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

[redinside]

"Oh."

It's a lame response, but Samson can't think of anything else to say about it—at least not right away. He thought Cade was telling him he'd gone off the dust for good, and an unnamed but very intense emotion was preparing to bloom. Not anger, not exactly that, but just as pure, just as visceral, a hundred times more painful.

What does it say about his state of mind that he jumped straight to that thought? He'll decline to consider that just now, thank you.

He should probably say something else, but nothing occurs to him, so he stares at Cade until it becomes awkward, then pulls his gaze away to some insignificant detail of the floor.

[onlyhymns]

The conversation dies, as conversations do, especially with Cade. He seems a little on-edge with the way it tapers off, but then, this is probably the longest talk he's ever had with Samson. ...maybe with anyone.

"I'll, um. Leave you to it," he says quietly, rising from his chair. Before he reaches the door, however, he turns to ask: "is there... is there anything you want?"

[redinside]

"Been asking myself that very thing." Muttering, still soft-gazing at nothing important. He can feel his present thoughts sloughing away.

But he does lift his head shortly, granting Cade the courtesy of not feeling like he's just been discarded, and makes the effort to look at least vaguely pleasant without actually smiling. Plenty of things in life are worse than false smiles, but they still rank right up there—and Samson's never been the type to wear a mask.

"I'm all right. Take care of yourself, Harimann."

[onlyhymns]

Cade hesitates, then nods. "...you too." He doesn't call him Ser, nor does he call him by name: perhaps he doesn't know how to call him. But there's an ease to his departure that wasn't there before, and one could possibly even say with some confidence that he'll be back.