faderift | spare me your judgements and spare me your dreams

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spare me your judgements and spare me your dreams

WHO: Malcolm "sulky seeker squinty" Reed, friends, you
WHAT: Catch-all of Justinian, also him fretting at his people after the Fade and completely trying to ignore the things that fuck him up mentally
WHEN: all month long unless otherwise noted
WHERE: around Skyhold
NOTES: Fade-related shenanigans discussed or glossed over, a couple of specific starters in the comments

The Fade was...unpleasant. It was unpleasant in the way that a demon masquerading as someone you care(d) deeply for is unpleasant, as facing your deeply embedded fears is unpleasant, which is to say--it was awful. So obviously he'd rather not talk about it and spend a little extra time to himself these days, praying, reflecting, seeking inner consul and finding it occasionally lacking.

Everyone else, on the other hand, would get a little more of him than usual to make up for the introspection, to account for those he's grown fond of, to take stock of the morale of the Inquisition in the wake of the Nightmare. And, apparently, in the wake of Weisshaupt, but details from that are slim at best at first.

Courtyard

Sometimes it seems as though Malcolm wants to do nothing but hone his already fairly honed skills, whether it's sparring with wooden pikes for swords, whacking at dummies with his personal sword and small shield, or trying to see from what distance he can still nail a headshot with his shortbow. Other times, his training involves his curly poodle, making hand motions for orders or barking out a few verbal commands in Orlesian through a makeshift obstacle course, or trying to get a certain battle action just right, or...playing fetch. Hopefully she doesn't bring you a slobbery training sword to throw.

Battlements

The reconstruction and repair of Skyhold has hit a few hiccups recently, from disabling rain torrents and hallucinatory illness, to many of Skyhold's leaders and workers getting sucked into the Fade at Adamant, to...so many little things that go wrong. But still, with enough hands, it's coming along well. Malcolm uses the high perch of the battlements to clear his head, take assessment of the areas of Skyhold that still need more work, and gaze out over the valley at the little tent city forming in the shadow of the castle, always peering at the horizon for smoke or for signs of approaching armies. Also found shooing away people practicing their bloody 'parkour', does this look like a playground, what do you think will happen when your broken body is found down there when you slip and fall.

Great Hall

There are precious few places within the hold that are quiet enough for him, other than the war room, personal private quarters, and the garden (and the small alcove set aside as a small area for Andrastrian prayer). So he's stopped trying to find the quiet and embrace the inevitable, settling in by fires with a meal and drink to look over letters or notes or other papers, sometimes sketched out maps, or reading books borrowed from the library. Sometimes he seems distracted, his gaze up but far far away, a frown worrying at his features.

Wildcard

Hit him up in places that also seem like places he might be. Bump into him sending off a notice in the rookery, heading off to early morning prayer, taking his horse out for a trot, assisting in building/rebuilding projects, throwing something together for himself (or someone else) in the kitchens...

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Lady Thevenet still haunts her usual haunts until it is time to retire to her room, and then Malcolm grows concerned because she is not in her room. Her room in fact is no longer hers. Upon asking around, he learns of her move out of Skyhold to the Grey Warden tents.

She has, apparently, chosen to take up with a strapping Warden. That is...nnnnice? Unexpected, certainly. It seems dangerous to him to so directly consort with Wardens when their reputation is so very on the line (or quite over it, many have decided), and then there's the fact that he knows her manners regarding game pieces, and it would hardly seem fair to get involved with her and perhaps not knowing this about her. He only knows of Ser Hansen through reputation, and while he seems from that an upstanding sort...well, in a way, that almost makes it worse, doesn't it?

He will ignore what that might say about him when he finds her, approaches with ease and a clearing of his throat to announce said approach. "My Lady," Malcolm begins with a respectful nod. "I fear we no longer haunt the same places as we did before to facilitate our talks. A great shame I hope to rectify. Is this a bad time?"

"I think I've not changed my habits so dramatically," she says, in the terribly mild tone of one who knows precisely what he's getting at and that it is not, in point of fact, whether or not she still visits the library or the tavern.

(Yes, though her patience for the tavern crowd does wear thinner than it once did.)

"But," ever so brightly, closing her book with a snap to give him the unsettlingly direct focus of the whole of her attention, "you know, Seeker, that I am always glad to make time for your company. By all means, do join me."

Funny how blood mages and murderous Templars and demons are no problem, but faced down with Benevenuta, he has an urge to back away slowly as if confronted by a beast. Surely Ser Hansen knows what he's getting into by now...

"Then perhaps it's been a terrible matter of timing as of late," he suggests, taking a seat. "And I have been traveling around the Western Approach until just recently." As another possible explanation. "I do hope you've been spared some of the dreadful occurrences there, between the Venatori and the abandoned dead and the demons. And the sand. It can be terribly difficult to expel all the sand from one's clothes."

"Some of them," she says, setting her book aside and - smiling at him. "Some of those experiences I did not mind, but certainly it was..."

Even Benevenuta was not unaffected by a sojourn through the Fade; as ever, Benevenuta is not interested in dissecting the matter in too great detail, a moment of neutrality in her expression the only real, visible concession she makes to wherever it is she goes as she considers what it is that, perhaps, she did mind. Her fingers curl in her lap and she says,

"Quite the occurrence. But I welcomed some heat."

That neutrality in the wake of a smile is enough, the pause in her words. Though mild, there is a dawning realization on his face. He'd hoped--he had hoped that perhaps she had managed to be spared the event, but it just makes his visit all the more appropriate in his mind.

"There were certainly too many there who were terrible at handling the heat and the sun, even with warnings." That is what he says instead of asking are you all right, because he can only imagine the answer. Were she not 'all right', she would likely lie to his face so as to not flash that weakness at him. They are friendly, they are friends, but he isn't that to her. He's not sure anyone is. Perhaps this Warden.

The thought only briefly stings. Would he do any different in her position? How dare he presume that someone should confide in him when he so rarely confides in anyone but the Maker Himself.

"Still, it was good to be out of the chill of the mountains. It's been very long since I'd ever traversed the desert so. And the Inquisition--we--deserve some of the victories gained there." And the Fade was a victory. Important to remember that.

As easy as breathing, Benevenuta would lie to him without hesitation; she might not lie to Hercules, but she'd hesitate to confide in him, either, to burden him when he has so much wearying him now. It's to Dorian that she might whisper in the dark, where no one can overhear and when he can't see her while she does it, Dorian that she entrusts with her weaknesses, Dorian whose secrets she folds alongside her own for safekeeping.

But she is well enough. Enough.

And well pleased by the way he corrects himself; the way he includes himself. So many disparate parts form this strange group, but they must become a group -

"We do," she agrees, warmer. "We did well. We do well. And imagine - from the outside. What it is to see the gains that we make, and not the pushing and pulling before."

They aren't the Herald, but they are a symbol as well.

"We are a light to banish the darkness. Everywhere we go, chasing after the darkest parts of man and demon, we overcome it."

A light look of worry crosses his face at the thought, though. "When this is over, or even as we continue to extend our reach, there will be those who see our power and fear it. The Inquisition might still be fumbling for order and control on the inside, but our army grows by the day. Were Orlais no embroiled in a civil war, no doubt the Empress would voice her concerns. We have yet to encroach so far enough into Ferelden for the crown to do as such, but the day may come." He shakes his head. "A concern for another day, when our last enemy is slain. I shouldn't prattle on about business so. Do tell how you are these days." It is not the formal, concerned question, but the casual one.

As well as an invitation to broach the subject of her move, should she wish.

It's not that it's a secret.

It isn't - it was, and perhaps that was the more sensible choice, but rumours had already begun to spread and she's living with him, now, a statement has been made. It's that Benevenuta considers that statement sufficiently made, and on the whole, she is neither interested in justifying her decisions nor in discussing them for their own sake. Her personal affairs, she thinks, are not that interesting fodder for conversation.

So it isn't because she missed the opening that she ignores it.

"Business is a great deal of my life," she says, instead, wryly. "I remain as busy as ever - busier, I think. I find the more that one does, the more one must do. And we are ever expanding. Thank the Maker," with a bit more candor. "For all the crowding, there is too much to be done for only as many hands as we've had."

~~sorry benny ur personal affairs are super interesting conversation fodder deal w it~~ That's fine. It is her business, and either it makes her happy--or what appears to make her happy anyway--or it forwards some plan and plot of hers. Potentially both.

"I can understand that. I think, perhaps, that is why there are some that are hesitant to do more. I can blame them, but only barely. Responsibility is, to some, a terrible price to pay." Ah, not that there are too many he could call out. Sometimes a soldier must be a soldier, a blacksmith a blacksmith, and so on, without moving oneself into bigger and bigger circles. He had even offered his own help to Cassandra should the tedium of business get to be too much.

"I'm content to spend some time back here, however. Apart from sand and sun and vicious beasts, the remnants of Venatori and Warden activity both weigh heavy on the heart. And in the nostrils."

"I find I am becoming quite accustomed to the travel," she remarks, tracing an idle pattern with her fingertips on the hard cover of her book. "I wouldn't have guessed."

The thirty years of her life that she's never left Nevarra - never felt compelled to. Wanderlust isn't anything she'd imagined finding in herself, and certainly not now, girlhood and irreverent youth some years behind her; she takes every opportunity to leave Skyhold after barely stirring from Nevarra City, and it isn't that she doesn't like Skyhold.

She can still surprise herself. People still surprise her, every day.

"You never had the chance to ever guess at such a thing." He considers her, her tracing fingers and look upon thinking of travel, and leans in closer. "I find, especially with so ever-changing a world we live in now, that it is never too late to discover something new about oneself. None of us simply stop developing and changing at any given age. And now, away from home, away from your mother, surrounded by strangers and dangers alike, you'll find even more of yourself you had never considered being there before."

Her laugh is quiet; warm. There is an ease with what is not quite a friendship, and though often she prefers his title, she presumes the use of his name to say -

"You make me out to be a giddy little virgin, Malcolm," with wry humour. "Am I to be seduced by the wonders of the world beyond my Circle walls?"

A joke she might not make in different company, truth be told, but he knew her in Nevarra City, knows what a cage her Circle truly was not.

"Perhaps you are seduced by the wonders of a certain Grey Warden," he jests in return. Blatantly untrue. If anyone was seduced, it would definitely have been the Warden in question.

What he means to say is something politely scathing about the unshakable control her mother has over her, not allowing Benevenuta to become her own independent woman, despite all appearances. This is not the time. "What I mean to say is that, for all you think you know now, there will always be more to know. Even of yourself. I don't think anyone would mistake you for the giddy virgin, however. Not unless you wanted them to."

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spare me your judgements and spare me your dreams

Benevenuta

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