faderift | [OPEN] And so become yourself

WHO: Fern + OPEN
WHAT: A catch-all kind of post for mid-September.
WHEN: A couple weeks before the island adventure, about a week after her last open post.
WHERE: Around Kirkwall and the Gallows, specifically the stables, the herb garden, training grounds.
NOTES: None currently, will update as needed. Also, if you'd like a specific starter, please ping me on plurk or discord and we can set something up!

I. THE STABLES

Fern likes the stables. It's the smell, she thinks--not that she's particularly taken in by the stink of horse manure or anything, but horses and dogs and animal smells in Kirkwall aren't so very different from those same smells back in Ansburg (and, more distantly, Ferelden). That's probably why, although the Inquisition has given her a place to sleep in the mages' tower in the Gallows, Fern prefers to bunk in the hay loft above Rooster's stall. It's a bit drafty at night, sure, but still so much easier for her to sleep here, with the animal sounds and the soft, ambient glow of the outdoor lanterns spilling warmly through the windows.

This is where she's sleeping one night when the sound of the stable doors opening wakes her up. Blinking sleep out of her eyes (and plucking some hay out of her hair), she sits up underneath her blanket and steals a tiny peek over the edge of the loft, trying to see who it is who's come to snoop about the animals so late at night. In his stall below her, Rooster swivels his large ears forward and drowsily sticks his head out of his paddock, curious.

II. THE HERB GARDEN

She tells herself that she isn't just spending her free time loitering about the Gallows herb garden because she's hoping to casually run into Sina here, but that's probably a large part of it.

Nevertheless, now that she's spent enough time here to develop a sense of familiarity with the plants, it's not that much of a hardship to go about the process of watering the plants that need it, harvesting from those at risk of going to seed, and placing a few warming glyphs near the summer plants that are at risk of dying when the temperatures dip at night.

At present she's up to her elbows in dirt trying to salvage a few wilting elfroot plants.

III. THE GALLOWS TRAINING GROUNDS

It feels profoundly unfair to Fern that even after being told no by that Senior Grey Warden, after crying in front of a bunch of complete strangers, after trying so hard to find other ways to keep herself occupied and make herself useful, she still ends up hovering on the outskirts of the training grounds when she doesn't have anything else to do.

It's afternoon on an unseasonably warm day; no one particular group has reserved the grounds for a session, so it's a mish-mash of soldiers, scouts, Templars, and other sorts (including, yes, probably some Grey Wardens) who are making use of the facilities now. Fern sits off to the side in a patch of shade with a sewing needle and some of her own worn socks that are in need of mending; with some longing, she watches the Wardens at their work--then stabs the needle through her sock grudgingly. (take that, alistair.)

IV. WILDCARD

(OOC: Surprise me!)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Weather that's good for work in the herb garden is also good weather for bees. There's been more of the stripey little insects about among the Gallows' gardens since Myr's expedition out to Sundermount for late-summer swarms; they're out in force now to take advantage of the fine clear weather and any autumn blooms.

So too is their keeper, headed for the tidy little reed-woven skep tucked away in one corner of the gardens for his daily inspection of the hive. The way there leads past the beds with Fern's glyphs in them, though, and the prickle of new magic catches Myr's attention. Of course he's got to inspect them, hunkering down and stretching out his hand until he feels the warmth they're radiating--and breaks into a smile. Oh. There's a mage around here with a green thumb, and that's an encouraging sign for a beekeeper hoping to get his hives through an uncertain winter.

Getting back to his feet, he brushes dirt from his knees in a cursory way--and stops a moment as the sounds of someone digging around nearby come to his ears. Perhaps whoever's over there is the other mage--or the glyphs could be some invention of Sina's--but either way it can't hurt to ask.

"Good morning!" he calls to Fern cheerfully. "Are these your glyphs over with the embriums?"

The friendly humming of the bees doesn't bother Fern much at all, not even when a couple of them alight on her hair. They're curious little animals, but not hostile--not like the hornet's nest Farmer Heinrich made her swat down with a broom once. Those monsters chased her clear across the pasture; Rooster near didn't forgive her for the stings they gave him to his rump.

She gently dislodges one of them before it can become too entangled in her hair and ferries it to a fragrant blossom, then looks up when she catches sight of someone out of her peripheral vision. She recognizes Myr immediately, and flushes with embarrassment, remembering the state she'd been in when he'd last seen her. Still, he had been kind--they both had been, and it's a relief to her to meet an elf here who is a bit like her.

"Yes, they are--they aren't a bother, are they?"

That's a voice Myr recognizes. His smile brightens further to hear it; not only is Fern sounding in better straights than when they met last, she's in his own line of work, too. That's a pleasant discovery.

"Just the opposite, if you mean to leave them all through winter. The bees will be glad of forage and I'll be glad they're getting it. Means fewer trips out into the snow to feed them." He crosses to where she's working, not inclined to yell across the garden at her--it's simply rude.

"Though I imagine they won't want to fly in the cold, most days. You sound like you're doing better."

"...You sound like you're doing better."

"A little," Fern replies, the lightness in her voice genuine and accompanied by a small smile, but still touched by melancholy. One doesn't so swiftly bounce back from having one's heart broken. She sighs and sits back onto her knees, dropping her hands onto her lap. "Some days, it's... hard. I still haven't sorted out what to write to my parents." Quietly, she admits, "They must be worried sick."

Nope. She did not let them know where she was going.

"A little's a start." There's a bench nearby, and Myr's quick to locate it and take a seat, setting his staff beside him. "And you're doing exactly what I would--keeping busy at something useful. It'll get easier with time."

The words have the surety of experience behind them. There's a lot of heartbreak one can learn to bear with enough time and gainful work; even the pain of a destroyed dream fades eventually.

"You didn't tell them you were coming to join the Inquisition?" There's surprise but no accusation in the question. "Starting with you're safe and in good company wouldn't be amiss, I think."

Edited (fixed an awkward sentence) 2017-09-30 05:22 (UTC)

At his reassurance that it will get easier, Fern can't completely keep herself from shooting a black look his way--but then again, he can't see it, and thinking about the effort needed to put those feelings into words is enough to reinforce for her just how petty a response that is.

"You didn't tell them you were coming to join the Inquisition? Starting with you're safe and in good company wouldn't be amiss, I think."

"I didn't come here to join the Inquisition--I came to join the Grey Wardens. Not that it matters now." Sullen again, she looks down at her palm and flexes her fingers around the shard; it twinges painfully, and she winces. "They wouldn't have let me leave, if I'd told them what I wanted to do. And if I write to them now, they'll demand I come home, and what am I supposed to tell them then?" She shakes her head. "They wouldn't understand."

Oh. That puts a few pieces into place; they'd never gotten the reason for her distress out of her last time they'd spoken. It hadn't seemed kind to ask.

Likewise, it doesn't seem kind to ask now what "not that it matters" means. Not when he can infer with reasonable certainty that she'd been turned away. Chasing any other question even touching on the Wardens seems similarly unkind (why wouldn't her parents be glad to have a Warden daughter?) and he's careful to leave them lie.

But-- "They wouldn't understand." He's begun to remember now what it was like to be that age--near his Harrowing, when life seemed impossible and the adults around him hopelessly obtuse. (As he's sure now he'll seem to her.) "They won't have a chance to understand if they never hear from you again," he points out, gently. "And you could leave explaining why you can't come home right now," owing to the shard, "to one of us. They won't be any happier to hear it, I'm sure, but it won't all fall on you."

[OPEN] And so become yourself

herb garden

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