Adele LeBlanc (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fleurdesel) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
faderift2015-11-28 12:17 am
fleurdesel) wrote in faderift2015-11-28 12:17 am
[ OPEN ] The sky is on fire, at least that is the word out in the world
WHO: Adelaide LeBlanc and Various
WHAT: Adelaide returns to Skyhold
WHEN: mid Firstfall
WHERE: Courtyard, Library, Tavern, Garden, Battlements of Skyhold
NOTES: N/A, will update as needed
WHAT: Adelaide returns to Skyhold
WHEN: mid Firstfall
WHERE: Courtyard, Library, Tavern, Garden, Battlements of Skyhold
NOTES: N/A, will update as needed
[ Courtyard A ]
The walk had been a long one. A long, boring, exhausting one- but one she'd made out to the mire and one she made back. Catching the odd ride from a cart on the way up the mountain had made stretches of it easier but her only concern now were a few requests and concerns as given to her by her students through the sending crystals. First thing was first: eat. Change. Rest. Then she could tend to the list of errands that brought her here.
Cloak dusted with snow and weight listing heavily against her staff with each step, she made a weary sight as she strode with unwavering focus to the Hold's doors. Students first, the rest would come later.
[ Gardens ]
Her concerns here were twofold- looking over the elfroot for improper trimming (recreational smoking, Andraste's ass, what were they thinking) and proper growth. Sleeves rolled up, hair bound back she knelt and checked every plant by hand to be absolutely certain, from root to shoot to leaf before moving on to the next. For elfroot, embrium, any plant with medicinal properties in the garden- and then a few that were not. The repetition and examination was soothing for her, a shred of familiarity that reminded her much of the time she'd done the same in the Spire's small garden.
Afterward- well. She began examining trees. For- meddling. Before seeking out a particular dalish mage. While it wasn't the only reason she returned, it had been a large part for her taking the walk back.
[ Library ]
Nothing on the plague as far as Bruce could tell while he was here- she hadn't passed him on the road but he'd indicated that he would be coming down to the mire to help when they last spoke. She did not doubt him his research- but the questioned and rather vexed swearing of the latest round of rifters had her seeking anything on the veil, the fade, and Tevinter magics. She could simply ask Dorian, she supposed, but his was more modern, less ancient. Mug of tea steaming at her elbow she picked through stack after stack of either horribly vague or horribly specific and useless information. Now and then she made a note or sat back, glaring at whatever she read, and muttered under her breath- "Bullshit."
[ Tavern ]
Evening found her at the tavern, eating with her students (glad for her return) and enjoying a solitary glass of wine. No books, no arguments over the state of the garden or the improper use of magic- just a meal. She might even be smiling ever so slightly while she listened to how they spent their days or the progress they've made in their studies in her absence. Now and then she wove her way to the bar proper to order another glass of wine for her other students or a mug of tea for herself, trying her best not to bump into anyone on the way there or back.
[ Battlements ]
Exhausted as the Mire had made her, long as her days have been, Adeliade did not find sleep easily. Between stress and frustration at not finding a cure or cause for the plague just yet or any manner of explanation for the rifters weighed on her more than it ought to. She never pretended to have the answers, never tried to know the whole of a problem. She was a healer and as much as it was in her nature to fix things- she wasn't certain if it was her own mind or Compassion that kept her from rest. Not wanting to bother her students (Roul minded the door in her absence) or anyone else for that matter, most nights found her on the battlements, bundled against the cold as she paced. Perhaps it would wear her out enough to sleep.
[ Courtyard B ]
Later in the day Adelaide can be seen coming up from a part of the hold, carting dust bins and cobweb covered brooms- more than a little dusty herself, and dumping the lot out, beating the broom against the stone side of the building, and taking a moment or two to enjoy the light and the fresh air before she wandered back down. Rinse and repeat, several times, until whatever room she was clearing out below was cleaned to her satisfaction. Needless to say it would take some time.
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Cooperation with the Templars having been something of a sticking point, but her summary, her exasperation, lays that concern to rest. As he had hoped.
There's a hint of a smile at her dismissal of her own line of conversation, and Dorian glances at his work, eyes hooded. "A junior archivist at the Circle in Minrathous, and a handful of like others. I'm attempting to track down a book on veilfire runes for Pel, one written by a Magister. It won't be found in any library or known catalogue, but I'm hoping they'll recommend to me appropriate collectors who'll be open to a little bargaining. It could go either way, really.
"But the Dalish seems to have her heart set, so the effort can't hurt. She said she'd knit me a scarf if I managed to secure it." His tone is indulgent, there, at the prospect of knitwear for a text of valuable obscurity -- elves are adorable! Who knew. "I'm attempting to have them all done before I'm spirited out of Skyhold soon."
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And keeping on Dorian's good side seems like a wise idea. Moreover as much as she hated the situation that he'd urged her into, she finds she likes him.
A little.
Something about being northern, charming, and sane, most likely.
"On the subject of Tevinter Circles...You and Felix are quite close, yes?" Her ire gentles as truly it isn't Dorian that has stirred it. "...how have you been handling his condition?"
As difficult as it is for Felix's father and for Felix himself, she cannot imagine how Dorian might be coping.
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But this subject is let go at the next, his focus turning back towards her and something defensive showing in his eyes, up until she asks her question. As a healer, he should expect her to care. That he chooses to answer her with a little obtuseness is at once by accident as well as a purposeful distancing of how he is handling himself in the context of Felix's condition, focusing instead on the man in question.
"As thoroughly as fatal illness allows me. It's a matter of seeing to his comforts, and not fretting visibly where he can see. He doesn't like to be an inconvenience." A hint of resignation and fondness ekes into his tone, unavoidable. "He'll need another guardian when I leave Skyhold -- if you would be so kind..."
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Dorian deserves none of them. Her lips twist in a faint grimace at how she sounds before she drops formality, drops the patterns, and cuts her own.
"It's shit for the both of you- I will mind him as best I can, make certain he is well taken care of while you are away. But when you return? If you need to sit and not talk and drink to not have this on your mind for a little while, you know where to find me." That feels infinitely more honest.
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--well, she wins him over by swearing a little, honestly.
As does her offer, and whatever tension that had begun to wind up eases off again before it can build properly. He nods, once, and seems like he might say something clever. Instead; "He will die, slowly, a long way from home, with his father in our prisons. It seems like small comfort, especially after dragging him across the Frostbacks in the first place. I'd argued with Alexius about accepting his son's fate, and being his father in what little time he had left, and now--"
He eases out a sigh. "Well. Fatal illness was never going to be kind. He's one who should have lived a long life."
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It is ill advised at the best and bound to end poorly at the worst.
Personal investment in anyone at the moment isn't something she can easily entertain. And she finds herself invested in Felix's wellbeing even as it fades.
Northerners being so charming will be the death of her, of that she's slowly becoming certain.
"I wonder if I cannot arrange for some manner of visitation. He has more than earned his imprisonment but- to be unable to spend any time with his son is cruel."
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For family, where they can get it. Dorian doesn't have to tell her: Felix has declined, and will only continue to do so. He settles into a brief silence, and then waves it away again with a hand. "I'll be gone hardly a few days, and likely to bother him over sending crystal. I'll see he eventually passes through the Fade glad to be rid of me."
His eyes sparkle ordinarily with his usual brand of humour, almost always when its cuts close to bad taste. Here, there is also a specific sadness, unshed, refused to go much further.
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That is more than most might have.
It's an impulsive though given motion, her reaching out to squeeze Dorian's hand. Light and brief- a token gesture or attempt at commiseration. She has not known Felix long nor does she know him well- and she still finds herself fond of him. She can't imagine how deep it cuts Dorian to be losing him. "I'll save a few bottles of good wine."
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"If you can find anything of our latest stock. The steward is either plotting a mass poisoning or overstocked on vinegar and is passing it off as vintage. I swear, Josephine must have her own collection hidden away somewhere -- we ought to recruit an elf to squirrel it out."
And here we are. Back to normal.
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No compassion, no grief.
Sass and wine and complaining.
Adelaide rolls her eyes and settles back in her chair, all fond exasperation. "They keep purchasing Fereldan. I keep telling them it is not wine, it's barely water, but no. It is cheaper and as such it is what they purchase. Though I must ask, why do you think an elf would have a better nose for finding wine?"
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Nothing wrong with a little playful elf racism between associates.
His fingers wiggle in the air as if to convey the sheer criminal feyness of elven kind, before his hands drop to relax elegant on the arms of his chair. "If I find a thousand-year-old red in the cellars of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, we can find out if it's drinkable."
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If he did, they would have words. As he doesn't? Not an issue.
"If it's one thousand years old it has long since become vinegar- unless it was enchanted in which case that is all the more reason not to drink it. Nothing good comes of enchanting wine." Several missing days in the Spire are warning enough for her.
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"I am, aren't I. It's a good thing I'm so handsome."
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
"Give it enough time and we'll be desperate enough to try it. Here's to hoping for a mission in an Orlaisish direction."
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