a concrete possibility and what's entirely metaphor isn't exactly clear. "That's still not helpful." If this really means Asmodeus is going to do something that hurts Bruce - why? What will it be? When will it happen?
Maybe, if he had more details...
His muscles tense all over again beneath Bruce's palm before he says, "I could try meditating."
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"I understand your dream just fine."
...He doesn't want Asmodeus to have that additional detail, himself, or Zerxus that open to him.
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"Then tell me when, why, and how it will happen. Tell me what I can do about it."
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There was something wrong with both of them.
It may be the same thing.
Bruce is fairly certain Zerxus is the bigger problem and has more wrong, though. If only out of self-defense and stubbornness.
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"Ignoring prophecies is worse."
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He's suspecting Zerxus is the cause of it. He also keeps expecting an abrupt interruption that isn't coming, and he's glad isn't coming, but is paranoid about.
While still, deeply, suspecting the man in front of him is the cause of it.
"You trying to help is the most credible threat to my safety that there is."
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Later, he thought it was because of the way Domunas was destroyed; the ash choked the air and cloaked the sky, and to this day no one mortal can see through it. But he knows that every line in a prophecy can have two, three, four meanings -
the stars are falling, and his mouth is full of blood, and the light is screaming
Bruce's voice jolts him out of it, and he jumps sharply enough to dislodge the hand at his neck, if it doesn't tighten.
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His hand tightens - hard enough to hurt, hot enough to burn, neither enough to not damage.
"What," he asks sharply, "just happened?"
He's heard of flashbacks, yes. He is aware. This feels like more than that.
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"I don't know." It's half frustrated growl, half plaintive confession. His heart is a drum in his chest. "It was - it was there, for a moment - "
Softly, as if trying not to intrude overmuch, You need to calm him down.
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Albeit with a little more direction thanks to his Father than he might have otherwise managed. He uses the hand on Zerxus' neck and pulls him solidly in, puts a second hand on his back.
"Breathe. No one and nothing is in immediate danger." For now. He is (or feels) bad at this, but his hands are steady and his voice is low and calm.
What was that?
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He's heard a prophecy before, and not one of those trifling fortunes; the sort that can drive a mortal mad. It may, or may not, be connected to the dream. He doesn't sound at all concerned, but he does sound intrigued. You should see how much of it he remembers, once he's settled down.
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