faderift | [OPEN] Long Was His Silence

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[OPEN] Long Was His Silence

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.

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As fond as Gwenaëlle is of her cousin - as she was often encouraged to continue to view him, after Mirielle's untimely death - they haven't spent so much time together since her arrival in Skyhold. Perfectly naturally, she thinks; he has responsibilities, while she finds her own ways to fill time, and they've not exactly been what she'd describe as close. Before Skyhold, she didn't so much write to him as occasionally Emeric would mention her in passing, or pass on some observation she'd made; she was pleased to see him, but has not, by and large, felt compelled to seek him out with any frequency. Satisfactory to know that he is there to be called upon, if need be, and to voice her support of him whenever it seems useful to do so -

However, he is not the only person receiving letters from his mother, and she can't fob the woman off indefinitely. Or at least not without information and incentive, at any rate, since she's been hearing things about where Aleron spends his time and with who.

"Favourite cousin," by way of outrageously exaggerated greeting (or possibly not; she's no first cousins, but any number of extended relatives she has even less interest in), "what will you give me not to toss you to your mother's painted wolves?"

She leans against the gates by the stable, smiling, untrustworthy but delightfully fond. It isn't as if she doesn't sympathise with his avoidance; her own is starting to become mythic. She strongly suspects there will be rumors before long that she acquired her anchor-shard on purpose in the very hope that her father would do as he's done and give her a reprieve from the parade of prospective suitors.

Those who might be noting such things from the Warden Camp will see Bethany humming every day right about the time that Aleron rides up. Anyone with sharp eyes will see that she's actually braiding up her hair. She'll walk out to meet him, and when she returns she'll have the wildflowers or book in hand, smiling still.

That particular day though, she's not heading out empty-handed. She's got her satchel, and the smells coming from it are baked, and she's been working very devoutly on her knitting the past few evenings. She walks out to meet him, Gamlen barking at her heels, her eyes bright and her dimpled smile just for him.

"Well hello there, Aleron. Fancy seeing you." As if she did not see him now every day. She still fancied it though.

Aleron is not the only one who is steady in his prayers - every morning James is there to speak a few silent words to the Maker and Andraste, and every evening he lights candles and meditates. Usually their interactions are simply that, he nods. Aleron nods. They go on their separate ways.

Except now Aleron looks ... pleased about something and if a Seeker looks pleased it's usually not a good thing. James finds himself casting a suspicious look over to the other man, his gaze narrowed.

Finally, he just can't take it.

"Maker's Breath, what? What has Cade done now? You needn't look so damned smug!"

Josephine is walking through the library on the way back from meeting with someone else, minding her own business, when she spots Aleron seated at the table, face resting in an expression of anxious apprehension.

Deciding to see if she can help in any way, Josephine makes her way over with a small smile on her face. "You look to be troubled."

Absorbed as he is in the care of his horse, Aleron still is alert enough to know when Gwen arrives at the stables. Valiente can wait, even though the horse has other ideas and hoofs at the ground in demand for the oats he sees in hand. Feisty fellow, unlike his rider.

Torn between family, and one strong-willed horse, the Seeker makes hasty work of providing his mount the oats. He's banking on a little more forgiveness from Gwen than he's like to get from Valiente. That accomplished, he turns to give his little cousin his full and undivided attention.

"What about Mother? What wolves?" She hadn't said anything about problems with wolves when last she'd written. Though she had included yet another strongly worded demand that he select a bride from the list she sent him. Shame that list went in the fire. He's not being willfully obtuse about Gwen's question, just he doesn't quite understand. "I'll be happy to get you anything you like. You know that."

Yes, he still thinks of her as a little girl who needs spoiling and doting on.

He swings down out of the saddle and gives Valiente a pat on the neck. The horse is less impressed with small wiggly dogs than Aleron is. The Seeker quite likes them. The horse stamps at the ground, earning himself a stern hiss, "Don't be a grump, Valiente." Ah the irony.

Both feet on the ground, and cranky horse reined in, Aleron is sporting the faint traces of a boyish smile. He's been here every day at the same time and he still worries that Bethany will be too busy to see him. Or no longer interested. Decades of feeling unwanted has done a hell of a job on the man's sense of self-worth and even now he has hesitant doubts that this will come tumbling down around him. Her smile and greeting put those fears out of mind forgotten.

"Good morning." It's still morning for a few more minutes. Like an awkward teen drunk on the rush a first crush, he holds out the wildflowers for the taking. "For you, my lady."

The scents coming from her satchel are distracting and of a delicious variety. "What smells so good?"

Fortunately for Aleron, the Guard Captain of Kirkwall isn't difficult to find. As it turns out, they both happen to be make use of the training yard around the same time most days. He almost never initiates a social discussion with anyone there, leaving them to the business for which they are present. Perhaps a polite nod in passing, but otherwise, not much else.

Today is different. A task has been set before him and he won't let it rest until he's accomplished it. The man isn't afraid. He's also not convinced he will meet with approval. And why would he? His sense of self-worth is nothing to begin with. Not to mention he continues to struggle with the impression that Bethany deserves more than he can give.

Nonetheless, he turns up at the training ring not in his usual gear but his Seeker's armor. It's been polished to a shine. He holds himself as formal and stiff as always. Better to make as favorable an impression as he might before feeding himself to the lions. He approaches Aveline, mindful to stay a polite distance away.

"Ser Vallen. Might I trouble you for a moment of your time?"

What he knows of her is from Tale of the Champion. He expects this formidable woman to school him sooner or later. But Bethany is worth it.

In the dim lighting of the chapel, Aleron blinks. Devotions are seldom interrupted with outright conversation. Some speak the Chant, others sing it. But outside of that, silence typically holds fast in this place.

"Cade? What about him?" Does he look smug? It's quite unlikely since the Seeker is the wall of stoicism out of the three in Skyhold. Of course, he has been just a little more relaxed lately. No, that's not quite right. He has been a little less stiff and cold. Which could well be seen as smug, he supposes. Not that he's much cared before how he was viewed. And frankly, he's accustomed to Templars not liking him, regardless of what his mood might be.

Shuffling the letters trying to work up the fortitude to read them is taxing work. It's not, in truth, but the dread anticipation certainly makes it feel so. Therefore, Josephine's interruption of the task at hand is both welcome and a relief. So much so, it almost registers on Aleron's face.

He rises to his feet and bows politely. "Lady Montilyet. It's a pleasure to see you." His eye falls on the stack of letters and he repeats himself, "Truly a pleasure. You've saved me from these."

The full collection isn't difficult to place if one is at all familiar with heraldry. Four are sealed with a ram's head on green. One is sealed with a falcon on blue. Those are the only ones unread. All the others with smattering of houses represented across southern Thedas have all had seals broken. Odd that it's the letters from his family that are causing the distress.

It's not hard to miss the Seeker coming by the Warden camp fairly often. Anders normally just watches him come and go, keenly frowning when the guy winds up in Bethany's company, but this time he has flowers.

"Pick them yourself?" A Seeker and a mage. If this is what it looks like, Anders isn't sure how much faith he has in Bethany's judgement.

To be honest, Aleron's not surprised to be approached by someone else present in the Warden's camp. It makes excellent sense that they would be watching visitors and attending to the welfare of their own. The Seekers would have been no different in the years past. He's honestly relieved at being questioned, knowing it to be a sign they are watching out for Bethany.

There's a crisp and polite nod in reply. "I did. This morning." Not as if there are a great many florists doing business in the stronghold and it feels like cheating not to do the gathering himself. Especially when the mountains all around are dotted with summer blooms.

Now it occurs to him, perhaps he's brought the wrong ones. Shot in the dark but he feels compelled to ask, "Do you know Bethany's favorite?"

Well that's rather clear then, isn't it. His expression is serious as he gestures near the log next to his.

"We can discuss her favorite after a little talking, if you've time." It's more statement than question. Anders is assuming he has the right to question the guy due to how long he's known Bethany and since Marian's not here. He knows next to nothing about this man.

"I can cast ice on them to preserve them for longer. But I'd like to have a conversation with you regarding seeing her." A beat. "I'm Anders, in case you weren't aware of that yet." Blond mage in Warden colors with a cat nearby might make it obvious, but the cat is currently stalking through the grass seemingly trying to be a shadow.

Seat on a log is fine with the Seeker. His Orlesian mama would be affronted, but he's spent so much of his life living secluded and in shadows, he's not a bit fussed. He does, however, seat himself with rigid posture, and a stiff bearing. The man barely knows how to relax enough to sleep.

The name is familiar to Aleron. There's not so much as a flicker of recognition in response though. Cassandra has not seen fit to intervene or otherwise take action, and has permitted the series of rituals to purge him of possession. If she has no issue, he sees no need to raise a stink, even if he remains remotely concerned given the past. Moreso with the present, where two people he counts as friends came dangerously close to losing their lives. The other factor at play? "Nathaniel has spoken well of you and Bethany says you are like a brother to her."

One corner of his mouth twitches up, the faintest hint of an amused smile. Almost. "I have three sisters myself. Ask whatever questions you like. I would do much the same."

A letter dangles loose from her fingertips and she tilts it toward him, her smile lopsided and fond - he and her father both, always seeing her as smaller and softer than she thinks she is, but she finds it more charming from her cousin. (And quite possibly useful, if there's ever anything she needs - but it's best to be sparing with that sort of thing. Ask less so that when it's needful you can ask more, and get it because you're careful, because you're good, because you aren't always asking for silly little things.)

"If you haven't a care," she says, lightly, "she's going to ignore you entirely, pick one, and announce an engagement, and then you'll be in trouble." A tilt of her head - "With the Wardens, if certain rumors are to be believed."

This is an unsubtle prompt for information, judging by her expectant expression.

Josephine, of course, being who she is, had identified the root of Aleron's troubles before she'd even bothered to make her way over. "Bad news from your family?" she asks, before tilting her head to the side and appearing to mull over the matter, even though truthfully, it hadn't required that much consideration at all.

"Or is it news of a more mundane nature?" she continues, her smile curving upwards at the side. She may tease, but she also wants to help, if she can.

It's not uncommon for Aveline to speak with other soldiers, spar or train with them if pressed for it. The man who approaches her is familiar by sight only, not by name -- having never spoken with him before. He's well put together, and a Seeker... her first thought is that perhaps she is being sent for.

Possibly for any matter of reason, not all of them good.

But instead of jumping to that conclusion, she turns her attention away from the dummy she'd been using to give him a small nod.

"Yes, you may. What can I do for you?"

In response, Gamlen barked at Valiente, following up with a growl. A growl that was put aside with a happy yip as Bethany reached into the bag and tossed down a piece of bacon for him. Then she looked over at Aleron, catching the corners of that boyish smile.

Just look at that. That's for me. She felt warmth flooding out of her, her brown eyes soft as she moved towards him and the horse.

"Good morning to you." She looked at the wildflowers, breathed out a quick 'Oh!' before she took them in both of her hands and breathed them in. "Oh, Aleron, they're beautiful. Thank you." As she had taken the habit of doing, she plucked one out and put it in her hair. As his glance moved to the satchel, so did hers, and she beamed.

"One delightful gift deserves another." She reached into her bag and pulled out a cloth wrapped bundle, handing it over, "Fruit tarts - had to do a fair bit of bartering to get them and... I wasn't quite sure which kind you liked best? So I made them all."

She bit her bottom lip, "Too much?"

All right, and now James is just going to stare at him for a long moment, before his eyes narrow just enough for him to be suspicious. "... I. Nothing. Nothing about Cade. If he hasn't done anything, that is. You just -- look very happy."

Still squinting, "In my experience Seekers only smile when they've caught someone out at something."

He relaxes minutely as the man sits and speaks. It's a far better start than he'd honestly expected. Purrelden starts scooting forward to sniff at... Aleron's boots? He's passingly familiar with the man's face, though he's not certain he's putting the right name to it.

"She's the closest thing I have to a sister, which means I'm definitely interested in knowing anyone who is bringing her flowers." Later he'll have to ask Nate about this guy too. "I'll start with the obvious opener, shall I? You're a Seeker. Your organization has been interested in keeping mages following Chantry rules, which includes no romance, no relationships. How do you reconcile that with this?"

"My organization also declared an annulment of the Nevarran Accord and has lead rebel Templars in a crusade to exterminate every mage in southern Thedas as an apostate." And yet here Aleron sits, outside the stronghold of the Inquisition, on a log, holding a civil conversation with a man who could be considered the most notorious apostate in history. There's no snark in his reply, nor anger. Just a calm iteration of facts.

Aleron looks down at the cat sniffing at his feet and remains completely still, allowing the creature to continue its investigation without disruption. He might not have had a pet since he was sent away from his family as a boy, but he still remembers that cats are by nature skittish creatures and it would be cruel to startle it.

"You are, however, not in full possession of the facts. The Seekers are enforcers. We serve the Divine and act to root out and remove corruption within the Chantry. Mage, Templar, and Cleric alike. We've no vested interest in enforcing Chantry law on one group over another. In breaking from the Chantry and in full disregard for the leadership of Divine Justinia, I am fully convinced the Lord Seeker has made a grave and blasphemous error, one which incalculable innocents have, and will, suffer for." The more he talks, the more clearly it shows that the Seeker feels quite passionately about this. His tone is as calm and even as ever, but there is a fire in his eyes and a set in his jaw that gives him away. It is his scholastic nature manifesting itself. The same commitment and dedication to faith and duty that singled him out for the Seekers decades ago as a young boy.

And he's not the least bit apologetic for his passion, well-contained as it is. "I have seen with my own eyes Divine Justinia's final edict. It established the Inquisition reborn to put an end to the chaos and the strife. It likewise dictated her beliefs on the subject of the value of mages, and I rightly share her opinion. Mages are the Maker's children much as any other soul in Thedas, and they are to be cherished as such, not merely taken off the shelf whenever it is convenient, then back into the cupboard when they are no longer needed."

Legally, he could argue that as a Grey Warden, Chantry law does not apply to Bethany and as such there is no conflict to be had. But that's not where he goes with his answer. "I cherish Bethany. Not as a mage or a lady of noble birth. But because she is good and kind and has been better to a wretch of a man far more than I could ever deserve or repay."

Edited 2016-07-07 06:33 (UTC)

"It pertains to Bethany Hawke."

Direct and to the point. Aleron sees no need to hem and haw about the business at hand.

"She has given me your name as near family to her." Blood or not, she sees Aveline as such and he'll accord the woman the respect due for that consideration. That and there's nothing to be served by belaboring that both of Bethany's parents are gone and her elder sister missing, presumed dead. Her family is family, regardless of natural affiliation. "I've come to seek permission to court her."

Of course, his tone is as steady and calm as it ever is. If one is to read his unwavering wall of emotionless as uncaring rather than trained formality, it wouldn't be unmerited. He is far more stoic than one would expect out of a potential suitor.

That letter. He can see from where he stands that the script on the outside alone is familiar. It's his mother's without a doubt. Irritation flits around the edges of his thoughts and he pinches the bridge of his nose, to aid in shoving that down. She's become nearly as terrible as Ravonild. "Maker, why can't she just let it alone?"

It's not even that he has a contrary streak wanting to thwart his mother. The man is more than delighted a woman is willing to tolerate his attentions; Aleron is outright surprised. He shakes his head, trying to make sense of what in the world is even happening here and then he realizes: Gwen knows about Bethany.

He blinks twice, starting blankly at her, while he attempts to make sense of this. Since when has anyone cared about his business, much less paying enough attention to know it before it's been openly discussed? (He underestimates the need for gossip.)

"I assure you, nothing untoward has happened with Lady Hawke. I've sought permission to court her." The letter is eyed suspiciously. "Dare I ask what my mother is scheming?"

It's no secret his Orlesian mama has decades of thwarted ambitions that she's attempting to shove forward now that she has the opportunity. He's only just beginning to realize how copious they are and that she intends for her favorite to figure highly in them. Sweet Andraste, how he hates politics and intrigues.

"It depends on your view, I suppose." He's still eying the set of letters like they are vipers that will suddenly strike. He lifts the stack, holding them gingerly waiting for the attack. "Do you care to take a wager? I can almost guarantee I know the contents before I open them."

Thus explaining his long standing habit of tossing them in the fire unread.

The first he holds up is the singular letter with the seal of the du Guille family. "This one is from my mother. The first half will be a scathing rebuke that I am a wretched son abandoning her in Orlais to come here. The second half will sternly remind me that I owe a duty to the family and not merely the Maker. When will I stop fighting her attempts to see me happy and finally take a new wife? Have I read the list she sent me of every eligible daughter between the ages of 16 and 36 in Southern Thedas?" Incidentally, Josephine was included in the list, which he would know if he'd given it so much as a glance.

He places the letter down and slides it over to Josephine. It's an invitation for her to check and see if he's right. The man has no secrets whatsoever. It drives his mother and sisters mad with frustration.

If she takes the challenge, she'll find he's correct. Very correct, in anticipating the contents. Though a sharp eye will see that he's not just dreading it, he looks almost miserable trying to figure out how to answer her.

Edited 2016-07-07 08:00 (UTC)

"I suppose that remains to be seen." He's not quite fully convinced he's 'caught' the girl though every indication seems to assure him it is so. Just the snatch of the tough of her warm smiles and soft eyes nudges a sliver more smile out of Aleron.

Poor Templars will end up quaking in their boots at this rate.

He finds he has nothing to hide, no secrets to hold. "I am happy. Very much so." Nevermind that his expression of happiness manifests far more subdued compared to the next fellow. He does find the admission frightening, as it has been a long time since he's experienced such a feeling and it was snatched away so cruelly. "Though I assure you, I've no indication of any wrongdoing that would require my attention at present. You may rest easy on that score."

Every little detail that Aleron can drink in of their visits are a pleasure. Her warm smiles, bright eyes, how lovely she looks each time she tucks a flower in her hair, the brief moment where he knows her fingers brushed his hand taking the flowers. He's aware of all of them, storing them up like little treasures to be admired later again and again.

He's very interested in these fruit tarts and takes the bundle from her with a bob of his head. Certainly it's a lot of baked goods, but he's an active fellow and he won't have the slightest problem polishing them off. If he's feeling generous, he might consider sharing with Malcolm and Cassandra. But probably not. If there is any problem he sees in this, it's that she's gone to so much trouble on his account. "Not at all, I will enjoy each and every one. Anything you've had a hand in making is the kind I like best."

After giving the bundle another look and an appreciative sniff, he has something of an idea. "Are you free to go for a ride? I've had a beautiful woman baking for me and I thought we could make a picnic of it." He'd meant to invite her out for the ride by the river, and packed a light lunch in his saddlebags for the trip back in the afternoon. Turning it into a picnic provides him an opportunity to extend his time with her today. Which he's more than eager to do.

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[OPEN] Long Was His Silence

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Camp Shady Fucker

Chapel

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For Aveline

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Camp Shady Fucker

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