faderift | 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...

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

In the wake of all the reminders of the Fade, he can't help but consider the illness, spirits pressing up against the Veil, against periphery. Dreams seeping into the surroundings. He hadn't been terribly forthcoming with Vasran when she had witnessed the vague marching of Templar and Seeker feet, the crushing of mages underneath, but facing down the half-dead visages of what some may call innocent and some may not Rivaini, reaching for him, to pull him down, to inflict their magic on him...

The memories are still fresh, only two years ago, right around the time when everything fell apart for the Seekers, for him. But the Nightmare drew on the fears of everyone, and he tries not to let his own inner pain show. No need to make it about him.

He's not sure where the mage Vasran was during the whole ordeal, if she was even in the Approach much less at the fortress when the rift opened wide. Surely it would have been just as terrible to her if so, and if not, then there's no harm in making sure she has come out of whatever latest project ongoing unharmed. Or at least unaffected by another bout of forcible truth-telling. In fact...

"If I ask you a question," he starts easily enough when he strolls up to her, a quirk of a smirk on his lips, "are you still bound to tell me nothing but the truth, or have we long since passed that point?"

Vasran is sitting on a crate out in the courtyard, as she often does, nibbling on a hunk of bread and watching the residents of Skyhold mill past her. At his approach, and his question, quirks a smile back.

"Are you implying I'm not to be trusted, Ser?" They are back to Ser now, but it sounds different these days, a playfulness underneath the formality.

"You wound me," he says in jest, a dramatic hand to his chest, "to suggest I would think so little of the lady." After a moment, the hand drops, and his smile, however small, is in earnest. "How does she fair these days?"

"No more curses," she confirms with a nod. "Also pleased to be back in a place with clouds. And water."

Her expression takes on a curious tone, then. "You were in the Approach as well, weren't you?"

"That I was. It's been some time since I've been through lands so dry and barren as that. Little wonder a Blight began there." He peers at her through a squint for a moment. "You do not appear to be cooked and reddened to a crisp. Better than some others I've seen have fared."

"Spent most of my time cleaning up that old Warden keep." Which comes with mixed feelings. Sure, she had a roof over her head for the larger portion of her days there. On the other hand, she missed out on the most exciting part of the excursion.

"I didn't even hear about the battle with the demon until after they'd all returned."

"At least we have a foothold there, lest the Venatori ever come crawling back." Still, it's good to know that she spent her time well, even on something so relatively mild. It means she was out of all the danger.

"It's not a battle I would wish on anyone but my enemies. That we won the day at all after everything had gone so wrong--it's better that you missed the whole thing, I think."

"You were there." Her eyes are lighting up now, with amazement that's equal parts excitement and fear. "You walked in the Fade. Almost nobody wants to talk about it—"

Hesitation. He doesn't particularly seem to want to talk about it, either. She is too curious not to ask, but she ought to tread carefully.

"...is it true the Nightmare was a big as a mountain?"

Excitement isn't the kind of reaction he had anticipated, but to be fair...she doesn't know the terrors within. Heard tales, apparently, about the great beast they were trying to pull out of the Fade, and heard that they had walked through it, but all else?

There is discomfort, of course, to think on it, and yet perhaps if he could speak to someone about it, it might release some pressure that's been rolling inside. After a moment of thought, his gaze distant, he nods and decides there's no harm in answering what questions she has. "Truly the largest demon, the largest creature I have ever seen. A mountain is a good analogy. A mountain with many legs and many eyes."

"It must have been terrifying." Because that's what one says in these instances, isn't it? She manages, in the next moment, to swallow the lump of envy in her throat. All those people, given the chance to prove their mettle... and they'd all survived. They'd won.

"How did you all get back?"

"It was a demon that called itself Nightmare," he says with even a chuckle to try and disperse the actual terror that had so clawed in his gut. "It preyed upon the fears of everyone there. I feel no shame in admitting that it was. It tried to rattle us all in several ways. Getting back was no easy task as well, with fears and demons plaguing us along the way. Those who were a little more attuned to the Fade helped to guide us in the general direction of a way out--likely just another rift opened by chance. It...could have gone very wrong. The risk of getting lost or left behind was high."

"Thank the Maker nobody was." That's significantly more sincere than her last statement. And with that, she'll leave it up to him whether he wants to continue, or move on to a different topic.

There's an awkward pause where it seems he might just leave it at that and awkwardly bow out, knowing she is safe and unaffected by any physical trips into the Fade. But, even to his surprise, he settles down in the dirt, staring down at a few blades of grass poking up before looking back up to her.

"I saw in there some of the darkest parts of myself and others. Do not envy me my chance to touch the Fade with my own hands. There is a reason it was not made for those of us still clinging to the mortal realm. Surely other parts of the Fade are kinder to the emotions, but not in the Nightmare's territory."

Vasran presses her lips together, considering his words. She has been envious. She still is, a little — but only because delays have prevented her from going through the Inquisition's version of the Harrowing. Her time will come, still. It will be better to be going in prepared. Probably.

"I'm sorry," she says at length, and it is much more than a rote response. A beat passes, and she decides to attempt a bit of levity.

"On the plus side, no one actually died — and you can count yourself among the likes of Marian Hawke, and the Herald of Andraste herself."

"It would truly be a blessing if we had either of them by our side right now." But his huffed exhale at least sounds mildly amused. "The list has grown tremendously. Perhaps being in great numbers gave us all an advantage in finding our way out, and in dealing with tremendous demons."

spare me your judgements and spare me your dreams

Vasran

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