[OPEN] Long Was His Silence

[lifeofendurance]

WHO: Aleron Darton and YOU
WHAT: Pre-Orlais Catchall for July
WHEN: Start of Solace up until it's time to head out.
WHERE: Skyhold, various
NOTES: If any of these don't work, feel free to wildcard or PM me for a starter. Prose or Brackets a-ok, I'll tag to preference.

Aleron is nothing if not a creature of habit. There are reasons his twin has heckled him all their lives about how dull he is; he's not loud, excitable, or given to doing things which are not part of his daily routine.

Morning and evening, he may be found in the Chapel attending to his devotions. At least an hour upon rising, and before sleep, is spent in prayer. Following his attention to matters of the spirit, he then attends to honing of physical training. Where the training ring has been set up in the Courtyard, he works through sword and footwork forms, old and sometimes new. Just prior to lunch, he visits the Stables to see how Valiente fares. Taking the horse out for a ride isn't all that out of the ordinary. However, almost every outing takes him the direction of the Warden's Camp. That destination in itself is a deviation from his routine, but a sharp eye might notice that he never fails to travel there without either a book, a basket lunch, or a handful of wildflowers.

Of an afternoon, he's easily found in the Library, engrossed in research of some variety or another, or enjoying casual reading of wholesome volumes such as The Sermons of Divine Hortensia III. Sometimes he can be observed attending to his correspondence, though there too is an oddity. For a change, each letter received is read, though it can be discerned from his facial expression that he's dreading some of them. Usually those sealed with a ram's head on green. Evenings before vespers, he sits quietly in the Herald's Rest. He never indulges in more than a single ale and listens with quiet appreciation to the music and conversation around him. The Seeker still hasn't quite worked up to initiating social interactions, though he welcomes others who opt to join him and break up his solitude.

Comments

[tactical_alert]

"Maker, perhaps the world really is coming to an end." Malcolm looks at least more content than the last time they talked, smirking as he comes over and, well, doesn't peer at the letters--he's no snoop--but certainly gives them an eyeball. "Are you actually reading your letters instead of tossing them all in the fire?"

His smirk fails him, trying to consider what would bring Aleron to do so. "Is everything all right? Your sister hasn't taken ill, has she?"

[lifeofendurance]

Aleron looks up from his baleful staring at the letter in hand. The broken seal is the green wax used by his sister. There's a slow shake of his head, denying the presence of illness in the family, though he rather wishes he'd stuck to the typical toss in the fire.

"Not at all, unless you count her page long account of the 'chartreuse monstrosity' that Lady..." He shifts through the pages to check the name, "...Jolene wore to her party last month. She says it nearly burned her eyes out of her head."

And people wonder why he just burns her letters unread.

"The Veil is rent, a darkspawn magister is threatening to destroy Thedas, and my sister's greatest worry is that she won't have a new frock in time to impress someone of minor consequence."

[tactical_alert]

Malcolm stares, half amused and half...bemused. "Someone has to keep track of all the atrocious frivolities. I suppose she would be better suited to the crimes against fashion. My point is that you're...reading them." It's unusual. He's become so used to the sight of Aleron simply tossing them in the fire, considering when he initially had to fight a pang of jealousy, wishing he'd had communication with his family often enough to simply toss it away.

He's quite grown out of that, thankfully. "I had thought something was the matter to see you so engrossed."

[lifeofendurance]

"Ah." It takes him another moment of staring at the letter before Aleron sighs and puts it down. Neatly folded, naturally. But then he taps it as if finding a subtle way to work out his irritation.

"For once there was something of substance buried under the frivolity. It seems my sister Layla is expecting again come the new year. Ravonild, of course, included her thoughts on that news and her opinion that I'm long overdue in giving the family a contribution to the Darton family brood."

It's that unintentional cruelty that is getting under his skin this morning. There is a strong urge to dispose of the letter as per usual methods. Perhaps that is what frustrates him the most. Ravonild flits through life doing as she pleases with little attention given to how it impacts those around her. The letter stays put on the table, but if looks could destroy it, it would be ash.

He sighs. Not at all normal for him to express even that much of his frustration. "I am attempting to remind myself that I should be grateful for a family to write frustrating and vapid letters. Bethany has reminded me that not everyone is so blessed to have family to be irritated with."

Gracious. Did he just refer to a woman without any sort of full formality?

[tactical_alert]

Time for Malcolm to take a seat and lean in close. This is quite a momentous day, and not in a positive way. There's so much to parse here.

"Ravonild is very adamant about her opinions, of which you are normally quick to dismiss. The reminders are...upsetting, but I have to assume you haven't told her what happened." In the Fade, bringing everything to the surface.

He can't imagine that's the only thing, though. This is frustration he rarely shows. And that woman's name, not a family relation he's familiar with, but he does know a Bethany... "Bethany...Lady Bethany Hawke, the Grey Warden and Champion's sister? Has reminded you of the blessing of family." She would know better than most, it's true, with the unfortunate Hawke family history and missing siblings...but that's not the point. The point is...Bethany. "What aren't you saying, Aleron?"