faderift | OPEN: this will be a better year

OPEN: this will be a better year

WHO: Everyone
WHAT: First Day
WHEN: Wintermarch 1 (forward-dated)
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Scouts from both the Western Approach and Emprise du Lion are welcome (but not required) to have returned to Skyhold in time for this event.

There have been better First Day feasts, and less crowded ones, and cheerier ones. It isn't a good year for many to look back on, and this one isn't starting any better. Reports from both Eastern and Western Orlais are grim. Many in the Inquisition can't afford to take more than a few hours away from their work, if that.

But for those who can, the ambassador does her best. At lunchtime some tables, hot food, and finery are reserved for visiting nobility and wealthy pilgrims--cause for grumbling in some quarters, perhaps, but they're the people filling the Inquisition's coffers, and allowances must be made--but there's plenty of stew, bread, and ale for everyone, even with the soldiers and refugees who stay outside the fortress invited inside for the holiday. The recently repaired garden and its carefully tended plants aren't off limits, but anyone noisy and holding a drink will be stopped at the door; the battlements, with their potential for deadly falls, are blocked by Inquisition guards. But the courtyards brim with people, most of them happy despite the possibility that the world might end before another First Day arrives.

If the courtyards are too full of tipsy visitors for comfort, there's also the valley beyond the fortress, expansive, barren, and covered in snow. By the river the soldiers help the refugees make a bonfire larger than would ever be allowed inside Skyhold's walls, and some lend their shields to use as sleds down the embankments. A group of scouts start the most intense game of hide and seek Thedas has ever seen, with snowballs to the face for whoever is found first. In the camp, a refugee girl with her hand wrapped in a green scarf chases other children around the tents, shouting raaar, I'm from the rifts!

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She approaches him, trying to not look dour. Everyone deserved the good cheer that the night brought, and she didn't want to bring the mood down. Still, she's been sulking ever since she returned from that mission with Isabela, and Zevran--well, he should at least hear about the mission went. There was roguish activities involved. She did pretty well in all of them.

So she slips up to his side, swaying slightly to the music. She doesn't speak until he's finished with one of his songs, drumming her fingers on her thigh.

"I don't know what half of those words you used were, and I'm not sure I want to." Her voice was light, a small smile on her face. "I'm sure it all amounted to the woman being very pretty."

"Pretty women, smiling and dancing." He sets his lute aside, offering her his arm. "While naked, of course, but that isn't the most relevant part. Why the long face, little bird?"

His favorite fledgling, the one with the most potential. Merrick is skilled, yes, but Beleth has the harder task of reshaping herself with every interaction. And she's doing well in their lessons, from what he has seen. "Tell me where your smiles have gone, mm?"

She accepts his arm, ducking her head at Zevran's words. "I bet they could dance just as well with clothing on, but who am I to say?" She turns her eyes to the dancers around the bonfire, and clucks her tongue. But then he makes it clear that he's not fooled by her attempt to keep the mood light--well, it was Zevran, after all. She shouldn't be surprised.

She hesitates for a moment, smile fading in the firelight. Telling him about the mission itself wouldn't be hard, but the events after it...

She wasn't supposed to tell anyone. But if anyone could advise her on it, while keeping a lid on it...

"Isabela and I were sent to figure out what happened to two missing agents who had been looking into a Venatori agent. We found out what happened--I think you'd be impressed, although she did a lot of the hard parts. The agents had killed the agent and his family, and got caught. We managed to bust them out--I had to wear this outfit, Zevran, it was awful, the skirt was up to here--" She gestured to demonstrate just how short the skirt was, expression turned to exasperation for a moment. "--And a corset that was trying to move my organs into my chest, I'm sure prostitutes have worn more modest clothes--anyway, we flashed short skirts and eyelashes at the guards and then killed them and got the agents out. Good job for us, go team."

It had been an adventure alright, that's all that Beleth could really say.

"...That sounds like something Isabela would come up with." He snorts softly, rubbing her shoulder with a gentle hand. Beleth is trouble- something in this has her wary, weary. There are a handful of possibilities but he makes no judgements until he hears the whole of it. The sarcastic lilt to the end of the story has him raising a brow.

"Now that is a bitter twist to a fine ending if I have ever heard one. What came after?"

She accepted the shoulder touches, leaning into it. She's cautious about what she says--She's breaking very strict instructions, and her eyes dart around to make sure that Leliana won't materialize from the shadows to come kill her where she stands. Creators, protect her.

She's both eager to unload what's been weighing on her, and hesitant to do so, but she goes back to her earlier decision. Zevran, more than anyone else she knew, would understand. And would keep it quiet.

Hopefully.

So, Beleth moves closer to Zevran, looking for all the world like she's leaning affectionately against Zevran.

"We got out of the city, and the agents told us what they'd learned. We reported in our success." There was another hesitation, and she sighed. Guilt pressed into her voice as she continued, forehead pressing against the side of his head. "They told us to--take care of the agents. We'd gone through all that effort to rescue them, they thought we were there to save them, and..." She trailed off. She hadn't believed it, when she'd first heard, and Isabela made it even more of a stark contrast, with how she'd taken it all in stride.

This is a game he knows well. Playing at being a lover to pass along information- he turns further into her, curling his other hand around hers, squeezing them. It is as much a show of comfort as it is a show of the deepest, most intimate affection. None could possibly suspect that they are speaking on that which, he is certain, she is not meant to speak.

Especially with the orders for execution.

He does not ask why- but he does make a note to speak with Isabela afterward. Much as she has no issues with killing she dislikes, as a rule, doing it on command. He cannot imagine it sits well with Beleth either. They are not assassins.

He turns to press his lips to her forehead, murmuring against her skin. "The blood is not on your hands, but those that gave the command. Repeat this to me."

The touching isn't good just for disguising what they're doing, but it does truly offer her some comfort. She slips her hands around his neck, taking in the affection offered. It wouldn't even matter if anyone saw them, she figured--anyone who wanted to mull about rumors of Zevran's paramours would have to start a databank at one point or another.

His words strike her--of course some of the blame would be on the people who ordered it, but Beleth was good at taking blame, and the idea that she was faultless from this death, from killing people whose lives she had just saved, who had trusted her, struck her as odd as...anything else that had happened since she'd come to Skyhold. People from other worlds falling from holes into the Fade, magister darkspawn trying to be gods, Beleth Ashara isn't guilty of killing the people she killed, And Other Inquisition Tales.

She shifts, not repeating him immediately, as she thinks up multiple arguments to his words. But in the end, she deflates. Zevran, after all, was her teacher, and an actual assassin. He knew what the truth of the situation was, even if she had a hard time wrapping her head around it.

"The blood isn't on my hands," She whispers to him, obedient, even when she was unsure. "But on those that gave the command."

"Again." She doesn't sound certain of it- but this she needs to know is true. This is not guilt she should carry and it is not something he will tolerate in her. If it weren't something he wasn't to know he might have had words with Leliana over how it was she managed her people and their resources- but it is not his to know. He will sit in idle silence and mind her from a distance until he can pin down her game. It is one thing to use her agents thus and dispose of them as she would- but he thought her better than that. Above that. They had been twisted in knots by those that held their leash, he is surprised to find her repeating the very things that frustrated them both? That ruined them both?

A problem for a another time.

For now he smooths his hands down Beleth's back. Presses his lips to her hair and waits for the affirmation. For it to sink in. That this is not her guilt, this is not her blood. "And again after that. Until you believe it to be true."

Again, Beleth doesn't answer right away. More than a sign of not obeying, it's a sign that she's thinking before just making the noise of obedience. She has to put thought into think, look over it herself, if she is to not burden herself with their deaths. She hadn't wanted to kill them, she thought that what they'd done was terrible, and perhaps they would face execution for it in Skyhold, but to kill them before they ever even returned, never to be heard out and sentenced?

She hadn't agreed. She'd done it, but she hadn't agreed.

She takes a few slow breaths, tension loosening in her body. "The blood isn't on my hands," She repeated, sounding more sure of it this time. "It's not on my hands, but those that gave the command. The blood isn't on my hands, but those that gave the command." It feels better. Not perfect, but better. She wonders how long it took Zevran to completely believe that, how many times he had to say that to himself--though she hadn't been raised as an assassin.

"I think you were right, Zevran," She murmured, more relaxed--not completely so, but Beleth is never completely relaxed. "I don't think I'd make a very good assassin. But thank you. You're--You really are a good person, you know that?" And she gave him another kiss on the cheek. She's not sure what she'd have done without him--she'd been afraid of telling any of her clanmates. Afraid they'd look at her differently, if they knew about the order, and that she'd done it (even if, she reminded herself, the blood was not on her hands).

That she takes her time to consider it speaks well of her; he expects no less. She learns, his clever little bird, as much as she craves to be known and liked on her own terms, she learns. And she learns more and more of herself as he teaches her which tends to be the harder part. This? This is a hard lesson.

Guilt is easy to borrow when you are an assassin.

Removing yourself from it- that takes time. He will not have her live like he did, dropping hearts on his scale and watching the weight damn him. Oh he had enough blood to fill that well; but with those he killed while having no choice? He will not wear those.

Not any longer.

"There you are. Good, little bird. I am proud." He kisses her forehead again, hand massaging her back. It can be seen as a lover's embrace but truly? It is approval and affection doled out for a lesson learned- something that benefits them both. "A fine spy, yes. But assassin? No. And there is nothing shameful in that."

The kiss surprises him. The commentary on him being good all the more so- enough for him to chuff out a laugh. "I am as I am. Sometimes good, sometimes bad, often a little of both and always? Ridiculously awesome."

And Beleth soaks in that approval and affection, like a flower to the sun. When she pulls away to speak, her expression is a lot softer, calmer, than it's looked in a while. If Zevran is proud of her, then she isn't a fuck up, she isn't a failure. She's not entirely over what happened with those agents, but she feels like she can get over it, in time. It's a step up.

And the calm smile turns into laughter at Zevran declaring his awesomeness. "Well--I mean, yes, that too. But I just assumed that didn't need to be said." He certainly was...something else. Unlike anyone she'd ever met before--and as opposed to a lot of the people here that met that description, Beleth considered it a positive thing.

The mention of her being a spy makes her perk up, and she flashes Zevran a wicked grin. "Speaking of which, Zevran, did you know that the Templars recently had a meeting? One that was closed off from other people. One, I might add, in a room with a large hole in the ceiling. Not my choice for a private meeting, but they didn't ask my opinion."

"Oh ho?" He quirks a brow, voice dripping with curiosity. He had seen the posting but had not thought peeking in on the proceedings would be warrented. Alistair would tell him anything of note that came of it. But that Beleth took initiative and heard something? His little bird was flying a little further.

"Well done, uccicervi, that is quite clever of you! One would think they would be more careful where they hold such meetings." That earns her another kiss on the forehead, another pass of his hand across her shoulders.

"Uccicervi?" She'd never heard that word before. It sounded...kind of odd. But she rolled with it, especially when she was getting more praise and kisses. Those were pretty nice. Maybe...she shouldn't tell him that she'd gotten caught. That might get a scolding.

"It was pretty interesting--They squabble as much as the mage council does. They are not from as radically different backgrounds, there aren't really any Templars raised by Dalish or escaped from the Qun, you know? But they do have different beliefs on how the Order should be reformed, and they are all very...adamant. That their beliefs are the right ones. So they are more similar, but more stubborn." Which summed up the Order pretty well, she thought.

Another pause, and she smiled. "Alistair was there! He said a lot of good things. They accused him of thinking like a Warden, not a Templar, which...Isn't really a surprise? I hope they let him stay for future meetings, though. They need more people who don't think like Templars."

"An Antivan bird that plays at being weak and wounded to lead predators away from it's nest. It makes a great show of having a broken leg and winds the predators through the bush, distracting them from the easier kill and more vulnerable nest- and when it is far enough away? It flies off." Such shall be Beleth, a great show to distract and protect that which she would rather not be seen by any that might mean to do her and hers harm. The story was told with great fondness; he'd seen the birds and marveled at their cleverness in his youth.

But still, news of this meeting, for all that it was not truly his concern? Would be valuable. Saving the world meant keeping the Inquisition together. Keeping it functioning well. He might do to keep an eye on the proceedings.

"Alistair is a good man, a just one. Perhaps thinking like a templar is not what the templar order needs; seeing as they are all declared heretic with the rest of us. But I am biased to favor his opinion more often than not."

"Oh--I like that." A bird played sick to protect others. It sounded like something that she could respect--even if the name was a little odd. She'd get used to it, and keep the story of that bird in mind. But it made her feel a little guilty--She'd tried to protect, and had failed.

And the more she thinks about what happened, the more it nags at her, and the more she thinks that maybe, at least, Zevran will have better advice on how to avoid Nerva in the future. She had no intention to stop making sure the Templars couldn't hide behind closed doors, not anymore.

"He is a good man. I think he's one of the nicest humans I've met. But--um." She sighed, glancing to the side, rubbing the back of her neck. "When I was listening, um. Some of the stuff they said was really stupid, right? Talking about how the Mage Council ought to be held responsible if they don't avoid another abomination, stuff like that. Real stupid, right? And I, uh. I got mad, about some of the stuff--my twin, I told you about him, he's a mage, so I get worked up about some of this stuff. I, um." Shit. This was the worst part, honestly. Explaining how she failed. "I kinda...made a noise? Because it was all so damned dumb. Like." She gave a derisive little snort.

"And...one of the Templars heard. And she climbed--I thought I was safe even if people looked up, I didn't expect her to try jumping onto the roof in full armor. She saw me, but she couldn't actually jump up, so I made off fast. She couldn't catch me, so I thought I'd be safe. But, um. She found where I slept, I guess, and grabbed me, and dragged me off." She gave a nervous laugh, because, while it seemed silly now, when she'd woken up, a Templar grabbing her and dragging her away..."Scared me half to death, I'm pretty sure I've lost at least a year off of my life. She just ended up trying to make me clean the stables. I cleaned the stall of a hart I like and slept in it."

She's a little tense now, waiting to hear what Zevran will say about the less than spectacular ending about her spying on the Templars.

"I'll do better though, I promise. Maybe I'll start sleeping with the mages? She's not allowed in there, right?"

"...Do you know the name of this templar?" Zevran's voice has gone grave, though the stroking has not stopped in the slightest. This is no fault of hers, the being caught- she is no master spy nor should any Templar have sought out anyone that would listen in such a way. He will have to pay this woman a visit.

A personal, quiet visit.

"Mm. If you do not mind the snoring, you may stay a night or two with Alistair and myself. She would be hard pressed to get past me. It is fortunate she did not intend to do you ill but- I must say I am surprised she would take such an action. If they do not wish to be heard- do not meet in a building with a hole in the roof. You did well." He turns enough to press a kiss to her temple. "I shall sort out the rest."

She's not sure how to feel when Zevran doesn't yell at her, doesn't even scold her, or say anything negative to her. She looks unsure at his reaction, like she expects more after he's done speaking. She messed up. She admitted to messing up. When is he going to berate her? When is he going to tell her that he's disappointed?

It takes her longer than it should to actually answer the question, waiting for the reprimand to come. But all he says is that she did well. On top of the way he treated her when she admitted her deed with the other agents, she's left feeling like Zevran had started speaking to her in Antivan, instead of Common. Finally, she speaks, quickly answering his question.

"Um--It was that woman, that really scary one--Nerva. But if you talk to her--" What if Nerva just got angry again? What if she grabbed her again? Like Nerva hadn't already been intimidating before. But Zevran's suggestion afterwards soothes her enough to calm down. Zevran and Alistair (they were sleeping together? Really? She had to tell Gavin) were both skilled fighters, in their own ways. No one--Not just Nerva, but anyone would mess with her if she was staying with them.

"If it's alright with Alistair, that sounds...nice. I don't mind snoring, and I'm pretty quiet." She assures him. It's only belatedly that she really thinks about what sharing a bed with two men might imply. Right next to two men. What if they weren't wearing shirts--stop thinking of Alistair shirtless. Stop it.

Sylaise grant her strength.

"Yeah--um. It sounds good to me."

"I will handle it." He repeats- not at all cross with having to do so. What manner of teacher had she before that something so simple as allowing a mistake would baffle her? For him it would be jarring- but he was raised as a Crow. As best he can tell she has lived no such thing. But he takes this, tucks it carefully away in his memory for future instances.

Mistakes are made- but no one has died from it. No one has come to harm. Fright? Certainly. But not harm. There has been no blood.

"You know where I stay, yes? If not I will lead you to the room later tonight. It is a ways in the back but I've a coal brazier to keep the room warm and blankets enough. Alistair is a bit of a cuddler- but if you elbow him in the ribs he will move."

He reassures her, and this time, she just nods, relaxing against him. She, personally, sees little wrong in the way she was raised, being taught mistakes weighed more heavily than accomplishments--despite how it was yet another source of anxiety for her. Her mother, after all, loved her. She was just trying to make sure Beleth was prepared for the consequences of the world.

But she couldn't help but feel desperately grateful to Zevran anyway.

She nods to most of his instructions, looking a great deal relieved by the idea of not being alone. The only hesitation is when Zevran begins to tell her about Alistair cuddling, and if her face wasn't red before, it's certainly edging on it now.

"Uh. Elbows. Right. I'm, ah. Sure it won't be an issue." And some nodding, just to assure him everything was fine and dandy.

"We will see this made right, Beleth." None are permitted to simply strongarm his little bird and walk away unscathed. This Nerva needs to hear a few kind words with a kinder smile- and Cullen needs to know he ought to mind his supposed templars.

Informing him will be the simpler of the two tasks. He does not yet know how to play against the wayward templar.

"Come. It is a night for dancing, yes? Have you ever danced in the Antivan style?"

She nods again when he assures her it'd be made right. And she believes him. She's yet to see him fail at anything, and he's always so confident, it's hard to do anything but believe him. She shoves her various worries to the side, ignoring them for now.

Dancing was a much better idea.

"I haven't. I don't know many dances outside of Dalish ones. But I'd love to learn." And with a much more relaxed smile, she held her hand out.

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OPEN: this will be a better year

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