open; left to the wind and rain

[redinside]

WHO: Raleigh Samson + a star-studded cast
WHAT: a prisoner is brought from Skyhold to Kirkwall
WHEN: first half of Harvestmere, some early evening
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: General warnings TBD, if any.
Inquisition authority figures: I am a slave to your whims; summon this character to meetings etc as you see fit.
Everyone: got an idea not hinted at in this post? Hit me up.

Right, then. Here he is. The one place he was sure he'd never see again, except maybe on its way to ruin, smouldering, the Reds marching through. But that's Kirkwall for you: the rest of the world could be in flames and through the smoke you'd still see the shape of the Gallows. That horrible, wonderful silhouette, getting bigger as the boat bears you across the bay. Your heart thumping you from the inside to remind you, as if you need any reminding, that this is where you belong.

This is where I'll die, Samson thinks, as his feet finally alight on the wood of the dock. It's where I was always meant to die.

While he's being hauled along under a serious guard of five armed templar soldiers, for once it's done without the hood of his prison togs buckled around his head, nor with a heavy hand pushing forward the back of his neck to alter his silhouette. Propelled by giddy dread, he keeps up with them easily despite the chains. He's not smiling or anything so foolish, nor does he particularly feel like smiling, but all the same, he probably doesn't look as penitent as he should...
Oh well.

The group travels up the docks to the stronghold entrance, through forbidding gates and guarded archways to the cobbled yard of Templar Hall, up those long stairs, and inside, no doubt on some official business. From there the prisoner—still under heavy guard—is escorted to the Mage Tower, through the common areas of the lower floor, up to the main residences above, and beyond them.

The group moves efficiently, but not at a hurried pace. Should they pass anyone who wishes to address the prisoner, the retinue will tolerate verbal exchanges—get too close, however, and gloves will reach for sword-belts in warning. These particular templars are not fooling around.

The ultimate destination is a floor occupied by no one else: there Samson will be allowed to dwell, in a room of his own, without black bars, without vermin, where he may easily walk to a window and look through it and see the sky. There, with both fists clutching at the bedding—of modest quality, but immeasurably more comfortable than where he was—he cries himself to sleep like a child.

Comments

[onlyhymns]

Cade takes a few halting steps inward, seeming as unsure of himself as ever, and glancing back over his shoulder at the open door. It's a good thing the guard's there: for personal reasons, Cade doesn't like to be inside closed rooms, but they can't have Samson just walking out either.

"Will you be working with us?" he asks quietly, pushing his hair back out of his face. Samson still frightens him greatly, a symbol of what one could so easily become with just a slip of resolve here and there-- what he's gotten closer to being these days, no longer a Templar but still taking the lyrium. One doesn't just stop taking lyrium.

"I mean, you're..." He gestures nervously around. This isn't exactly a dungeon, even if it's not freedom either.

[redinside]

"Living in luxury?" Hardy har har.

Really, though, this humble room of his is a royal boudoir compared to the dungeon—it's even got flowers and vines and what-else drawn on some of the walls. He suspects someone added those without any actual leave to do so, and they do seem a touch... Vinty... in appearance... but they're pleasant enough to look on.

"No doubt I'll be working—not sure who with. Reckon it'll be grunt work, at least to start. There's always a box needs moving from one place to another. It's not as though Ser Coupe's about to put a sword in my hand, is it?"

Samson doesn't seem as bitter about this as one might expect. Sure, such menial labour is far below his skill level, but he's in desperate need of regular activity if he's going to regain any semblance of fitness before his body gets too old to have another go.

[onlyhymns]

It's a risk, telling Samson the truth, but Cade isn't devoid of compassion. Or empathy, for that matter. He's always seen Samson as a cautionary tale, but it doesn't take much to acknowledge that he himself is one too.

"You're... not alone in that," he says, with a sheepish look downward as he rubs the back of his neck. "...the grunt work's not bad. They'll feed you."

[redinside]

It takes Samson's brain a moment to process these words; in the meantime, his eyes dart again toward the door, as if to check whether or not the guard is listening. Of course he is. It's his job to do so.

Finally, with a deepening crease in his brow: "They haven't given you back your shield? It's been a year now, hasn't it. More than a year." He sounds prepared to become properly offended if this tale doesn't unfold the way he thinks it ought.

[onlyhymns]

Maker, was it so long ago that he'd already fallen from the Order's grace the last time he and Samson spoke? Cade winces, and shakes his head.

He opens his mouth to say something, thinks better of it and falls silent, then tries again, maintaining a neutrality in his voice of which he wouldn't have been capable as recently as a month ago. "I'm. Not with the Templars anymore."

[redinside]

Samson's face tries on several more permutations of a frown before it settles on a mild one as its favourite. One may even take it for concern, if one is familiar enough with his face due to, say, repeated visits during a time wherein he did quite a lot of frowning, indeed.

He spends the length of several breaths simply looking at Cade before opening his palm toward him, indicating the other of his room's two chairs. Both are wooden, but they have arms and cushions on seat and back. See, luxury. "Here," he says, with half a step backwards to make some space for him to pass by. "Sit."

And if Cade chooses to sit, he'll do the same, ready to listen.

[onlyhymns]

Though Cade hesitates, in the way of someone still clutching onto a last shred of dignity, it doesn't take him long to give in. He steps slowly forward and takes a seat, hands folded between his knees, eyes down, perhaps afraid that Samson will judge him as the others have.

[redinside]

There's likely to be a silence, then, if Cade doesn't cotton on to Samson's body language and the unspoken offer to hear whatever sad story he's got to tell. Potentially a long silence. With feet square, resting a palm on each of his thighs, Samson leans slowly forward—and a bit to one side, with his head canted and his eyebrows raised expectantly—in an attempt to catch his eye. It's the very same tactic one might employ to engage a sulking child.

"Well? What happened?"

[onlyhymns]

Long silences are what make Cade who he is-- those and profound, tangible awkwardness, but Samson's patience goes a long way in terms of drawing him out, at least enough to speak again. Meeting his eyes, Cade heaves a tired sigh.

"I lost my temper," he murmurs, knitting his brow in a scowl of self-loathing, "...again. Defending Seeker Aleron, but I suppose he... he didn't want defending." Cade still doesn't fully understand what he did wrong in the scenario, and can only go on what he's come to believe based on the conversations that followed.
"I was stripped of my rank, my armor. My weapons. ..everything." He looks down at his hands once more.

[redinside]

Samson attends the news, as it slowly unfurls, with the same even, attentive look. The last bit, however—that sits him straight up in his chair, as though personally affronted.

"You were what?"

Eyes widened, brow furrowed: it's only a scowl of disbelief, but a proper scowl nonetheless. Unfortunately, unless the guard randomly decides to invite himself in, which he probably won't, the only possible recipient is Cade himself. "Those wretched cowards. I'll bet they didn't even try to help you, did they? Not properly. Bloody Seekers, thinkin they know what's best... they can't possibly understand what it's like to—"

He stops himself, abruptly, closes his hands into fists mid-hand-talking, and for a moment presses the flesh of his lips in between his teeth. Looks down at the floor, then, while he forces calmer breaths rather than burning two holes in Cade with his righteously outraged stare. Poor guy probably thinks he's about to be murdered by now.

[onlyhymns]

Cade seems about to repeat himself, but quickly recognizes that the angry question is more rhetorical. He opens his mouth, closes it, then just watches with sad resignation as Samson seethes- but he can’t deny it feels a little validating, having someone so angry on his behalf. Cade is timid, but he knows when someone is angry with him and when they’re angry for him.

So when Samson asks if anyone helped, he shakes his head. Unless one counts not executing him, there wasn’t much to be done. Except...
“Ser Coupe,” he says quietly, “has been helpful to me.”

[redinside]

Along with Coupe's name, which acts as a balm for his temper, Cade's mild reaction gives Samson pause—all this time he's known and thought of Cade as little more than the man-sized equivalent of a whipped dog, trembling with his tail down, stumbling over his own clumsy feet in a hurry to escape, only ever looking away. He may need to reevaluate.

"Has she." Another non-question; merely talking while he calms. "Of course she has. She... she's a good one, that Coupe is." They may even have been friends, in another life. He clears his throat softly. "Did you hurt anyone?"

[onlyhymns]

Nodding in agreement, Cade almost smiles: it's a pleasant look, if not a happy one. Coupe is a good one. He'll stand by her, whatever the cost.
But then comes the next question, and the expression falters into one more morose. Cade nods again, wearily, a cloud seeming to pass over his eyes.
"She had-- had attacked Seeker Darton," he murmurs, with the air of having said it before and knowing it wasn't going to achieve any positive results.

[redinside]

What, now? Samson's chin jerks in a bit toward his neck, in that involuntary way people do when they've encountered a strange smell or a baffling bit of information.

"Who attacked the Seeker? Coupe did?"

Not that he'd blame her. F the Chantry popo, and so forth. It merely seems out of keeping with his impression of her—then again, he was delirious for the greater number of their interactions. Perhaps he's got more reevaluating to do, all the way across the board.

[onlyhymns]

Cade looks momentarily surprised, then shakes his head, his face reddening slightly. "A mage," he answers softly. "She was... I thought she would..."
He shakes his head again, wincing. His reaction to the woman's aggression had been the end of the line.

[redinside]

Well, that makes more sense; for a moment he thought he was really losing his marbles. There's nothing relieved in the way he sighs, though, long and noisy, and brings both hands up to push the meat of their heels against his eye sockets. They're pressed... held... then dragged down the sides of his face, pulling his cheeks down, baring the pink insides of his lower eyelids.

"Now, look..." Bending his long body at the waist, Samson puts his elbows to his knees and leaves his hands about where they stopped, only now to prop up his head by the jaw. This colourful array of expressions has been brought to you by our sponsor, Mental Fatigue. Andraste take the wheel. "Look, Harimann. I'd like to hear you out, but in order to do that properly, I need you to speak in longer sentences. Complete ones. Like a grown-up. Can you do that for me."

[onlyhymns]

Being so cripplingly shy has never worked in Cade's favor, and he's no stranger to it-- this also isn't the first time he's been scolded for his halting speech, and a small plume of anger rises where there wasn't one before. His face turns red and he glances at Samson with a look as dark as it is ashamed.
Like a grown-up.
He wants to say something, to either retort or continue the story, but now all he can think about is how awkward it is to try and speak at all. He opens his mouth and closes it, going redder, all too aware of how stupid he looks.

[redinside]

Wearing the bleakest poker-face, blinking slowly now and then, Samson stares at Cade while he attempts to conjure a sound. There's no mockery in his expression, at least, if that makes it any better, only a wooden sort of patience. Endurance, more like. It's not at all uncomfortable for him, just sitting here like this, but Cade looks about ready to turn inside out, so at length Samson pushes another sigh through his nose.

"You're fine," he says, and his head bobs faintly in his hands while he talks. "I'm too tired to guess at riddles today, that's all. We can sit here all day if that's how long it takes, I don't care. Take your time."

[onlyhymns]

"No, it's..." Cade catches himself stalling again and wipes a hand down his face, then shakes his head and straightens. He got thrown off, that's all. Now that he perceives he's wasting time, it's safer to simply go into reporting mode, as though to a commander rather than a peer.

"I thought she would hurt him," he says at last, steely, "she struck him."

[redinside]

That's better. Another piece of this mysterious puzzle is finally laid down, and so lessens the urge to push out a weary sigh with every breath.

He does grunt, though, seeming both sleepy and thoughtful. "You pacified a threat to your superior, and he kicked you out for it? Hmmm, that doesn't sit right. Not quite. What else happened, then?"

In truth, Samson sometimes catches himself thinking of Cade as a simpleton, when really there's something else going on inside that makes it come out that way; he can see the traces of it well enough. And that alone is the source of his patience, just the same way he is patient with the Tranquil, does his best to treat them with the dignity they deserve—and not making a big show of it, either, just acting as he normally would. That's all anyone really wants, he reckons. Just to feel normal.
Whatever that means.

[onlyhymns]

It's not comfortable to imagine that the superiors were wrong, even if, in his heart, Cade suspects it to be true. To acknowledge his own unfair treatment as such would raise too many unhappy questions about who he's been following so blindly, and what other lapses there may have been in their judgment.

He wants it to be his fault, because admitting the fallibility of the people to whom his life was promised? He might as well say there's no Maker either.

"I held her down," he continues, "until Seeker Darton told me to stop. Then we went to his office, and I was suspended." He looks at his hands. "Then they conferred, and I..." His voice catches, but he forces through it, "...I was relieved of duty."

[redinside]

Until Seeker Darton told him to stop. Samson's already taken the requisite deep breaths and sighed the requisite number of sighs to resume a conversational level of calm, but he can't help feeling like his blood gets just a little more red every time someone mentions that word, Seeker.

"Bloody menace," he mutters, and without missing a beat he adds, "Not you, them." It's not your fault, you didn't ask to be this way. Most importantly: "They've kept you on a stipend, though, yeah?"

He isn't talking about money.

[onlyhymns]

After the growing tension and Cade's resulting unease, Samson's clarification is helpful. It's easy for him to read the moods of people around him, or at least, to think he's reading them, often taking negative vibes and ascribing them to himself for some real or imaginary misstep.
When the moment passes, and Samson doesn't explode, Cade gives a faint sigh, and pauses. Then he nods, but goes a bit red again in the process, clearly not completely confident with his answer.

"I... stopped," he says, rubbing the back of his neck, "taking it." Ahem. "...from them."

[redinside]

Indeed, Samson hasn't looked ready to explode, or like he's thinking about getting ready to explode, for entire minutes by this point in their conversation. A blessing, truly.

"What?" His hands fall away from his face as, with a slow movement performed automatically in astonishment, he sits himself up again. "When?"

[onlyhymns]

"A while back," Cade replies, looking sheepish again-- this situation is his own doing, and he's not proud of it. "I was, um... I... I hated standing in the same line as everyone." He rubs the back of his neck. "I hated the way they looked at me."

It's legal now, technically, or at least not quite as frowned upon: lyrium can be found by other means, as long as they're above-board. "I started seeing a private supplier."