faderift | there ain't language for the things i've seen

"It’s fine," He reassures her. All good. A giant spider had my back. We dropped part of a building on a guy and saved a duchess. I think I threw up. "The healers already saw, I’m just supposed to rest it."

It’s this last part he'll betray some a flicker of childish irritation over. Resting it means no flying on it, no running on it, means being stuck in a single stubborn shape for the first time since childhood. It itches.

Alan folds the knife back into his pockets, voice lifting again casually.

"You could just cut it all off, I suppose. Become a bald bard.” His good hand spindles loose to the clouds above. "And anyway, that’s a crowd."

Satisfied that Alan would most likely not be keeling over, Beleth gives a nod. Then, raising her eyebrow again: "Does climbing on rooftops necessarily count as resting?" She typically associates resting with. Not exerting herself. It's...the definition of it, actually.

A hand goes to her hair, brows furrowing. Beleth wouldn't consider herself vain, but she spent a decent amount of time maintaining her hair, keeping it from transforming from groomed, neatly wavy hair into a messy nest of curls that obeyed no master. "I like my hair," Is the protest given, which is appropriately not vain, she feels. "And I'm not letting a dumb raven take it all from me."

The clouds, however, are worth consideration, and so consider them she does, leaning against the slope of the roof to look up at them. "I guess so. The sky feels so much...bigger, here. Than at home. Like it's got more room."

"Sure. You just use the other hand."

It's not entirely clear if he's serious. Alan props himself up on his elbows to peer over.

"Was that what happened?" It explains a bit of the shouting. He drops back down. "Figure that's why so many scouts wear hoods."

"If you get up a bit higher, it goes on forever. Like a great white ocean. Makes even the mountains look small. Sort of reminds you how little everything must look to the Maker." A neutral glance. She's spoken of the Creators, and if he's a believer, he at least doesn't much care if she shares that belief. "Where's your clan from?"

"I thought it was one of Leliana's ravens. They--most of them are nice enough." She sighs, rubbing her head. "I just wanted to pet it. It was really pretty." Some mystical mysterious woodland Dalish she was.

When he talks about going up higher, she leans forward, interested. He's talking about flying, surely, for there would be no other way to get up that high. "I wish I were a mage," It's a murmured little admittance. Not someone she'd ever tell most humans, but she's heard the Avvar are more sensible about that sort of thing. "I wish I could fly. That would be amazing, I can't even imagine it."

At the question, she shrugs. "The southern Free Marches, mostly. Sometimes we go farther west, if the hunting is bad." Never south, though. Not if they valued their hides. "I thought that the Avvar followed their own gods?" She says it as delicately as she can, looking politely curious. Hopefully that's not...insulting, or anything.

"My grandmother was hold-born. I wasn’t." He picks at the cloth between his fingers, a gesture that only looks like absence. "The blackbird was her patron, the Lady of the Skies. When she came to us, she came to see how it was all connected. How the Prophet shows herself to the faithful, destined to be forever reborn."

It's the most he's spoken of — any of this — in years. Peculiar how he'll always remember it, the stories, the faith, better than the earthly facts. A reminder of what really matters. He remembers to look over again.

"But if you’re mortal, flying’s cold. It’s tiring. And the strangers," A gesture to her hair. "Aren't usually friendly."

"So I'm glad you’re not a mage." A crooked smile. "If you were, you wouldn’t be here."

He... thinks. He knows a little of how the clans are supposed to work. You stalk someone’s herd long enough, and you hear a thing or two.

"Is it strange, to be staying so long in one place?" It's sure been weird as hell for him, and he knows she's been here far longer than that.

"Oh, I'm sorry for assuming. I guess she liked what she saw?" She supposed she should have guessed. 'Brought with her from the Hold'. That kind of implied she was no longer in the Hold. She looks interested in what he's saying though, leaning forward, eyebrows up. "Forever reborn? What do you mean?" It's not a cynical or accusing question, but genuine curiosity. She's never heard about it before, but--there's a lot about the Andrastian faith she doesn't know.

At the compliment--was it a compliment? She's bad at guessing these things--she ducks her head, a shy smile on her face. "No, I guess I wouldn't be, but I doubt it'd make too much of a difference, really." She demurs. But. She's obviously still pleased. After a few moments, she offers, hesitatingly: "...They thought I was going to be one. The hahrens and the Keeper. But, um. My twin turned out to be one, so they were close?" She offers a sheepish smile and a shrug. Whatcha gonna do.

"It...is strange, to not be constantly moving. I travel for the Inquisition, but...I always come back here. I have a tent, down in the camp by the river." She waves in said camp's general direction. "It's...the first time I've ever had my own space. Just for me. And it's the first time I've been able to have a garden. We try to plant things as we move along, to make up for what we harvest, but...we just plant it and go. Let nature do the rest." She gives a little shrug. "It's nice, but sometimes it can be...restless. We used to visit so many pretty places."

"Hahren?" He only mangles the pronunciation a little. "My brothers were twins. I was so jealous, how well they knew each other."

A nod, as he listens. He knows where the camp is — tends to give it a certain berth. Wardens never smell quite the same as normal men.

"The rivers after the first snowmelt," Alan offers, half a prompt, half reminiscence. So many pretty places — yes. There's so much you never see from a fortress. "Or the trees that speak to themselves."

"Soon you'll have new leaves, though." And that's not nothing. "I didn't grow up far from here. Everything that you see with the Inquisition, that's what she saw. People. Coming together for a purpose."

It's not quite wistfulness in his voice.

"Some souls, they're stronger than others." The Avvar know it, and Her Disciples did too. "They return, guided by their past lives, to do great works. To help the people. Andraste is the greatest of them. But we rejected her, twice, and we cannot know when she shall return."

"Hahren--They're clan elders." She explains quickly, waving her hand about. It's far more interesting to talk about the pretty places in nature. "I like the little waterfalls in rivers in the forest. The ones that are only as tall as a person. But the tall ones are nice, too--all of us apprentices would jump off of them, until our mentors caught us." She grins, ducking her head. It's nice to get a chance to talk about these. Most people don't care.

"Little ponds that are so still you can see yourself in them. Or places in the forest where the grass grew thick. Where everything is so green, it feels like you're looking at the world through colored glass." She glances towards Skyhold, then the mountains. "There's so little green here, even in the spring."

But they're not just talking about pretty nature places. She glances at him, tilting her head. Not far from here? "Where did you grow up...?"

Strong souls. She listens as he talks, looking fascinated. It's more interesting than anything else she's heard about Andraste, at least. Who cares about how she hates magic and got set on fire? "I suppose that makes sense," As much sense as the rest of the mythology. Coming back to help people? Yep, checks out. "What was the second time? Did Tevinter set her on fire again? Maybe she should just reject Tevinter."

Like a council. It makes enough sense. The village fathers, they’d kept track of bloodlines as well. He grins back when she mentions jumping off the falls. Some things aren't exclusive to culture.

"You have to go downhill some to find the valleys. There's not as much of it, the green, but it makes the blues deeper."

He stares up at the clouds a long moment before answering.

"It’s gone now." Haven that was had little to do with the Haven that is, even before the Conclave. "We lost it during the Blight."

"We lost Andraste, too. The Wardens were," If he picks the word carefully, it's less for diplomacy's sake than his own. There are some things that he has to believe, to be a part of things here. To be someone who feels like himself. "Misled. She rose again in flame, but they couldn't look past her new form. They betrayed her. Cut her down."

"Oh, Alan, I'm sorry."

A lot of people lost a lot of things to the Blight--mostly Fereldans. Beleth had been a teenager, old enough to understand, though it hardly effected her. Still. She hesitates, then reaches to gently pat Alan's arm. An attempt at comfort, though it can hardly make up for the loss.

"They--they killed Andraste?" It's not like Beleth has particularly strong feelings towards Andraste, but--it obviously upset Alan. "They've always been nice to me. They let me stay with them after the Templars kept bothering me." She gives his arm another little comforting squeeze. "I'm--I'm sure it was a mistake. But I'm still sorry, Alan. That must have been...very difficult."

There's a brief pause.

"My gods were betrayed, too. They were locked away by someone they thought was their friend. It's--it's hard. Feeling like you've been left behind. But we believe the day will come when they return to us." She glances at Alan, giving him a smile. "I'm sure Andraste will return to you, too."

"It's alright," It's not, but neither is it anything that he can change. And that means that it has to be. "I wasn't alone. No one ever is."

Not truly, and that's worth remembering. Loneliness is the lie that civilization tells, too busy looking inward to look around itself. Sitting by himself in the Wilds, beside a body in the grass, there was always the world.

He doesn't return the smile this time, but there's a hint of — something, measured, hard to read, in the way he looks at her now.

"And maybe we'll both see them again some day."

At the Maker's side, or in another skin. Gods and men alike have souls. But, more pressing —

"The Templars were bothering you?" His brow furrows.

Edited (SORRY FOR LATE EDIT this ate a sentence) 2017-02-18 00:13 (UTC)

He truly is hard to read, and Beleth prides herself on her ability to read other people. She does it subconsciously more often than not, trying to gauge what reactions they like, what personality they find most engaging. But Alan hasn't shown dislike so far, so Beleth is probably is doing an...okay, job. At least.

"I'm sure we will." Even if it's after they die, and Beleth is holding her oak staff, Falon'Din leading her through the Beyond. She has to believe, because what else can she do, if she doesn't?

But the Templars...there's an embarrassed moment where she ducks her head. Not because the Templars bothered her, but because she has to talk about her failure at being a sneaky sneaky spy. At least she's better now.

"Well--It was a while ago. The Templars had this meeting of all the Templars, a secret meeting, where they were the only ones allowed to attend. And, well. That sounds pretty sketchy, doesn't it? A secret meeting? What do they not want other people to know about? And, well. Their meeting place was in one of the rooms in Skyhold that has a bunch of holes in the ceiling, so..." She gives a quiet laugh, staring at her hands.

"I'm not a mage, but I have a lot of friends who are. And I'm good at being sneaky--but. Not good enough. They heard me, and one of them saw me. I managed to get away, they're all big warriors in big armor and I'm good at climbing." As Alan's seen. "But later on, while I was sleeping, one of them found me and grabbed me. I, um--" Another laugh, but this one is dryer, humorless. She knows it was silly now, and it's been long enough that she can divorce herself from the emotions. But she still remembers. "I truly thought I was going to be executed. I hadn't spent that much time near humans before, and I knew they'd killed elves for less. But she just tried to make me clean the stables." She waves her hand airily. No harm done, except the emotional trauma.

"After that, I stayed with people that I knew Templars wouldn't sneak up on. Even if she didn't kill me, I did't like that she could have. And after the Wardens made their camp, I moved in. Anders lives there, so the Templars stay away." She shrugs. "I know they won't do anything anymore, but I also like having my own space. I wouldn't get that in Skyhold."

"Korrin doesn't like them," He offers, because this is really about the extent of his opinions on the subject. At least the ones he's willing to talk about — and she's already covered Anders. "If they didn't want anyone to listen, they should've found a sturdier ceiling."

This seems like common sense. He reaches over, attempts to return the light-arm-squeeze manuever.

"It's not like they were the ones sleeping. You did the right thing."

Alan pulls back, shakes his head a little.

"The barracks are too crowded anyway. It's warm, but it's loud."

"I don't blame Korrin for disliking them. They were a real danger to her for most of her life." Nowadays, it's debatable. They may become a threat again, but for now, the Inquisition has managed to effectively defang them.

And she is well aware that the Templars were in the wrong for what they did--it was never a question in her mind, something that stands out for a woman who has made a day job out of blaming herself for everything. But Alan is trying to comfort her, and the effort and sentiment is appreciated more than anything else. She ducks her eyes again, smiling softly.

"Thank you, Alan. I agree about the barracks, though." After a moment, she glances up at him, cocking her head to the side. "You could come stay with me--in the Warden Camp. In your own tent. I'm not--" After a few moments of (poor) attempts at trying to recover her already shaky grasp on dignity, she settles for vague hand gestures with a sigh. "I mean--you know what I mean. There's plenty of room for one more."

"I suppose," Alan likes Korrin, respects her. But Korrin runs towards danger — and he prefers to only do that when the danger might be interesting. Until recently, templars haven’t qualified.

Still, he listens on the Council, he hears things. He remembers the fear on Morrigan’s face as the red stepped into the room, remembers his own heartbeat racing.

"I hadn’t seen any fighting before we went to the Palace." That’s a lie, of course, but the other time doesn't count. That wasn't combat. Only opportunity, only hunger. "They seemed dangerous to everyone."

It's an odd thing to revisit an apathy that's so well-entrenched. You can only do so much of it in a day. Maybe that’s why he shakes his head at her offer, however kind,

"I don’t own a tent." And he’s not ready to stake it so near to Wardens, if he did. "Perhaps when it’s warmer."

When it gets warmer, the tent won’t even matter. But he’s weathered too many Frostback winters to give up on the gift of a real roof. After a moment, he adds,

"Thank you, too." Not only for the offer — it's been... a long time. Since anyone listened.

"I've been fighting my entire life." Maybe not her entire life, but there have always been fights. There have always been humans seeking to destroy their way of life, their freedom, put them in their place. She pauses for a moment, then because Alan has already been so open with her: "I was fifteen, the first time I killed someone." Her fingers lift to her eye, to the scar that marks it. "He was trying to kill my twin. No--" She pauses, staring at her hands. "He had his knife in my brother's mouth, digging it into the side. Killing may have come later, but--"

She stops, looking up with a startled expression. "Creators. That's--Um. I'm sorry for spilling that on you. That's...um. Well. It's nothing to worry over. It's settled." They are alive, and what Beleth had left of the man's body had been left for the animals. "You don't need to hear all that old nonsense. I just--um. Didn't want you to think I just...killed someone for no reason..."

It was time to change the subject. "You can share with Teren." Then a pause. "Please don't actually try that, I don't want to be responsible for happens to you." And she shoots him a small smile. It's a joke. Please don't think I'm a savage dalish murderer.

"It's no problem. That's what friends do." And another small smile, reaching over to pat his arm slightly. Maybe it's presumptuous, but. There are some things that bind people together, and running from crazy red templars and looting the royal palace is one of them.

She's speaking, and then she's really speaking, the words a tumble, and his brows draw in.

"I wouldn't think that."

You know. Often, at least. At this point he's pretty sure that their definitions of good reasons don't precisely align. This is something of an exception.

There are things that you do, for the people that you love; or at least there are things that he's always wished to be able to do. He doesn't — doesn't like it at all, what she's done. But he knows what it is to have to do it, what happens if you don't.

He folds a hand atop hers. Friends, then. Yes, that might be,

That might be nice.

"Friends," He agrees. The pact is sealed.

Edited 2017-03-04 21:42 (UTC)

there ain't language for the things i've seen

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