faderift | (closed) the coldest story ever told

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(closed) the coldest story ever told

WHO: Zevran Arainai, Maxwell Trevean, Pel Ashara, Salem Ghilan, Alistair
WHAT: A Dalish mage Ron Swanson, a Dalish warrior who throws eggs, an Antivan assassin and his many knives, a Warden who's probably technically exiled, and one single actual human nobleman on whom we are hanging all of our hopes and dreams try to make a dude stop being a big meanie.
WHEN: Haring 5-?
WHERE: Northern Ferelden
NOTES: Plotting post!

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It's like being a Keeper's First again. Doing the things other people can't do, even when nobody wants to do them. That's how she finds herself trimming an old man's toenails and helping a heavily pregnant widow wash herself where she can't reach.

Eventually she gets roped into playing a game of ball with some kids. The darlings don't even seem to notice she's an elf. In fact, there are a number of elven children among them, and in their innocence none of them think this is strange. Pel looks happier playing ball with kids than she's been since leaving her clan.

If you don't run into her any of these times, she'll come to you. She'll have a bowl of groats with a hunk of roast venison on top and a spoon in her other hand.

"Here. One of the refugees wanted me to make sure everyone's eating and offered this."

A harried looking mother had pressed an infant on Maxwell - "--just a moment," she said - and since he'd been circling nearby, swaying the babe gently in his arms as he hummed something low and soft. At the sound of Pel's voice he turned, eyebrows raising even as he continued to hum.

His stomach rumbled at the sight of the bowl, but he could only smile sheepishly, shifting the baby slightly in a 'hands full' gesture.

"Oh. Here." She sets the bowl aside and reaches for the baby. "I've already eaten."

"Thank you," he whispered with relief and a grin, gently passing the babe over to her. "His mother's here--"

He turned to look even as he was reaching for the bowl.

"Somewhere. She was off after another one."

"That's all right, isn't it, sweet thing?" Pel seems to light up with the baby in her arms, gently bouncing it while supporting its bottom like she's done it a thousand times. "Mamae will be back any moment, won't she? What a lucky baby. What a lucky baby."

She tickles the baby's tummy. The baby's eyes widen till they almost bug out, a smile stretching over its small, drooling face. This only goads Pel on, so she repeats the action, punctuating it with a playful touch to a tiny nose.

Maxwell began to eat, blowing gently on his spoonful; but even as he did, he couldn't help but smile. Watching Pel with the baby, the corners of his mouth curled up, a chuckle humming in his throat.

"Where were you five minutes ago?" he teased.

"Why? Did he need his nappy changed? He smells fine now."

Mouth full, he shook could only his head, waving his fingers over his spoon. When he'd finally managed to chew enough to swallow, he laughed softly - if a little hoarsely (the groats were hot).

"He likes you," Maxwell clarified. "I think he was a little dubious with me."

A soft laugh as the baby's mouth opens again, this time with a little more purpose as he reaches for (and misses) what's under her tunic.

"Of course he's happy to see me. He's hungry. There's nothing there for you, da'len. They're only for show. Mamae will be back with the real ones soon enough."

She hoists the baby up against her shoulder as his head keeps lolling toward her, mouth grasping at what is only inches away. In his new position, he gums his own hand and drools against Pel's shoulder.

"How are talks going with the old man?"

Maxwell arched an amused eyebrow, watching the infant's determined struggle. (Well that explained it. He'd be frustrated too if Mother had passed him off to strange, unhelpful man.) But then Pel asked after their host and it settled again as he sighed.

"I was hoping appealing to his better, Andrastian, nature might sway him into being less... begrudging." It wasn't the first word he thought of, but given the mixed company, it seemed more prudent. "Unsurprisingly, we're going to need something more immediate than the Maker's future disapproval to get him to budge."

"Shemlen have taxes, don't they?" Pel rubs the baby's back thoughtfully. The baby drools aggressively on her shoulder, then lowers its head to suck on her shirt. "Give them time to set up and get a few merchants coming through and then ask them to pay taxes. Make him a prince or something, whatever the title is round here. Pat him on the back for how well he's adjusting to his new city."

"I don't think we can go quite that far," Maxwell smirked wryly, stirring his grouts consideringly. "But if there's a universal motivator, it's probably coin. If we can make it appealing to his purse, I expect he'll come around."

Pel smiles, bouncing the baby gently. Look, all her ignorance of shem life and she's helping.

The baby's mother is darting back, looking horrified. Pel doesn't even notice her arrival until the baby is being snatched out of her arms. She looks ready to tackle the kidnapper to the ground when the woman starts shouting at her.

"Not my child, you filthy knife-eared savage! Stay away from us!"

Pel looks stunned. The mother turns on her heel to power-walk well away.

It was so abrupt and quick, Maxwell might have been less surprised if she'd just hauled off and slapped them. He blinked at the woman for a moment, then his face stiffened, brow wrinkling.

"A fine thank you, to the people trying to help," he said to her back.

Turning back to Pel, he shook his head.

"I'm sorry."

Pel folds her arms against herself tightly, clearly shaken. She presses her lips together briefly, then takes a deep breath, expression growing stone cold.

"I'm fine." She uses her neck handkerchief to dab at the wet spot the baby left. "It's the baby who deserves sympathy, growing up with that for a mother."

"I can dislike both," he muttered with another shake of his head, pushing his grouts around in his bowl with a little more force - his appetite suddenly fleeing.

When he looked back her and so how clearly she was not fine, he exhaled a long breath, and tried some wry, self-deprecating humor.

"I'm a decent multi-tasker when I try."

"I appreciate it." She does. It's little comfort, but it's stabilizing, knowing Maxwell thinks that way. Knowing he's on her side.

"Come on," he said, gesturing with one hand and turning decidedly away from the direction the woman had gone. "I'm sure there's plenty to be done elsewhere."

Somewhere they were offended and offending.

Pel follows Maxwell away, wondering if Vivienne had a point about uniforms and looking "professional" or whatever.

"We're going to help them, aren't we?"

"Despite themselves," Maxwell nodded with a little sigh. "Because the Inquisition is better than that. We're better than that."

That gets a smile from her. "That's what I hope."

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(closed) the coldest story ever told

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