[closed AND open??] I'm not sick, but I'm not well

[onlyhymns]

WHO: Cade & you, starters for specific people
WHAT: He's back from Rivain and doing terribly!
WHEN: Harvestmere
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: the usual Cade stuff, there's always a chance it'll come up

I. Gwen's Household

He hadn't had time to begin training before the mission to Rivain, so Cade has only recently become a frequent visitor to Casa Vauquelin. He doesn't quite understand her relationship to Wren, but Cade wasn't raised in a barn and knows how to enter a person's home without making a nuisance of himself, so he always knocks and waits to be let in before he'll proceed to the room where Wren will be waiting.
Whomever opens the door gets to deal with him. This happens several times a week.

II. Wren

Cade is easily upset and even whiny on his worst days, but when he's training, he's all business. There's been a nervous energy underlying his every motion, which might be chalked up to just who he is, but also may be a result of just how incredibly tits-up things went on the mission to Rivain. Each session he does exactly what's expected of him, but something about his demeanor indicates he's about to reach a breaking point. It might be bad.

III. Simon

The worst part about not being a Templar anymore is the continued addiction to lyrium, which Cade has learned pretty quickly he can't ignore. Every week he meets with Simon to procure their allotted dosage, and though he doesn't need an escort, having a friend-- is Simon his friend??-- nearby at least makes the process a little more bearable.
It's still degrading as all get out, but Simon is big and blocks Cade's view of most people who might cast him judging glances, so that's a blessing.
"The Commander started going off lyrium," he murmurs to Simon as the line inches forward, "he didn't die from it." ...wait, where is the Commander again? "...I think."

IV. Beleth

Cade couldn't have left the ship any faster when they got back, and if Beleth hadn't seen him leave someone might have thought he'd fallen overboard in transit. He vanished for several days, but has reappeared with a knock at her office door.

V. Open

Feeling that the Inquisition army barracks would be more secure (and cheaper) than staying in an inn forever, Cade has moved his limited belongings in to stay with the assortment of soldiers and scouts from the area. Surprisingly, it's been a nice way to start over; he never talks, so he might as well be a new intake, which means nobody knows his history. He's just some guy, and that's exactly the way he prefers it: blended into the mass, forgettable, forgotten. Invisible.

He can often be found practicing archery with the soldiers, or helping out down at the docks, or reading in a pub, now that it's gotten too chilly to do so outside.

Comments

[limier]

"It is alright,"

She repeats, more firmly. It's not; her nose is pretty definitely broken, and fuck, but she'd forgotten what an inconvenience these are —

(Shivana's in the Blackmarsh, and she can't go crawling to Delacroix,)

"This is not the first time I have failed to block." Is that what they're calling that small explosion? It is until he seems less about to repeat it, or to run off to claw his own skin. She fumbles for the sash at her side, balls it up beneath her nostrils. "Breathe, Cade. With me. In,"

Ow.

"Out."

Fuckfuckfuck.

[onlyhymns]

Cade knows she's just saying something to calm him down, and that makes it worse, but he still tries to follow Wren's instructions. He breathes in, and out, and though it does help a little, he has more pressing issues at hand.
"You need a healer," he insists, and though his demeanor hardly changes, he feels something in him crumble. It only took a few sessions for it to come to this, brutalizing someone else, someone trying to help him. "Let me help," he says suddenly, his voice breaking. He's going to lose his composure if they aren't careful.

[limier]

Her eyes press shut. I beg your patience, or failing that —

"Very well." She gropes for his arm, hacks around a curse unvoiced. "Give me a distraction. Tell me something."

Or failing that,

She needs time to think. Rags, water. All without alarming the servants (as though much would surprise this house).

"It does not matter what."

[onlyhymns]

Cade offers his arm freely, holding it steady for Wren to grab, still maintaining a certain amount of his swordsman's strength despite having not been used for that purpose in a while. "Um," he stammers, now naturally blanking on anything he might have otherwise said, searching for something to tell her that isn't just 'oh shit oh shit oh maker'.
"W-- th--- a Dalish is making a new Andraste for the forest," he blusters, his tone more about just saying words than about any kind of inflection. "The dark one, she's going to carve it from wood." He begins walking Wren toward the door, if she'll let him.

[limier]

She allows him to lead her.

"Dahlasanor," She supplies. It must be, the others are pale as milk or painted up like motley. "Did she ask any of the faithful before beginning?"

It's a fine gesture — though likely to be seen for sacrilege by a few, they'll need to be careful how they speak of it — but good intentions had gotten them in this to begin with. Whether there's any true understanding of the objections raised?

A handprint on the wall, smeared as they pass.

[onlyhymns]

Cade nods, appreciative of the reminder. Dahlasanor. That's a mouthful.
"She, well. ...she asked me." And there are those as faithful, but even Cade admits it was a good instinct on the elf's part, as he's among the more overtly devout. "I told her what she should look like. And lent her a book."

[limier]

"Good," A relief. Harriman, and not another elf (and not, she thinks uncharitably, the blind one) — "The city's commission will want to be informed. There has been talk of a true memorial,"

She coughs, holds in a curse. This maybe isn't the moment for extended conversation. Better to keep him talking.

"Which book?"

[onlyhymns]

Though the distraction is working, Wren's cough brings him back to the problem, and Cade frowns uneasily. "Um... it's illustrations from the Chant of Light. Woodcuts." And prints made thereof, old-fashioned style.
"Ser, if you wait here I could go find someone." A pause. "...I'm sorry."