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[wheretheferngrows]

WHO: Fern Doirnáin, Alistair, any other Wardens who want to be around to witness this sad scene + OPEN
WHAT: One elf tries in vain to convince a Grey Warden to let her join their ranks.
WHEN: Directly after this thread with Anders.
WHERE: The Grey Wardens' office; directly after, the ferry pier.
NOTES: The scene with Alistair is open to other Wardens only; the second scene is open to anyone!

I.  BADGERING ALISTAIR


There are so many twists and turns and corridors that lead to no where in particular in the Gallows that it takes Fern--already keyed up and anxious and fighting back frustratingly childish tears--longer than she'd have liked to find the office used by the Grey Wardens in Kirkwall. If nothing else, the time spent walking herself in circles does give her a bit of time to dry her eyes and regain her composure, which means when she finally stops in front of the closed door and raps on it, she only looks like she's fighting off a cold, rather than recovering from crying like a baby ten minutes ago.

Waiting for the door to open, she waits outside and picks at her nails, bouncing on the balls of her feet to release some nervous tension.



II. THE GALLOWS DOCKS


She's dealt with disappointment before in her short life, but somehow, it's never quite hit her like this.

Regardless of how her conversation with the Grey Warden went, by the time she's left the Gallows and made her way outside again, her disappointment has transformed itself into an all-consuming, despairing ache in her heart, and the tears she'd thought she'd finished crying before are threatening her again in earnest. Humiliated and furious at herself--what a stupid thing to think she could do in the first place--she finds an isolated part of the pier and sits down on it, face pressed into her hands. 

Comments

(I)

[byblow]

Usually, if he's alone in the office, Alistair leaves the door half open. It's more inviting, or whatever, and more importantly it makes him feel less trapped by the desk and the mounds of papers and books. He likes reading—don't tell anyone—but his current project is suffocatingly dull.

Today, though, and every other day for the last few weeks, he's angry at nearly everyone, in a generalized sense, angry at the world, and shutting the door suits his mood better. That's also the reason why he doesn't just shout for whoever is knocking to come in. Once they've come in, it's harder to get them back out.

So from outside the door there would be the sound of a chair creaking as it's moved, and the heavy steps of a large human in thick boots, and then the door opens only so wide as he can fill with his body—which is pretty wide, he's broad—while he looks down at—

—someone he has no reason to be mad at. And he has a soft spot, one labeled they get enough shit as it is, for elves. The mildly annoyed expression that's his default lately slips into gentler curiosity, all in the eyebrows.

"Don't sneeze on me," he says instead of hello.

[wheretheferngrows]

Holy buckets, what are they feeding all the humans around here? Fern instinctively shrinks back a tiny step as Alistair's bulk fills the space between door and door frame, a hunted look flitting across her face though she struggles quickly to master it. All that eyebrow action just makes her nervous, like maybe he will step on her, but he'll feel bad about it later, or something.

"Don't sneeze on me."

She cuts her eyes to the side in confusion, then back again. "...are you a Grey Warden?" she asks, sounding rather skeptical.

[byblow]

"—yyyes," he says, mildly skeptical right back, like, what. Does he not look like one?

He keeps his hand on the doorknob, still blocking her from coming through it, but takes half a step back and settles his weight on his back foot so he isn't quite so looming. He's made enough people nervous—not often because of anything he's done, just because of the Warden thing—to know what it looks like.

"If you're here to complain about the noise," he says, which is a joke but also not, they're a loud bunch, even without adding the griffons to their ranks, though it does help that they aren't all in the same little camp anymore—anyway, if she's here to complain about the noise, "you need to come back in a few hours and ask for Nathaniel Howe. He handles the complaints. I'm Alistair. I handle the compliments."

That's a joke, full stop. He doesn't manage to keep a straight face.

[wheretheferngrows]

"I'm Alistair. I handle the compliments."

"The what?" This shem can't be Alistair; Anders described him as a Senior Warden, not--whatever this is. She stands up on her tip-toes to try to look past him, around him, into the office, to see if there's someone responsible and respectable and not weird lurking back there who she can speak to. But nope, aside from the guy in front of her, the place looks empty.

Dubiously, she eyes him again and folds her skinny arms over her chest. She squares her shoulders, juts out her jaw, and tries to draw herself up to her full height (which is only a few inches over five feet, but she's trying, ok).

"I want to join the Grey Wardens," she says as solemnly and seriously as she can manage, which truthfully just makes her sound a little stuck up. But despite appearances, her eyes look rather worried and vulnerable as they dart away from Alistair, and then back again. "..Please."

[byblow]

Oh. That's what his face says: oh, eyebrows raising, head tipping forward as if he isn't entirely sure he heard her correctly. And then he looks over his shoulder into the room, because he, too, would like to discover someone responsible and respectable and not weird she can speak to. His luck isn't any better than hers, though. Room's still empty. Damn.

"Well, I guess that counts as a compliment," he says as he looks back to her. "Come on in."

When he steps back into the room he leaves the door open, wide. He knows things, and among those things is that full-grown human men don't bring nervous young elf women into private rooms and shut the door behind them, unless they're the sort of full-grown human men Alistair likes to put the fear of the Maker into when he sees them. There's nothing in the room that Inquisition eyes can't see, anyway. There's a map on a wall, stuck with pins tied with different colored ribbon, books and notes and a few locked storage chests. No vials of Darkspawn blood anywhere.

He leans on the desk instead of sitting down behind it, but there are other chairs if she wants one.

"How old are you?"

II

[misdirection_hex]

"--it's just taken as a given that the primal school is diametrically opposed to spirit, but haven't you ever thought that was a little reductive? I just think the school system as a whole could do with some more--"

Were they on the city side of the docks, it might not be the wisest course of action in the world for two small elven mages to be walking along and animatedly discussing their craft without a thought for those who might dangerously object. But on the Gallows side, they're less vulnerable, and only the sight of the small defeated figure on the pier makes Vandelin take notice of his surroundings at all.

Even were her pointed ears not visible to mark her as a sister, her tears would stir up a teacher's protective instinct toward an apprentice-aged girl. Van catches Myr's attention with a light touch to his forearm and angles in the girl's direction.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

[wheretheferngrows]

"Are you all right?"

Startled, Fern jerks her hands away from her face and whips her head around to figure out just who it is who is addressing her. Seeing a pair of elves--Circle mages, she guesses, no one else dresses that fancy--she relaxes only marginally; her face is flushed and splotchy from a bout of truly ugly crying, the whites of her very blue eyes are still red, and she's got a completely sodden handkerchief clutched between her fingers like it's her lifeline. She can't very well say, 'yes, I'm fine,' without that being a very obvious lie, now can she?

Instead, she blurts out, "What's it look like?" then feels immediately guilty, squeezes her eyes shut, and tearfully adds, "I'm sorry--" and presses the kerchief against her eyes again.

[faithlikeaseed]

"No need to apologize."

That would be from Myr, as he steps up beside his cousin and turns a look of genuine concern in Fern's direction. "You sound like someone's broken your heart for you." It's an observation made gently, the worry in his voice as much as on his face. "Is there anything we can do?"

We, because as often as they're at odds, these days, he knows his cousin well enough to know just how tender Van is about the young and vulnerable. No sense in not volunteering the both of them.

[wheretheferngrows]

"You sound like someone's broken your heart for you."

He's not wrong--Alistair did break her heart, though not in the way hearts are normally broken. Better to say he broke a dream in half--not cruelly, but he broke it all the same. Fern sucks in a shady, shuddering breath and fights to master the surge of feeling inside her; it's embarrassing to cry in front of anyone, but especially a pair of strangers.

"No," she tells them both, words a little thick from her tears and hopelessly stopped up nose. She rubs at her eyes with the backs of her wrists. "No--I just want to go home, but I can't even do that now because of this--" Off she yanks the glove concealing her anchor mark, staring at it resentfully.

II

[circleprodigy]

Inessa has just returned to the Gallows, after an hour or two spent outside it just to take a break from surroundings. She's about to suggest spoiling Garahel with some treats from the kitchen, when her mabari makes a turn, heading down the pier. Brow burrowing, she follows him, uncertain what this is about until the mabari sits down by the young elven woman she'd spoken to before, huffing and pressing his face against her leg.

Her own tread is quieter, lighter, and she remains standing a couple of paces away. Uncertain if their presence is welcome, Inessa tries to give her personal space that Garahel obviously doesn't think is necessary.

"...Fern?"

[wheretheferngrows]

The large, warm snout that presses against her leg is possibly the most welcome visitor Fern's had all day. Wordlessly, she wraps her arms around Garahel's broad neck and shoulders and tucks her face against his neck, more grateful than words can possibly express for his solid, faithful presence.

"...Fern?"

Of course if Garahel is nearby, that means Inessa has to be, too. Sniffing, she looks up at her new friend wordlessly, chewing on her lower lip, and can't seem to find the words to offer her a response.

[circleprodigy]

Garahel nuzzles her, content to give comfort as best he can, though knowing him he'll probably try to sneak Fern a treat sometime later. Hopefully she likes balls of yarn or pantaloons.

Realizing it's a bit awkward to stand while the rest of her company is sitting, Inessa consents to do likewise, though she still makes certain not to crowd the girl. Besides, Garahel's a good cuddler, she can let him take that role. "I...don't know what's wrong, but if you cannot bring yourself to talk about it, we can simply be here." No pressure.

[wheretheferngrows]

"I can't be a Grey Warden."

The words are small and tiny, like her voice as she says them. Fern rests her cheek against Garahel's warm shoulder and idly scratches him behind his ears while staring out across the water. Even saying the words makes her chest grow tight, her throat aching from the effort it takes not to cry again.

"...I came all this way--I didn't even tell my parents I was going, I just left, then I caught this stupid thing in my hand--" She clenches her hand into a small fist around the anchor mark in her left palm. "...I'm so stupid."

II

[doneisdone]

"Miss your boat?"
A tall woman passes by, pins in her mouth and a lump of canvas in her arms. She normally wouldn't give a toss about some stranger having a bad day, but young women in distress generally at least merit an asking after in case there's a man nearby who needs his balls cut off.

[wheretheferngrows]

"No," Fern replies, though it sounds more like 'doe,' considering how very stopped up her nose is after so much crying. She hastily wipes her eyes again with her kerchief and whips her head around to look at whomever it is who has stopped near her. The sight of Teren--a Warden--just makes the recent rejection sting all the more cruelly, and she turns away from her immediately. She doesn't even care that the woman is a shem.

"I'm fine." A pause, and another sniff. "..just allergies."

[doneisdone]

"I see that," Teren sardonically replies, at least gathering that the girl hasn't been physically harmed. "Allergic to your own face, by the looks of it. Where's home? Haven't seen you here before."

[wheretheferngrows]

Fern doesn't sneer at her exactly, but she does pull a slight face before once again staring glumly into the water. She swings her legs slowly just above the surface, the toe tip of one shoe skimming it.

"Ansburg," she mumbles, ignoring the rest. Then, "Ferelden, before that." Slowly, she looks back at Teren again, her expression not exactly friendly, but not hostile, either.

II

[iceblade]

Skadi gets restless staying in one place for too long, especially when there's so much to see. So, she heads to the Gallows Docks, planning to take a boat to the city and see what else there is to do other than scandalize lowlanders. At least, that's the plan until noting that the boats departing are full, so she'll have to wait. Pacing along the pier, she can't help but notice the sorrowful young lady in a more secluded part of it.

Back at home, any troubles and reasons for celebration were shared with the hold. 'Not my problem' was a mindset that didn't exist. She can't imagine anything else, and responds instinctively now, sitting down nearby and not giving a thought to how the sudden arrival of a 'barbarian' woman might go over.

"What ails you, lass?" Her voice is quieter and gentler than most would perhaps give her credit for, but she knows there are some times that require a lighter touch.

[wheretheferngrows]

Fern startles, tears still streaking her cheeks, and scoots sideways away from Skadi like she's afraid the woman might strike her--but the tone of her voice is indeed unexpectedly gentle. While Fern doesn't lower her guard, looking a bit like a spooked wildcat kitten trying to decide whether to flee or defend itself, she doesn't shout for help, or demand that Skadi get away from her.

Slowly, she starts to relax her guard. "...you scared me," she mutters accusingly, then hastily reaches up to wipe her tears away from her face.

[iceblade]

Skadi responds to that with a slightly sheepish smile, not moving closer or away. "Aye, it happens. Sorry about that. But when I saw such misery, well, I thought I'd come see what causes it. A burden shared is easier to bear, you know. I'm Skadi Iceblade, of White Wolf Hold. What's your name, lass?"

[wheretheferngrows]

....what a weird name.

After a moment of cautious hesitation, she replies, "I'm Fern," and leaves it at that; she's not being cagey about her last name, there's just no significance to it, no point, in her opinion, of bandying it about like it means anything. Her eyes are drawn to the strange tattoos on Skadi's face, her odd mannerisms, her mode of speech. "What's a hold? Is that like a town?"

wildgarden i mean wildcarden

[justice_is_blond]

He's still in the gardens some time later, carefully weeding and letting Purrelden play with what's been pulled up. While he enjoys this task, he's keeping an eye out for the girl's return. The chances of her getting the answer she wants are slim.

Sure enough, when she comes back through, she doesn't look happy. He gets up from his hands and knees to just his knees; towering over her might be the opposite of helpful.

"How did it go?" Anders' voice is gentle.

[wheretheferngrows]

By the time Fern returns to the herb gardens, she's managed to regain some semblance of her composure--but no one can spend an entire afternoon in tears without wearing the evidence of it on their face for a while. This probably explains why people awkwardly give her a wide berth when she shuffles through the corridors--not that she minds much. She doesn't feel like explaining.

"How did it go?"

He does have a very soft voice, Fern thinks, sparing him a crushed glance that says everything she can't speak herself anymore. She sinks down onto a bench in the garden in silence and hugs her arms to herself. )':

[justice_is_blond]

He exhales quietly.

"I'm sorry. I know how important joining can be, and what opportunities it can give. But this means you're not bound." That's probably not helping. "Is there... What's your skill set? Maybe I can help you find something else."

At least she's not giving her life away to the Calling. She's young, and clearly she's not in some sort of legal trouble if she's been turned down. Alistair or Nate, whomever had spoken with her, surely wouldn't have let her continue to be at risk.

[wheretheferngrows]

"What's your skill set? Maybe I can help you find something else."

She stares bleakly back at him, then lifts both her eyebrows and skinny shoulders in a shrug. "I can herd sheep?"

Not the most useful of skillsets, no. Deflating, she rubs at the tear tracks on her cheeks and sniffs; her sinuses are undoubtedly stopped up completely after all that crying. She tries to come up with some other skills to share with him. "I can tend a garden--I can mend things that need mending, like tables and such. My Aunt Lorna taught me some magic but--but nothing that useful, just stuff for soothing animals and helping plants grow. I never learned, um--the schools. I don't know any of that."