faderift | [Open] Hope is that Beautiful Place, between How Things Were

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[Open] Hope is that Beautiful Place, between How Things Were

WHO: Bethany Hawke and You
WHAT: Trying to convalesce - badly. So just like a Hawke, really.
WHEN: Covering the 22nd of Justinian through the first week of Solace, around her absence from the 24th through the 27th of Justinian for Thorns of the Rose..
WHERE: Library, Warden Camp, Skyhold Courtyard
NOTES: Warnings for graphic violence and cheerful optimism.

It should be noted that Bethany Hawke is a horrible patient.

In fact, it should be noted that all Hawkes are terrible patients. None of them liked to stay in bed if they didn't want to, all of them were more than happy to keep pushing through the pain and illness until they were absolutely exhausted. Bethany herself traveled nearly a week out with the Blight in her veins before she succumbed to the illness.

So imagine just how stubborn she was going to be for a silly gaping chest wound along with cracked ribs.

During the first few days after they had defeated Vengeance were quiet - she couldn't make it out of bed after all. After that -- well. If no one was watching her - she'd make herself all the way to the library to do her research, or out in the Courtyard to knit and read, or tell stories to the children with one hand against her side.

To the healers horror, and aggravation, she even managed to escape their kind attentions long enough to disappear for three days to Fereldan, of all places. She was put back into a cot under dire threats, but she was out again the next day, hobbling across the courtyard to see the mabari puppies and take her own Gamlen out for his walks.

It's not until the first week of Solace, however, that the healers throw up their hands and let her go back to the Warden Camp. She's quieter, for whatever reason, but anyone who seeks her out will find her sunshine smiles and sewing something carefully.

Yet the rare few will find her alone in the woods, her hands to her face, tears sliding down her cheeks that first week of Solace. Tears that will be dashed away if she's caught, and hidden.

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Since that final ritual that Bethany participated in, Aleron has been a dedicated visitor. Or well, he's tried to be. Sometimes he's been in while she was actually resting and he couldn't bear to disturb her. Other times she's been out, much to the healers' displeasure. From what he can tell, she's harder to keep still than catching a wave on the shore. He is of the opinion she knows herself best and perhaps her menders are being overly cautious. That and he doesn't wish to intrude and make a pest of himself.

In fact, he's nursing a private notion that she's trying to avoid him after she witnessed a glimpse of his own weakness in the Fade. Maybe visiting isn't such a good idea after all.

Aleron wrestles with himself for a few days about this until Solace comes about. There's been a letter from his mother, and several from his sisters. The one from Ravonild came with a demand that he secure Bethany's signature on a copy of a book and have it sent along. He will do no such thing. What he will do is deliver the bribe that was sent along with it. One of the luxury sheep milk soaps that the family estate produces. Tied up in muslin with a green and gold ribbon.

He approaches the Warden encampment all businesslike. No point in making a nuisance of himself. He'll deliver the soap, pray that it's not offensive in some way (ladies are tricky like that), leave before she orders him away. The more he broods about it on the walk, the worse he feels. At least... until he spots Bethany slipping away in the direction of the woods.

If it's creepy of him to follow her, he will insist he was concerned for her safety. It's not a lie. But he's now exceptionally curious why she'd be going off alone. Only when he realizes that she's weeping, and doing so by herself, does he speak up and announce his presence. "What troubles you?"

Please don't be angry.

Bethany jerked as she heard a voice behind her, surprised, but relief came fast over her face, before she pushed herself up from the rock she was sitting on and without another thought wrapped herself around Aleron and pressed her face to his shoulder while she let out another sob, her voice muffled against the cloth of his shirt.

"Herc ...Hercules is gone. It was his time and - and - I never - he didn't let any of us ... " She falls back into tears once more, "I don't know where Carver is, and Marian hasn't written in over a year and I think - I think ... "

She let out a soft noise of grief, as she asked softly, "Would you please just hold me? Please?"

Out of instinct more than practice, Aleron's arms wrap around Bethany with one hand reaching up to cradle the back of her head while she cries. It's not an entirely unfamiliar sensation for him; his sister Imogen had been a very sensitive child who wept when flowers wilted in the gardens. But comforting a little sister is incredibly different from holding a woman grown who is clearly distressed. Maker, why does her hair smell so lovely?

Hercules isn't a name he's familiar with, but her siblings? Those he is, and he cannot fault her in the slightest for feeling their absence. Perhaps a tiny, bitter part of him wonders if any of his family would grieve his silence in such a fashion but that gets pushed away very quickly. This moment is not about him. It is about Bethany, who time and time again has proven herself kind and gentle, and utterly undeserving of such heartache.

"I will do whatever you need." If she wishes to merely cry herself out, he will be a solid wall to lean on. If she desires to vent her feelings, that too he will support and listen. "I owe you that much, for all you have done for me."

She pressed her face hard against his shoulder, tears leaking from her eyes, as she let out another choked sob. He was so warm, and his hand in her hair felt so good. His arm was firm and strong. She squeezed her face shut tightly, before she turned her head so she could listen to his heartbeat.

"I watched a demon nearly kill the closest two people in the world I have to older brothers -- and I haven't been able to be around them since. Maker, Aleron, I just want to hold tight to them and I'm so scared I'm going to scare them away by clinging. But I ... I ... "

She closed her eyes once more, whispering softly, "I don't want to be afraid of being close to people, just because I might lose them. But I don't want to lose anyone else. It's so ... childish."

The harder Bethany cries, the firmer Aleron holds her. Not too rough, but solid, secure, safe, protected. It'd take the hand of the Maker himself to remove her from his arms. Though hearing her cry squeezes his heart in ways he hadn't thought possible. He's ever been the cold wall of unfeeling, a bulwark against anything thrown at him. Perhaps it's because she's always been so much goodness and light that he cannot fathom anything or anyone causing her this much pain.

But her lament chastises him all the same. Isn't that what he's done over the years? Kept everyone well and away from him so he couldn't be hurt when he lost them, when they shoved him away? The one and only time he dared hope for more, she died. It's been easier with the walls of distance firmly in place. And he has never felt dishonest in doing so. He knows his limits, what little he has to offer anyone. They deserve more. She deserves more. But this time he just can't leave. He's needed. Wanted.

Aleron lays his cheek against the top of Bethany's head just to keep her closer while she cries. "I don't think it's childish at all," he murmurs right into her hair. "It's natural to want to protect yourself from being hurt, to want not to lose someone you care about." He's spent most his life protecting himself by schooling away those feelings. And in his long brooding sessions, he's concluded one thing for certain: it is brutally lonely. He might not be the best source of advice, but the man is trying his best.

She sniffles, gripping the front of his tunic, exhaling and relaxing as his arms don't loosen and his chin rests atop her head. He won't let anything happen to her. I trust him, and that sends a flash of surprise through her. She exhales softly, feeling her body become less rigid with pain.

He feels so good, so warm. He is strong enough to stand to the storm, but she can't ever forget that there is someone in there who is hurting inside. She shifts her arms, so she can squeeze his shoulders. "I know... and I ... know you know better than anyone. I just - I don't want either one of us to look back and say, 'Why didn't I ever?' That is the worse feeling in the world - wishing you could have said something -- anything - to the people you care about. And you stopped yourself, because you were too scared."

She let out a shaky sigh, before she said quietly, "I care about you, Aleron. I really do. Forget all the embarrassing naked bits - well not all about them - but ... I do. I care about you."

What feels like an eternity passes while Aleron processes what he's hearing, though it's hardly more than a silent pause. She cares. About me. Deep down, he already knew. Hoped for it, though in his solitary brooding wrote it off as merely craving any kind of connection. He knows, but hearing it is so novel. So... wonderful. And frightening.

The last time this happened in his life, she died. And Aleron cannot lose Bethany too. He's certain it would end him.

Isn't that what they've been discussing, though? The fear of losing again weighed against the potential for regrets over time and opportunity lost. Of course there are warning bells in his head that he should hold back, stop her from saying more, because he is convinced he has too little to offer. Not just to protect himself, but because it'd be the honorable thing to do. But he can't. It'd hurt her more and Aleron cannot bring himself to entertain anything that would. Moreso, he is having a very selfish moment. He flat doesn't want to. Nothing has felt more right in a long time than that moment where she relaxed into him. He's been alone too long and he wants to cherish this feeling of being wanted and cared for as long as he is permitted to.

"I don't understand why you do. I've not much to speak for," he admits with hesitation. Never doubt his self-worth and honesty rearing their heads. "But, I do care about you. More than I have any right to."

Later if she's angry with him for that admission while she was in a vulnerable state, he'll take all due reprimand for it. It does occur to him that she might regret this whole conversation later when she is less distraught. Regardless, he offers the most sincere reassurance he can, "You won't lose me, Bethany. Not unless you want me to go." He's scared stupid what that means for both of them, but he means every word.

Sooner or later they'll have to have the talk about the Calling - about the twenty years she has left. Or might have left, but she's going to spend that next twenty years finding a way to survive. She's always been a fighter, in this regard, and she's not going to give up now.

She's afraid of losing people too, but she won't go on like this. She can't. She doesn't think it's good for Aleron either. Not to know that someone cares about him, that someone might want him. That someone was her, and even though she was scared to death she was not going to back away from what she said. No more running. No more running from herself, most importantly of all.

Her smile was slow, but it was warm, and bright, and then she stated quietly, "Don't be a moron, Aleron. You're definitely someone worth caring about. Especially a man who can hold a woman when she's crying just because she asked him to."

Her jaw tightened, closing her eyes, before she wrapped her arms around him more tightly and held on. "I don't want you to go. So ... don't go."

Ah her smiles. Aleron might be slow to recognize the signs of female interest, but he's quite adept at noticing other details, great and small. He's seen Bethany's smiles fall like drops of sunshine, warming everything and everyone around her. They even possess a mystical ability to pull almost smiles out of him in turn. Like now, as the corners of his mouth raise just a fraction. "Not just because you asked me to. Maker help me, I've wanted to again since I was helping you with your staff practice."

It's difficult for him to admit such a thing, as it treads into the waters of him acknowledging he has wants and needs beyond the mere execution of duty. But honest has been bred into him and honed as a core of his being. Even if this makes him a bumbling fool making such admissions, he would have them be no other way with each other.

When she clings all the tighter to him, all the fear and hesitation seem worthwhile. He would have her happy rather than grieved, but he cannot help appreciate that it's flung her into his arms. There is a quiet sense of peace and contentment that settles into his bones, that this feels right. Matters of rank or responsibility or even magic do not factor into his thoughts beyond a strange and unfamiliar feeling of happiness. That has long been absent in his life and he welcomes its return.

Greedy to keep her close, to hold on to this soft woman who beats down his walls with kindness and warm smiles, he nuzzles his cheek against her head where he's laid it. Eventually they will have to go back. But not yet. Not yet.

"I'll stay."

Her smile dimpled deep for him, her eyes brightening. She can see the corners of his mouth lifting up, that sweet, almost boyish shyness of his. Yet it was a smile that reached all the way to his eyes. That particular confession, however, brought a flush to her cheeks, and her fingers stopped gripping and instead, swept in a faint caress. Nothing untoward, just ... unstoppable fondness.

Which was all she really had for this man. Unstoppable, all the way through. She tucked her head down against his chest once more. "I like that you want to hold me. I like holding you too - and I ... I have wanted to hold you as long as you have wanted to hold me."

So there, she can admit that too. She can admit that she's felt this - attraction, warmth, caring for quite some time. She sweeps her fingers up and down again, her voice soft, "So ... we've agreed that we care about one another, and we agree we like holding one another. We've agreed we're both going to stay. So ... ah ... "

She wasn't sure if she should be asking if they should court, or go on walks, or ask if she was going to be his beau or. Oh gracious.

"So..."

Impulsive has never been a word used to describe Aleron a day in his life. Everything he's ever done has been the result of long and careful study before taking action. Not even one lick of the antics he was blamed for as a boy had been his idea; he'd been trying to save Ravonild from herself and her impulses.

Yet Bethany is here now, all sweetness with dimples in her cheeks and eyes shining where there had been tears earlier. He can hear himself in his head, talking to Malcolm about the regrets he held that he'd allowed duty to chisel away every moment he could have, should have, spent cherishing his wife. He's done squandering time with someone who deserves his complete attention and devotion. He could not live with himself if he offered her anything less than what he had to give. Aleron was never going to be a man to engage in a casual dalliance and she is too precious and dear for one.

His mind is made up quickly and decisively. One hand reaches up to take hold of hers where it's been on his face, fingers curling around only enough to keep it where she's placed it. "I'd like to seek permission to court you. To whom should I apply?"

This is impulsive for him. Marvel at its rarity. Though he's still terrible about expressing himself and the roiling waves of affection he's been smothering and ignoring for months. Still afraid she might change her mind, he adds a quiet whispered plea, "Please tell me that I may."

"I ... Oh Maker.."

Well, now he's gone and made her speechless. So much that she pulls away to look him in the eyes and yes, he is utterly serious. So serious and so afraid that she would say anything else but 'Oh yes, please.'

Her fingers curled around his cheek - she could feel faint bristles under her fingertips and feel the warmth of his skin. It almost matched the hopeful warmth in his gaze. His hand, around hers, capturing her in place. Her smile softened, as did her eyes, as she whispered, "Of course you may."

A pause while she flushed again, and then leaned in to kiss his cheek quickly then away again. She wouldn't dare anything more, but a hint of mischief touched her gaze, "You would have to speak to the Champion of Kirkwall first -- but since not even the Inquisition can find her now ... a letter to Carver, I think, and - yes. Nathaniel and Aveline should do nicely for application."

Dimples flashed, "And to whom should I be applying?"

Despite hoping against all hope that she'd agree to a courtship, Aleron has so little belief in his own prospects, that he's surprised when he hears Bethany agree. He stands there mute, gawking at Bethany and admiring her bright eyes while he allows her agreement to sink in. Finally realization reaches him and his expression morphs from hopeful and afraid to relief coupled with a genuine and pleased smile.

Just as that happiness registers for him, Bethany is kissing his cheek. That pleasant gesture leaves his cheek tingling and his neck burning hot for the unexpected thrill it provides. He is quite and intensely aware of feeling the absence of her body snuggled up against his which fuels further blushing to rise. She's only just agreed to let him court her, craving more intimate touching is inappropriate yet the desire lingers.

"Aveline and Nathaniel and a letter to your brother. I will do it immediately." That seems almost too easy to him. Although if she'd demanded he follow through on finding the Champion to get permission he would have headed out today to begin the search. For that matter, if she wanted him to march back into the Fade and right up to the gates of the Black City to receive blessing from the Maker himself, he would do it. For the good or ill it implies, Aleron is the sort to devote himself to a task laid out before him without wavering.

Her question he takes just as seriously, giving it all the careful consideration it is due. "Ravonild must be consulted as she remains the head of the household. And my mother." An argument could be made he's a grown man, once married already, and seeking either of their permission to court is silly but he's determined to do everything properly. "Lady Pentaghast is the senior Seeker, therefore she is the Lady Seeker until the next Divine can appoint whom she chooses from our ranks."

Maker, what in the world is he even doing? Suggesting Bethany go petitioning the Right Hand of the Divine for courtship permissions? Aleron pauses, shakes his head, then turns over Bethany's hand to place a chaste kiss on the top. "You need not do that. I will attend to them as well."

Honestly, could he be any more adorable and charming? She really didn't think so. Not with that astonished and brilliant smile, all in one. She would definitely have to put in the work to get him to smile like that more often, and believe that she did care, she did want him, and she was also here to stay.

She dimples again, before she nods her head. "I'll give you Carver's latest address, and ... well I will leave you to find Nathaniel and Aveline on your own." Oh, she can't wait to hear about that conversation. Her smile softened at the serious look on his face, and then him trying to take over all the 'asking permission' duties.

Probably didn't help her protest that she flushed red at that chaste kiss, before she cleared her throat, "You'll do no such thing. I'll write to your mother, and your sister." She paused for a moment, thinking about Cassandra, "... The Lady Seeker I might wait on for a week or two. Soften her up with pastries."

She stepped up closer to him, looking up at him shyly. "So, you know, we're in this together. Courting and all."

Purrelden's apparently in the mood to explore the woods today. Anders isn't protesting, because it gets him out of the healing tents and out of the empty tent that he normally shares with Nate. Most of this trip isn't surprising. A bird startles the cat, she takes some time to stalk and catch several ants, and he has to pull her off a few trees that she seems interested in climbing altogether too high.

What does surprise him is coming upon Bethany out here, hands pressed to her face, and Anders stops still. At a loss for words, he can just stand there as Purrelden springs forward and meows inquisitively at Bethany. The tears are probably his fault, considering matters of late. Considering matters of his life, really.

Bethany's sobbing stops abruptly, as she lets out a surprised, "Oh!" as Purreldan springs towards her, bumping into her knees, "What are you doing out here?"

Wiping the tears from her eyes, trying to choke down the sobs, she leans down to pick the cat up, "We should ... we should get you home. Anders must be half mad with fright."

"Anders isn't worried about her, actually." His voice is quiet as he watches Purrelden nuzzle Bethany's arms when scooped up. "I..."

What does he even say? Sorry for getting her and so many others beaten up? Sorry that things went wrong as usual? He is. But he's not certain saying the words would even do anything.

"I can leave her to comfort you for a time, if that helps. I realize I might not be someone you want to see right about now."

Bethany jerked again with surprise, before she relaxed when she realized who it was. She gave him a slightly watery smile, as she curled Purreldan up into her arms. A smile that turned into a look of confusion.

"Why ... why wouldn't I want to see you right now?" She sniffed, then her brown eyes narrowed suspiciously, "Did you hurt Nathaniel's feelings?"

"No, I was only the cause of his body being broken in multiple places." He leans against a nearby tree, gaze more on the cat than Bethany. "I got you injured as well, and multiple others. I'm not usually the most... popular person around, but right now there's even more people upset with me. At least you've cause."

She sniffed again, before she exhaled slowly. "Do you think I'm crying about what happened to Nathaniel? Because you think I blame you? Don't be a tit, Anders. I know precisely who is to blame for that, and it certainly is not you."

"I thought... I... I mean, no, I didn't think that was the heart of it. I didn't think I'd helped matters, though. Because I didn't help matters. I think you're hurting over a few things and I wasn't sure if I was welcome or not." Anders glances away. "It seemed safer to ask than assume."

"Get over here and hug me, you ridiculous man." Is Bethany's firm response, even as her eyes tear up again. "I'm crying because I nearly lost you, and Nathaniel, and I've been scared to come and talk to you after we ... we lost Herc."

She chokes a little, "I've lost so much family, Anders."

Family. It's been said to him before, that he's got the chance to choose his family now and he doesn't have to be lacking in any anymore, but to be called it... Anders doesn't hesitate. He moves to her side and hugs her tight.

"I... I'm here. For as long as you want me, and for as long as you want to call me family, Bethany." His father had gotten rid of him as soon as possible. Sometimes family didn't want you. But Bethany did, and he appreciated it more than he had words for.

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[Open] Hope is that Beautiful Place, between How Things Were

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