Open

[keenly]

WHO: Colin, Nathaniel, and you
WHAT: Open Log
WHEN: Present
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Will update.

I: INFIRMARY

The door to the infirmary is closed today, with a sign posted that reads

WELCOME - DO NOT LET THE CAT OUT

Colin thought it best. He couldn't bear to leave Ghast alone, locked into a small bedroom on his own. The poor creature has been through enough. So the cat is settled onto a pillow, tucked up like a loaf of bread, his massive black ears relaxed, yellow eyes half-closed. He is a lean, long-faced beast who is wary of strangers.

The healer himself is looking a little tired, hair sloppily braided back in a half-ponytail, sleeves rolled up as he works minerals and herbs into medicine. New to some is the tattoo of a saffron flower on his left arm. New to everyone is the piercing in the lobe of his right ear, a simple steel stud that complements the ever-present hoop in the cartilage of the same ear. Both tattoo and piercing are symptomatic of an itch under his skin, a sense that he does not own himself. He had once thought the Inquisition a refuge. Now, he knows it for a war from. Now, he has lost a friend in this war, though there is no certainty of Gareth's death. Yet.

II: BATHS - TEMPLAR TOWER

This is not the tower where Colin lives, but he needs hot water tonight. He maneuvers into a long linen shirt without exposing an inch of skin--pulling the shirt on, undressing from underneath, and finally putting his arms through the sleeves. He tugs his hair free and walks into the bath, white fabric pooling around him as he goes deeper, till it soaks through and sinks around his calves.

Once settled, he lathers soap over top of the shift and lets it rinse. The same soap is used for shaving and washing his hair. When everything is done, he sinks back into the water, looking up at the ceiling while his dark hair fans out around his head. His ears are underwater, but this is a public bath. He will try not to be surprised by your arrival.

III: KITCHEN - MAGE TOWER

Cooking has always been Colin's chief coping tool, and it is sort of nice now not to have to get up before dawn to be off to the market on days he wants to cook. Of course he still does, so he can get the freshest ingredients. But because his hours are flexible now, he can change things up. Today, he can make breakfast. Breakfast is, in his opinion, the best meal of the day. There's the comfort of breakfast food, how the hunger at the first meal makes everything taste better, and how a good breakfast really sets a person up for the rest of the day.

Breakfast today is hot, crusty bread, a potato omelet made with fresh eggs, and ripe peaches in cream. Most of the ingredients were already on-hand, either from his stores or the Inquisition's, so the out-of-pocket cost was minimal. But unlike most of Colin's meals, this one is free. Come on in and grab a plate.

IV: GREY WARDEN OFFICE

Everything is stupid.

Nathaniel has been staring at these maps all day and nothing has changed. Jonas saved the world, married the fair lady, and died thinking the very worst he would have to worry about was curing the darkspawn taint and having babies with Anora. Now, it's up to his bastard sidekick and rejected not-quite-cousin to save the same world all over again, and Nathaniel is finally, truly shaken in his belief that he can do it. He won't do it. He did the best he could and then the Anderfels invaded two countries. On his watch.

He is so stupid.

There was never a Jonas-level hero waiting to pick up the slack. And as much as he wanted to be, he is not that hero either. The heroes are all dead. All that's left are the people they saved. It can't be enough. He has done and redone the math and it will not be enough. Human effort cannot be enough every time. One of those times, it has to fail. And all it takes is one time.

V: TEMPLAR TOWER EXTERIOR

This is not a chore he has done very often.

Nathaniel Howe, once the heir of Amaranthine, is halfway out a fifth-story window, dangling a rug. A small amount of debris falls below--dust, bits of ash, things tracked in on their boots. Then, he starts banging the rug against the outside wall. A much more moderate amount of debris falls. Hopefully passers by know to walk around before they get sprinkled.

Then the entire damn rug falls on the head of whoever is below.

"Sorry!" Nathaniel calls from above, ducking back inside so he can dash down the stairs and reclaim his wayward property. But really, this is on you. You should have been paying better attention.

VI: COURTYARD

One. Bull's eye. Summer has been kind to Nathaniel's rheumatism, so he has been shooting as much as possible these days. Occasionally he swaps the family longbow out for a shortbow, and finds it a peculiar fit after so long with the heavier draw weight.

Two. Slightly off the bull's eye. He's still on borrowed time. It won't be long before it would be irresponsible for him to go into combat. With or without the looming threat of--no, he's not going to let his mind go there.

Three. Bull's eye. He should be practicing more with the shield. That will be in his future very soon.

Four. Two inches off the bull's eye. Now he stops to go collect his arrows. He needs a break.

VII: WILDCARD

Comments

[overharrowed]

"Colin." Julius leans forward, a bit. "Those... for me, those are different things. What was normal and what was right. Just because I think that some parts of the old system can be reformed doesn't mean I was blind to the fact that they needed reform. I was lucky. The ways I chose to survive were ways I could live with, but that doesn't mean I think that makes me different in any way other than luck."

He pauses, then he says, "It wasn't alright. But I also don't want you to feel guilty for surviving. I would have kept your secret, as long as it lasted. I hope you know that."

[keenly]

Why does Julius have to be so good? Colin looks at him incredulously. If he didn’t know better, he would think the man naive.

“You wouldn’t have,” he says firmly. “Because you are a good man, and the lyrium wasn’t the secret.”

And now he’s saying it. His hands fuss with a flask, polishing it with the edge of his sleeve, betraying a slight tremor.

“The lyrium wasn’t the secret,” he repeats. “If I told you about the lyrium, you would have known something else was happening to make me do it. You might have worked out what. And then he would have killed me.”

[overharrowed]

Julius' look was serious before, but now it edges on something else. "Whether I'm a good man or not," he says, after a brief paused, "I'm not easily scandalized, I promise. You don't have to tell me, but if you want to now, I'm listening."

He has a few suspicions, none of them good.

[keenly]

He knows he wants to tell him. He's not sure why. Maybe it's because he expects constructive criticism from his elders. There's some deep desire to be told what he did wrong, and a deeper desire to hear that what happened was his fault. If it was his fault, then he never lost power over the situation and will not again. But if he's using Julius to hurt himself, to berate himself, he's not doing this for the right reasons. Is there a right reason?

Deft but trembling fingers start pulling dried leaves off dried stems and dropping them in a jar. It helps to be doing something, to have an excuse to busy his hands and avoid eye contact.

"I don't feel guilty." Putting that to bed right away. "I feel foolish. I just want...I don't know what I want. I want there to be a lesson, and I want you to tell me what it is so I can put it behind me. But I've always feared that what happened, how I handled it, prolonged things or made them worse. Maybe I could have gone to you right from the start and everything would have been all right. That's probably why I never told you, I just..."

He shakes his head, loose strands of hair swaying as he does.

"One of the templars was making me do things with him." He has no doubt Julius needs no more details. "While I was selling the lyrium, the other templars protected me from him. I thought, if I sold it here, I could start out with the templars on my side. Avoid trouble from the start. I wasn't competition for the Carta, I didn't think they would care."

[overharrowed]

Julius takes all that in. He's not shocked, not horrified. (If anything, he's tired, but he takes care not to let that show.)

"You can't know," he says, after a pause. "If what you did was the best way. You did what you thought was best in the moment, that's all any of us can do. And you survived the choice you made, so you know it wasn't the worst one. I wish I could give you that certainty, that you didn't make things worse, but what I can tell you is that no one is blame for what he did but himself. You solved the problem the way you could think to do it. But we're not in the Circle now, not for as long as Corypheus is a threat."

Julius pauses, then says, "I think all of us are prone to react to yesterday's problems today. I know I am. And I don't think I need to berate you for actions that carried their own consequences. I just... I'd like to be there, if you decide to ask for help in the future, I suppose."

[keenly]

A barely-perceptible bob of his head. "I will," he says. That much was never in question, with what Julius has already done for him. His hands begin to shake less, and his gaze becomes less evasive. And even though it wasn't exactly some monumental moment where the universe made sense--an unfair expectation from the beginning, and he knew that--he does feel lighter. One confession lighter. One day of silence lighter. "I'm sorry I ever doubted. And..."

He's trying to think of how to put this without sounding offensive.

"If the nobs, if they think they're too good for you, it's a sign you're too good for them. The rest of us know we're damned lucky to have you, and would be proud to call you our own. All right? Hang your da, I have your back."

Colin seldom speaks decisively--not from a lack of confidence but because when he does, he wants it to count.

[overharrowed]

That surprises him, in a way nothing else has; it's subtle, but visible all the same. He feels a responsibility, a tie to the mages who were at Kinloch Hold, but even after everything, a part of him expects that any reciprocating feeling needs to be earned. It's not a thing he would take for granted, certainly.

He smiles, then, and it's smaller, a bit less polished than the version he applies like a salve to conversations and relationships that need it. For all it's small, it's warm.

"Thank you. That means a great deal, truly. It's an odd thing, family. At least for people like us." Painful and complicated... and maybe not always about blood.

[keenly]

Colin nods mildly in agreement. “That’s true. I...” He blows out a breath. “I knew my family for eleven years. I’ve known you for fourteen. And my family is dead, so that makes you...”

The closest thing I’ve got, is the rest of the sentence. He lets Julius fill that in for himself. He doesn’t want to make the man uncomfortable with the level of intimacy in it. Some people would rather leave things understood, but unsaid. Like Nikos when he hates being called Colin’s friend. It doesn’t make it any less true.

[overharrowed]

"I'm glad we found each other again," Julius says, frankly, and it's an acceptance of its own. He hears what Colin is saying, and doesn't flinch away from it. "It means a great deal, truly. And," he adds, with a slightly wider smile, "no one else sells me paella at such a reasonable price."