[open] to the need for more

[doneisdone]

WHO: Teren and you
WHAT: Wardenmom is consumed by secrets, as usual
WHEN: the first half of Wintermarch
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: will update as necessary

I. The Hanged Man

Sometimes found perched at her table by the window with a hot drink of some kind, Teren likes to sit and do her mending where she can hear nearby conversations but is out of the way enough to not appear too approachable.
Which isn't to say she won't talk to someone who sits with her, but, as usual, whether or not she's feeling sociable is a gamble for the person approaching to take.

II. Out and About

Provisioning for the Wardens is a busy job, especially when Teren has also been lending some assistance to the Kirkwall alienage through the worsened weather. Throughout the day she can be found escorting workmen both on foot and in the teetery little ferrying boats from the docks to the Gallows, all of them generally laden with various foodstuffs and other supplies necessary to keeping the Wardens alive.

Perhaps it's the cold ever-creeping into her bony frame, or the ugliness of the weather, but she seems more standoffish than usual. Not angry per se, but pensive and distracted.

III. Her Quarters

A very limited number of people are welcome to call on Teren at home, but they know who they are. Though the door is only left open when she's waiting for Wardens to drop off their uniforms for mending, often a light can be seen through the crack beneath the door, and the faint sound of her speaking to someone, low and gentle.

IV. The Stables

Boots needs feeding and brushing. She visits her druffalo at least once a day to make sure he's being kept well, and often stays to clean his enclosure and yell at anyone she perceives to be bothering him. Boots, for his part, is fine with whatever.

V. Wildcard!

Comments

[ichaer]

"Isn't that a bloody understatement."

She can't help sighing again, flopping back onto the floor not unlike a kid and staring at the ceiling with an unreadable expression. "I learned it pretty early on... it was the sort of environment I was meant to grow and thrive in. When Denerim burned, there was a brief moment when I thought: I might just be free of it without the names and titles weighing me down."

Out of everyone in the Inquisition there is only one person aware of her past and of her family but even Inessa didn't know everything. "Sort of a shit thing for a kid to think of... huh?"

[doneisdone]

Teren operates by what might be called a don't ask, don't tell policy; she won't pry into anyone else's life as long as they don't pry into hers, and it seems to suit everyone just fine. So it's a bit surprising when Ciri drops that bit of insight, and Teren looks at her for a long moment.
"Perhaps," she muses, "kids have thought worse things, though certainly also better ones." It's up to Ciri if she wants to elaborate.

cw for mentions of suicide

[ichaer]

"My family's name was Llewelyn," she says almost breathlessly. As if the very act of saying it is taking everything Ciri has inside. "Nothing special when it came to noble families just old and well-to-do with a history to back it up the name."

Her gaze remains upwards on the ceiling, hands laying atop her stomach and legs crossed. "I only remember my grandmother and me though. She pushed me real hard, set me up with so many possible suitors it made my head spin and constantly reminded me that I had two purposes. Find myself a good husband and have lots of babies."

She chuckles then though it notably a touch sad.

"I hated it and I think I hated her too sometimes. She threw herself from the balcony while Denerim burned when she came in touch with the Blight, she knew what was happening but I didn't. Kissed me on the forehead, told me to be strong and just..." A beat and then another tired sigh. "I still hated her, hated the life but I realized I was more scared of being alone. Does that make sense?"

[doneisdone]

Having given up on her sewing for a moment, Teren simply listens and watches Ciri carefully, her brow slightly furrowed. When the story turns to her grandmother's death, Teren doesn't even flinch, though she isn't unaffected.
"Yes," she supplies, "it does."

[ichaer]

"Mmm. I guess that's what makes this entire ordeal such shit," she mumbles. "I didn't choose to be a Warden, I didn't have a choice but I did what I had to do. I trusted those men and women only for them to turn around and try to kill me? Try and bind my friend to a demon?"

She makes a sound finally sitting up with a tired look. "Authority has been such a bloody letdown even since I was a kid. I know what I want but I don't know if I could be it to anyone, you know?"

[doneisdone]

Teren nods again, her expression going more grave at the reminder of Adamant. What an ordeal that was.
"I don't think many of us had a choice," she admits, "take that as you will. The whole horrible world keeps on turning, and the Wardens a part of it, and we a part of them." Thoughtfully, she resumes her sewing.
"The choice is yours to make, child. Perhaps you'll make the difference, and the next time that sort of threat comes about you'll be there to stop it. Perhaps the threat will be you." She arches an eyebrow at Ciri. "But no sense not taking hold of a way to make a change, if you feel it's that."