Dialogue of the Masters - a fanfic
“Oh, I don't deny your brand of magic is powerful,” said Albus Dumbledore. “The Sorcerer Supreme of your Order is usually the mightiest combat wizard alive. But it has flaws... flaws and dangers.”
“You think?” answered Stephen Strange. The two masters were facing each other, both floating slightly above the floor, in a sitting posture with their legs crossed.
“I do think. The daily use of our own inborn magic does not expose us to other minds as yours does. And it grows so much a part of ourselves that we can handle it while barely being noticed, and with subtleties that would be wasted in the fiery coils of your summonings. Tell me, do you ever feel any regrets about Victoria Bentley?”
“WHAT IN THE NAME OF - ?” yelled Strange, and then suddenly broke off. A slight twist of light between his head and Dumbledore's appeared and was gone, and then there was silence.
“I am impressed,” said Strange at length.
“And so am I,” answered Dumbledore quietly. “To suddenly find an alien mind so deep inside yours, and to have enough control not to blast it out by main force, is truly remarkable. I could feel your anger and surprise, and yet you held back and let me withdraw of my own free will.”
“I was afraid of what might happen otherwise.”
“Of course. You are a man of conscience - and a prudent warrior, too. The violent tangle of two minds...”
“Indeed. Unpredictable. And the possible results don't bear thinking about,” said Strange grimly.
“Not that I was not tempted, you know. How in Agamotto's name did you manage to enter my mind and memories so deeply without my noticing?”
“Practice, Doctor. Practice and the experience of many predecessors.”
“Even so... You ran a ghastly risk.” Stephen Strange seemed almost to shudder for a second.
“I thought it necessary. Believe me, I don't enter people's minds for choice. But I felt you needed to understand the danger you are in if by any chance you face Tom Riddle or another skilled legilimens. Your power is immense, your control admirable - but just because of that...”
“You may have a point.”
“To be frank, Dr.Strange, the magic of your order seems incredibly dangerous to us. It is no coincidence that your master only ever trained two apprentices, and even so one of them went as bad as it is possible to go.”
“Your record is not perfect, either, or so I hear.”
“No, indeed. Tom Riddle and many lesser villains have studied with me, and Grindelwald was my friend and almost my master. But I train - take part in training - hundreds of young wizards every year, and most of them don't turn out to be like Mordo. And more importantly still, some of them can be reclaimed.”
“You refer to Mordo? He is just one man, after all.”
“Yes. Your master, the Ancient One, was a good man... one of the best I have ever met. And you may not be aware of it, but he discussed Mordo with me, years before you met. He was in anguish and needed conversation and counsel.”
“Indeed? Would you tell me?” asked Strange, eager to hear about his beloved teacher.
“Mordo had been his chosen student. Many of his lineage had been involved with the Craft, or served or helped your Order in various ways. And Mordo had been singled out almost from the beginning as a gifted sorcerer.
“But your master had keen eyes, and saw him go wrong almost from the beginning.
“There was no prescribed rule for him to follow about dealing with a corrupted disciple, but there was a great deal of quite clear precedent. A master who saw a disciple become corrupted, even slightly, by the terrible magic of your order, immediately dismissed him. Or her. It was always felt that if they took the first step, they would take the last. But it was a hard and dire sanction, and history showed that dismissed disciples never came to any good. The lucky ones died of drink in a ditch. The unlucky ones... ah, but you know the stories better than I do.”
“Indeed, Professor. I have seen them in visions. Four of them still hang on to life in a small way, skulking in dark places, only dimly aware of who they could have been and who they are. I never met any of them face to face, but if I ever wanted, I would know where to go.”
“A fate to dread. And the Ancient One was too good to wish it for Mordo. He sought my advice - and of course, I was all for trying to bring him back from the brink. And neither of us understood that Mordo was no longer on the brink - if he had ever been. He was already down the abyss.”
“Really? And he managed to keep it from the Ancient One?”
“He did. He was very good at wearing many faces... once.”
“All I can say is that it must have been before my time. When I first met him, the corruption was already obvious. Sometimes I wondered why the Ancient One kept him.”
“It was actually your sudden appearance that broke him. Until the Ancient One took you on as a second disciple, Mordo had kept his lusts and his hate under control, so as to be able to seem... redeemable... to deceive his master into keeping the beloved disciple with him. But when it was borne in on him that there would be another disciple, he concluded that the Master was taking precautions against him.
“And he was right. The Ancient One himself did not know that another disciple would come, until you stumbled into their cells; but then it was as though he recognized you. There was never any doubt in his mind.”
“So why did he keep him after that, once he had shown his true face? He must have realized that he put both himself and me in danger of our lives, and the whole Order at risk. If Mordo had been left the only member of our Order...” Strange shuddered.
“Ah, by that time the issue was quite different. He wanted to make you acquainted with Mordo, clear about his evils and his mind, so that you should be able to meet him in days to come, and get the best of him. It was part of your training. It was dangerous, I imagine...”
Stephen Strange burst out laughing. “Why, the old devil!” said he in an affectionate tone. “I can just see it. It makes perfect sense now - and I never realized!”
“It certainly seems to have worked. How many times have you baffled Mordo?” said Dumbledore with a twinkle.
“Times enough, thank Oshtur. And I hope to do so a few more times still,” and a bright smile flashed across the face of the Sorcerer Supreme.
And then it died down, and Stephen Strange grew thoughtful. “Looking back on what you said, Professor,” he said, “it sounds as though you had concluded that Mordo's destiny was inevitable.”
“I... I don't like to say so. But I do think that there was wisdom in your predecessors' practice, however heartless it seemed.
“Our magic is our own. It may be weak, or it may be corrupted; but if it is, it is because we are weak, or because we allowed ourselves to be corrupted. We never call power from other planes. But your magic....A magic that relies on constant contact with such beings as the Faltine, Oshtur, Agamotto, Satannish... essences so much stronger than the human.. if anything goes wrong, then the corruption is not only inevitable, it's progressive. It's like a cancer of the spirit. I don't say that it cannot be cured or reversed - but we don't know of any case in which it has.”
“I often wonder why I did not follow Mordo into the darkness. Was it just that I had his example before me, showing all the wrong that could happen? It can't have been character.... I wasn't worth that much before the Ancient One picked me up.”
“I have an idea...”
“You do? You know a lot, don't you?”
“It was something that the Ancient One, about your surgeon's mind. He said that the habit of precision was a shield against many evils. And when I was in your mind just now, I saw it - your lifelong training to do things with the highest precision, your awareness that the slightest error in procedure could cost a life or at least disable a person. You instinctively avoid anything that is sloppy, approximate, unfinished. You were like that even when you were... as you call it... not worth much.”
“So you think that I did not become Mordo because I am fanatical about details?”
“I suppose it can grate on people. But it also can prevent a lot of harm - and the more harm, the greater the power with which you deal. Mordo's fall began with overconfidence.”
“Ah. And you were talking about overconfidence.”
“As I said, your power is awesome. Your control is remarkable. But while you can avoid the fate of the likes of Mordo, there are other things that can reach you.”
“And that is why you...”
“...well, Doctor, they say a penny of practice is worth a pound of prescription. I am sure you understand my concerns better now.”
“Of that you may be sure, Professor. And I will welcome any suggestion you may have as to wards and alarms.”
END OF THE STORY.t>
“You think?” answered Stephen Strange. The two masters were facing each other, both floating slightly above the floor, in a sitting posture with their legs crossed.
“I do think. The daily use of our own inborn magic does not expose us to other minds as yours does. And it grows so much a part of ourselves that we can handle it while barely being noticed, and with subtleties that would be wasted in the fiery coils of your summonings. Tell me, do you ever feel any regrets about Victoria Bentley?”
“WHAT IN THE NAME OF - ?” yelled Strange, and then suddenly broke off. A slight twist of light between his head and Dumbledore's appeared and was gone, and then there was silence.
“I am impressed,” said Strange at length.
“And so am I,” answered Dumbledore quietly. “To suddenly find an alien mind so deep inside yours, and to have enough control not to blast it out by main force, is truly remarkable. I could feel your anger and surprise, and yet you held back and let me withdraw of my own free will.”
“I was afraid of what might happen otherwise.”
“Of course. You are a man of conscience - and a prudent warrior, too. The violent tangle of two minds...”
“Indeed. Unpredictable. And the possible results don't bear thinking about,” said Strange grimly.
“Not that I was not tempted, you know. How in Agamotto's name did you manage to enter my mind and memories so deeply without my noticing?”
“Practice, Doctor. Practice and the experience of many predecessors.”
“Even so... You ran a ghastly risk.” Stephen Strange seemed almost to shudder for a second.
“I thought it necessary. Believe me, I don't enter people's minds for choice. But I felt you needed to understand the danger you are in if by any chance you face Tom Riddle or another skilled legilimens. Your power is immense, your control admirable - but just because of that...”
“You may have a point.”
“To be frank, Dr.Strange, the magic of your order seems incredibly dangerous to us. It is no coincidence that your master only ever trained two apprentices, and even so one of them went as bad as it is possible to go.”
“Your record is not perfect, either, or so I hear.”
“No, indeed. Tom Riddle and many lesser villains have studied with me, and Grindelwald was my friend and almost my master. But I train - take part in training - hundreds of young wizards every year, and most of them don't turn out to be like Mordo. And more importantly still, some of them can be reclaimed.”
“You refer to Mordo? He is just one man, after all.”
“Yes. Your master, the Ancient One, was a good man... one of the best I have ever met. And you may not be aware of it, but he discussed Mordo with me, years before you met. He was in anguish and needed conversation and counsel.”
“Indeed? Would you tell me?” asked Strange, eager to hear about his beloved teacher.
“Mordo had been his chosen student. Many of his lineage had been involved with the Craft, or served or helped your Order in various ways. And Mordo had been singled out almost from the beginning as a gifted sorcerer.
“But your master had keen eyes, and saw him go wrong almost from the beginning.
“There was no prescribed rule for him to follow about dealing with a corrupted disciple, but there was a great deal of quite clear precedent. A master who saw a disciple become corrupted, even slightly, by the terrible magic of your order, immediately dismissed him. Or her. It was always felt that if they took the first step, they would take the last. But it was a hard and dire sanction, and history showed that dismissed disciples never came to any good. The lucky ones died of drink in a ditch. The unlucky ones... ah, but you know the stories better than I do.”
“Indeed, Professor. I have seen them in visions. Four of them still hang on to life in a small way, skulking in dark places, only dimly aware of who they could have been and who they are. I never met any of them face to face, but if I ever wanted, I would know where to go.”
“A fate to dread. And the Ancient One was too good to wish it for Mordo. He sought my advice - and of course, I was all for trying to bring him back from the brink. And neither of us understood that Mordo was no longer on the brink - if he had ever been. He was already down the abyss.”
“Really? And he managed to keep it from the Ancient One?”
“He did. He was very good at wearing many faces... once.”
“All I can say is that it must have been before my time. When I first met him, the corruption was already obvious. Sometimes I wondered why the Ancient One kept him.”
“It was actually your sudden appearance that broke him. Until the Ancient One took you on as a second disciple, Mordo had kept his lusts and his hate under control, so as to be able to seem... redeemable... to deceive his master into keeping the beloved disciple with him. But when it was borne in on him that there would be another disciple, he concluded that the Master was taking precautions against him.
“And he was right. The Ancient One himself did not know that another disciple would come, until you stumbled into their cells; but then it was as though he recognized you. There was never any doubt in his mind.”
“So why did he keep him after that, once he had shown his true face? He must have realized that he put both himself and me in danger of our lives, and the whole Order at risk. If Mordo had been left the only member of our Order...” Strange shuddered.
“Ah, by that time the issue was quite different. He wanted to make you acquainted with Mordo, clear about his evils and his mind, so that you should be able to meet him in days to come, and get the best of him. It was part of your training. It was dangerous, I imagine...”
Stephen Strange burst out laughing. “Why, the old devil!” said he in an affectionate tone. “I can just see it. It makes perfect sense now - and I never realized!”
“It certainly seems to have worked. How many times have you baffled Mordo?” said Dumbledore with a twinkle.
“Times enough, thank Oshtur. And I hope to do so a few more times still,” and a bright smile flashed across the face of the Sorcerer Supreme.
And then it died down, and Stephen Strange grew thoughtful. “Looking back on what you said, Professor,” he said, “it sounds as though you had concluded that Mordo's destiny was inevitable.”
“I... I don't like to say so. But I do think that there was wisdom in your predecessors' practice, however heartless it seemed.
“Our magic is our own. It may be weak, or it may be corrupted; but if it is, it is because we are weak, or because we allowed ourselves to be corrupted. We never call power from other planes. But your magic....A magic that relies on constant contact with such beings as the Faltine, Oshtur, Agamotto, Satannish... essences so much stronger than the human.. if anything goes wrong, then the corruption is not only inevitable, it's progressive. It's like a cancer of the spirit. I don't say that it cannot be cured or reversed - but we don't know of any case in which it has.”
“I often wonder why I did not follow Mordo into the darkness. Was it just that I had his example before me, showing all the wrong that could happen? It can't have been character.... I wasn't worth that much before the Ancient One picked me up.”
“I have an idea...”
“You do? You know a lot, don't you?”
“It was something that the Ancient One, about your surgeon's mind. He said that the habit of precision was a shield against many evils. And when I was in your mind just now, I saw it - your lifelong training to do things with the highest precision, your awareness that the slightest error in procedure could cost a life or at least disable a person. You instinctively avoid anything that is sloppy, approximate, unfinished. You were like that even when you were... as you call it... not worth much.”
“So you think that I did not become Mordo because I am fanatical about details?”
“I suppose it can grate on people. But it also can prevent a lot of harm - and the more harm, the greater the power with which you deal. Mordo's fall began with overconfidence.”
“Ah. And you were talking about overconfidence.”
“As I said, your power is awesome. Your control is remarkable. But while you can avoid the fate of the likes of Mordo, there are other things that can reach you.”
“And that is why you...”
“...well, Doctor, they say a penny of practice is worth a pound of prescription. I am sure you understand my concerns better now.”
“Of that you may be sure, Professor. And I will welcome any suggestion you may have as to wards and alarms.”
END OF THE STORY.t>