Now I'm gonna reap what I sow

[dreadinquisitor]

WHO: Maxwell Trevean and Gavin Ashara; Gavin Ashara and Pel Ashara
WHAT: Maxwell and Gavin crush awkwardly, Gavin's ex-fiance wanders in. Dun dun duuuun.
WHEN: Forward dated slightly to just before the Mire signups.
WHERE: Battlements
NOTES: All the sadz. Maybe some language? Will updated if needed.

Walking the battlements, Maxwell was on patrol. Watching the dark night sky and the cold, moonlit horizon for rippling wings or marching shadows. In reality the only he'd seen were shining stars and the occasional animal - foxes and rabbits, kiting across the ground.

Humming to himself, a old Marcher battle hymn, he leaned against the stone and chased a familiar constellation with his eyes.

Comments

[slipshot]

Gavin had started making it a habit - making the rounds to check on those he considered 'his people' before finding a tree or a hole to climb on to go and sleep. Maxwell was included in that number, and he tended to leave Maxwell for last. So it was cool and late when he finally stepped up the stairs to the battlements, looking for his friend, and finding him gazing up to the sky. He smiled to himself, softly, before walking over.

"I'm not sure if the invasion will come from that direction," He said by way of announcing his presence. "Thought it would be quite a sight, if it was."

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell's mouth pulled, breath misting gently as he snorted, and his gaze lowered, but he didn't turn. He'd recognize that voice anywhere, and there wasn't anyone he'd trust more at his back.

"What can I say?" he replied, shoulders rolling. "I like to be thorough."

[slipshot]

He strolled up until they were next to eachother, Gavin bumping Maxwell's shoulder with his own in greeting. "You'll be showing us all up to the Commander, next," he teased quietly. "Maxwell Trevean - nothing in all the lands, skies, or seas can get by him."

He leaned out over the battlements, folding his arms as he leaned on his elbows.

"Speaking of thorough - looks like we're heading out to the Fallow Mire. We've already gotten a few reports back."

[dreadinquisitor]

"Well, you did sneak up on me, so--" Maxwell chuckled, bumping him back as Gavin settled in beside him. "Perhaps not."

He glanced over, smile shifting slightly, fingers picking at the palm of his other glove.

"And, it does seem that way, yes. I guess -- you'll be going?"

[slipshot]

"I expect so. I've been getting a little - ah - cabin fever, being here in Skyhold so long." He offered a sheepish smile, turning his head slightly, and noticed Maxwell picking at his glove. Odd.

"You? Staying here to hold down the fort, or are you thinking about coming out to trudge in the mud with us."

Later

[mythalenaste]

Pel found a spot in the stables, near the horses and harts there. Animals are soothing to her. They give you the same amount of regard no matter what drama you're going through. But she can't be immediately visible when crying, or someone will try to talk to her. She doesn't want to explain why she's crying just so she can make someone feel better. That's what it always amounts to.

She cries quietly, more sniffles and hitched gasps than anything.

[slipshot]

He'd lost sight of her, at some point, and it had become less of a chase, and more of a search - getting more and more worried as it was harder and harder to find her. But eventually, he did, passing through the stables and almost missing her completely if it wasn't for the fact that one of the horses had lowered its head to sniff Pel's hair at exactly that moment.

He drew still, swallowing back the abject misery, before carefully, and quietly stepping over to her.

"Pel..."

[mythalenaste]

She flinches at his voice, wonders what he thinks he can do by coming here, and instinctively sucks in her breath and opens her eyes wide, ignoring the tears still standing in them.

"I'm not your problem anymore, Gavin," she says steadily. An absolution, perhaps, in case he believed otherwise.

[slipshot]

"Pel..." He says again, the word almost a plea as he draws closer. He reaches out but hesitates at the last second - his hand hovering over her shoulder before finally touching it, as if he's scared of being burned when he does so.

"That's not--" He hates it, the way she put it. I'm not your problem, as if she had been his 'problem' before. As if she were ever a 'problem'. "... Pel, I didn't-- I don't want to hurt you--"

[mythalenaste]

Sniff. Snort. Wiping itchy tears away. "You can kiss whoever you want. You never had to feel guilty about that. Just use your pure intentions to soothe yourself later, please, and out of my hearing."

Even later

[slipshot]

Gavin was, in layman's terms, a wreck. But he'd made enough mistakes that night, to just let this one hang. By the time he started his way back, it was the end of that shift - the guards were changing.

He waited at the bottom of the stairs that he knew Maxwell had to come down. He owed an apology, at least, an explanation. Something.

Something that would make him feel less like he was just creating a second open wound, for himself.

[dreadinquisitor]

He wasn't first down the stairs, nor second. He was, actually, one of the last to appear on the staircase - torn as he was, between wanting to stay on duty, where he had something do, and drowning himself in a tankard in the tavern, or maybe just, returning to his bedroll to slip into the black of sleep. Anything, but being along with his thoughts.

When he looked up, and spotted Gavin, waiting at the bottom, just off the shadows of the ramparts, he paused. Had he come to tell him what a mistake it had been? How it didn't mean anything?

He started down again, heart wrenching even as he willed it to steel, reminding himself that it was what it was and that he'd always known the truth. The redness ringing Gavin's eyes was just more evidence.

[slipshot]

Gavin had never been good with difficulty. And this - waiting for Maxwell to walk down the stairs to pronounce judgment upon him - was proving to be so difficult that he almost didn't know what to do with himself. But he stood. Somehow, he stood. He would go and let his legs turn to jelly, later.

He didn't say anything, at first, waiting for the other guards to walk away as Maxwell came to the bottom stair, and Gavin rung his hands. He didn't even know what he needed to say, just knew he needed to say something. Anything. But looking at Maxwell now was making the words very, very hard, compared to how they'd been in his head.

He's better off without you, his head reminded him, but he couldn't bring himself to voice it. A stronger man would have. But Gavin was weak, and a coward.

"Hello," he managed to say, which was incredibly pathetic.

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell stopped beside him, but was silent for a moment, as if waiting to see whether Gavin was going to follow the greeting with anything or not. Then, accepting that he wasn't, and wondering silently if he just planned to pretend nothing had happened, he nodded.

"Evening," he murmured, gaze glancing over Gavin's face, lingering on the red fatigue of his eyes. "...Is there--"

He started, broke off, and sighed, before trying again.

"I'm... sorry if I caused any trouble."

[slipshot]

Creators, and now Maxwell was blaming himself. Gavin's face fell as he shook his head.

"No, I... No, you did nothing wrong. I..." The words stuck in his throat and he couldn't manage to grind them out. So instead, he found different ones, his head bowing until his chin touched his chest. "I'm sorry, Maxwell. I can't seem to do anything but hurt everyone, lately."

Also even later

[mythalenaste]

There's no real privacy in this fortress, only a degree to which people are willing to ignore you.

Pel sits bonelessly outside her room with Krem, on the upper floor of the tavern. Not many people are here right now, it being so early in the day, and the ones present are willing to ignore her. Her legs are threaded through the railing and her hands grasp one bar as she rests her head on an incline against it. Her last tears are trailing down her cheeks. Her eyes and nose and mouth are red while the rest of her face is white. And she has a pounding headache.

[ancarrow]

Eirlys has begun to avoid the tavern completely in the evenings, but this early in the day it's quiet enough that she's able to cut through without having to worry about the alcohol-fuelled stupidity that she'd encountered the last time she'd ventured in while it was busy. It's a rare moment of downtime for her, and she'd intended to get a glass of wine and listen to Maryden's music, but when she catches sight of Pel all of that fades into the background. She'd never been able to ignore anyone crying in good conscience, and especially not one of her own people.

She approaches softly, not wanting to startle her, crouching down next to her and placing a tentative hand on her shoulder.

"Are you hurt?"

[mythalenaste]

Pel stares blankly ahead as the tears dry on her face. After a second, she shakes her head slowly.

"No," she says hoarsely.

[ancarrow]

A wound of the heart or mind then, ones that were not so easily curable. Eirlys had far less experience in comforting emotional crises, but she can't just leave the poor woman. She moves her skirts out of the way and sits cross legged on the floor next to Pel, tentatively drawing an arm around her. "Would you tell me what's happened? Maybe I can help."

[mythalenaste]

The contact has Pel sort of crumpling into herself. She leans against Eirlys, head bowed, trying not to start crying again. And failing. Her throat hurts so badly.

"Stupid things," she croaks. "Stupid boys." She curls against Eirlys and shakes with quiet sobs.

More later-er

[dalishious]

Ordinarily Merrick would have used some level of stealth in a situation like this, to make sure he'd start off with the upper hand-- but this time? No need. He's a fast-moving dark shape down the long slope leading to the barn, where the Asharas convene often to share stories and reconnect. Without the cover of darkness he's plainly visible. His boots squelch in the mud outside the barn. The horses react to his sudden presence.

It doesn't matter. With this person, he didn't need to expend the effort.

"Gavin."

[slipshot]

Gavin's ears droop instantly at the sound of his name. That was not a friendly hello. Not that he expects one - word travels fast in their little clan and the word tonight was not exactly good.

"Hi, Merrick," He said, raising a hand in a sort-of wave though he couldn't quite smile.

[dalishious]

Gavin barely gets the words out before Merrick swings a fist right at his face, knuckles connecting with the other elf's jaw. It's a hard enough blow to send him falling backward, delivered without a hint of hesitation.

[slipshot]

There was a sharp crack - though thankfully only in sound, rather than bone - as Gavin stumbled, hitting the ground hard with his knee and one hand. He'd bit the inside of his cheek on impact and he carefully spat - the taste of copper thick on his tongue. He sucked in a breath and carefully tried to stand up.

"Merrick--"

[dalishious]

"What?" he spat. "Going to make excuses again? You know they don't work on me."

He kicked some dirt into Gavin's face for good measure.