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

[tactical_alert]

They can be logical about the situation even if it does little to ease the gnawing essence of guilt. "No." It comes out a little quicker, a little sharper than he intends, and he eases himself back down. "No, she does not. Have you ever attempted to have a conversation with her about how anyone might feel about a situation?" He hangs the rhetorical question in the air for a moment, then gestures between the two of them. "She's worse than we are, truly. Even if I were to go up to her and say, 'Lady Cassandra, I'm afraid I've been tempted by a demon who, in the end, I chose to turn away from', what would that accomplish?"

Perhaps he'd get a slight reprimand, a warning to be more cautious. He doesn't know what kind of demons Cassandra faced in the Fade, how they may have impacted her or if she simply shrugged them off. Doesn't see how. Even knowing the demon for what it is, it still felt...good to look upon the man's face again, to lay a hand upon his chest as if he were real. Still knowing Despair was using that voice to lash out.

Malcolm sinks into his seat but his body language is still tight and tense. "We were lucky and strong both. We should remember that." Maybe time will make the pain fade. That's always the hope. "I felt very small." A quiet, mild confession. "Perhaps, in a realm between mortals and Maker, that is how it ought to be."

[lifeofendurance]

The tension they're both carrying is so obvious in the way they're holding themselves, that an outsider could easily misconstrue their very honest conversation as far more irate than it is. Aleron's still stiff and though he sits up and folds his hands with his elbows propped on the table, (his mother would be scandalized!) it's obvious he is far from comfortable.

"I did too," he admits with a slow nod. "At one point, I almost considered it might not be so bad to stay. I wasn't thinking at all about the demons. Just everywhere I looked, I could see the Black City in the distance. To be so close to the Seat of the Maker. It was humbling."

That humility that he was so small compared to everything around him, plus Bethany's insistent hand pulling him along and away, is what stopped him from entertaining such a mad notion. Well and a self-reminder that the last time man stepped foot in the Fade, Blights were unleashed on Thedas. Who knew what could yet come from their trip where they did not belong?

[tactical_alert]

"We walked in the Herald's steps. No one should ever do as we have done, nor in such great number. We're playing with theories we don't understand and magicks wielded by those who understand even less." Not just the Rifters, but most of the shardbearers. "We tried to bring out a demonic being, and instead we all got brought into the Fade. We ought to be more careful."

He huffs, annoyed, welcoming the annoyance, and moves himself closer to Aleron for the sake of comfort, a feeling of more privacy even though they have some now already. "And it wasn't just our little personal demons encouraging us along the way. The Nightmare, it said things. Things meant to dig under your skin. I would like to say it didn't succeed, but with the length of the battle, and those little...fears it had under its control, those that appeared in different form to everyone, I'm afraid I was weakened. Everything in the Nightmare's realm was made to cause us to falter and fail. It is a miracle we all got out."