faderift | Semi-Open

"No contest." That is said quickly, but with no less of her usual evenness. "I simply have no wish of inflicting further wounds through focus upon mine own lamentations. I heard enough of what transpired that I—"

A pause, and she frowns a little, weighing her words and trying to wrangle a reply that seemed determined to remain elusive. Sabine and Adelaide had said different things, but both of them fall into the rare category of people whose words she trusts with no question.

"Any one part of the horrors described to me would have been cause for sorrow. That you endured so much is— beyond words. I am very sorry."

"Hey, look," Cosima said. "You don't have to talk about anything you don't want to talk about. But I care about what you've been through for the same reason you're sorry about what happened to me, okay?"

It's called having a friend, Herian.

"I do want to say, for the record, that I don't purposely end up in the healers tents every time you turn your back on me, though." It's quiet, but it is a joke.

frɛnd/ Friend. Frriiiiieeennd.
Sounds fake, but okay.

Cosima does, at least, coax a small smile out of her. "That is a relief. I had begun to suspect you were resorting to most dire means to secure my time." The smile is small and a little wry, but it's definitely there.

And she nods, even, gaze dropping for a bare moment. "I— have a history with the Dalish that renders me poorly suited to impartial discussion, and they appear well-liked by a good many within the Inquisition. I hold silence to spare inflicting offence upon those who would take such from my words." Vaguely, she gestures to her ear. "This is not the first I have been marked from them. 'Tis but the most easily sighted."

"Jesus," she says, quietly, as she gets a better look at the damage. "Look, I'm still catching up; I'm not even sure I've got all the countries' names down yet. But anyone who'd do that to you, even without anything else... I can see why you'd hold a grudge."

She's met some Dalish, here, and has liked the individuals well enough. But that doesn't undo what's been done to Herian - visible and otherwise. It's clearly complicated.

Cosima hesitates, then says, "I do like your company enough to take drastic measures, but if I were doing it on purpose, I'd definitely just like... fall out of a tree, not get kidnapped by Venatori."

She holds her silence for long moments, though she does tilt her head, turns just a little to allow Cosima a better look and make it apparent she doesn't mind, for all her seeming rigidity.

"I feel as though I've acted with no sense or reason since," she admits, rather quietly. "Undermining responsibilities laid upon me, being less than honourable or... what a knight should be. And that failure falls entirely upon myself, no the Dalish or any other. If shame might be cut away so easily as flesh-- it would be a relief, I think."

A breath, and a little shake of her head, dismissing her own words apologetically.

"Hopefully not a noxious one," she replies, managing a breath of amusment. "I've even heard rumours of trees possessed. A less risky venture might be preferrable even to that, fo both our sakes."

Cosima shakes her head - possessed trees, seriously - but says, "So. Do knights drink? Because it sounds like you could use one."

"A knight is meant to practice temperance," she starts, "although we are also meant never to cause wanton offense, and to some the denial of hospitality could be considered such. Rules bent to the wills of those that long for convenience over discipline."

The smile? Self-deprecating. "At present, I could allow nyself the indulgence. Do you desire of a drink?"

"What I'd really love is to get us both good and stoned," she says, wry and frank, "but I'll settle for a well-deserved round of drinks. You pick where, though, I don't want to accidentally choose a place that's cursed or something."

Cosima knows she's capable, but she also knows she's over her head in this world. (Knows it better now than she did the last time she saw Herian.) She can manage some light self-deprication too.

"So far as I know it the tavern only bad spirits take the form of cheap whiskey."

Herian exhales a laugh, and holds out the parcel folded beneath her arm. It is wrapped loosely in rough brown paper, and within are two things. The first is a book of herbalism and plants in Thedas, images sketched out. The second is a paper bag, containing dried elfroot.

"I took the liberty of securing these for you, though the elfroot had been intended more in jest than with set purpose." A little shake of her head. "I fear... it will appear presumptuous, now, but 'tis rightly prepared for the medicinal and relaxing purposes we discussed."

Cosima looks touched, accepting the parcel. "Oh wow - thank you. Really. Not presumptuous at all. Do you mind if we swing by my room before we head for the tavern? This is way too nice to risk getting beer spilled all over it."

"You're more than welcome. No thanks are necessary, though, I assure you."

She shakes her head a little. "By all means. WOuld you mind company, or shall I better meet you at the tavern?"

"No, come on. It won't take long, and I'd like the company." Cosima tucks the package under her arm and sets off, not terribly fast. "Did I tell you I'm staying in the barracks now? I can't remember."

A little nod, at that, acquiescing, falling into step. She is used to moving everywhere with a kind of briskness, moreso recently.

"No, I'd not heard. I remain in the camp, myself. How do you favour them?"

"They're good enough. Sort of like the dormitories at school, but less people making sure you don't have contraband at random, which is nice."

A pause, then she adds less glibly, "I've been thinking about officially throwing in with the Inquisition. It's been suggested I might be able to help Helisma with research on rifters, but even if it's not that... besides a place to stay, they've saved my life twice."

She felt like a burden, and it had begun to grate.

"One might contend they risked it once, as well. I have sworn myself to the Inquisition, as well, but—"

She pauses, though she does not cease walking, and her brow is furrowed. "Pray do not berate yourself. 'Tis no fault of your own that has rendered you in this world. Well might the Inquisition appreciate your aid and energies put to their cause, but your presence hence is not burden on them."

A brash statement, perhaps, an assumption of sorts. "My intention is not to discourage your efforts, only to ease any guilt you might hold for the aid the Inquisition has offered you."

"I guess that's fair," Cosima says. "But it's not like they wanted me here any more than I want to be here. And I did volunteer to go out there; no one pushed me to do it."

Whatever Ruby's guilt-trip tells her to the contrary.

"It just... it came home to me recently that I may not leave soon." Ever. "It's made me think about stuff a little differently."

Herian can hardly argue with that, and smiles ruefully.

"I can hardly imagine." To fall into another world was unfathomable. "I've not returned to Starkhaven since I was a girl, but the possibility always remained. 'TWas a matter of distance and Circle law, rather than navigating the roads between worlds."

Herian is silent for a few moments, keeping her pace slow enough to match Cosima's, before glancing to her. "Selfishly I have no objection to your staying, though I cannot imagine such sentiment would be a great comfort." Home is, after all, home.

"It totally matters," Cosima says, quieter. "I came into the world not knowing anybody, you know? It's easier to think about how long I have to stay knowing there are people who care about me. Who I care about," an expansion, rather than a correction.

She tries not to think about her sisters, left without a scientist and unsure what happened to her. Maybe she goes back; maybe Delphine's from farther on, and didn't notice her gone at all.

"What was Starkhaven like? If you don't mind talking about it."

"I don't mind." It's nice, actually. Nobody really asks about Starkhaven. Not Kirkwall seems to be the extent of most people's understanding or interest. "Though I must admit I lived only ever in the alienage, and only when I was very young. I was taken to the Circle when I was... in my seventh year, I think." A collection of seconds pass where Herian is trying to organise her thoughts, before she starts.

"The alienage was cold. It seemed to either by very muddy or very dusty, rarely a moment of balance. So many things were brown or grey, but then we had wild flowers that seemed to grow out of sheer stubbornness. Thistles, forget-me-nots... they were so vibrant amidst all the other struggles." Her mouth quirks with a bit of a smile. "That, I think, summarises Starkhaven. Everything is done out of stubbornness or tradition. In the alienage we have a dialect that I've only ever heard fall from the tongues of those also raised there. The people there are spirited and resilient, even in the most downcast corners."

Perhaps she romanticises it a little - she would not be surprised. "I've not returned in some time. What of your home?"

Cosima smiles at Herian's reminiscence. "Sort of the opposite of that, really. It's a city on the ocean, and it's never really cold or really warm, at least by most people's standards. I didn't see snow until I was, god, maybe 11 or 12 and we went on a winter vacation? We'd get this intense, rolling fog, though. The city's really hilly, and it'd just be where you couldn't see your hand in front of your face, sometimes, at the bottom of the hills when it got foggy."

She considers, then added, "There's this big, gorgeous bridge. Really tall, and you could see the top of it, peeking out of the fog. Then it'd clear, and you could see the whole huge bay."

"No snow?" That seemed hard to fathom, and it almost makes her stop in her steps. "Skyhold must be more different than I'd imagined," Herian replies, and perhaps there is the faintest note of teasing in it.

"We had snow, and then we had an abundance of icy slush and muddy slurry. Delightful," she adds, with a bit of a smile. "Though your home sounds... beautiful, I think. I've never seen a great bay, truly, that I can think of. What is it called, your home city?"

Fog, that she knew. Fog could be a blessing or a curse.

"San Francisco," she says. "It's named after a saint - a holy man, from centuries ago."

Cosima adds, after a moment, "The country I'm from is really big, for what it's worth. There's plenty of snow other places, including the place I was right before here."

(Toronto is not technically her country, but she's counting it as a brief departure from Minnesota, not a permanent move. Internal semantics are important.)

"San Francisco." It feels a little awkward on her tongue, the awkward tilt of it not fitting with her native tongue. "It sounds close to Antivan," she says, after a moment of thought. "Strange, the things our worlds have in common, no?"

Her gaze drops as they walk, before she glances sidelong at Cosima. "Have you been to Antiva, yet? I don't believe it snows there, with any manner of frequency. Mayhaps it would... offer you some soothing for feelings of homesickness. Unless those feelings are exclusive to Thedas?"

Stop trolling, Herian.

"Uh, no, I think homesickness is just a 'person' thing," Cosima says, rueful for how she seldom talks about being so. (At least in so many words.) "And no, haven't been to Antiva. Haven't really been anywhere but Skyhold yet except my recent disaster field trip."

She really will stop pretending to be glib about this. Eventually.

"What's Antiva like, besides warm?"

Herian stops, then, and briefly catches Cosima's wrist in her grip - loose, and only lasting long enough to make her stop in her steps for a moment. "Do not make light of what happened to you." It sounds harsh, but she exhales and shuts her eyes for a second. Calmer. "Well do I understand that we each of us process such events in different ways. What happened to you, though, should not be dismissed so lightly. Such cruelty is horrifying. Your suffering is no matter to be rendered a joke."

For a moment - just a moment, she rubs her forehead before catching herself and schooling her hands back to her sides.

"Antiva is... home to people who are possessing a better humour than I, I've heard." Apologetic, sort of. "Colourful. Spirited, from what I've heard. Home of assassins and intrigues."

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