spare me your judgements and spare me your dreams

[tactical_alert]

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...

Comments

Benevenuta

[tactical_alert]

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?"

[ungovernable]

"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."

[tactical_alert]

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."

[ungovernable]

"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."

[tactical_alert]

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.

Vasran

[tactical_alert]

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?"

[unharrowed]

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.

[tactical_alert]

"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?"

[unharrowed]

"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?"

[tactical_alert]

"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."

Aleron

[tactical_alert]

Seekers need to stick together. They are so few now that it some days feels pointless to even identify as one. Three of them now, with all the rest abandoned or unaccounted for? But it makes his connections to Cassandra and Aleron all the stronger.

And he has to swallow down a terrible thought about the kind of things Aleron must have witnessed. There's already been enough tragedy in his life, and the Nightmare could only feed on such a thing.

This time he doesn't start with any words, just has a bowl of thick and meaty stew in each hand, sets one by Al, settles down with his own. Doesn't start to eat yet, merely keeping his hands warm around the bowl, letting out a long breath as his body slowly relaxes.

[lifeofendurance]

To say the Nightmare fed on and exploited the tragedies and failures that have comprised Aleron's life to date? Understated indeed. Even knowing the demon was, in fact, a demon and prone to twisting and warping truth and reality had not been shield enough against the verbal arrows lobbed at the Seeker. Knowing the Fade to only be a representation of one's realities and thoughts didn't prevent pain being laid at his feet, nor stop him from a rather embarrassing pause to gawk at the impossible.

He has since then attempted to push down and away all feelings about the experience, both the anger and dismay, as well as the embarrassment, with only moderate effect. Getting an admission of any of it will prove a monumental task, however, as Aleron remains committed to remaining calm and detached.

When Malcolm shows up with warm stew, however, some of that resolve melts. The gesture is appreciated, which he notes with a dip of his head and a murmured word of thanks. For some minutes, he sits quietly, letting the heat from the bowl soak into his hands and spread up his arm. The silence buys him the time to reflect on the experience, how new friends and old acquaintances stepped in to help when he didn't even know he needed it. How a fellow Seeker is here now. Maybe he's not alone and unwanted after all.

"Thank you, for this. It is appreciated."

Okay so he's still awkward with social things, even if he is starting to thaw a little on the coldness.

[tactical_alert]

Malcolm is certainly thankful, in a way, that only Cade witnessed his interactions with the obvious demon wearing an old friend's dead guise, or that only Kirk bothered to assist him out of the murky water of the Fade, and no one had mentioned anything the Nightmare had whispered to him, perhaps too occupied with everything the Nightmare was also saying to them in turn. And yet the embarrassment was difficult to shake. The quiet despair at his own weaknesses.

He doesn't look up at Aleron's words, at last picking up a spoon to dig in, but there's a small smile on his face nevertheless. He had not overstepped his bounds or made a fool of himself, and the sentiment as it was meant was apparently understood. "Think nothing of it, friend."

And he's sure that they are that, friends.

[lifeofendurance]

Friend.

The word holds so much weight, so much meaning, and yet it somehow lifts Aleron's spirits with that gravity. Bethany's quiet insistence in the Fade that no matter what his past, his present held people who genuinely cared for him... he hears it again in that word. In fact, it prompts him to slightly smile and nod once at Malcolm. A slow thaw, but a thaw nonetheless.

He wants to ask how Malcolm is bearing up against his own experiences in the Fade but isn't quite sure it's acceptable, even between friends. For that matter, he's not entirely certain he wants to share with his family either. His sisters would go out of their minds and Maker only knows what his mother would do. He's not been in a habit of discussing his work with them, secrecy aside, as he's never fully trusted them.

"I owe you a stout bottle of ale, regardless. Or four. I think we need them." That is an admission he's been rattled and he's pretty sure his fellow Seeker has too.

[tactical_alert]

He laughs, tired and strained but honest as he relaxes more in his seat, stirring up his stew and letting the idea hang there while he takes a thoughtful bite. Easier to relax around Aleron than most anyone else. They've been through much as Seekers, have a similar bearing, similar ways they deal with their strains.

Easier, perhaps, to admit weakness. "Or more. We should take some days to be merry and relegate our duties to those more sober." They won't, of course. An evening at the tavern or to themselves with some drink, perhaps, but that would be all. "We would make jolly arses of ourselves. Give everyone a laugh."

Cassandra

[tactical_alert]

He's not avoiding anyone per se. It's just that, in the wake of the Fade, he Nightmare, he's found it prudent to try and gather himself back together in what little solitude he can muster. Not much, in the Approach (unless he wanted to wander into the desert alone), but more, thankfully, back at Skyhold. It's difficult to put into words how he'd been shaken down to his roots, the emotional drain more than he'd care to admit.

But of course he is, as he always is, fine, and he must go about his business. They all must. They must carry on. He's always been very, very good at carrying on, a proud Reed trait.

And surely Cassandra also is carrying on. Just fine. Surely she is every bit as fine as he is. Which is to say...fine. Still, his look carries the tenseness of worry, shoulders stiff from carrying invisible weight. "Lady Seeker." The (not quite true) title gives more of that concern away, his informalities forgotten when he is tight.

It's hard as well to figure out just what to say. He isn't here on official business, but to express simple concern seems...well, she isn't sick, so that isn't an excuse now, and she hasn't exactly done anything particularly unusual. But to simply ask if she is all right? That opens up a door wherein she might ask him the same, and then it may be a game of awkward lies to placate one another.

Thank the Maker for privacy.

"Perhaps we could sit and talk for a time, if you are not too busy for it." Sure. That doesn't sound awkward and weirdly social of him or anything.

[stabsbooks]

"That is not my title, Malcolm."

She may never get him to stop saying it, but she still feels the need to remind him, occasionally. There is no Lord or Lady Seeker, not anymore, and if there were it would hardly be Cassandra.

She takes a moment to study him, one eyebrow raising at the request. Talk? He never comes just to talk. Of course, it's not hard to guess the real reason for his visit. Their time in the Fade had been...trying, but when are their lives not?

Her first impulse is to refuse him. She has no shortage of work to do, as they both well know. But she notes the tension in his shoulders, in his face, and her own expression softens, her answer surprising even her. "...All right."

[tactical_alert]

He bows his head in apology and acknowledgement. One day he will actually learn. Maybe. Sometimes the slip is deliberate and other times he's too distracted to make it deliberate.

"I'll try not to take up too much of your time," he says, which should mean getting to the point. There's a moment when he considers being seated, but his anxieties keep him from wanting to sit. To stand is fine. He is not one to pace, but he would be doing so if he were.

He can't start with 'how are you, are you well, does everything you saw in the Fade make you want to crawl into a hole and never see the sun again'. But he can start with: "The Fade researchers must have plenty of work on their hands now, to try and figure out how a rift being so deliberately opened could react in such a way. I pray it never will, but should an issue like the Nightmare arise again, we may have to consider another strategy or another method of drawing it out. That it was defeated on its own ground is nothing short of a blessing."

There. That sounds at least slightly more businesslike, even if it's nothing Cassandra hasn't already considered. ...Damn. That must sound patronizing, then, or perhaps childish? Damn damn damn.

[stabsbooks]

Of course he brings the Fade immediately, and Cassandra stiffens instinctively. But Malcolm is all business, almost...overly so. He sounds like he's delivering a report, or contributing to an ongoing discussion of strategy...except, of course, that he had been assigned no report, and offering unsolicited suggestions on strategy is hardly his place. Her eyes narrow, and she frowns. What is this? Mere social awkwardness? Or does he truly think that nothing he's saying had already occurred to her?

"I have no doubt that the Maker was on our side, but the strength of our soldiers and the others involved was doubtless just as important," she says shortly. "Is that all?"

[tactical_alert]

His stance only gets more rigid at the casual dismissal. Of course, he's being...ridiculous and roundabout. And she seems...fine. Of course she seems fine. Of course Lady Cassandra Pentaghast would be fine fighting nightmares in the Fade. "No, ma'am," he says crisply, because damn it all, he might as well get on with it.

Give him a moment to gather his words back up. "After...all that happened in the Fade, I...had thought it might be prudent to...check in with you." No, that's not quite the right phrase. "Check up on you, in fact." That's not weird or overly familiar, is it? Oh Maker, it is, isn't it?

Building Projects!

[onlyhymns]

Cade can barely believe any of them survived, let alone walked out of the Fade, but here they are, back at Skyhold. His inclination is, as always, to keep to himself and stay out of trouble, but on one particular morning he can't help noticing the Seeker's presence at the current construction effort up in the Keep.
He spends hours waffling, second-guessing himself, debating on whether his company would be welcome at all, but then he remembers a certain decision he's made and decides to take the leap.

"Seeker," Cade says quietly, approaching him and giving a proper military bow despite wearing the clothes of a laborer. He's not going to be the first to mention it, but they both know what they saw, what they heard back there in the Fade.

[tactical_alert]

Doing honest labour feels good. It's productive, makes him one of the guys rather than some lofty figure with a fancy nonsense title, and it gets some of the energy pent up out. Keeps him occupied. He doesn't have to consider anything terrible, or if he does, he can do so in a state where he keeps too busy to mope or do something stupid.

Properly addressed, he turns from the board he's been hammering and nearly swallows the nails tucked between his lips. Cade is not someone he had expected to see, and yet now it is twice they've run into each other lately. This time is, however, very deliberate on Cade's part. The man actually approached and spoke to him with nothing on the line to egg him on. Malcolm isn't sure if that's truly an improvement, honestly.

He plucks the nails from his mouth between fingers, gives him a nod. (Casually looks for any handler around Cade, just for a brief moment.) "Ser Harimann. Come to put yourself to work?" No need to bring up anything...awkward.

[onlyhymns]

Don't worry Malcolm, Cade is more afraid of you than you are of him. It's a general rule!
Based on the state of his clothes and the dirt smudged on his hands, it's fairly clear Cade has been putting himself to work since this morning, but he just nods for the sake of small talk. He is, of course, immediately regretting initiating a conversation, and wonders when his self-destruction turned from considering throwing himself off the battlements to the much more subtle but equally effective practice of approaching Seekers who would be happy to push him.
"I..." he begins, and nearly backs off then and there, but he has to try. "...I wanted to... make sure you're all right, ser."

[tactical_alert]

"You..." His face pinches in confusion. Perhaps...this is not unlike when he went to make sure Cassandra was all right. Perhaps this is how she felt. But of all people to ask after him, he didn't expect it to be Cade. "...want to know if I'm all right?"

He is a man that had called for Cade's execution once. This throws him for a loop. "Well." And now the hard part: how honest to be? "I appreciate the concern." So far so good. "I would like to say that I'm all right. Still fit for duty, to be sure, fit for a fight. But all right? I think I'm still figuring that one out." ...That's perhaps more honest than he normally might have been about it, to admit even that much uncertainty about it, but while the man is (was?) dangerous, he is exceedingly earnest.

[onlyhymns]

As one might guess, Cade is not especially apt at reading people. He isn't sure whether to take the Seeker's response as mockery, disgust, or something else entirely, but regardless of the fact he's still a superior and Cade is going to let it happen.
He's actually quite surprised by Reed's candor, and this shows in a slight widening of his eyes. He's offered more than a quick dismissal, which is... more than he can generally expect. "...my.. wish is for your swift recovery, then," he says, his voice awkward but sincere. He looks about to turn away, but pauses, unable to go without saying what he came for.
"...you have good reason for all you do," he says, now keeping his eyes fully diverted to the ground, "I have never doubted it, and never will."