faderift | We learned in Chantry school who made the sun shine through

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We learned in Chantry school who made the sun shine through

WHO: Maxwell Trevean and Samouel Gareth
WHAT: Face to face meetup after some jokes by message crystal
WHEN: Backdated to shortly after this; Before all'a this.
WHERE: The Herald's Rest
NOTES: Nothing.

Maxwell had to finish up his shift in the kitchens first, where he'd volunteered when an incident with a wobbly shelf and several heavy pots had left one of the usual workers on bed rest, but he was true to his word. And shortly after he'd finished, still sweating from the heat, his hands lightly nicked in places, he appeared in the Herald's Rest.

He squeezed in at the bar, ordering himself an ale, than he headed upstairs turning to the right to try and find a seat somewhere along the back. Luckily, he managed to snag one that let him see through the railing and down onto the floor below.

Sipping from his mug, he watched people come and go, placing bets with himself as to which one might by the mysterious Samouel

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"If not less worrying," Maxwell chuckled, bobbing his mug slightly in agreement as he raised it to his lips. Taking a drink, he rolled his shoulders gently. "I've only been at Skyhold a few weeks, to be fair."

He smiled self-deprecatingly. "It's a long walk from Ostwick."

"I suppose that's a good reason," Sam raises his mug, but doesn't take another drink just yet, his mind elsewhere for a moment.

The mention of Ostwick catches his attention, canting his head ever so slightly in curiosity. "I thought the accent was familiar. It is indeed a long walk from Ostwick. Wouldn't want to do it again," he chuckles, looking down at the liquid in his mug.

Maxwell's eyebrows jumped, eyes brightening slightly. (For whatever he felt for was or wasn't waiting for him in the Free Marches, he did like his home country.)

"Again?" he echoed. "Are you from Ostwick? Or are you just speaking in general?"

"Kind of," he says with amusement. Didn't he have a conversation like this before? "I'm Ferelden, but my family went to Ostwick at the start of the Blight. I ended up living at the Circle soon after getting there though. So, kind of from Ostwick."

He says it with such humor, because the short and simple version is quite comical - 'kind of from Ostwick'. The longer, more in depth version not so much. "So technically I've made the trip twice. Once there and once back."

"Oof," Maxwell replied, offering a little shake of his head. "You have all my sympathies."

At least he didn't have to worry about the trip back.

(He could laugh about it, in that context.)

"That's not a hike I'd wish on my enemies." A pause, a smile. "Well, maybe."

Sam raises his brows at Maxwell at that comment. "Really? I'd gladly wish that on Corypheus. Without a boat. Course not that I'd want to send him to Ostwick, but you get my point right?" It's all in good humor, obvious by the grin he is hiding a bit behind his mug as he takes a drink.

He'd walked into that one, hadn't he? Chuckling, his head bobbed.

"Yes, well, Corypheus isn't really your average enemy, is he? He's less the asshole that cut in line at dinner and more ageless monster from a time untold."

He grinned.

"He gets ten trips to Ostwick."

"Only ten? You're being rather merciful to him. I'm hoping that these are round trips at least." He's grinning right back, having to stop drinking from his mug lest he spill some with how much he's shaking with laughter.

"So what did you do in Ostwick, Maxwell?"

"Of course," he grinned. "On the meanest, most cankerous mule known to man."

As the conversation shifted back to home, he took a breath and a drink from his mug.

"I had finished my apprenticeship as an artificer, and was beginning to build when the Breach happened."

"An artificer, huh? Exactly what does that entail?" He cannot say he knows much about artificers, save that they were good with traps.

"So you were in Ostwick when the Breach opened. What were you beginning to build?"

"A lot of patience, mostly," Maxwell smiled. "And a lot of ridiculously small tools."

It was funny now, how they'd felt in his hands the first time he'd held them. How afraid he'd been of breaking the fine picks and blades.

"I was starting simple. I had really just finished my first bow, structure wise. I'm still cleaning it up."

"The patience I can definitely relate to. Small tools... not so much."

Magic and smithing definitely left him with a large amount of patience, but ornate work wasn't really his forte.

"Still a work in progress, huh? Maybe one of these days you could show it to me."

"It works," Maxwell clarified, just in case. "It's actually the bow I use, I just--" He grinned wryly. "It's not especially pretty yet. If we both end up in the Fallow Mire, I'm sure there will be time to show it off - for better or worse."

"Well so long as it works I say. Use over looks right?"

At the mention of the Mire, Sam gives a sigh and rubs his eyes. "Honestly I'd be surprised if they didn't send us. I'm looking forward to getting out of Skyhold for a bit, but... can't we go some place nice for once?"

Maxwell laughed, a handsome rich sound, blue eyes bright with humor.

"Look at the bright side," he grinned over the rim of his mug. "There will be a beach. Everywhere, if I understand the term 'bog' correctly."

"Aaah..." he blinks at Maxwell at him thinking of a bog like that," sure. Beaches... everywhere." Sam finds himself grinning right back at the man, pointedly taking a drink at that moment to stop himself from laughing.

A bog was not like a beach at all. The only thing similar was probably being wet and cold. He could let Maxwell dream though - at least for a little bit.

"Alright, alright," Maxwell grinned, his shoulders rolling. "So, cold muddy beaches infested with plague, but where's the fun in that?"

Things were bleak, you had to take a laugh where you could get it.

"And corpses doing the backstroke in the water. That's where our fun is at."

No, argument there. Things were indeed bleak, and humor was a way to keep your head.

Maxwell chuckled into his ale.

"So, Sam. You know all about me now, what about you? Other than your being from Ferelden and the Marches?"

"I'm pretty sure I don't know all about you. I mean, I don't even know your birthday," he grins, taking a drink of his tea. "Just saying."

Leaning back a bit in his chair, looking off to a corner for a moment, he gives a small hum of thought. "Well I suppose saying that I'm both a Mage and a blacksmith is the first thing to mention."

"You mean you don't swing around a stick just for fun?" Maxwell teased with a smile. "Sorry- twirl just for fun?"

Yes, he'd puzzled that bit out for himself, and it didn't bother him in the least. And even if it had, it wouldn't have lasted long after arriving at the Inquisition - not with so many mages making up the rank and file.

"Oh I still twirl it around just for fun, but yes, I use it for more then just that." Sam chuckles, giving a small shrug.

At this point Sam has gotten used to people being surprised when they find out that he wasn't just a blacksmith or just a mage. Course Maxwell hadn't known anything about him to begin with so that probably changed a bit.

"Everyone should have a hobby," Maxwell grinned. "You twirl sticks, I poke at things with tiny picks."

Draining the last of his mug, he set it aside and leaned comfortable back in his chair.

"Do you have a specialty? In magic or smithing?"

He was always curious about specializations. The paths people took.

"That rhymed," Sam points out with his own grin. "Was that on purpose or just kind of happened?"

Sam is slower to drink from his mug, enjoying the warmth of the tea.

"Not so much with smithing. I work on both armor and weapons, though with the more tradition metals. I'm a ways from being able to do anything with precious metals. Maybe down the line Master Harritt will teach me how to do so." There's a pause as Sam takes another drink, thinking about how to phrase the next part. "I'm a spirit healer. Still in training though."

Maxwell blinked, he hadn't even realized it until Sam mentioned it. Playing it back in his head with an amused smirk, he shrugged his shoulders. "Happy accident."

He was only the most accidental of poets.

Relaxing in his arm, he followed his arms over his chest and tipped his head curiously.

"I don't think I've ever heard of that," he admitted. Granted, he hadn't exactly spent a lot of time with mages, but that sounded like something he would have remembered.

Sam raises a brow at that. "Never heard of... a spirit healer?" That's honestly a bit of a shock, but then again how much did anyone who wasn't a Mage or Templar know about magic? "Really?"

"And I just ruined the moment, didn't it?" Maxwell joked, drawing out a sigh. At least it was honest. "I've heard of the usual things: fire, ice, lightning - even necromancy."

Who hadn't heard of that?

"...But I don't know many mages personally, I'm sorry to say. So, a lot of it's new to me."

Which was a little exciting, getting to learn so many new things.

"Oh definitely. You should know better then to ask a Mage his or her specialization when you ask them out for a drink. Obviously you do that the second time." Sam honestly tries to look somewhat offended, but he just can't manage it with how big his smile has gotten by them joking.

But that did make sense that Maxwell didn't, especially if he had little relations to Mages. "Well even if you did know some Mages I suppose it would not come up so casually since there's so few who actually learn or are capable of doing it. You've heard of healers at least right?"

"And you stayed to have a drink with me anyway," Maxwell replied, touching his cheek with one knuckle, wiping at an imaginary tear. "I'm so grateful. Thank you for overlooking my rudeness."

He ruined the entire effect by grinning, of course, but somehow he didn't think Sam meant it either.

Nodding, he chuckled lowly, "Yes. Those I've heard of."

He gives a snort, amusing by how dramatic Maxwell is being. "Well you're decent company, I can over look it."

Running a hand through his hair, Sam shakes his head a bit at the silliness of the conversation. "Well I'm basically that, just able to do a bit more." Putting it mildly.

Maxwell expected there was more to it than that - a great deal more - but he appreciated Sam putting into a context he could understand as a confessed non-mage.

"Good to know," he replied, eyebrows lifting teasingly. "I'll know just whom to turn to when that dragon giant turns up in the Mire."

"The invisible one that breathes fire? Well I won't be able to do a whole lot if you get eaten. So try not to let that happen," he teases back, taking another swallow of his drink. "I'm not coming in after you if that happens either, just so we're clear. That isn't exactly on my bucket list of things to do. 'Get eaten'.

"And flies and spits poison, don't forget that," Maxwell grinned widely, honestly enjoying himself. For as rude as interrupting a conversation was, he was glad he had. "I wouldn't want you to be unprepared. Especially if I'm already eaten and can't remind you."

"Oh, yes. I had forgotten about that, thank you," Sam gives a sigh of relief, placing a hand over his chest as if glad of being reminded of that little bit. "Come to think of it, how do we know it's a giant dragon if it's invisible?"

"By the poison, clearly," Maxwell replied, nearly pulling off a stoic enough expression to be believed (if not for the little twitch of his mouth). "I'm told it's distinctly mauve."

"Mauve?" Not purple. Mauve. "Well that will stain my clothes terribly. Why couldn't it be aquamarine at least? I like blue," he huffs back, crossing his arms, trying just as hard to seem upset by the entire thing.

"Right?" Maxwell agreed vehemently. "If I'm going to be eaten, I could at least do it while a dignified shade of cobalt. But mauve..." He put on an affected shudder... then looked sidelong at Sam, and then laughed. "I'm glad we did this. Thank you."

At the look Sam bursts out laughing too, rubbing at the corner of his eye once they've settled down. "You're welcome, but I should be the one thanking you. But seriously, the Mire? Be careful there."

"Same to you," Maxwell insisted, then he smiled. "I'd like to be able to do this again once it's all done."

"I would enjoy that very much. Maybe play some cards as we talk about the crazy things we came across." Getting up from his seat, Sam offers his hand again for Maxwell to shake before he departs. "Time next time, Maxwell."

"I look forward to it," Maxwell said, taking in his hand in a friendly shake then moving to stand as well. Work done, ale warming in his belly - it was likely time for him to settle in somewhere for the night. "Good luck out there."

"You as well," he says, stepping away from the table. With a nod in farewell, Sam heads down the stairs and then out of the tavern.

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We learned in Chantry school who made the sun shine through

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