faderift | Say Hello To Goodbye

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Say Hello To Goodbye | Openish

WHO: Sorrel and anyone who wants to say hello, or indeed goodbye, to him
WHAT: Sorrel leaving Kirkwall, spending some time in the forest, then coming back to Kirkwall like a week or two later, in disgrace
WHEN: The first few weeks of Drakonis
WHERE: Kirkwall, Clans Ashara/Dahlasanor
NOTES: The craziest of crazies. Kirkwall, girls, dancing, naked, Mom!? Argument, exile, fleeing the scene, hiding in a dumpster, crashing on your couch for a week because technically I’m ho~omeless!

No, I am lost
My wounded heart
Resides back home in
Pieces strewn about
The graveyard of my lost love
For only...

The Road between Kirkwall and anyplace at all is hard and muddy by turns, this time of year, melted by sun and unexpected balmy wind, frozen again each night into ruts and fissures, as is the nature of roads in winters. The road too, is fraught with danger, the sides of the path lined with opportunities for those with less scruples than most-- and the forests, known to beasts and magic and the Dalish themselves, are not safer, for the unwary traveler. Times are lean, in this stretch of the year, and what generosity there is has stretched with the weeks until it's leaner still.

That's the road Sorrel has to walk, there and back again.

But on the other end, whether to Kirkwall or away from it, there burns a warm fire, a hearth with friendly faces, and family, of one sort or another.

[ Feel free to respond to the subthreads as appropriate ]

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What Sorrel knew about Kirkwall could not be summed up in words. What he could say of it was hardly complimentary; it was a stinking, crowded, hateful place. He had nearly died there, had lost a spouse, and a lot of hope, and a good deal of innocence. But still too, if asked, he would admit we would miss the place, with a sharpness that dug in under his ribs and, stuck there, gave him a pang in every breath. A city isn't just a place, it's a people, and as much as he won't miss the city of Kirkwall, the people here are dear enough that he wants to cling to them with both hands, despite the letter in his pocket, and their need to have him away.

So he lingers a moment, at the gates, for these final farewells, adjusting his pack, and trying to put on a happy face, for whatever good it does him.

"You don't need to worry, I'll take the forest road. No one but another Dalish or a wild deer is going to find me. I've got plenty of supplies," He's not sure if the reassurance is for Sorrel himself as well, but he's certainly trying to reassure, "I-- You will be alright, here?"

Approaching the camp, for the first time in months, had felt strangely small. He'd passed the scouts yesterday and settled back into place, had eaten with his family and been embraced. Sorrel had fielded the necessary, awkward questions about time and loss and death, and had been permitted that day, and night, to stew in his hasty answers and rest from the long walk home. He lay in a narrow bed in a familiar aravel that felt suddenly strange because, once again, in this crowd of people who looked and spoke and thought much like him... he was alone.

But of course he wasn't alone. And now, he's got to do his duty, talk to the clan, to the Keepers, and make a reckoning of himself and his place here. Not easy work, and it's no crime ot wish he could put it off. But the Keepers, at least, deserve not to wait.

Sorrel's return to Kirkwall was as devoid of ceremony as his departure from theclan had been. He returns late, almost as late as one can and still be let into the city, and he doesn't linger in the streets. He has nothing to steal, nothing of value, not even food, but that isn't going to save him trouble if someone between the city gates and the Gallows cares to call his supposed bluff. He slips into the Gallows well past dark, and that is where his plan ends.

He doesn't seek anyone out, just finds a quiet corner, and sits. He'll go up in a minute, and admit to Beleth all his failings. But then, she might find him here, and save him the climb. It's hard work, being lost. Maybe, if he's quiet, he can put it off for just a little while longer.

"Be careful, I've heard there are wild deer out there who can take you down at fifty paces," replies Nari seriously, waiting a beat before a small smile breaks through. "In all seriousness, I'd say you ought to find a way to let us know when you've arrived safely, but I'm sure Beleth will know ten minutes after you get there." The Scoutmaster had her ways, after all.

For a moment, Nahariel just looks at him as if weighing what else to say. But what could she? Thank you for giving my clan a new chance? Thank you for loving her? The words would never mean as much as she wanted them to. Finally she reaches out to clap Sorrel on the shoulder, squeezing briefly before letting go, trying to put it in her eyes instead.

"Dareth shiral, lethallin. Ghilan'nain'enaste."

He sucked in his breath, waiting for the others to say goodbye, before he forces himself to walk up to Sorrel. Big, bright smile, even if it doesn't quite touch his eyes. He knows this is what Sorrel wants, what he needs to do. They talked about this. Adasse had given himself no illusions.

It still hurt, and he was going to have to live with that. He wasn't going to make it harder on Sorrel though, not for a moment.

"So, I am sure everyone has properly fussed - but who has given you a going away present like this?" He held out a hand-sewn shirt, with the vhendahl carefully stitched on it. Dark green cloth, and the tree itself had all the autumn colors.

"Made it myself. I ... am pretty sure it will fit perfectly."

"I'll be careful, then, not to cross the deadly long-range deer's path, lethallin. Really, don't worry-- I have my ways," And so it goes, simple and heartfelt. Sorrel simply presses his hand over hers, when she reaches out to him, prolonging the contact for its own sake, and giving her a chance to see the little crystal hanging around his neck, only barely visible, even this close.

He didn't ask if he could keep it. But then, no one told him he couldn't. One may assume Beleth knows.

"Dareth shiral, falon. Be safe, here."

Sorrel takes the shirt with all evidence of surprise. Unhappiness, he was expecting, even anger; strong emotions don't have to make sense, after all. But as he fingers the embroidery, all of clearly out of the hands of the alienage, Sorel finds that despite all his clear-eyed intentions, this is what's got him blinking back tears.

"No one. Nothing like this," He says thickly, "It's beautiful, ma'nehn. Thank you."

And then, because there's no other time for it, he follows impulse and throws his arms around Adasse in as tight a hug as he can give.

"I'm going to miss you so much!"

Oh. Oh crap he was crying. Beleth was going to Kill Adasse. The dark-haired elf immediately went patting his pockets, looking for a hanky, but then Sorrel is hugging him as tight as can be and Adasse can suddenly feel wetness on his own cheeks before he hugs Sorrel back. Hard. Hard enough to creak boanes.

"I'm going to miss you, too ... " His voice is husky, quiet, before he sucks in a breath, "I'll be here when you come back for visits, though. Remember - I'm always going to be here for you." He finally leans back, so he can wipe at his face, "Yes, I am still going to be in love with you too. No getting out of it, Sorrelean of Clan Ashara."

He's found a quiet corner, all right. It just happens to be near enough to the herb garden that, as Fern is heading sleepily back to her rooms for the night, she glimpses his silhouette and pauses. No, it can't be--hadn't he left?

"Sorrel?" she ventures somewhat incredulously, and pads over to him with a sudden, worried frown.

The little glint of crystal makes Nari smile--she'd wondered whether or not Sorrel had kept it.

"The best I can in Kirkwall," she says, the corner of her smile twitching upwards with wry humor. "Be safe there too. I know--" That sometimes it's difficult. That there's a lot of pressure on you. That your mother can be a holy terror. That you're leaving behind people you care about who care about you even as you go home to some as well. That sometimes you go home to find home has changed, or you have, and you can't go back. "--that you're strong enough to do what you need to."

With little else to say that wouldn't be repetition or platitude, Nahariel nods, steps back, and turns to disappear back into the city.

"We talked about this," Sorrel protests, though only weakly, because he can hardly bring back the argument now, not when doing so in the past had gotten him exactly nowhere. Besides, he's already weepy, and it'll only make him worse.

"I love you too, Adasse Agressi of the Kirkwall Alienage-- or is it of the Inquisition now?" He wipes at his own eyes and tries on a smile; a better goodbye, a happy goodbye, "Either way, you know I'm coming back. Someone will have to do that tree, come spring, and I'll never hear the end of it if I let some circle mage or creators forbid a shemlen do it in my stead. You'll see me again."

It seems like it'll be an impossible wait, an eternity.

"Please, take care of yourself. And look after Beleth too?"

Of all the people Sorrel least wants to see, Fern is high on the list. Not because he dislikes her, of course, but because... it's humiliating. And he liked it when Fern respected him, brief as that time seems to have become.

"...Hi," He eventually says, voice a little rough. Then Sorrel winces because really? That's all he has, after all this? "I. I, uh. I came back."

Well he hasn't lost her respect yet. Currently, she just looks bewildered, and worried by the sight of him in such a state. Fern sits down next to him and rests a hand on his shoulder, peering at his face in concern. "What happened?" she presses, then bites her lower lip and gives her head a quick shake. "I mean--you don't have to tell me, you know, I'm not trying to pry, it's just--"

What's a nice way of saying 'you look wretched'?

"We did talk about this - and my mind hasn't changed. So, deal with it." Is Adasse's firm answer, and he laughs at that comment, "I think it's both, honestly."

He swept tears away from his lover's face, giving him a quiet look, "You know I will. Well, as much as she'll let me, anyways. You know how Beleth is."

"Yes, I do," Sorrel doesn't pull away, can't really. He's too aware that this might be his only chance, for some time, to close his eyes and feel Adasse close at hand. To hear his voice, "She's impossible."

But, ultimately, the hour will pass, whether they will it or no. Eventually, even Sorrel has to admit that... he has to go. And Adasse has to stay.

"I... I should go or. I'll lose the light," He doesn't quite master himself enough to step away, but he does lean back, let go his grip, at least.

"I know what I must look like," Sorrel is quick to reassure her, if he can; he feels at least as wretched as he looks, "I... I don't know how to explain..."

He does, really. But how to begin? How to force the words out? How to admit that he has no idea what 'wrong' might even be, let alone that he is or isn't that much.

"I'm not hurt or anything. You don't need to worry, not about me."

"Yes, of course." Beleth lies, having already been tearing up for several minutes. There's a handkerchief in her hand that she mindlessly holds to her eyes when the tears threaten to spill. She's doing her best to maintain an image of somewhat dignity, out here in public, within sight of all the people that look to her for leadership.

Just like the clan will look to Sorrel, soon.

"I'll come visit, just like I did before--" She swallows around the stubborn lump in her throat. "--before--" Before she had him here with her, before she couldn't just take a few minutes walk to be reunited with him. When he wasn't there to support her, and she couldn't reach out and touch him anymore.

A strangled choking noise comes from the back of her throat, and something breaks. In the space of a heartbeat, Beleth is clinging to Sorrel with a desperation. She doesn't try to finish her sentence, or say anything else. Instead, she presses her face into his chest, shoulders shaking as she begins sobbing in earnest.

And getting tears all over his spiffy First robes. Have fun with that.

"Well, I knew you two had to be twins somehow." Adasse smiled, holding tight to Sorrel. Just a few more seconds. When Sorrel whispered that he had to go, he too, leaned back. Then leaned in to steal one more kiss. Even if it was offered up, he still felt like he was stealing it.

Then he stepped back all the way. "Try to get a message back to us, let us know you have gotten there all right?"

And Sorrel... lets her. He doesn't protest or flinch away, or evidence any surprise-- he hasn't any to show, after all. He simply opens her arms as she throws herself into them, and holds on as tightly as he can.

"You're snotting up my robes," He complains, face pressed into her hair, Eyes streaming. He's crying with perhaps a little less noise and good deal less mess, but it's not as if he can stop, either, "You're the worst sister anyone ever had."

He can't hold any tighter, so instead he just turns his head into her hair and breathes through it, the clenched-heart pain of parting.

"I'm going to miss you so much."

When Adasse stepped away, Sorrel was grateful for it; it was quite possibly the most painful thing Adasse had even done for him. But it had to be done, and Sorrel hadn't been able to do it. He'd even swayed forward, without really meaning to, leaning into a touch that was no longer present.

"Of course I will. You'd better send one back when I do, or I might think you've forgotten me."

This is all completely out of Fern's area of expertise--she's a gardener, albeit a magical one, and not especially good at helping anyone, even someone she cares about, muddle through personal issues. At least, not when she doesn't know what they are.

"Well--all right," she allows, not sounding remotely convinced, and gives his shoulder an awkward sort of pat-pat. She doesn't get up to leave, though.

...After a moment of awkward silence, she peers back at him again. "All right, I know I said I wouldn't pry, but what's wrong, something is obviously terribly wrong."

Cyril can't help but worry. He worries that Sorrel will find danger along the way. He worries that he'll return to the clan and be convinced to stay. He worries that he'll return to the clan and be forced to leave again. He worries about all of those and more because each one carries with it a way to break Sorrel's heart.

"I'll be fine," he promises. "Unless you get hurt. In which case I may have to cross over to the beyond and bring you back just to scold you." It's teasing, of course, because he refuses to show just how worried he is.

"I am never going to forget you." Said with complete earnestness, before he lets out a laugh, "Beleth won't let me for one, Cyril for another. Beyond that, all I have to do is close my eyes and you're right there. Crystal perfect memory, gorgeous."

He sucked in another breath, "Be careful. May the Dread Wolf lose your trail."

It was sweet enough, to hear the words, that Sorrel's hand moved to reach for Adasse before he'd realized-- no, no, it's time to let go, remember? He restrained himself, on a bittersweet smile.

"And may he never find yours. Goodbye, ma'nehn."

It is time to go.

"Oh, please. I can't die, are you crazy? Beleth would kill me."

It's a rote joke, but no less honest than usual. Sorrel smiles for Cyril, because he can see that whatever cheerful face he's putting on, there's real worry lying under it. For what, he cannot guess; after all, there's nothing to worry about.

"Adasse's putting on a brave face, but-- you know. You do know, right?" Of course you do. Sorrel reaches out to pat Cyril's shoulder, "Will you check in on him for me? He's only going to act like he's fine for me, because he's dead set on being noble, but... I'd just feel better, if I knew for sure he had someone to lean on, every now and again."

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Page 1 of 4

Say Hello To Goodbye | Openish

Roads Go Ever On | Kirkwall/Goodbye

No Safe Paths | Clan & Keepers/Going Home

And Back Again | Kirkwall Again/Returning

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