[ OPEN ] The sky is on fire, at least that is the word out in the world

[fleurdesel]

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

[ 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.

Comments

[laurenande]

There was some purity in Adelaide's frustration, in the utter morality of her desires, and Galadriel admired her in silence for a few seconds. Uncertainty was what plagued Adelaide's mind--of her goal, of her power, of her worthiness to wield such power--and yet it was that worry that assured her success.

Explaining as much would be impossible, or at least it would strain the friendship that had formed between them, and Galadriel looked out at the stars as she considered what to say.

Adelaide was compassionate, gentle, and kind. She was a healer. She lacked the ruthlessness to bypass the circuitous trials that ailed her and she was not so callous that she could orchestrate swift or brutal change. Even without knowing the players, nor how the board was staged, Galadriel could see what machinations would move the world to their favor...but Adelaide's goal was to be superior, to be more mindful and compassionate than the systems that drove Thedas to this point.

She wished to heal a hurt, not simply turn the tide, and that was a different sort of goal entirely.

"A solution that does not correct the problem does little more than slow the descent into chaos," Galadriel said after a long silence. "This burden is yours because you alone will try to heal this hurt. Whether it is for good or ill, you are the best suited for such a task, so it has come to you."

Galadriel released a slow breath and, were the wind less persistent, it might've fogged in the night air. As she drew another she unfolded her hands and rested one atop Adelaide's arm. The wool of her cloak was heavy and stiff, but the gesture was not diminished by it.

"Do not despair over your frustrations, my friend, even the very wise and the very powerful suffer such things. They will weary you, but there is none so dire that it would lay you low."

[fleurdesel]

It was too big. As much as she had called the Inquisition, Skyhold, the Council insufficient- it was all too big. The sky too wide, the walls too short, the people too many. The stakes too high.

The spire had walls and rooms and structure. It had expectations that could be met or surpassed. There had been a clear path for her there. Study, research, teach, mentor. Develop something useful under the watchful eyes of the Senior Enchanters and templars. Be acceptably exceptional. She'd taken pride in that, in following the rules, in doing as was expected and here-

No path. No expectations. No guidelines. A sky that was too large and too full of stars and darkness and demons, walls yet being built and demands. Not expectations. Hopes and demands and fears. This must be done, we must have your opinion, you must see- and she did. She tried. She listened. It seemed most days that was all she could do anymore was listen ere anyone chose to speak.

"I would argue my suitability but I have done so already against the one that pointed me in this direction in the first place. At the time I failed to convince neither him nor myself that I should not- and even now...he would likely argue that I continue. As such, I must." No pressure, no expectations-

No, no. That wasn't right. There were expectations- new ones. Strange ones. Be sensible, be reasonable, be polite and unwavering and poised.

It was exhausting.

Wound tight as she was and as deep in her own mind as she'd been Galadriel's touch, meant to sooth or not, earned a sharp flinch and a low swear. She hated that reaction in herself, that flaw, and could not suppress it all the same. "Désolé- it is not you it is-"

She gestured vaguely. "My own ghosts not yet laid to rest."