faderift | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

WHO: Cyril and OPEN
WHAT: Cyril was late returning back to Kirkwall, and when he finally shows up he's a little worse for wear.
WHEN: Some timew this week
WHERE: Gallows
NOTES: Some light description of injury.

He hadn't meant to be gone this long. He had gotten some leave to visit Sam and was supposed to be back last week. The visit had been wonderful, the trip home not as much.

When Cyril finally does make it back to Kirkwall he has a bruise along one eye and his arm is in a sling. He doesn't want to let the injuries get him down. He knows he's going to have some friends concerned about his appearance and he doesn't want to worry them. Still, it's pretty unavoidable when he knows someone can take one look at him and notice the broken arm.

The pain isn't helping his desire to play it off as if it's not big deal either.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Nari would know that head of silver hair anywhere. Especially since she'd been keeping a weather eye out for its return. So, moments after Cyril is briefly framed in the door to the workshop on his way to wherever it is he's going, she pops her head out to call his name and then jog up to meet him.

There is, of course, a sympathetic hiss when she sees the arm.

"Ouch," she says. She's not over-worried, the Dalish can generally take a hit and Cyril heals well, but it still means something befell him on his journey.

"Tell me about it," Cyril replies with a grin. He appreciates that she's not making a fuss. He comes closer and opens his other arm to embrace her as a hello.

"And just when I was super relaxed after seeing Sam too."

"Nothing like getting injured after you see your lover the Spirit Healer," Nari replies with a wry grin and a shake of her head that makes the beads placed in a few of the myriad of little braids someone'd put her hair into at the Arlathvhen click together. She happily accepts the embrace, not ginger about it, but definitely trying to avoid knocking into his other arm.

"Serpent, stumble, or shem?" she asks, as the hunters of her clan had whenever one of them had come back injured. Animal, your own fault, or do I have to go track someone down? Her tone is light, but her gaze holds a little more weight.

"First there was a serpent, then a stumble, then some friendly shems," he replies. Even though it's not a saying Clan Ashara shared, he can glean the meaning of it pretty easily. He also files it away for future use, if they ever need it.

"And you can't believe how worried Sam was when I contacted him, but there are spirit healers here to help. I'll probably go bother Anders pretty soon. After I eat something though. Care to join?"

"Oh, I think I could believe," Nari replies, her look matching her tone again now that there's not been any foul play. She gently extricates herself from the hug, and whuffs out a breath, looking back towards the workshop. Normally she wouldn't be breaking yet, but a quick bite would be fine, and she'd both missed Cyril and was keen to hear about how Sam was doing.

"I do indeed. Could do with a moment's pause." She'll follow along wherever Cyril's going, adding "And I'm sure Anders'll be happy to see you, even if it's business before pleasure," as she does.

"I'm sure he'll be happy to see me and happy that he can help. He's giving like that," Cyril adds, grinning at the idea. He can't help but feel a large amount of affection for the mage.

"He is," Nari agrees readily. Some of it might be born of the lingering guilt that she imagines a man so devoted to healing must feel to have caused so much agony, but it seems to her that the larger portion is that that's just how Anders is.

"You were missed," she ventures a little cautiously, knowing that the People are a delicate and knotted subject for the man she still considers her clanbrother, "at the Arlathvhen."

Cyril pressed his lips together at the thought. He felt a deep ache in his chest at the idea. He had complicated feelings about the Dalish but still held a huge respect for what they were trying to accomplish.

"Perhaps I will be able to attend the next one." If the world was even around in ten years.

She nods, hearing the unsaid addition. There's a chance it could be their last one. That after surviving so much for so long, here it was. The end of it.

"We're good at surviving," is what Nari says, though. "The best. Even if Corypheus grabs the entire world in his fist, we'll find the corners and pockets in it and keep hunting, and keep dancing, and keep telling stories. After all, the whole world already belongs to those who don't want us. Would probably have entirely done with us if they could." She grins cheekily at him, although it's an exceptionally obvious attempt to cover her worry. "But they couldn't. Can't. And he won't be able to either. So we'll go to the next one. Together." She reaches to link arms with him again, moving around to the side where she can.

Well, saying it feels nice, at least.

Edited 2018-09-21 15:56 (UTC)

Cyril feels pretty comforted by her words. They will find a way, even if the Inquisition fails. He wishes it was more than just scraping by and hiding away, but something would survive.

He chuckles gently and pats her arm. "You do have a way with words, lethallan."

"Thank my father," she says with a half-grin. "Sometimes I think he took it upon himself to teach me storytelling because he thought without extra help I'd end up never speaking at all."

Not an exaggeration, really. She'd been a very quiet, solemn child, more often mimicking the singing of birds than the speech of clanmates.

"Storytelling is vital to our survival so it was a useful skill to share." It's the only way they can remember their history.

"I feel a little bad sometimes that I'm not there," in the forest, with her clan, maybe travelling to other clans to learn theirs, as she'd done for a few days at the Arlathvhen, "Learning more of them. But at the same time, it feels nice to tell the ones I do know to the children who run about in the streets. Down by the docks. Human and elven alike. They might be just fanciful stories to them, a bit of entertainment, but it feels like strewing seeds in any case."

"If you are too worried about being away, you can always compare yourself to me and instantly feel more Dalish," Cyril offers, a tinge of self-deprecation in his tone. "Either way, teaching others about our history is never a bad thing. It can help different people relate to one another."

The self-deprecation in his voice makes her frown slightly. And, since they're talking about stories, and people...

"What does 'being Dalish' mean to you, Cy?"

Cyril considers that for a moment. "Being willing to live with a Clan? Wants to convert every elf back to the old ways? Wanting to have as many elven children as possible to pass what we know?"

"That'd make me a terrible Dalish too, you know," she says with a little grin and a gentle elbow that's careful to avoid anything that might hurt or jostle him too much.

"After all I've decided to stay here with the Inquisition, I want our people to make their own choices even if I'm telling the stories, and I don't plan to..." Have children at all, and even if she did, they wouldn't be doing the work of sustaining the People. The very thought of which makes her tug at her hair with a short embarrassed laugh, her shoulders tensing for a moment. We'll just... put that over there and never think about it again. "Well." Small cough. "My work is what I want to leave behind."

"I think being Dalish is about remembering. Wanting to remember. Looking for and keeping and sharing our history. Keeping the strength and perseverance of it in our hearts. Being there, for all of us, and holding our ground, no matter what it is. I've been doing a piss-poor job of the last—haven't been much to the Alienage. Scared, I think." She crosses her arms and quirks a self-deprecating smile. "Anyway, I think it's okay to find a new way to be who and what we are in this new world. One that someone else didn't tell you."

Cyril feels that he can get behind what she says and he wishes more of their people believed the same things. Her words are comforting and he's reminded why she makes such a good storyteller. She has a way of speaking that is so soothing.

"I've been wanting to do more work in the Alienage too, maybe we can encourage each other to become more involved."

She'll smile at that. "With Merrill coming back too, they'll be overrun with helpful Dalish." It's a little unsure still, maybe, but the smile remains nevertheless. "I'd like that. I want to help, I do, it's just that I feel like an outsider coming in to try to fix problems I don't really know anything about, and I want..." Nari puffs her cheeks and blows out a sigh. "I want us all to be People. Together. And I can't see how the road gets there."

"Then, let's approach it less as a 'we're here to fix your problems' and more a 'you tell us what you need and we'll do what we can to make it happen?' I'm pretty sure it's the Dalish that act like they know everything every elf needs that drives them crazy."

"Cyril?"

Oh here you go, friend. Someone who is automatically going to mother-hen you. James's eyes are wide with concern and he pushes through the other people in the Gallows courtyard to get to the slender elf.

"Great Maker, what happened to you, are you all right? Here, let me take those things for you."

He seems he doesn't mind the mother-henning as much from James. Probably because any attention from James feels kind of nice.

"I'm fine," he reassures. "I made it to an apothecary and the healer there helped me recover enough I could travel. And now we have spirit healers who can probably do something about the arm..."

"Well yes, I would hope so ... no, don't pick that up." James huffed as he made sure he picked up all of Cyril's various bundles. "Come, we should get you to a healer right away."

Cyril seems amused that James insists on helping him. "You are almost worse than Sam. You know he almost dropped everything to travel to where I was? I was almost here. It would have been a days journey for him just to get to me."

"Yes, well that is because Sam is a well-mannered gentleman, and not some sort of uncouth ruffian to leave you on your own." James sniffed, as he made sure to get all of Cyril's heaviest burdens. "Where are we going? Healing tents, yes?"

"Eventually, I was going to track down Anders," he reassures. "For now, I was thinking more about food."

"Cyril." His voice is gentle admonishment as he sees the shape the elf is in. It would be far less admonishing if they were in the infirmary, but that doesn't appear to be the direction Cyril is heading.

"Where are we going? Because I'm not going to let you walk around like that for long."

Cyril offers Anders a grin in return. "Why hello. What a nice face to return home too," he teases gently.

"And if you're offering to heal me, I'll go wherever you want me to go."

He gives Cyril a smile and shake of his head.

"I'm offering to heal you. Will the infirmary work? Or I can take you up to my room, it'll be a little more private and then you can sit with the cats too." In case what happened is something Cyril doesn't want to talk about.

"Oh, cats!" Cyril replies. "I'll go with the option that has cats."

The smile grows. "An elf after my own heart." If Cyril had looked any more in pain, Anders wouldn't have given the option, he would have lead them straight to the Infirmary. As it is, he leads the elf up a couple of flights of stairs and to the room he makes sure stays warm.

There are some blankets on the couch, so Anders gestures to the chairs at the table, one of the four of which is occupied by a tuxedo cat. The fluffy orange lump on the bed looks up and mews as Anders enters.

Cyril goes to sit with the tuxedo cat, easily getting distracted by petting it gently with the arm that isn't bound up.

"Your place is always so comforting," he comments. The cats are a big part of why.

"Funny, isn't it? It's in the Gallows, but once I'm in this room it's not as bad as the rest." He personally attributes it to knowing Nate will be back here as well, that he won't be alone, but the cats certainly help.

"What happened to your arm?" As he talks, he grabs another empty chair and pulls it up to Cyril's side, starting to carefully support and un-sling the arm so he can get an idea of what he's working with.

"This is... rather embarrassing," Cyril admits. He lets Anders examine as much as he needs. "I was attacked by some wolves and then while getting away from them, I slipped down a hill and caught my arm on a root.

It was rather un-Dalish of me." Not that there's many things he does which are very Dalish.

"Oh no," he says, trying and failing to hide a little amusement. It honestly sounds like something he could have happen himself.

"I'm simply glad that you did get away from them in the end. And I'll not tell on you to any Dalish." Anders begins casting now, shaking his head. "I'd be tempted, if Pel got in touch, but I work to keep the secrets of my patients."

"Oh! Especially not Pel. She'll march all the way here from Skyhold just to track down those wolves and punch them."

"In that case, maybe I should tell Pel. It's been a while since we've seen her and the baby." He gives Cyril a grin to show that he's just joking. He misses her, but she's busy and Kirkwall is never a place for a child. Or anyone, really. Anders rather hates this city.

"Can you possibly make sure you've backup next time you might run into wolves?"

Cyril can't help but agree with that on some level.

"You want me to bring backup when I leave to go meet my boyfriend? What do they do when Sam and I are greeting each other properly? Stand by the door?"

"Is Sam living somewhere that someone might have business? A village that someone else might need to go to? They can at least go with you to the village and then return with you. There's a definite safety in numbers."

Especially for a particularly tiny elf.

Cyril thinks about that and then nods. He can't help but feel touched that Anders is trying to protect him so he gives the mage a reassuring smile. "All right, I suppose you win with your logical points. I'll make sure I don't travel alone next time I go see him."

With that assurance, Anders can breathe a little easier. That's one friend who is a little safer now.

"Thank you," he says gently. "The war isn't going to die down anytime soon." Even if they beat Corypheus tomorrow, there will still be chaos for quite some time to come.

Cyril sighs then, realizing just how true that statement is.

"Thedas as never really been safe even before the war."

"Not for your kind, or for mine," he confirms quietly. "Not while the Chantry has power over the peoples' hearts and minds. We can only hope that matters change when this war has passed."

"Wouldn't that be wonderful," Cyril replies, smiling at the idea. "One can dream, can't we?"

"One can." He drops his hands, healing complete, and reaches for a glass of water. Even healing that isn't saving a life can be a little draining after a full day.

"And one can fight for that dream. Which is why we're here."

Cyril checks his arm and sort of marvels for a moment at how talented Anders is. He really should be more used to magic, but it still seems to be something he delights in.

"Exactly," he answers. Then he gives Anders a grateful smile. "So, what can I do to repay you for your services? I don't want to take your mana and run."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only