faderift | [open] concerning hobbits

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[open] concerning hobbits

WHO: Samwise Gamgee and EVERYONE HE CAN FIND
WHAT: Sam's arrived at Skyhold and is exploring! Also asking questions. All the questions.
WHEN: After arriving from the Fallow Mire
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Feel free to meet Sam in any part of Skyhold! He'll be all over.

He'd tried to stick close to who he'd already started privately thinking of as his new friends - the other Sam and the wizard Twisted Fate. He'd even glimpsed, once or twice, the Man who'd pulled him out of the Mire in the first place, and saved him from being drownded. But the road from the Fallow Mire had been long, and Sam had spent much of it on his own, tucked away in small corners of wagons or sitting astride horses alongside dwarves, being too short to walk and have a hope of keeping up.

And when they'd arrived at last, he'd found himself suddenly left completely to his own devices.

Skyhold. He rolls the word around in his mind, staring up, up at the battlements and the clouds beyond. It's a good enough name for the place, he supposes, being up in the mountains as it is. And there's something in it that appeals to him - it's not quite Elvish, not quite Rivendell or Lothlórien, but it's a bit more fanciful than Hobbiton or Bywater, he thinks. As for the place itself, he finds himself a bit overwhelmed - not only with the size (which is enormous in its own right, apart from everything in it being built proportionate to Big People), but with the ceaseless activity and the seemingly endless places to explore and get lost in.

He finds the kitchen first, hobbit-senses guiding him true, but after he's snacked his fill he finds himself wanting to explore more, and he steps carefully down the stairs into the yard. There are folk of all shapes and sizes everywhere (though nobody he recognizes), and he takes a deep breath before walking forward, not quite sure where he's going.

There are Elves here; he knows that much. If nothing else, perhaps the Elves will know more about what's happened and why he's come here. Perhaps they'll at least know Gandalf's name.

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"It's less likely, now. When we first had people arriving via rift...well, you have to undersand, the Fade is full of demons. It was pretty common to fear rift-folk, thinking they might be demons in disguise. But rifters have had time to prove themselves, and since we've learned that mark of yours can close rifts, people have become a lot more welcoming. Only one other person was able to do that, before all of you arrived, and she's...gone. So having that back has many of us feeling like we have a real chance again."

Her expression is briefly mournful when thinking of the Herald, but she quickly focuses back on the present, smiling at the newcomer. Maybe some idiots are still ungrateful, but she's not, and isn't shy about saying so. Not that she's shy about opinion of hers.

It makes sense, he supposes, though there had certainly been none of those demons back where he'd come from, and the thought of being associated with them in any way makes him shudder. He lifts his hand, frowning down at the mark.

"If it can close rifts, I'm sure I don't know how," he confesses. "I'd sure like to stop any more of those demons from getting in - but -" A thought occurs to him, and he glances up, suddenly concerned. "If we came here through the rifts, and then we close them all up, how will we ever get home again?"

A look of alarm passes over his face as the implications sink in, and he looks around, as if hoping for one last rift to jump through before they all get closed up for good.

Korrin shakes her head, worried at that concern and where it might lead. "I don't know, but entering the Fade sure isn't going to do it. If anything, going in there blindly would just get you killed. Sorry, I wish it was that easy to return. That doesn't mean there isn't one, but I'd be lying if I said it's likely to happen any time soon.

As for the rift-closing, you just raise you hand at the rift, and the rest does itself. That's what I've always seen, at least. I'm a mage, but that rift stuff is beyond me."

He's disappointed, but he doesn't much like the idea of meeting all those demons again, either, and he just nods, looking crestfallen. "I guess I'm stuck here for the moment," he says sadly. "And to think! I was so ascared just to go into the Old Forest! I never thought I'd get this far, nor wanted to."

He looks up at Korrin. It suddenly occurs to him how alike they are, despite the vast differences in their appearances. He hasn't seen any other giants - qunari - around, and he wonders just how rare they are around here. Like him, she appears to be alone. "Are you far from home, too?" he asks, with a note of kindness and concern.

At least her warning is heeded, and brings some relief. That kindness and concern surprise her -he's a newcomer, and he has ever right to focus on himself and is situation, not hers- but it's not unwelcome. She smiles a little and nods.

"It depends on what you call 'home', but either way, it's true. I've never stayed put in one place, but if you have to peg me down to a specific area, I'm from the Free Marches, up north. My folks are still there, and my company's on the other side of the continent right now. But it's alright. I'm here because work needs to be done, and I want to see it through. The chaos all around isn't just going to fix itself, is it?"

Something she says speaks to him, and he nods solemnly, a pained expression passing fleeting over his face. "See it through," he repeats softly. He bows his head for a moment. He'd vowed to see it through, himself, and then to go home with Frodo or not at all. Not at all seems more likely now, and Mr. Frodo is still out there somewhere, without Sam by his side.

"Yes, I understand," he continues at length. "There's a job to do, and it wouldn't sit right to go home before it's done." He sighs, a long exhale of tired, dawning realization. "There's work to do everywhere, isn't there? Perhaps it'll never stop, and we won't get to go home at all - none of us."

That pained expression and sigh touch Korrin, and she kneels down so that he doesn't have to strain to meet her gaze. And maybe she'd rather not get a crick in her neck from staring down that much. It's only fair, if they're to keep talking.

"Hey, don't go there. If you do, it won't lead anywhere pleasant or helpful. I'd hate to see you give into wallowing when there's still every chance we'll come out of this. It will stop at some point; either the asshole responsible for all this wins, or we do. I don't know about you, but I know what outcome I want, and I'll keep fighting to get it."

Sam stares back at her solemnly, more grateful than he would have thought at the way she kneels down to meet his eye. A few others have done the same, but mostly, he's left straining his neck just to talk to regular folk - much less giantesses. It's nice to be able to look at her proper (even if she is just as frightening up close).

He considers her words gravely, though, and after a moment he smiles - small and a bit uncertain, but a real smile nonetheless.

"I suppose you're right," he concedes. "It won't last forever. It's the job that's never started as takes longest to finish, as the Gaffer used to say; but every job ends sometime, one way or another. I only hope it ends in our favor."

Sam can stare as much as he needs, Korrin won't judge. She'd much prefer others getting a good look at her over snide comments and such. And while she won't apologize for what she is, ever, she won't go out of her way to seem more frightening. Perhaps all Sam needs is time enough to see that she's just like anyone else...with horns.

Small and uncertain, it's still a smile and Korrin will take that as a minor victory. She nods and smiles in return, her own sympathetic. "So do I, and I'll drink to that. If you're ever partial to doing the same, I'll buy a round at the tavern. Unlike the mire, this one actually has stuff you can drink and not hate yourself later. Or sooner."

"There's a tavern?" He brightens immediately, all but ready to dash off and find it right away, and then seems to remember himself. "That is - I'd be very happy for a drink, if you're willing. I'm afraid I haven't got any money, nor any idea how to get any."

"No one's told you? For shame, we'll have to fix that." Korrin gets to her feet, ready to lead the way. "I figure what with being yanked into a new and really chaotic world, the least you're owed is a drink. The Inquisition will see to your needs, so I wouldn't worry about money. You can always pay it back by getting another around sometime. If you're there long enough, someone will do the same, so it's the gift that keeps on giving."

He's surprised to find her ready to head for the tavern immediately, but happy enough to go along with her. Both her idea about him being owed drinks and the arrangement of paying back one round with another, and on and on, seem eminently sensible (not to mention rather hobbit-like), and he can't help but approve.

"I wouldn't say no to a nice cold ale," he says as they walk, hurrying his steps to keep up. "Or perhaps more than one. But you're very kind to offer, all the same."

Korrin does her best not to leave Sam far behind, given her longer strides. She's used to accommodating smaller races, though admittedly he's a fair bit shorter than even some dwarves she's met. So she'll take care to keep her strides within reason, so he doesn't have to run after her just to keep up.

"We have plenty of ale, and mead and other drinks. Love yourself and don't try any of the dwarven brews, though. The dwarves have many fine qualities and you won't hear me arguing otherwise, but making decent liquor isn't one of them."

Korrin doesn't seem to think that he's a dwarf - unlike many of the others he's met thus far - and Sam puffs out his chest and stands up a little straighter, pleased not to be mistaken for one even if he suspects she has no idea what he might actually be, instead.

"I'll be careful," he promises. "If the ales are anything like the ones back home, then I won't wish for anything else, anyhow - except a bite to eat, perhaps."

She's seen plenty of dwarves in her time, all over Thedas. And while Sam isn't terribly far off, his shorter stature and feet make it obvious that even if he is a dwarf, he's a different breed from what she knows. The most important thing, however, is that he's no demon. Anyone with half a brain and not blinded by fear or bigotry could tell that much.

"Ale is ale everywhere, I'd think. Maybe it's the one constant that binds the universe together. That and drinking songs. And they have a small selection; I prefer the heart cakes, but they also have butter soup and that one barley and turnip stew that's everywhere in Ferelden."

Her talk of drinking songs lifts his heart nearly as much as her description of the food. Maybe this place isn't so bad, after all. Sam walks with a bit more spring in his step, craning his neck upwards to continue speaking to his tall companion.

"Everywhere except inside this hobbit!" he says, cheerfully enough. Barley and turnip stew may sound dull and unappetizing to some, but it's good, hearty food, excellent for hobbits. "But we'll change that soon enough."

Edited 2015-12-12 09:05 (UTC)

"Oh, so that's what you're called. I was going to ask, since the only beings I know close to your size are dwarves and they don't tend to have hairy feet." Pondering that makes her a little worried for him outside Skyhold, though. She has no idea what the average person would think of rifters, let alone one of another race. Given that there's so much to fear lately, it might be best to err on the side of caution.

Sam shakes his head. He's been mistaken for a dwarf a few times already, and he suspects it'll happen much more, but that doesn't make it any more true.

"I'm a hobbit, right enough, and we've got no dwarf blood at all," he confirms. "Only it seems I'm the only one around - that is, unless hobbits here are even quieter and better at hiding than the ones from the Shire, and have managed to hide themselves away completely - from everyone."

"No, I don't think so. If they do, they live beyond Thedas. We're not exactly familiar with that lies beyond the continent. That said...I'd be careful about telling people what you are, at least beyond Skyhold or Inquisition territory. Especially now thanks to the Breach, the only association people have with anything beyond this world is...not good, thanks to all the demons. It'll take time for that to change."

And now Korrin's actually being diplomatic, because her hopes for that aren't high, much as she doesn't want to bring his mood down. If they can't even accept mages and other races from their own lands, what are they going to do with outsiders? It still worries her.

Sam looks both worried and skeptical at once at the prospect. He has no wish to be mistaken for one of those monsters from the rifts, and yet he knows as well as anyone that he's not a very intimidating figure.

"They must be fainthearted people indeed, to be so frightened of a hobbit," he says, then adds quickly, "begging your pardon. But I'll be careful."

A wry smile forms as she shakes her head. "You're not wrong. Thanks to all this, people are pretty jumpy. The Inquisition is supposed to be setting an example, though, so maybe that will actually happen. People working together regardless of origin is something that appeals to plenty of us, hopefully more than those who are snobs or fearmongers."

As they come into view of the tavern, Korrin gestures to it. "The Herald's Rest, one of best ways to cope with all this, at least in my opinion. It gets crowded every night, though, so I'm not alone."

The sight of the tavern is enough to soothe Sam's worries, or at least put them out of his mind for a while. He looks on the building with interest, a smile crossing his face. It's not the Green Dragon, but the soft yellow glow of light visible through the building's windows and the sounds of song and laughter drifting from the open door are welcoming and familiar, and he speeds his steps a little, eager to be inside.

"There's nothing like a stout brew to ease a troubled heart," he says firmly. "Apart from a hearty meal, that is."

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