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“What was it like?”
“What?” Oswald calls, half because he cannot hear, half because he does not understand what Ianos means.
Ianos is lounging at the front of the wagon, lazily sharpening his sword, occasionally reaching out to stroke the flank of Oswald’s spiritual steed, Hermia, tirelessly pulling them along. He’s unbothered by the blazing sun that keeps the vampire confined and brooding to a small section of the vehicle and under cover. If anything, Ianos is enhanced by such light, painting his face with all the brush strokes of an artist Oswald can never hope to replicate. It is delicate and kind to enough of a degree he wants to cry just looking at how something that burns and destroys him could make Ianos look like an angel.
“What was it like?” He repeats, looking up from his glimmering blade to the hunched figure in the corner. “You’ve told me bits and pieces, alluded to how all this happened to you and my role in it… But you’ve been so vague. You won’t give me a straight answer. It’s like you’re doing everything you can to avoid the truth and I want to know why. Because you owe me that much, Oswald,” Ianos says his name like a broken prayer and it hurts, “So tell me. What was it like when I died?”
The time between question and answer could have easily been lifetimes. Oswald is used to being silent. For years he used to only talk when his hands were clasped and his body ached from the agony of his vespers, but this silence feels wrong. Ianos is right, he does owe him the truth. It’s not like last time when he told all, not by a long shot. His confession to Robin was all that, a confession. Ianos knows who he is and what he’s done, but he wants details and that is what makes answering so difficult. How can he possibly look back at decades of torment and a screaming heart and tell the man in the sun everything? When the pain is still so fresh and real that Oswald daren’t even blink sometimes in case that split second will cause Ianos to disappear? But through all that contemplation, it is still Ianos who asks, and how in the name of any reigning God could Oswald say no to the one person who gave his life purpose?
“They took me away after they killed you,” He just starts talking. No context. No pretense. Just the truth, because Oswald knows that’s what Ianos will appreciate. Nothing dressed in eloquent metaphors and dancing excuses. He will let him talk and he will listen. That is how they have always been. “Back to that room they kept us in, chaining me to the side of a pew. I think they were still trying to decide what to do with me. Was your death enough to teach me a lesson, or should I join you in the ground? I just sat there, numb on the floor. Cutting my knees as they pressed into cracked flagstones. I’d stopped screaming when they put me back in the Tower-”
“I remember your scream.” Oswald stops and Ianos has fully turned to face him. There’s something a bit too simple about how he says it. “The last thing before the rope broke my neck.”
“You probably recall it better than I do,” The vampire admits. “There was so much in that one moment I can’t bring myself to dissect it to find the facts.”
“You called my name, I think. Just once. It took four guards to hold you back,” Ianos continues, for a moment lost in a look of glassy eyes. He stands and ducks under the linen roof of the wagon, sitting down opposite Oswald, knees pulled to his chest. “I remember despite everything being impressed by that, you were always such a scrawny thing.” This is accompanied by a hollow laugh.
“You can do anything when it comes to the mortality of the people you…” He lets the word hang. Doesn’t say it. Ianos knows exactly what he means but Oswald still rectifies himself after a second. “The people you care about.”
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Despite the grim topic of conversation, Ianos looks thoughtful. Curious. Not as melancholic as one might expect; just waiting for the full story. “It just reminded me. The one last thing I am certain of as I clung to life.” There’s a pause. “I hated that sound. If I had lived, I think it would have haunted me.” Ianos barely whispers this admittance.
“What haunts you in this life?” Oswald dares to ask.
“You.”
“You haunted me too,” He continues. “I think that’s why I did it, just to avoid the inevitability that if I dwelt on that it would consume me. Every ounce of me was sorrow so I did what I was taught my whole life. I prayed. Not to Amaunator, no. If he wanted to help he would have stopped those fucking clerics from stringing you up. Not to anyone, really. I suppose it was another scream, just one with my head tilted back, my fingers interlocked and my words laced with celestial horror. I was begging. Any help, for the strength to fight back to pour every bit of fury I possessed back into those bastards and destroy them whole. Paladins swear oaths for lots of reasons, as I’m sure you know. You, with your devotion and your fealty and unwavering loyalty. And me, with my revenge and my anger. I made my soul a bargaining chip for you. Bhaal came to me as I slept. I suppose you can figure out what happened from there.”
Ianos places a hand on Oswald’s shoulder, letting it press down on him like the sky for a moment before he actually speaks.
“I can. But I want to hear you say it.” His face finally twists into an emotion that would be expected in this situation. Hurt. “If you can’t even say it, how am I supposed to forgive you?”
“You’re not.” The intense harshness of his tone is something Oswald regrets the minute he sees Ianos flinch slightly. “You’re not,” He repeats slowly. “It’s not something to be forgiven or accepted. It’s something I made peace with and no one else should have to. I did it for you, is that not enough?”
“I’m afraid it’s nowhere near enough, Sparrow,” Somehow his old nickname hurts more than a slap. “I would not have asked you to do anything more than live for me.” There’s a moment where Oswald wants to sob, but he suppresses it. He reaches across so he is crouched directly in front of Ianos, hands curled into his shirt like a lifeline.
“You died because of me.”
“I died for you. There’s a difference.” The space between them flits between feeling stretched like the surface of the world and so constricting their skin is the same. “Say it.”
“No.”
“Please.” His voice breaks. “Oswald, what happened?”
“You know what happened!” The sob breaks free and a black tear rolls down his cheek.
“Fine,” Ianos admits defeat, pulling each of Oswald’s fingers away from the fabric of his clothing where they are tethered. He’s not crying like the vampire and that actually makes it worse. Almost like he expected this, this awful cowardice. “Enjoy your brooding. I don’t care how many people you’ve killed, but until you can look me in the eyes and admit your sins don’t tell yourself it was for me. If it was all for me you wouldn’t feel shame or regret. I get these new friends you got yourself want you to change and be better, but you don’t have to follow that route. You don’t get to say my death made you a monster if you are too weak to own what you did.”
“I’ve slaughtered more people than you would meet in a lifetime.” Oswald tells him flatly as he stands to return to where he was sat before.
“I don’t need other people to meet,” He runs a hand through his hair. “After everything you still don’t get it? I never needed anything other than you, so much that I died for it. If it were me, I would be here boasting of it all to you like a love confession. When did you become a coward, Oswald?”
“The second you ceased to exist by my side.”