faderift | A Challenger Arrives!

Entry tags:

A Challenger Arrives!

WHO: Salem of clan Ghilan, and whoever finds him there at the gates
WHAT: The arrival of one small, cold elf that is not part of clan Ashara
WHEN: After most people have returned from the Mire
WHERE: Skyhold's front gates, then possibly the healers' tents

Keeper
I've made it to the mountains. It's so cold in the South.

I will find our missing brothers. They deserve to be home, or if they've not survived, they deserve to be buried as the knights are.

Updates will be sent as events escalate.

You have my thanks for allowing me on this journey. Now you must endure until I return.

The scroll was kept in a skin tube at his side, to be delivered when he arrived at Haven. When he'd arrived in the valley where it had been tucked, though, all he'd found was a mound of snow, rattled off the mountain, and droves of corpses. He'd lingered only long enough to offer prayers, ask that the souls be guided from the place to what afterlifes they would seek, then started off into the mountains. It was fortunate that one of his few great skills was tracking, as he'd been able to pick up a trail, first wide and hectic, trampling the snow as people had fled, but as he'd followed, stopping where the ground was swept clean and there were still traces of campfires, humps of snow and crude markers over the graves of villagers that had fallen, he'd started to slow. He was persistent, stubborn, and had a good capacity for endurance in conditions that really should have killed him within days.

The snow had all but completely erased the tracks he'd been following in some areas, but people always left markers behind that were easy enough to find, for one with keen eyes and determination that bordered on obsession.

When the hold had come into view, Salem was draped in furs, wrapped up tight to stave off the cold as his armor hadn't been able to. There were still parts of him that were frostbitten, and by the time he'd started the trek up the last leg of the path, his vision was swimming, legs shaking. His food had all but completely run out, hard tack and dried herbs the last scraps in his bag. He'd been chewing on strong mint to keep himself conscious, but even that was failing, and as soon as he'd rounded the top of the last slope and found where the land had mostly leveled off on the path up to the gates, he'd finally fallen.

An alert was put out to some of the healers: an unknown Dalish had been found in front of the hold, freezing, dehydrated, delirious upon being shaken to consciousness, but alive.

Two days later, after regaining the ability to walk without wobbling
Where was he now? The question went out among the healers, unanswered as the elf had disappeared from his cot while their backs had been turned. His armor was gone, his blades were gone, but it had apparently been too hard to drag his axe away unnoticed, so it was still dug into the dirt where it had been.

Now one elf a little too thin and dressed a little too sparsely was tucked away into a shadowy corner with a good view of the courtyard, a book in his hand and charcoal pencil scribbling away as he took notes on everything that he could see, from the Orlesian humans wandering the hold, to the elves here and there both from the city and from some other Dalish clan. He'd caught sight of an armored human man that looked like he'd had better days, a sword sheathed at his hip and an empty harness across his back similar to the one that he wore when he carried his greataxe, and had leaned out of his corner to track his movement until he'd disappeared into the tavern. Then he'd caught sight of another human, blonde and older and tired but with the bearing of a leader and a scar on his mouth that he wanted to see close-up and no his face was not turning pink over these stupid gods-forsaken shems you see nothing.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He's awake, and eyeballing the food he'd been handed, tearing it apart with slightly fumbling fingers before popping it into his mouth. He has to take it slowly, carefully, as his stomach is still rebelled at much more than bread, water and milder cheeses. He pauses at the sound of the traditional greeting, a piece of bread at his lips.

"Aneth ara lethal...lan... Pel?"

The bit of bread crumbles between his fingers and falls away as he looks up at her.

She frowns, squinting, eyebrows lowering. Slowly, she puts it together: the reason he looks familiar, but not so familiar that she knew him immediately. Her eyebrows lift, a gleam coming to her eyes. He is changing so constantly. She reaches out hesitantly to touch his brow under the pretense of checking for a fever, but she simply can't believe this is real until she feels him solid to the touch.

It had been so hard to leave him behind, once. So hard, knowing he was really hers, and she couldn't keep him.

"Salem?" she whispers, her fingers brushing across his brow in something more akin to a caress.

At first, Salem can't find his voice to say anything in return. He reaches up and lays his hands against her arms, looking up at her as his eyes brim then overflow.

"Why are you here? I thought..." The last time they'd seen one-another, Pel's talents had been honed,and she'd come into her own as both a mage and as a woman of clan Ashara. He was certain they wouldn't get to see one-another again until the next Arlathvhen. He'd talked for days about her to his- no, their parents after they'd parted again, but now he can't quite find his words anymore. So his lips press against her forehead and he lets out a slightly shaky little sigh. "Are you keeping safe?"

It settles onto her that she came so very, very close to losing her brother. Terribly sick, they had said, "one of yours," having no idea whatever what that really meant. They are practically strangers to each other, but for a strange, thin commonality. And he kisses her forehead and it makes her feel dizzy.

The Inquisition gave her her brother, and she is finally going to protect him.

Her arms wind around him as if she can warm him that way, holding him tight.

"I'm fine. You're going to be fine, too. I'm here."

Her grip is tight, steadying, and he returns the gesture as soon as he finds his hands again.

"I'm still not entirely convinced this isn't an incredibly vivid dream." He gives a laugh a tad unhinged, then presses his face into her hair, ignoring the slight hiccup in his voice. The walk here had been so long, and he'd lost so much hope of finding anyone that had gone missing, and now here she is and it's all very overwhelming.

"Well, I'm convinced," she says, as if that should be enough. She relaxes a little as he leans into the hug, assured that he's comfortable with this. She'd tried to be so distant, the last time they met. Tried to avoid the heartbreak she'd had the first time. "Praise Mythal I returned here when I did. I've been with the Inquisition for a little over a month now, I was in the Fallow Mire with them just a few days ago."

Merrick is there. Cyril. Their cousin, Cyril. She's going to get to introduce Salem to their cousin. The one male in the Inquisition Cyril will not try to sleep with.

She breaks the hug and holds him at arm's length to look at him carefully.

"Are you hurt?"

At that distance, it's easy enough to see all that's wrong with him, from the gauntness of his face to the darkened tips of his ears where the frostbite had set in, hair getting too unkempt from a lack of care, cracked lips from dehydration and cold, but even with all of that, he still looked ready to get out of the cot and march right back out into the world, like he always had.

For the moment though, he is content to stay, to take in Pel sitting before him and keeping his hands on her, just to be sure she wouldn't just disappear on him.

"Give me another couple of days and I'll be able to leave this damned tent. The healers won't take their eyes off of me as it is."

"Of course they won't, it's their job. Lie down and rest." This isn't a suggestion; she presses him back down against the cot and pulls the covers up to his chin. "I'll bring you water and something to keep your head warm in a bit. Just let me--"

She huffs out her breath and touches the tips of his ears, beginning a delicate, minor healing spell. Slowly, of course. Frost always has to heal slowly.

He winces at the fingers touching his ears, but he knows better than to give her too much trouble, simply letting her repair the damage the cold ad done. Hopefully she could do that for his fingers as well, but he won't pester about it.

"But they're humans, lethallan! one of them's taller than any of them I've seen before, and the other one-" he breaks off and tries to glance over Pel's shoulder to check if Bruce was outside, "he won't let me leave at all."

"They're good humans, most of them. Don't fret. I'm here now. I can send you the best ones. What's the name of the ones taking care of you?"

"Uh...the older one, he was Bruce, but I don't know the other one. He looked certain I would kill them both and run if they gave me anything besides a blunted spoon." He's pouting some at that, but really the anxiousness wasn't all that unfounded.

Pel clucks her tongue lightly. "Bruce is one of the best people I've ever met, so you've nothing to worry about. He's gentle as a new fawn, but protective as a mother bear. He took a blow for me when a fight broke out in the tavern once."

She pauses in her healing of his ears, letting them rest for a bit.

With the healing, they're a little more mobile, more expressive, lowering some along with the corners of his mouth.

"I see. It's...good he was here to help you."

"I should probably wait for his word on it before I heal you more," she muses. "Ice crystals in your skin, they do a lot of damage we can't see. I'm more accustomed to inflicting it than healing it. They're like a million tiny stab wounds, very complicated."

She sees a cup of water nearby and takes it, bringing it to his lips. "Drink. I'll make you something hot in a bit, and find salve for the chapping."

"He and the other one have been keeping my hands and feet in warm water. Not sure how much good it's doing, but it doesn't hurt to move my hands anymore at least." It kind of helps that the tall one is a mage; if the guy weren't so skittish maybe he'd trust him more.

The cup raised to him makes him wrinkle his nose, but he takes it, holding it gingerly in both hands. "Warm cider would be nice, if you've got it here."

"I'll find it." Good to know, her baby brother likes warm cider. She thinks of Adelaide's mulled wine and decides to make some of that, too. "And I'll bring that scarf to warm your head. I'll be back in a little, all right? I promise."

And because it's the language he has shown her, she kisses him on the brow.

For a moment, he wants to cling to her, nevermind the potential for cider and warm food. What if she never comes back, after all? He continues to pout at her over the rim of his cup even as she kisses his brow, watching her and then glaring at the tentflap, expecting one of the healers to come back in her place.

Mythal save him, everything is going to change...

When she returns, she's carrying a tray with a bowl of hot porridge (there's always a pot of that in the kitchen, day and night), a mug of mulled wine, and, at great effort and small personal expense, a cup of steaming cider. Thrown over one shoulder is a wool shawl she knitted herself a few years ago. She sets the tray on the table by his bedside and moves to wrap the shawl around his head like a cowl.

"Here you are. There's even honey and cinnamon in your porridge."

It's...nice. Really, really nice to take care of her brother, to find fulfillment in real family instead of frantically setting up substitutes to suit her own yearning for family. She smiles at him.

When the tray is placed within his reach and the shawl wrapped around him, Salem shifted to arrange his pillows and blankets until he could sit up and recline against them, rearranging the shawl when he had the chance so that it wasn't irritating his ears. He reaches for the cider, cupping it in both hands to draw away some of the warm and inhaling the steam. He coughs some, grumbling some at the cold that's settled into his chest that he's been able to ignore for the most part, but before issue can be raised about it he takes a sip of the cider. His eyes close, a pleased flush creeping up and helping to even out the mottled red in the hollows of his cheeks. Just what he needed.

"You are far too good to me, vhenan," he murmurs, voice full of affection and very grateful. He doesn't even seem to think much of giving her such an endearment.

It feels like her whole chest collapsing with a sharp exhale like a laugh, an internal click as they suddenly and automatically resemble the relation that they are to each other. There is something ineffable about family, and it's little to do with blood relation. It's more that deepset knowledge that you belong to each other, no matter what. Having titles, names for each other, knowing what your duty is because it was given to you at birth. All of her little friends, Merrick and even Cyril, have been an improvisation, but with Salem, she can walk the footsteps of a real sister without hesitation or worry that she's encroaching on someone else's territory. It's a good feeling.

"Just doing as I must, da'len," she murmurs with reciprocal affection. "Take your time. I'll warm it up for you if it starts to get cold."

Salem slouches some until his arm comes to rest against hers, his cup still at his lips as he sips slowly, just getting his body accustomed to having nourishment again. He'd been surviving on very little for the last week, rationing his food as much as he could and hunting where possible until he'd gotten to the mountains and had to rely solely on the last of what he'd set out with. He could only easily carry so much and still make good time here, after all.

"There are others here...I met a woman, her vallaslin of Sylaise...I fear I may have startled her." He reaches for the porridge as he speaks, lifting the bowl to his lips, as if unsure that his fingers will cooperate with a spoon. After a mouthful, he looks back to Pel and the look she's giving him, bowing his head to nudge against hers gently. "I'll want for little, as long as you're here."

That's when she starts crying, though little else about her manner changes. She doesn't care that he's holding food, she throws her arms around him and holds him tight, her tears falling silently on his hair, the only sound of her catharsis the wet sniffles as she breathes.

Salem's hands tighten on his bowl to keep it from spilling on either of them, but he leans more heavily into Pel, one of his hands coming up and resting in the crook of her elbow. He murmurs half-heard comforts and endearments, rocking gently as his eyes squeeze closed, offering as much comfort as he was being given.

There is little that words can do at this point, so instead he hums, a quiet song he could remember his father singing to him whenever he was frightened or angry and crying.

Their father sang that to her as well, the very first time she met him at the Arlathvhen. It was part of his attempt to catch her up, somehow, to bestow on her the things she'd been denied from the parents who loved her so much. Maybe she's imagining that Salem's voice sounds like his.

"I won't let anything happen to you now," she promises. "Now. Lie back and eat and drink."

She releases him somewhat reluctantly, wiping at her damp face.

Maybe a little higher in pitch, but close enough.

Salem's hand reaches up, wiping away the tears with the heel of his hand then doing as she says, taking another mouthful of the porridge, feet drawn up close to him.

"You really trust the men here?" he asks quietly, looking up at her with a soft pout. "Not just the healers, but the hooded ones, the scouts, and the armored ones..."

no subject

I did not get this notif, sorry!

<3 Don't worry about it, I know the system is a little screwy sometimes.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject