Return to the Blackmarsh

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WHO: Inessa, Anders, Kain, Myr, Melys, Loghain
WHAT: Searching for the orb of the First and dealing with Veil issues.
WHEN: Mid to later October
WHERE: The Blackmarsh
NOTES: Sign-ups here.

As for content mention, violence and references to Awakening.

Comments

Closed to Myr

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At some point while everyone else is distracted with drinking or resting at the inn, Inessa heads over to whatever corner Myr has placed himself. Garahel reaches him first, resting his large head on the elf's lap and wagging his tail. There's as much warmth as weariness in his mistress' voice as she sits down on the other side of him, mindful of personal space.

"You two made a good team, today."

[faithlikeaseed]

It's a good corner. A quiet corner. A corner where no one's likely to notice him as he nurses the same slowly warming mug of ale and tries not to think very much. (What he wouldn't give for a loose stack of paper to fold, to keep his hands busy, try for something like meditation--running through Trials verse by verse without anything else to do is a poor substitute, but it's better than listening to his own anxieties--)

He starts as Garahel's head lands in his lap, raising his head sharply to fix Inessa's direction with a look both faintly resentful and disoriented. Weary neutrality replaces it once he's had a moment to collect himself. "Thank you, Warden Serra." The gratitude's mechanical, not heartfelt. "I wish only I could have done more," like not panic.

Almost by itself, his hand settles on Garahel's head. You two made a good team, well, a mabari's clearly worth a mage by himself, but Myr won't give voice to that thought.

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His demeanor and tone is noted, and Inessa shifts back a little. Perhaps she should excuse herself and leave him with Garahel for now. But she doesn't move to stand just yet, holding on for a moment. "You did what I asked of you, Serah Shivana. I cannot ask for more than that. If you wish to be left alone, I'll depart...but I am here to listen, if you prefer. The choice is yours." Garahel lets out a soft worried whine, not moving from his spot. He'll probably remain for a bit, whatever Myr decides.

[faithlikeaseed]

In its way, the reassurance is worse than condemnation would have been. He knows he endangered all of them; if he'd fled instead of freezing--

They wouldn't be having this conversation.

"There isn't much I'd say right now." If she doesn't demand a direct accounting of him, he won't volunteer one--not when his gut roils and his heart beats faster at the mere thought of explaining. Better to ignore it.

"But I do appreciate the concern; it won't--" happen again, he'd promise, but his throat closes up on the lie. (She'd gone for hexes first; entropy's likely her primary school and there's no arguing its utility in battle. If they're fielded together again, there's no avoiding exposure and he can't tell her why he'd want to.) "--I'll be better prepared next time."

He ruffles the short stiff fur between Garahel's ears as the mabari whines, trying to impart a reassurance he doesn't feel.

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Garahel grunts, not quite mollified but accepting the affection regardless. Inessa's silent for a moment, trying to figure out how much to press on. Her respect of personal boundaries wars with her desire to aid, especially someone she's come to consider a valued colleague. Her voice remains even, inquiring rather than judgmental.

"Better prepared, how? I wouldn't pry, normally but I want to continue working with you in the field as well as the office. For that to happen most efficiently, it would help to know how to adapt to each other's needs and concerns."

[faithlikeaseed]

Shit.

"I--" The strangling feeling is back; there isn't enough air in the room of a sudden and his breath comes quicker, shallower. He draws his hand back from Garahel's head, reaching for his drink and nearly knocking it over in his haste. Trained reactions save him there--barely--and if his grip is white-knuckled on the mug it might be explained by the adrenaline of that near miss (not that he has to keep his hands from shaking; not that).

"--I'd not wish to go into the details here," he manages at length, sounding credibly calm to his own ears. Perhaps unnaturally so--too stiff, too measured, too unlike himself. "But suffice to say I was--startled--by the--by some--" (by the viscid feel of a horror so nearby, by the burden of awful memory it called up and now he's thinking of it--fuck, don't choke--) "--aspects of how the, how spells were--amplified, by the thinner Veil. The--feel of them," which of them, Myr; except naming it will make it that much more real, "in the Fade--I'm sorry," he cuts himself off abruptly.

"You don't want to hear any of this." I don't want to talk about it, he means, but he can't force that admission any more than the others.

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Inessa's voice is gentler and apologetic when she responds, taking not of everything from his tone to his movements. "I do, but you're not ready and it can wait. There's no need to discuss it further for now." She's already pressed more than she was comfortable doing, there won't be any more of it while Myr is still clearly rattled. "We'll be here another day until the ship is ready for us. Take what time you need to rest and regain yourself. There's nothing I require of anyone, now that we've achieved our goal."

[faithlikeaseed]

"There's no need to discuss it further for now."

A cold lump of dread congeals in his stomach at the words. Not being held to an explanation now is relief for the immediate anxiety, but he'll owe her one later and has all the way back to Kirkwall to think of it. Maybe there's a way out--maybe she'll forget about it, or he can avoid speaking of it until she has--

Maybe he shouldn't be thinking of hiding from this and maybe he has a duty to her to tell the truth, no matter how afraid he was (is). He ducks his head, coloring to the points of his ears with shame. "Of course, Warden," he mutters. "As you say."

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Inessa moves to stand, still wanting to discuss the matter...but it can wait, and Myr needs his space. "Garahel wishes to remain with you for a bit, I'm certain. When you tire of him, send him back to me."

She strokes her mabari companion's head, then allows him to nuzzle Myr as she heads back to her seat.

[faithlikeaseed]

He nods mutely to this, head still low and shoulders rounded. Fine job you did there, Myrobalan. Some agent of the Inquisition you are--

He cuts the thought off before it can get too far, rests a hand on Garahel's head to distract himself from it. There's no advantage in thinking that way.

(It still gnaws at the edges of his mind like a demon, persistent and unrelenting, when he sends Garahel back to her an hour later.)