faderift | [Open] you've held your head up

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[Open] you've held your head up

WHO: Beleth and YOU
WHAT: A million terrible things have been happening to Beleth in quick succession, and it's finally caught up to her.
WHEN: The last two weeks of Haring, after Sina's funeral
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: cw for depression/grieving/vicious dragon attacks

She kept it together, up until the funeral. Kept busy between helping with the plans, and her actual job. She didn't talk much aside from getting everything together, but she had been present. She had always been good at repressing her emotions to do what must be done, and she had put it to use taking as much responsibility as she could from the others that weren't handling it has well.

1.) The days after

But the funeral and wake both pass, and Beleth calls in sick, then turns off her crystal. She's done her duty to her family, and without any other crisis looming, all the stress and grief that's been building up for well over a month comes crashing down. It's not even just Sina, nor is it seeing her brother nearly catatonic, nor the nightmares she was subjected to while fighting the terror demon. It's all of that and more, and Beleth is so, so tired.

She spends most of her time in bed, in a hazy mix of wakefulness and sleep. Sometimes, when she's feeling good enough to get out of bed, but not quite enough to leave the room, she reads in a chair next to an open window. The sunlight helps, as does the sharp, clear winter wind that drifts into the room.

Despite her self-isolation, she'll (somewhat reluctantly) answer the door for visitors--though those she has little care for may find her attempting to move them along with all due speed. Little effort is spent keeping up appearances for these visitors, with no makeup, nor any hair care--leaving her hair in its natural state of a mess of frizzy hair. More telling is the exhausted look on her face, and the way her eyes seem to be focused on something in the distance, even when speaking to someone.

2.) Back in the saddle

However much she wants to spend the next year in bed, life doesn't halt for her misery. Which means that work doesn't stop either, and she knows that there's only so long a division head can slack off. So after a few days of hiding away in her room, Beleth emerges and resumes her responsibilities.

Kind of.

She can be found in her office, usually bent over some paperwork, a glass of wine by her side, in constant flux of fullness as Beleth drinks and refills it. Her productivity is proportional to how full the glass is, and more often than not, she can be found with the pen hovering in the air, her eyes staring off into the distance. Once again, little effort is expended in her appearance, and it's one of the few times she's been in (semi) public without her hair being carefully styled. She doesn't seem to particularly care.

Nor does she seem to worry much about the sudden cold that's gripped Kirkwall. Snow is brushed off of her windowsill, and Kolgrim is kept about her constantly. A fire-breathing mini dragon is a wonderful heater, and other than runs outside for food, she seems content to wait out the cold inside the tower.

There will be no awards won for productivity, but at least she's out here, trying.

2.5) Mistletoe!!

In the breaks between making effort to actually do her job, Beleth stares at the strange creature that's somehow attached itself to her hand. Or is it a plant? It must be camouflage, like a stick insect. But stick insects don't bite your hand and refuse to let go.

She seems, surprisingly, relatively calm about this new predicament. It's so minor compared to everything else, and she hasn't the energy to expend fretting over it. Instead, every once in a while, she examines the mistletoe, and gives it a good shake. When it refuses to budge, she shrugs, and goes back to writing with her other hand.

3.) Winter wonderland

When she does venture out (usually for food), she's prepared. She's lived in the Free Marches her entire life, lived in the middle of the woods during those winters, so she knows how to dress to stay warm. Layered up with a scarf, hat, coat and gloves, the only part of Beleth that's visible is her freckles and purple eyes peeking over her scarf. The upside is that it's harder to see what a disorganized mess she is.

Just in case the layers aren't enough, she's got Kolgrim in her arms--one of the few times she's willing to openly carry the dragon around. Not that she's done very much to hide him, but usually she demurs from having him in public. But this is an exception, and she holds the dragon close as she hustles to and from whatever chore has pulled her from her warm tower room.

She's not eager to talk to people, but she isn't oblivious to others having to deal with the cold, and if anyone seems to be particularly suffering, she'll offer a fire-breathing dragon to their aid--and she'll probably stop him from nipping, even.

3.5) MORE mistletoe!!

This time, the attacking mistletoe has latched onto the only skin showing: Her nose. This is significantly more distressing than the one in her office had been, not least of all because Kolgrim has a serious issue with the strange plant. Either out of instinct or some desire to protect Beleth, he's trying his very best to attack the mistletoe--unfortunately, with it still attached to Beleth.

It's enough that Beleth has to stop her rushing around to try to fend off both the mistletoe and the mini dragon trying to attack it.

"Da'len, stop--I said stop!" She flaps her hand ineffectually at the dragon, who at least hasn't tried resorting to fire yet. "Kolgrim, that is my nose--You are Fen'Harel's own, you know that?"

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Being somewhat an expert on self-imposed isolation, Cade knows when not to bother someone. He's out running an errand when he sees Beleth walking around the Gallows again, and it's only later that afternoon that he pays her a visit, entering her office with a soft knock on the doorframe, a basket under his arm.

Beleth's office is a warm place, more inviting than it ought to be given the building it resides within. The decorations, quiet pieces with Dalish markings, are a delight to behold and Galadriel spends some time in the pre-dawn light staring at the tapestry of the tree. She has not foregone her cloak but it is draped across one of the spare chairs in the room, out of immediate reach. She need not signal to Beleth that she trusts her, but it is a sign of some respect to shed such things in formal settings...and this is a formal setting if ever there was one.

Galadriel does not know Beleth's current schedule or what to make of this room, so she waits. Eventually, the sun rises above Kirkwall and Galadriel takes a seat in one of Beleth's chairs. Her regard doesn't stray far from the tapestry on the wall, the imagery is too pointed to avoid.

Edited (Because time is a lie, etc. Or after 1, whatever works.) 2017-12-18 20:35 (UTC)

She's trying, and so is Kit. That makes two of them.

He knocks on the door to her office one afternoon and waits until he has her permission before he opens it. "Hey, boss," he says by way of greeting; the small smile he has for her fades some when he gets a look at her face, but doesn't disappear completely. "Is this a bad time?"

Sorrel knows very few things in this world for certainty. But he knows this-- if he should have a nightmare, and go to Beleth for comfort, she will never turn him away. It's been like that between them for as long as they've been alive, and he hasn't needed it so badly in living memory. It is, after all, much like a nightmare.

That and, she doesn't look much better than he feels, when he comes to her.

"Can I...?" He asks, almost on a whisper. He's tired, and sleep is a fight he can't win alone, "Can I stay with you?"

If anyone had ever asked Adalia whether she was prepared for a truly freezing winter, she would have told them that of course she was, what a silly question, the cold isn't that bad. In fact, one of the monks may have asked her that before she left Candlekeep, and Adalia just rolled her eyes and assured him that yes, she knew what clothes she would need to buy, and how to start a fire, and other such winter necessities. Growing up next to the ocean did not mean she was entirely unaware of how to survive in true winter, just that she was unused to it. It would be fine.

It was not fine. It was really, really not fine. Adalia was entirely unprepared for a winter so cold, and had never seen snow before. The Inquisition has provided her with a dress made of heavier cloth than the one she'd arrived in, and Gwenaëlle had sent her a cloak, gloves, and hat, but even those couldn't keep her warm. Gwenaëlle had in fact specifically instructed her not to wear the fine things she'd sent out and about in Kirkwall, because people here were morons who'd assume Adalia had stolen them, rather than that she simply had a rich benefactor she'd plied with sleeping draughts. Granted, Adalia wasn't following that advice strictly to the letter, what with being so cold, but that's not the point. Point is: it's cold, she's cold, and she was unprepared for just how wintry winter could really be.

Point is, Adalia is rushing through the cold trying to get to the Templar tower, grey fur-lined cloak pulled tight around her, matching hat sitting low on her head, gloved hands shoved under her armpits for warmth, and she's glaring forward at the dragon flying ahead of her, who's doing barrel rolls and loop-de-loops through the snowy air.

"Just because this is comfortable for you doesn't mean you have to rub it in!" She yells at Charis, who just chatters happily and flies over to nuzzle her face. "Ach — fuckin — Bahamut's ass, Charis, you're freezing, why would you do this to me —"

Beleth pulls herself away from her busy task of staring blankly at one of her paintings to turn to greet her visitor--and looks surprised to see Cade, carrying a basket. She's always a little surprised when he approaches her, but now, moreso than usual.

Ending her farce of productivity, Beleth sets her quill back in its inkwell, and turns to her visitor. This is better than trying to do whatever it was that paperwork was supposed to be, anyway. "Cade! Good afternoon. Is everything alright?"

She really hopes that bundle doesn't have anything to do with inviting her to hunt. The idea of making that trek now seems impossibly daunting, and she'd feel guilty for discouraging him.

As it gets closer to the date of the funeral, Beleth feels heavier and heavier, burdened by her grief and the weight of everything that she must do--because if she can't, then Sorrel will have to, and he's in even worse shape than her.

When she arrives, she does so a little bit after sunrise, but there's a slowness in the way she moves, opening the door and slipping in--then stopping, staring in surprise to see that she already has a visitor, and one that she cares so much for. Quickly, pains are taken to try to look a little more put together; she straightens up, brushes wrinkles out of her clothes, tries to look like she doesn't want to just go make like her ancestors and sleep for a hundred years.

"Lady Galadriel," She quickly bows, lower than she does for nearly anyone else, then straightens and moves to lean against her desk. "I'm sorry, I would have come sooner if I'd known you were here." Has she been waiting long? Had she tried to contact Beleth, and Beleth had just slept through it? Ugh. "Can I make you tea or anything...?"

When Kit's smile fades at the sight of her, Beleth gives him one of her own, though it's a wry, sad thing. "Do I look that bad? Don't answer that, I don't want you to lie or bruise my ego."

She tosses the quill she'd been feigning writing with back into the inkwell, and laces her fingers together, turning to Kit. "It's as good of a time as any." She can't say that it's a particularly favorable time, but it's no worse than any other. They all kind of suck right now. "How are you doing?"

Galadriel regards Beleth and her harried appearance and the weight on her is all too familiar. Galadriel doesn't rise, but it is a near thing. Instead, she looks down at her folded hands and answers.

"No. It is quite alright, but thank you," she demurs and gestures to the seat beside her, across the short table. Her cloak is draped over the back of it, but she sees no issue asking Beleth to sit.

"I came to ask a favor of you, Beleth," Galadriel says and the smile she levels at the Dalish woman is tinted just slightly with her grief.

He's not inviting her to hunt, as evidenced by how he's still dressed for work, but he smiles faintly when Beleth invites him in, and nods to her question. Instead of explaining himself, he just comes over to set the basket on her desk, then steps back to fold his hands, fidgeting lightly. "...I thought... you should eat."

Beleth sees no issue with it either, and sits in the chair Galadriel has indicated, tilting her head as the other woman speaks. This, at least, requires little effort to decide what to say.

"Yes, of course, my Lady. Anything you wish within my ability, I'll do my best to grant." There's a small pause as she tries to puzzle out what in Thedas Galadriel could possibly need her for. Division leader things, perhaps, or--

"Is it Haldir?" Even through the tiredness and heaviness in her heart, she can feel a spike of indignation, irritation rising in her. It's almost a relief, to feel something other than the urge to lie down. "If he's been making trouble, I can take care of him for you. I'm not afraid of that jerk." Of course, she probably can't best him in combat, but she has her strengths. Including basic first aid. She could always just stab him and let gangrene do the rest.

Galadriel smiles at that and a huff of a laugh, unvoiced but fond, escapes her with her next breath. Haldir and Beleth were both very strong personalities and, it seems, diametrically opposed to one another.

"Nay, it is not Haldir, but I thank you for your sincere offer," she says and her face gentles. She reaches across the distance between them and takes Beleth by the hand. It is best, always, to give such things direct and Galadriel makes no exception now, as she presses the small fabric bag into Beleth's palm.

"I was told once, that there is a Dalish tradition that, when one dies, a tree is to be planted upon the grave." She releases Beleth's hand and moves back, but not entirely. "I would not intrude on the grief of those who were her family, but I promised something dear to Siuona and the promises of the Eldar are enduring, they must be."

She drew a slow breath and looked down at the bag, a small, sad smile settling on her face.

"She has been welcomed to my House, to the evergreen country; it seems only fitting that her body be laid to rest beneath the boughs of the Mallorn, ere she sees them for herself."

"How are you doing?"

If he looks like he's just deflated a little bit at that question, it's... probably because he has. Kit's smile gains a touch of wistfulness and he brings up a hand to rub at the back of his neck. "Uh," he begins smartly, taking a few, ambling steps into the office, then drops his hand back to his pocket. "Just, you know. What's that human phrase--hanging in there? I'm hanging in there."

He fetches out the leather holding case for his cigarettes that Myr had given him for Satinalia, fishing a couple of them out. "You smoke?" he asks, offering one to Beleth.

"Of course," And she doesn't even hesitate, not for a moment. Because of course he can come to her, no matter what, no matter how he's feeling. And it's not like he will be a drain to her--she needs him as much he needs her. It's how they've always survived.

"I'm sorry I'm not handling this better." She murmurs to him as she lets him into her room, which has been allowed to become rather more messy in her time keeping herself hidden away in here. Of course, it could probably pass as a normal person's messy room, at this point--a pile of dirty clothes in one corner, various wrappings and packages from food strewn around.

"I know I should be. I'm supposed to be good at this." She continues as she sinks onto her bed. "But--I'm just so tired."

Well, at the very least, of all the people in Kirkwall, even in the Gallows, Beleth is probably one of the least likely to assume that Adalia stole anything that was particularly fancy. Who, after all, understood better than she the various benefits of making friends with people richer than you were?

In fact, she's also wearing winter clothes that had been gift to her from various friends, piled on top of one another to form enough layers to keep out the worst of the cold. Even for those who had lived in the Free Marches, who had seen winter--this was really dang cold. Which is why Beleth was clinging to her dragon under her coat as she hustled back to her own tower--though she grinds to a halt when she sees another dragon.

How many of these miniature dragons had been made, exactly? But this one can fly. Is it not just a miniature dragonling, but a miniature mature dragon? In that case--it'd be really small.

"She's beautiful." Beleth murmurs, sliding up to Adalia cautiously. She's not quite been in the mood for idle chatter lately, but--even this was curious enough to warrant her investigation. "Is she yours? I didn't know anyone else had one. One that they were allowed to keep here, at least." And with that, she shifts her coat back to reveal Kolgrim, who looks unhappy to face the winter air--until he sees another of his kind, and stretches his neck forward, giving a little cry that shoots a few sparks of fire into the air. Beleth opens her mouth to scold him, then closes it with a shrug. He'd managed not to get them on anyone, which was an improvement, at least.

Multiple people seem to think that she needs help completing basic life functions lately...and multiple people are more correct than she'd like to admit. And that it's Cade here, helping her when she's a mess--It's almost odd, really. Not that Cade hadn't helped her multiple times in the past, but rarely had he come to her like this.

It's nice. She shoots him a small smile, even as she peeks into the basket. "Cade, you brought this for me? That's so thoughtful of you, thank you." A small pause. "...I'm sorry I haven't been, um. Around very much." Does she need to apologize to him, of all people, for not holding up as well as she should have? If anyone understands, surely it's him.

Beleth might have ducked her head sheepishly, looked embarrassed, apologized, if Galadriel hadn't kept talking. But she does, and Beleth's face only grows more sober as she goes on, giving Galadriel's hand a little squeeze.

It's a sad topic, of course, but Beleth can't help, as she slowly takes the small fabric bag from Galadriel, but to feel a wave of wonder at what laid in her hand. She turns the little bag over in her palm, nodding as Galadriel continues. "Yes, that's our tradition. I'd been trying to decide what tree would suit her best, but--this, without question, is the best tree I could ever think to grow above her. Ma serannas, I can't begin to describe how grateful I am."

There's a moment of thought, and then she tooks back up to Galadriel, reaching out to gently rest her hand upon the other woman's. "I don't think that it's presumptuous to say that you would be considered as much a part of Sina's family as I am. I know that it's not presumptuous to say that she would have been honored to have you come with us, if you desire to."

"No."

Sorrel says it, and it falls between them flat and hard, like stale bread. Too tough to swallow, too wasteful to discard; Sorrel ignores the mess in favor of following Beleth down to the bed-- and then further, down and down, flopping onto his back, as if exhausted.

"Not supposed to be anything. 'Cept ma--" He stops himself, cutting the word off short, the old sweet nickname, ma sa'asha. My only girl.

The only one, again.

Sorrel puts an arm over his eyes and reaches blindly for Beleth's back with the other. He clenches a fist in her shirt, neither pulling in nor pushing away: he just holds on.

"If you're tired, rest."

At her touch, Galadriel turns her hand over and takes Beleth's hand in a gentle grip. It is uncommon for the people here to return her gestures, few as they are, and she appreciates it deeply. It is difficult to know her mind concerning the invite, however, and she is silent for some time as she debates how best to proceed. After some time, Galadriel releases a slow breath.

"If you will have me, I shall attend. I know little else of the Dalish customs for such things, but if song is involved, I would offer the same Lament I sang for Siuona before her passing." Her smile is a bit wan as she looks up from their hands at Beleth again. "It was not sung in lieu of healing, I assure you. The Elessar eased her as much as I was able and I left her in comfortable slumber.

"I fear, however, I am no grand and honeyed voice; song has never been a point of renown for me. If there are any great voices among her clan, I would happily teach them the song and play accompaniment."

That nickname, once something sacred between them, hangs in the air, heavy. Beleth could never hate Sina, not now, but she feels a twinge of irritation that her twin's beloved nickname for her had been spoiled by this. Maybe some day, he'll be able to say it again without grief.

She doesn't move quite yet, just reaches to fuss with his hair some more, something familiar and comforting.

"Pel thinks I'm going to kill myself," She informs Sorrel calmly--only because she knows that Sorrel wouldn't think the same. She couldn't be that selfish, not after one funeral. "She keeps checking up on me. Dunno what she thinks she'll be able to do, but. She's trying."

"Tcgh," Sorrel scoffs from under his sleeve, a derisive throat-clearing sound. He doesn't think much of the fear of Beleth taking her own life, or so it seems, "Take me with you, if you do."

Is he joking? He sounds almost normal, as if he were joking. It's probably just a joke.

"Maybe she's guilty. Who knows?" He doesn't know. He hasn't been paying much attention, not for more than a glance at a time. Sorrel doesn't care about appearances, right now, "It's not like anyone could stop you if you were planning on it. You're not, right?"

A peek, to check. No, of course not. Good.

"Everyone keeps feeling at me, too. It's so much. I don't want to do... You know. Things."

Well, shit. Now she feels bad. “I must admit a lack of familiarity with human phrases, Kit, but. You look like you’re liable to taking an unfortunate fall.” She gestures to the chairs in front of her desk, as she fetches her glass of wine, and a second glass. “But I don’t think I’m doing much better. And maybe it’s not that bad.” She takes a seat in one of the chairs, then indulges in a quick sip of wine. “Maybe sometimes you just have to accept even you have a limit.”

At the offer of a cigarette, however, she looks curiously at it, and accepts the offered one from Kit. “Only elfroot, mostly. With Merrick. He always kept me from taking too much of anything stronger.” It’s said with a fondness, for a man who was determined to keep her safe, even from her own idiocy. “I think Merrick left for his mission before you came...? He was a clanmate. And a...” A few moments of thought for a word that properly conveys ‘the guy I thought I was going to marry before he ran off with a qunari’. “...very close friend.”

“I could take you and have the Gallows with me if I had a mind for it.” Beleth replies with an incredible amount of calm for the subject matter. “And no, if I timed it right, there wouldn’t be much she could do. Poison has never been her forte. But it makes her feel better, I suppose, checking to make sure.” And while she might find it a source of mild annoyance, she doesn’t begrudge Pel for it. It’s not like Beleth has ever been incredibly enthused about this whole living deal.

“Ah, yes, things.” A deep, knowing nod. Then she flops onto her stomach next to him, sighing. “I don’t even think I can feelings right now. I think I’m all out. Like a lamp out of oil. Sometimes I get a little sputtering spark where I remember everything is terrible, then I just go back to staring at the wall for an hour.” She turns to inspect one of said walls. “I really do have excellent taste in decor.”

“...I can sing it.” Beleth offers quietly, eyes down. It feels odd to openly volunteer herself as someone skilled, but. She’s been getting better at that. “I’m a bard. There are others who are skilled singers in my clan, as well. If Merrick were here—” A sharp spike of loss for another love who has gone where she can’t. At least she may see him again, one day.

There’s Ellana, but. Beleth hasn’t spoken to her in at least a year, and she hadn’t come to see Sina at all throughout the entire slow, grueling decline, or afterwards. Maybe she found some new human man, so she can get a third tattoo she’s unable to commit to. But she puts her irritation aside, that’s not the point of this discussion.

“—Sorrel, maybe. A few others who remain with the clan. I can introduce you, before. Though I am sure that your singing would be fine. It’s the emotion that counts, more than any skill.” She looks up at Galadriel, a small, sad smile on her face. “Thank you, by the way. For being here, at the end. For giving her that comfort, and the invitation. I know she always admired you.”

It feels a bit silly, having to cart her brother along with her to the forge, because she couldn’t go alone. Like they were ten again, wanting to go off into the woods to gather plants. But Beleth made a promise to Thranduil, one that she knows he did not ask of her idly, and she will survive feeling a bit like a ten-year-old again, if it means keeping Thranduil’s trust.

Of course, the smart thing to do would just be to avoid the Fëanorians altogether, but when has that ever stopped her?

Luckily, Sorrel is amenable to once again being dragged along on his sister’s idiot whims (as though he never had done the same to her), and once she’s explained a bit of the situation (glancing over what the Fëanorians had done, exactly, because no one has quite told her), they make their way off to the forge, Beleth peeking inside.

“Maedhros? It’s me, Beleth. I’m here, with Sorrelean.”

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[Open] you've held your head up

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winter wonderland;

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for maedhros