faderift | ( closed. ) you’ll hold the thunder

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( closed. ) you’ll hold the thunder

WHO: Herian & Cosima.
WHAT: Comfort and corgi.
WHEN: Backdated to post-Nevarra.
WHERE: Herian’s room
NOTES: So gloomy.

Nevarra had felt non-stop, not quite relentless, but something related to it. The mission to help King Markus gain prestige and glory and secure his legacy was a success. Then came the Neropolis, the desecration of the dead and of something sacred, even if the practice was one that Herian, personally, considered uncomfortable and, frankly, a little spooky. Worse was that she had been part of that conflict, and still did not know what they might have done differently.

The worst did not truly seem to fall until after Nevarra, when they were all returned to Kirkwall, and she had a chance to truly be still. In stillness there was room to think, and to feel, and where normally control was her strength, now it felt like a weakness, as though she were a statue watching the cracks spider out, waiting for herself to fall apart.

Moving was so much safer.

On the plus side, so much as a small dog that couldn’t climb stairs could be a plus side when living in a tower, there was Franklin. Absurd, yes, but equally affectionate, and very eager to please. Oh, he’s chewed a perfectly good pair of socks beyond repair, but he was so truly remorseful that it was hard not to relent. That’s how it’s wound up like this: Herian sitting on the floor despite the cold, Franklin sitting on her lap, and her chin propped on his head as he looks extremely content with the slow scritches he’s getting to his neck.

She really needs to go and see Cosima, now she’s returned, but her limbs are heavy, and it is so much harder to force oneself to move when it is for self-indulgence instead of duty.

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Cosima had, at first, waited for an invitation. Perhaps Herian needed time. Space. But then as the days stretched on after the party returned from Nevarra, it seemed likely that Herian needed company, but was just not inclined to ask for it.

Instead of trying to make plans as such, Cosima turns up one evening with a small basket (wine, a few rolls, a small braid made of rawhide for Franklin). Her knock is cheerful insasmuch as a knock can be. "Herian? I've come to inspect your stair-challenged new friend."

The sound of Cosima's voice makes her head jerk up, and she sighs, a complicated mix of guilt and relief. When the door opens, Herian is holding Franklin against her chest, his large ears forward and his eyes bright and curious at the new voice, tail wagging intensely.

Herian, herself, doesn't look dramatically different; she is not gaunt, or more pale than usual, and her hair isn't wildly dishevelled. It is apparent to the familiar, quite probably, that she's not okay, as though some weight were dragging at her.

"Cosima," she starts, and attempts a smile that isn't very successful, before pulling the door open more fully for her. "Please, come in."

A frown flickers across Cosima's features at how alright Herian clearly isn't, but she doesn't comment right away. Instead she comes in as invited, and sets her basket down to properly fuss over Franklin.

"What a handsome boy," she says, offering her fingers for inspection. "You're totally going to grow into those ears, I promise." She'll give both the dog and Herian a moment to adjust to new company. It seems at least one of them will need it.

Person!!! A person! Person person person person person!!!

Franklin manages to lick the air in anticipation of being able to lean close enough to lick Cosima's hand, reaching desperately(!!!) for more petting and bracing his feet against Herian's chest to help him reach more. Franklin seems well adapted to Cosima being here already.

For her part, Herian indulges Franklin's absurdity by taking a step closer. It's less for Franklin and more for herself, mind, as she leans to press a kiss to Cosima's cheek. "It's good to see you," she says quietly, although the solemnity of it is perhaps undermined by the puppy wriggling in her arms with all his might, mouth caught in a ridiculous corgi smile.

Cosima rewards Franklin's enthusiasm with ear scritches. Meanwhile, though, she looks up at Herian with a small, cautious smile. "You too. I wasn't sure if you needed space right after you got back, or..." Or not, presumably. It's clear Cosima wants to ask, but isn't sure if it's the right tactic.

The pause in which Herian trying to put together a response is, perhaps, telling. Her gaze drops almost immediately, jaw working silently for long moments, as she looks down at the floor. Gently, she sets down the dog and makes herself look back to Cosima, before allowing herself to take a step closer, and wrap her arms around her. Or not, as the case may be.

"I'm sorry." Which seems important to say; Cosima has been left in uncertainty because of Herian's silence. Her voice now is quiet, and a little scratchy. "I wanted to speak to you as soon as I returned, but—"

But? But I didn't know how to ask for help and but I'm not good at this and even but I was overwhelmed all feel like paltry excuses. She must do better.

"Hey, I'm fine. There's no need to apologize." She leans into the embrace, returning it. "I was just worried about you. It sounded like you had a pretty shitty trip. No offense to Franklin."

Presumably none taken.

Franklin, for his part, is fascinated with sniffing Cosima’s boots, and then trying to investigate those rawhides that came in with her, doing his utmost to stick his head in the basket if he’s able, because dogs don’t appreciate the moment.

Meanwhile: Herian. She is not crying, generally speaking does not cry, but exhales a shuddering breath because the last few weeks have been a lot and she really missed Cosima. She presses a kiss to Cosima’s shoulder. “I daresay he’ll recover.” Gently, though, she eases back. “You don’t know how good it is to see you.”

"I really was prepared to pack up and figure out a way to get them to send me to Nevarra," Cosima says with a rueful smile. "Though it's probably best it didn't come to that." Considering Cosima's track record with field missions.

She reaches up to touch Herian's face, fond and concerned both. "What do you need?"

"Likely so," Herian agrees, though there is a faintly amused air to it. For one, she's very glad Cosima was nowhere near the events in the Necropolis. For two, she is very glad Cosima didn't have to fret about her going to battle against a dragon, and said battle going awry when a second dragon turned up. She leans down, and presses a kiss to Cosima's brow, before resting their foreheads together.

It's tempting to say I know not. Knowing requires decisions, voicing the decision, actioning the decision, but she exhales slowly and tries to interpret her own muddle of thoughts.

"Can we just lie in bed a while?" Cuddling is what she needs, but has Herian actually ever said the word cuddling? It's a mystery.

"Totally. I don't have anywhere else to be." Cosima shifts to kiss Herian, light but affectionate, before she laces her fingers with Herian's and tugs her toward the bed. When they get there, she squeezes Herian's hand but then has to release it, as taking her boots off is unfortunately a two-handed activity.

As Cosima sees to her boots, Herian pulls back the covers of the bed. Franklin is dancing around the bed, as well, but she gently ushers him to his basket (and the vast number of blankets therein, because she was worried about him getting cold) and despite some initial protest involving wanting to help Cosima with her boots, he complies.

The bed, admittedly, isn't huge. Standard issue, and Herian hasn't yet prioritised getting one that will more comfortably accomodate for both of them, partly out of a slight sense of guilt about buying something so self-indulgent.

She doesn't... freeze up, exactly, but she's caught on smoothing down the sheets very carefully, as if that will make a significant difference. "One day I'll acquire accomodation that is a little more welcoming," she says, very quietly, apologetic.

"Hey." Cosima reaches back to touch Herian's face. "Hey. It's fine. We'll just have to get close, and I'm not objecting if you aren't."

Cosima's thought about proposing they move in together, but the time hasn't seemed right yet. Herian needs some space, sometimes, and they see one another so frequently that it's not as if keeping separate accommodation is actually inconvenient.

"Don't worry about it, really." She moves to lie down and prove there's still plenty of space for Herian while she's at it.

"No," which is actually an agreement. No, I don't object, and she presses a kiss to the inside of Cosima's wrist before moving to join her.

Normally she's more inclined to be the big spoon, or to lie down and let Cosima use her as a sort of human pillow, but this time as she lies alongside Cosima and pulls the blankets up over them both, she rests her head at Cosima's shoulder. Herian's skin is usually fairly warm to the touch - fire magic is her strength, and it seems to live under her skin, at times. This is no exception, so at least if it's not a spacious bed arrangement, it's a toasty warm one.

Herian exhales, and leans up to kiss Cosima's cheek. I love you, she considers saying, and her hesitation has nothing to do with lack of certainty, but with circumstance, and how it could cast the words into question. She's not oblivious to how... withdrawn and confusing she has been. Also because saying things isn't easy.

"What did you do, today?"

Cosima winds her arm around Herian's waist, casually tactile and better herself for their closeness.

"Nothing very interesting, really. I mean, not uninteresting, I'm doing some experiments with Fade-touched cotton that I think might yield us some useful information, but that's lot of adjusting lighting, looking and writing stuff down. Rinse and repeat." She considers, then says, "Before work, I got up to take a walk in the gardens. It's, you know, not growing anything right now, but it's still a peaceful place to be."

"No rashvine?" A very gentle tease, voice still soft, as she slowly maps over Cosima's shoulder and her collarbones with her fingertips. "Sometimes just finding somewhere different to breathe... I think there can be a great deal of relief in that."

She says, alternating between as many missions as she can involve herself in, and sitting near paralysed on the floor of her room. Clearly excelling.

"We should go out of Kirkwall in the spring. The Free Marches have some beautiful wildflowers. Mayhaps we will have the fortune to find some that are Fade-touched, even." She is not a researcher, not near it, but she does enjoy hearing about Cosima describing the things she cares bout.

"I'd like that. I haven't been a lot of places except Skyhold and Kirkwall. I went to Orzammar one time, that was interesting, though not really 'romantic, stress-relieving vacation' material." She runs her thumb absently along Herian's arm.

"If we're ostensibly looking for Fade-touched flowers, we might even be able to sell that as a field mission, though."

"We can always consider Orzammar," she says, with a note of very quiet amusement. Understated, but it's easier to try and set aside the overwhelming rawness of everything that she's feeling with Cosima here. It's still there, still... very present, but it's easier. "I imagine they have considerably less flowers there, though."

A light kiss is pressed to Cosima's neck, and Herian stays close for a moment, just... letting herself be grounded by this, by Cosima being close and the reassuring contact.

"If it's a field mission we might be pressed to bring other people. A little less romantic, I suspect."

"Yeah, but on the other hand, we could just spend the whole time making out and they'd all leave out of awkwardness." That is 100% how the field mission would go, definitely.

She presses a kiss to Herian's hair, in turn, comforting but mostly still. "That's probably not very chivalrous, though."

Herian laughs, though it'd be more felt that heard, and she cuddles a little closer. Not that she really could cuddle much closer, but she manages it.

"There are not particular rules to that effect, that I can imagine, so long as you and I were both content with the arrangement. Unseemly displays could be argued as an expression of affection that well suits chivalry, if that was the argument we were so inclined to."

"Oh, awesome. Usually making out at work is frowned upon back home. Well. At most kinds of work, I guess there are exceptions." She's teasing now, gently but glad to hear Herian laugh a little.

"I don't think I'd make a very good knight, though, even so."

"When you put it that way, yes, I can imagine that upholding the ideals of duty could be compromised by being too much distracted."

Bummer, right? She leans up so she can look at Cosima a moment, fingertips gently running along her jaw, before she kisses her - on the cheek, at the corner of her mouth, stopping short of kissing her fully on the lips.

"I think I prefer you being outside of battle," she adds, quietly, though it's more a consideration of Cosima being a lover, not a fighter than a reflection on any lack of knightly virtue.

Cosima presses a kiss to Herian's forehead. "I'm not going to go running toward the front lines, don't worry." About that, anyway. "Strictly flower-gathering field missions for me."

She's conscious of not knowing what to avoid or not avoid, and while she's not precisely worried about it, she is fairly closely tuned to Herian's reactions. Cosima isn't going to press her to talk if she's not ready, but it's clear enough that she isn't alright.

"Good. I would have... enjoyed your company in Nevarra, but I am not sure you would have relished my dragon fighting exploits." A little lighter, but that's sort of like saying a particular type of rock is a little lighter than another type of rock, in this instance.

She sighs a little heavily, and settles back down against Cosima's shoulder. Franklin is buried in blankets, his head poking out, and he may be contemplating a means to try and get onto the bed, but for now he seems content enough.

After a moment of silence, Herian manages to ask: "Did you hear about the Necropolis?"

"The broad strokes," she allows. "I know it ended badly, but not the details of what exactly happened."

It's clearly an invitation to tell her, though she doesn't push harder than that. She knows Herian tries to protect her, in a variety of ways, but in this she's not sure whether Herian is protecting herself instead.

There is an inevitable pause, one that stretches so long that it might threaten to become a silence.

“Our touring party was locked in the Necropolis, and the revered dead began to attack Inquisition agents. People were in danger of being torn apart without counter measures taken, but…”

Her mouth feels dry, her throat uncomfortable.

“We fought. We should have… there might have been some way to restrain them, to see them contained without destroying them. We desecrated a sacred site and dishonoured their dead.”

It feels wrong to be lying down and she eases herself up, moving from the bed to pace. Her skin crawls with it, with what they did, and her stomach feels roped about itself.

“I’ve no love for Nevarran custom, but what we did was… beyond forgiveness. If anything all people should be able to respect another’s dead, no matter how we would honour them ourselves.”

A little raw, perhaps.

Cosima shifts, propping herself up against the bed's headboard once Herian gets up to watch her.

"OK, in theory, sure. But you said that they attacked you, right? Surely it's not unforgivable that you defended yourself -- each other. It's not like you went down there expecting to get attacked by the dead."

"Defence was necessary, of course." She can hardly disagree, there. She's still pacing, and Franklin worms his way out of his blankets to skip around next to her, claws clattering on the stone floor.

"I simply— I'm sure there are means we could have used other than destruction. Binding them, caging them would have at least meant we could organise a retreat and a better plan, rather than rending them into ashes or pieces."

Herian rubs her forehead. She doesn't want to talk about how her staff sometimes makes her heart beats harder, as though some terrible dread were upon her.

"Maybe, but in the middle of an ambush isn't usually the time people make the best, most far-seeing plans. Would you rather you guys all died down there to save the Inquisition a political mess to mop up? Because if you'd tried to bind these things and failed, that could have been the outcome."

For instance.

“No.”

She sighs, a shaky exhale, before moving back towards the bed and taking a seat. “No, you are correct.”

Her posture is rigid as she sits, and Franklin sniffs at his bedding and circles it, before finally flopping down again. It doesn’t soothe her guilt, not yet, but she can recognise the logic in it.

“I just— wish I had done better.”

"I know." Cosima reaches for Herian's hand, lacing their fingers together. "And I know why. But you can't just take all the blame for yourself. The undead get a big chunk. And you weren't down there alone, either."

For better and worse. Cosima suspects a bit of both.

Though it takes a moment for her to respond, over-focused on the memories of the Necropolis, the different ways it should have played out running through her head, she gently squeezes Cosima's hand. The conflicting elements of duty and protection and respect are at odds, but it is hardly the first time, simply one that has struck at a difficult time.

She brings Cosima's hand, fingers entwined with hers, to her lips so she can press a kiss to her knuckles, resting her cheek there for a moment.

"But if I do not hold myself accountable for all things, who else will?" It's a joke. Mostly. Delivery falls a little flat.

Cosima leans over and presses a kiss to Herian's forehead. "Hey, no shortage of assholes quick to blame the Inquisition at large or any one of us particularly for a whole range of things. Some things we maybe deserve blaming for, others not, but you can't just go by how many people are ready to be angry about it alone."

She rests her head against Herian's. "You did the best you could in a crappy situation."

Herian feels able to breathe a little easier with Cosima so close, exhales shakily as Cosima rests her head against hers.

Gently, carefully, she slides her fingers away from Cosima's. She's holding Cosima's hand with both of hers, but brings it to rest over her heart, loosely keeping Cosima's palmed pressed there so she can feel the rhythm of Herian's heart. It's steadying, the contact, being able to breathe against the light pressure.

She can't say it, this would be a selfish time to say it, but she knows her feelings for Cosima, and some part of her hopes Cosima knows them as well, even if she hasn't said it, and even if it is an absurd presumption to make. And what else to say? Thank you seems inadequate, and anything more thoughtful feels a little beyond her, so she just nods a little, keeping close.

Edited (the nightmare of repetition was killing me softly) 2018-02-01 21:12 (UTC)

Cosima stays there, quiet and close with her hand over Herian's heartbeat. Even if a lot of things aren't alright, this feels easy in a way that's almost surprising. She hadn't expected any part of Thedas would ever feel like "home," but this comes close.

Eventually, she says gently, "You were also on edge when you went down there, weren't you? I mean, when we talked you sounded a little shaken up. About Starkhaven." She's not going to press any harder, but it is an invitation all the same.

It feels safe, this. In a world with so much uncertainty, so much danger, being here with Cosima is akin to an oasis. One of her hands stays over Cosima's, the other carefully settling at the junction of Cosima's neck and shoulder, an anchor.

"Yes," she manages to reply, though her voice sounds a little dry, and she forces herself to swallow. "I— when I went to Starkhaven I was— I apologised to my cousin for not giving advanced warning of my attendance, and asked where I could find my mother, to see her."

Context seems important. Context delays saying the part that hurts. Her voice remains steady, but there's long moments where she can't speak at all, or it would simply give way. "I was advised that she passed some fourteen years ago— while I was still in the Starkhaven Circle. Fiachra, he said they let the Chantry in Starkhaven know so that I could be told, but I was never—"

I was never told, she can't quite say, and the steadiness gives way to a shaky breath. "How do you claim a right to mourn when someone has been gone some fourteen years and you never knew?"

"Shit, Herian." She raises her free hand to Herian's face. "That's terrible. But you assumed someone would have told you. They assumed that. It doesn't mean you didn't care, just because you weren't told."

It's not the same, not remotely, but she knows the feeling of being unsure she has a right to mourn. The clones who died before she ever got to meet them -- the ones she knows about and the ones she doesn't. Even Katja. If she can mourn for them, how much more right does Herian have to mourn her own mother?

"I have defended the Circles in so much, and they did not tell me this."

For a moment she sounds very lost. Is it selfish, to be jarred by something that is so personal, so slight in the grander scheme of things, when having endured so much already? She has not denied the suffering others have been victim of, nor has she defended those failings in the Circles, but what could this be but selfish, to feel betrayal in the face of what could have been no more than an administrative error?

Herian leans into the contact offered by Cosima's hand.

"Perhaps it does not indicate a lack of caring on my part, but it does... underline the failing in my staying away from Starkhaven for so long. I was convinced I was acting in service to others, and in doing that I... failed to pay proper respects to my family, and to my mother." Her eyes slip shut for a second. "I fear I am— too negligent to call myself a knight."

Cosima is quiet, a long moment. When she speaks, it's to say: "I didn't tell my parents, when I found out about the whole clone thing. I just... tried to keep that part of my life separate from them, but it became a bigger and bigger part of my day to day, so it was hard without actually lying. I just stopped contacting them, really. Even before I came to Thedas, I might as well have been that far away. It was about protecting them, but also... if I had to make hard choices, I think I thought it would be easier if I just had to make them for myself. Maybe that was selfish."

She exhales, slow. "Look, I know it's not the same situation. But I guess I'm saying... you did what you did for good reasons. And I know it's not all that matters, but it does matter some. I think."

Clone thing, a thing that was truthfully still a little hard for Herian to grasp. What she did understand was that things had been done to Cosima and her sisters without their permission, that they had been created by means that were not the usual and had resulted in great danger to all of them. It was beyond her, to some degree, or it would be normally. She is determined to not let it remain so, because it matters so much to Cosima, is part of Cosima. That made it vital to Herian, too, even if... admittedly she felt out of her depth.

"I do not think when in such overwhelming circumstances any person can reasonably judge another for their efforts to bring clarity to a situation. Not when your decisions... they about sparing them." There is a very, very faint smile. "And sometimes you need to grasp some semblance of control."

Maybe that's what she was trying to do, to. Maybe her entire life since the Spire has been about trying to be controlled, about applying rules rooted around honour and living to a strict code. Their situations are so different, but there is overlap enough that Herian exhales softly, and shakes her head. The hurt remains, but... she can acknowledge, recognise, something forgivable in her actions, at least. "How do you always make things better?"

Not a total fix, she's a person not some all powerful being, but Cosima does have a way of framing things that makes it better, somehow - of making Herian look at the world in a different way than she otherwise might.

She laughs, quietly, at that. "I mean, I don't know about always. But you're really hard on yourself, and I know it's because you push yourself to be better. I love that about you, but I just want to remind you sometimes that it's okay to be a person. And that sometimes things aren't good, but that doesn't mean you aren't good."

Cosima tucks herself up against Herian, though they're already quite close. "You make me feel more like I belong. It's the least I can do to try to return the favor."

Herian exhales shakily, and wraps her arms around Cosima, carefully keeling them down onto the bed, so she offer herself as a human pillow.

“Maybe we can just agree to look after one another, then.” And their responsibilities and the Inquisition and the world, yes, but always each other. Maybe that was inevitable. “You make me feel like I have a place, as well.”

She can breathe a little comfortably, feels less hollowed out by the fire that’s always burning in her, when Cosima is with her. Even just thinking of her. “I think sometimes that you have been able to come into this world without the same prejudices we hold. I think you see more than the rest of us.”

"Maybe," she agrees, quietly. "I'm sure I've got plenty of my own prejudices built in, but a lot of them don't apply here. Or they apply in different ways." Herian has already noticed that Cosima is sometimes braced for sexism in ways or to degrees it simply never arrives in the Inquisition; it's not the only thing that she still finds occasionally disorienting.

"I think anyone plopped in the middle of a world this way will see things differently than the natives. But I hope it's helpful and not, like, constantly aggravating."

"I can only speak for myself," Herian starts, very gravely, "but I am, indeed, constantly aggravated."

Perhaps it is a little hard to play at humour when grief is pulling you in so many directions as to stretch you thin, but she tries all the same, glancing at Cosima with a look that might give the joke away if the blatant falseness of the comment had not proven successful.

She squeezes Cosima's hand. "It's wonderful," she adds, voice very soft.

"You're wonderful," Cosima returns, a stunning comeback. "Really, though. I'm glad you can talk to me about the hard things. No one should have to deal with that kind of stuff completely on their own, and no offense to Franklin, but I'm pretty sure I'm a better listener than he is."

She huffs out a quiet breath of laughter. "Aye? That certainly set me upon the proper course," she murmurs, as if this were some showdown that Cosima had just won with brutal, rapier wit. She kisses Cosima's brow, as she relaxes a little more. She's not at ease, exactly, but the tension in her has eased a little. It's a considerably greater relief than she'd have anticipated.

"Rest assured, you are my most favoured person to speak with — and listen to." Very softly, that, and she exhales slowly. The world isn't fixed, but it feels less like handled broken glass with bare hands than it did a little while ago, and she hugs Cosima a little tighter.

Edited (werds) 2018-02-14 02:39 (UTC)

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( closed. ) you’ll hold the thunder

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