faderift | CLOSED | It's not your fault

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CLOSED | It's not your fault

WHO: Krem and Samwise
WHAT: Krem clears up some things after accidental misgendering
WHEN: Backdated, before leaving for Emprise du Lion
WHERE: the Herald's Rest
NOTES: Gender identity and dysphoria, takes place after this small debacle.

Really, he didn't expect the hobbit to show up after what had happened. He wouldn't blame Sam for avoiding him, he hadn't exactly reacted well to...well. Much of anything. But at least there had been an attempt to smooth it over on his part. But Sam had looked petrified of mis-stepping, and if there was one thing Krem found frustrating, it was people pussyfooting around him.

And, he liked Sam. Little guy was pretty alright. Perhaps a little skittish for what was happening around here, but he'd settle down in time. Maybe taking the time to drink with him would help.

So here he was, back in his armor, a layer of both physical and psychological protection, with a bottle in hand and a mug settled across from him of sweetened mulled cider. Sam would like that, right?

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Sam still looked like he expected Krem to hurt him, or to level some sort of threat, and Krem sighed. He wasn't actually used to people being afraid of him. It was one thing when people were afraid of his status as a mercenary, but him as a person, he only wanted to do right by people, be that smashing a demon or escorting a supply wagon. But he couldn't just encourage Sam to stop being nervous with stories.

"'course. Dunno what small folks like yourself are partial to, but you seem the sort to enjoy something sweet at least." He offered a small smile at that, then took a sip from his own mug filled with mead. "How're you settling in so far then?"

"Oh, we like all sorts," Sam assured him, carefully lifting the mug and taking a sip. His eyes widened at the taste, and he nodded in enthusiastic approval before taking a bigger gulp. Suddenly he was reminded of his manners, and he set the mug down hastily, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Well enough. It's not the Shire, nor Rivendell, but there's no shortage of Elves, that's for certain. As well as everyone else in the world, it seems - save for hobbits of course."

Krem would have been just fine if Sam had continued drinking; that was what the drink was there for in the first place, after all. He kept his own drink up at his lips but listened to Sam talk, nodding some even though he had no idea where Rivendell or the Shire were. He reminded himself that they were obviously places in the world that Sam had come from, so of course nothing would sound familiar. "Yeah if there's one thing we've got coming out of our ears, it's elves. Lots of dwarves too. You're the first- what'd you say? Hobbit, right? First one I've ever seen."

Sam nods. "It seems I'm the only one," he agrees: still somewhat ruefully, but he's starting to come to terms with the fact that he's the only one of his kind here. He tilts his head, thinking. "It's a strange thing, there being no hobbits here, when we've got Elves and Dwarves and Men back home just the same as here. But I suppose they're not quite the same, after all - leastways the elves and dwarves aren't."

"When you got here, you really wanted to find someone in the swamp. Another one of yours?" He could easily recall Sam's writhing, demands to be released in case a Mister Frodo was still there in the water. He hadn't found another small man like Sam in the middle of the skirmish, and it had actually saddened him to have to return with no news of others like Sam to be found.

It's perhaps not quite the right thing to say. Sam's expression crumples, and he bows his head, staring down at the table.

"Yes; another one," he says heavily. "And I looked and looked; and Mr. Fate he promised to look too. But there was no sign of him at all - of any of them. I suppose they're all back on the River still; if they've not reached Mordor already." The thought is a dark one, enough to send an actual chill through his bones, and he hunches a little closer to the table.

That look on Sam's face makes Krem frown, and he reaches across the table to lay his hand on the hobbit's shoulder.

"It's possible that they just haven't come through yet. Lady Galadriel is one of yours as well, correct? She arrived here long before you did. If you want the others here, then perhaps they simply have yet to arrive."

More that's probably not the best thing to say, but Krem isn't the best at bring comforting.

The hobbit sighs, nodding miserably. "I suppose you're right, but what good would that do?" he asks, half talking to himself. "I'd dearly love to see them all again and no mistake, but there's a job to do, and it can't be done here. The R-"

He stops himself, looking up at the Man with a guilty expression. "I-it's better this way," he stammers, not wanting to explain any more. "I'll just have to wait and hope; hope that I can get back there, before the end." Feeling that he's still saying too much, however, he shuts his mouth, reaching for his mug of cider again to occupy himself and keep from speaking of things he shouldn't.

Krem shakes his head some. Not a topic to keep on with. Right. Instead, he reclines some in his seat, looking over at Sam with a small, kind half-smile.

"I wanted to apologize for what happened earlier," he said quietly. I don't know your circumstances any better than you'd know mine. Reacted badly. I wanted to clear some things up with you, 'f you follow me." There. Nothing about the way he'd said that sounded even the least bit threatening, at least in his ears. He hoped that Sam could at least trust him enough to listen and not worry himself overly much as he went on.

"Not sure if it was ever a thing where you're from, or if it's maybe just something that happens here, but sometimes, people aren't born into bodies that suit them. A man might be born in a body equipped for childbearing, high voice and all. Sometimes, it's upsetting for reasons that don't make sense to anyone but the person in question. But respect is a key thing here, y'see. If someone tells you that they aren't what you thought, the quickest, easiest thing is to respect that. No harm, no fuss."

Sam's grateful just that Krem hadn't pushed when he'd (almost) mentioned the Ring; he shouldn't discuss it, he knows, and he's eager to talk about just about anything else.

He looks up curiously when the Man starts talking, resolving to stay silent and just listen. There's no cause to apologize, but it's heartening to hear all the same. At least he knows that Krem still likes him, and wants to make sure his feelings aren't hurt.

"Not born into..." he repeats, and his voice trails off. It's a hard thing to fathom. Sam's body is something he'd always taken for granted, without a second thought. But he tries to imagine what he'd do if he woke up with a hobbit woman's body, or perhaps a dwarf's, and he frowns deeply. He's had enough people mistake him for a dwarf here already, and he doesn't even look like one (at least, it's easy enough for Sam to tell the difference). What would he do if he woke up all hairy and tall(er) and still had to somehow convince people that he was really a hobbit?

He looks at Krem, finally answering.

"Well, I've never heard of nothing like that," he says plainly. "But do you mean to say, if you don't mind me asking that is, that that's how it is with you? Why I never! I'm sorry, Mr. Krem. I can't imagine how queer it must feel. I didn't mean to put you on the spot, as it were, or make you unhappy. I only - I only wanted to, well, to do right by you, I suppose; but it seems I got it all wrong."

Krem raised his hands some in a placating gesture. "No harm done, I promise. I get people around here that look at me funny sometimes, least until they see me fight. Then I think they fear for their lives. Not that I've ever killed anyone for- not the point. The point is that it's alright, Sam. You're not the first to get it wrong, and I doubt you'll be the last for a while."

Now that it was a little calmer, Krem sat back again, kicking his heel up on the edge of his chair with his ale at his lips. That was about enough of the serious talk for now, now that he'd gotten out of the way what he needed to.

"Why not tell me a little about where you come from? Trade stories, some't like that."

Sam looks briefly worried, and then relaxes a bit at Krem's reassurances. He's glad the Man doesn't seem angry, at least, nor hurt, though he still feels a bit guilty.

"Trade stories?" he repeats thoughtfully. "Well, I'm not much of a storyteller, though I suppose I could give it a try. What would you like to hear about?"

Sam's face shows emotion like a picture book, and all Krem can really do is try to assuage his worry, ease his mind, and maybe distract him with happier thoughts.

"You'd mentioned places before that you'd been. I know there's probably not much chance I'd ever get to see them myself, but I'd like to hear about where you've been. Maybe learn about where you came from so it's easier to find a niche for you here. Everyone belongs somewhere, after all."

As distractions go, the question is a good one. Sam brightens, taking a sip of his cider as he thinks.

"If you'd asked me six months ago, I wouldn't have had much to say, not having ever traveled far from home," he says. "But as it happens I've seen more lately than I ever thought to see: the ancient homes of the Elves, mountains and forests and ruins - even a great ruined city of the Dwarves!" His face lights up for a moment, and then falls, as he thinks of what had happened in that ruined city. "I - I hardly know where to begin. As for a place to belong, well, I'll find a place to fit in somewhere I guess. It's not as if I need much room." He offers the Man a shy smile.

The ancient home of the elves immediately makes him think of Halamshiral. It definitely wasn't what it once was, but it was still interesting nonetheless. He imagines that Sam could learn a whole lot about that from the elves haunting the library, particularly Pel, but...she could be just a little bit abrasive and loud about her opinions, not exactly something he'd care to subject someone like Sam to.

"We've got ruined dwarven cities here, they're under the mountains, all connected by the Deep Roads. Not exactly a place you'd want to go to on your own, what with the deepstalkers and the darkspawn still down there, but they're amazing all the same. They light up the place with molten rock from deep in the earth. It's beautiful." Krem smiled some at that, then thought a moment before asking, "what about where you come from? Rivendell sounds like an elvhen place but the Shire's more like...maybe something you'd find around Ferelden. Least, if the naming of things is similar"

The description of the dwarf cities makes him smile, even if the smile is still a bit sad; it's close enough to Moria to sound familiar, and he doesn't have to know what 'deepstalkers' and 'darkspawn' are to imagine what they're like.

He nods, leaning forward eagerly as he thinks about the Shire. "Well, I haven't seen much of Thedas that's not either cold or wet: being too anxious about Mr. Frodo to take much notice of things on the journey here from the Mire as it were. But if I understand right from what people say, there's more alike than not between the Shire and Ferelden. The food's near enough it's hard to tell the difference, even if the names of things aren't quite what I'm used to. And the ale's familiar enough too, which I'm right glad of." He smiles at Krem as he takes another drink. "We don't have near as many wizards back home, though; nor giants - qunari I mean."

Wizards? That one takes him a moment to parse, then he chuckles quietly. "Yes, lots of mages here, particularly after they were brought into the fold for protection by the Inquisition. Far as the qunari are concerned, they've actually got their own nation in the northern islands. They're at war with Tevinter, sort of, but that's a long and complicated story in itself. But they're not all like that. You've met Korrin right? She's one of the fastest friends I've made here.

"But what's the Shire like? I grew up in a city, surrounded by buildings and s- Lots of people."

"The Shire?" Sam pauses, tilting his head as he thinks. "It's...well, it's no city. I'm from Hobbiton, which I suppose you'd call a town at least, yet even so it's mostly farms and fields. There are buildings, though none so tall as any in your city, I'm sure; but many of us still live in hobbit-holes, built into the hills."

Houses built into the hills? Now that sounded damned economical to him. "Must be damned cozy like that. Saves space or things too. Probably pretty. I grew up in a city but it was smaller than most. Traveled everywhere though. Always something to see outside your own walls. I'm almost surprised we haven't come across hobbits of our own out here, but who knows? Maybe we haven't even scratched the surface when it comes to how much world there is here."

Sam lights up at that. "Do you really think there are other hobbits here?" He considers it for a moment, but then shakes his head, his face falling. Even Galadriel had heard of hobbits, even if she'd never seen one, maybe.

"I - I don't know about that. It's a lovely thought and all, but surely someone must have seen one sometime, if there were any here at all." And no one had; he's been mistaken for a dwarf enough times to be sure of that.

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CLOSED | It's not your fault

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