faderift | For all of the light that I snuffed out [OPEN]

WHO: Raylan Gibbs and idk some dude (you, it's you)
WHAT: catch-all and open stuff
WHEN: The rest of Kingsway, a bit of Harvestmere
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Will probably contain discussions of this plot

drop of rum on my tongue; tavern
For a few days after returning from Fromage, Raylan could be found in the Herald's Rest in the evenings, instead of the dungeon. He knew he ought to get back to work, he knew he ought to get his shit together, but every time he sat down with a book, he just saw that small body again. It didn't help that he wasn't sleeping much.

So he climbed the stairs and found a table tucked into a corner where he wouldn't be spotted or bothered by most, a glass and cheap bottle on the table in front of him. It was quieter than the downstairs too, letting him drink in peace.

the blood on my hands scares me to death; night
When he did resume the research, Raylan was finding that he was hitting a wall: the veil was not well-studied, and he was coming to the point where he'd read everything on it that was available to him. So he took to taking walks at night, to clear his head. It was interesting to see Skyhold mostly quiet and still, although there was always some activity. By the time the last people were staggering to bed from the Herald's Rest, the bakers were already up and the kitchen was bustling. Raylan could be found on the ramparts, bundled against the cold, or wandering the courtyard. He even did some whittling if the mood struck him.

i'll be a better man today; teaching
Raylan had expected to want to avoid children for awhile, but his students turned out to be a comfort. That poor boy had suffered, but here were ten more like him, as bubbly and rambunctious as ever. One bright day he had them in the garden, studying the various healing herbs and writing short little reports on them. One by one or in twos and threes, they would run up to him, hand him a piece of parchment, and then he'd dismiss them to run off to whatever they did when not in lessons. Raylan was frankly a little grateful that he only had to worry about them for a few hours every day.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

By the time she reaches him, her leg is cramping, still pulling tight but she's made it. Of course she'd find something that manages to hurt worse than getting shot, that sounds just like her. Perhaps back home her mother has finally found a grey hair while she sits at her dresser putting on her face, but that's not a happy thought for this hour so she tucks it away.

"Do you know if they're scouts, soldiers, or neither? Because I might know if it's either of the first two." Glancing over, she might recognise one of them perhaps but after everything she's still a little wary of her own memory in places as she looks up at Raylan with a hint of a smile. "I usually gamble with most of them in the tavern. They're a gossipy bunch."

Raylan tilted his head, thinking about it. "Don't know for sure..." he mused, squinting. "Look like scouts to me, though." There was a quality to their movements that suggested fight experience, but they didn't look like templars or soldiers. "What are you thinkin'?" he asked. "Arguing over tactics, or somethin' a little more fun?" He gave her a sly, sideways smile, hoping to coax more of one out of her.

"This hour? If it's tactics I'll eat this dead bear." Asher would approve, don't worry. Or she thinks, Korrin would probably know but Korrin likely needs breathing space from Araceli too. "One might've lost money to the other since that seems to be one of the principal pastime of scouts," she murmurs, rising up on her good leg to peer at them a little better because normally she would know.

And she tuts, pouting sullenly when she sinks back down and looks at him. "I hate being out of the loop. One of them might've requested Sera Was Never seventeen times in a row, but then someone might be over the battlements by now. Unless we're about to have a show."

(The Herald's Rest is the Salt and Pepper diner.)

Raylan chuckled. "I'm never in the loop," he said amicably. "Don't much care to be. Can't hardly keep track when I try. I was hopin' for some kinda lovers' spat, though," he admitted. "Those are fun." And also just tended to be where his mind went, but he wasn't inclined to point that out.

"No? Ah, you should come! I haven't been in so long now, the healers 'oh Miss Bonaventura you cannot, you must rest' as if sitting and playing cards and drinking is so very tiring, but it's fun. We laugh, we joke, you learn something new. I've been teaching so many of the games from home." If she could bounce, she would bounce. But since one leg is barely holding her up she'd just fall over and look pathetic, and she has no desire to do so.

Those last three words? Well they get a little laugh out of her and a knowing sort of smile. "It could be too, all that time alone together? All the tension? I've been the cause of plenty before I ever came here. Just with more duels."

Raylan chuckled, sitting back and propped on his hands. "So where's home?" he asked, looking away from the spat and to his new companion. She worded it like she was a rifter, but she looked and sounded like any Antivan or Rivaini he'd ever met. There had been one or two of those in the circle, and he'd met a few more since the rebellion.

"Castileos. Which is somewhere. A long, long, long way away." Through a rift, possibly right through the ocean though now that she knows people physically went into the Fade, she can't be quite sure just how far away home would be. The thought of asking is impossible since no one would know, and the answer is upsetting to think about. "On some missions I say I'm Antivan, since my language is so close to it that I can pass, but with a dash of Rivaini for good measure." After all, Rivaini loves the sea more than anyone else.

"And you? I...cannot place your accent. I was getting good at that too, at least for a few places, forgive me, it's a habit." She smiles, waving her good hand in apology should it be needed. She's nosy sometimes, likes being able to place details about people and places together better the way she'd normally be able to.

Raylan understood her, and nodded in sympathy. "Must be hard," he said. He had his own complicated feelings on concepts like home, but it seemed like she'd been happy in hers. He couldn't imagine being taken so far away from a place that made him happy, to a place as foreign and unstable as Thedas must seem to a rifter.

"Ferelden," he supplied, with a little smile. "Crestwood, specifically. Little farm town, you probably ain't heard of it." He was a hick, in other words, his accent thicker and rougher and harsher than most.

"It'll be a year next month." Which isn't an answer, not exactly. Sidestepping around it as neatly as she can manage at present which is not nearly so polished as she might like. That's another little thing to consider, or something her mind will probably feed on.

Better to think about other things. Like if she's heard that one before, face screwing up in thought. "I'd say I'd look for it on the map in my quarters, but my memory is still coming and going. Do you miss it? Up here, all this snow everywhere. Mountains. Mountains and mountains and mountains."

(There are better views, she...she talked about that to someone a while back. Near the battlements maybe. It's not quite all there.)

For all of the light that I snuffed out [OPEN]

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