open | keep holding on

[swordproof]

WHO: Six and anyone else!
WHAT: Training, praying, studying, horsing
WHEN: Throughout the month
WHERE: Kirkwall (Gallows, training grounds, library)
NOTES: N/A

» TRAINING » GALLOWS

Training is a regular use of time for Six, unchanged since her dream, waking with some of the burdens removed from her shoulders. She still has Adrian's sword and she knows that, eventually, she'll have to get around to dealing with the weight of it. She knows that she'll have to bury it again here, that she'll have to find a suitable resting place, but it isn't something that is pressing on her currently. There are more important things to consider, more important things to do, especially with a sister to take care of and a dog to consider.

Two, the ever dutiful Mabari, settles near Six, head tilted to one side and tongue out as he dozes, content to let his mistress do as she will until it's his turn.

For the most part, Six spends her time with the familiar greatsword, swinging her weapon with ease, content to lift it and tear apart the training dummies as she has done almost every day since she had first woke here. Her strength is more than it had been before and it shows with the ease that she lifts her blade; it seems as though she's not carrying a two handed blade at all. It comes with a decade of practice and she's aware that it's something she has worked for - her pride is obvious as she takes a break to rest. Other times, she can be found with a longsword in her hand and a shield in another, practicing carrying the both - it's not her favoured weapon, but it's clear she has a decent amount of skill with it all the same.

Eventually, she abandons her own weapons training and takes her mabari to one side, summoning Two over. She can be found walking with him, moving with him, adjusting them both to the feeling of walking side by side, until she stops and breaks into a laugh, leaning down to scratch at his ears gently, whispering gentle words.

» STUDYING » LIBRARIES

The library isn't somewhere that Six has spent a great deal of time, but she knows her way around enough to know to avoid the seats of common regulars. She's not here to read too much that might get in the way of others, at least, and when she moves around the room she does it with proper respect to anyone who might be sitting and reading themselves, stepping around them quietly. She doesn't stand out as much as she usually might; her armour has been left in her room, the amulet of Sarenrae around her neck instead.

The books she chooses are those relating to Andraste, the Chantry and religion of the world, and she sits quietly with those for the better part of a few hours, an intense expression on her face as she does what she can to learn, taking notes on a piece of parchment at her side. Sometimes she will read about Tevinter, she will study what happened there, frowning at the paper.

When she's not reading, she's still making notes, but this is all in a very foreign looking language. Sometimes she whispers the words aloud to herself and they don't sound very natural, even coming from her mouth, her head tilting as she tests them. She's clearly fluent, but practice doesn't hurt and she wants to make sure she doesn't lose her third language, no matter what the risks. Elven is easy enough to remember, but Draconic? That's something else entirely.

» PRAYING » KIRKWALL GARDENS

When she's not training, Six has found a place in the garden that suits her for the praying she does every single day. She's well aware that there's no way for Sarenrae to respond to her here - she doesn't exist, she's not a real God here, there's only the Creators or Andraste or the Qun, all of which she knows too little to consider following - but she cannot give up her prayers. She kneels, usually facing a wall, her hands clasped around her holy symbol and her lips moving silently as she says words in a very quiet whispers.

Sometimes, she's there for hours, kneeling, Two at her side as a gentle guard dog, her hair tied up in the familiar bun. She doesn't move when people walk through the garden, focussed entirely on the familiar words, her fingers brushing over and over the metal around her neck. When she stops to pause she lifts herself up and walks around the garden, stretching her legs with Two trotting along beside her. Sometimes she tests his commands, asking him to sit, or lie, or heel, and always given him gentle warmth and encouragement when he does.

Eventually, she will always go back to her prayers, offering thanks and dutiful words to her Goddess, no matter what anyone else - whatever religion they might be - would think of her for it.

» WILDCARD

( Feel free to find Six around / in her room / etc or ping me on plurk for something personal! )

Comments

[swordproof]

Walking is easy for Six who, despite her frame, is nimble enough from years of travelling alone to make it over rocks and mountains without too much trouble. She doesn't even feel the weight of her armour most days anymore, too used to the bulk, to the strain on her back and the solidness of the greatsword she straps to herself most days.

She isn't afraid; she is strong and she has a good guide by all accounts.

"I might speak with some. I've studied the Chantry, as religion is important to me, but it seems foolish to neglect the history of a people that I am somewhat related to." She does frown, though, lifting her head. "I didn't imagine that anyone would eat human children, elven or otherwise. It is strange to think that they would imagine any elves to do it."

All the same, she shakes her head, offering a small twitch of a smile as she looks at Merrill.

"... That is what it was like in my world," Six admits quietly. "The elves would not accept me because I was too human and did not truly have a soul in their eyes. Humans accepted me only because I appeared enough like them to ignore the heritage my father gave me."

[chainlightning]

"Some people," says Merrill, matter-of-factly, "are exceptionally ignorant."

It covers a wide variety of the topics of their conversation, from the humans who think elves eat children to the elves who do not accept the elf-blooded. She reaches for Six's hand to give it a squeeze, just one, and keeps walking.

"There are some elves who don't accept elf-blooded. But you're still a part of us, in my opinion; the humans certainly aren't any more accepting. Not really."

She flashes Six a smile, even as she navigates them around one of the bends in the mountain, as the old gravestones begin to come into view.

"But whatever you are, I like you."

[swordproof]

"That is not something that surprises me." Six had borne witness to it, at home and in Thedas. She had seen what people thought of her, for the weight of her blood and her heritage. To dare to have a mother of human blood and a father with pointed ears; the elves shunned her, soulless in their eyes, and humans ignored her and what her father did with her. It was not something that had caused her too much pain, at least - there had been other things for that.

The hand that touches hers makes her pause, eyes flickering over Merrill, before she breathes out gently.

"I have not felt much part of the elven people here," she admits quietly, watching after Merrill. "I have no markings and my Gods are different. People here see me as human and there is no reason to allow them to think otherwise. The confusion on their faces is amusing when they meet my sister."

Adalia, who looks more elven than anyone else in Six's memory of family. She almost stumbles as Merrill speaks again, her eyes widening for a moment, briefly, flickering, before she breathes out.

"... I -" Words, it seems, are quite difficult. "Thank you." Fumbling, she steps forward, awkward and unsure.

[chainlightning]

"Come and visit me in the alienage sometime," she offers. "The elves there have no markings and different worship than I do, even."

Are they more tolerant of the elfblooded than the Dalish? That depended on the elf, but plenty of them had elfblooded children of their own. Besides, if they were guests of hers, they were guests.

"You're welcome!" Chipper, as she leads Six off the trail; this is not a grave for others. This is a grave for Six to visit, and for those she tells about it. "Is there anything you're looking for in particular, as far as a spot?"

[swordproof]

"Are the Inquisition welcome there?" Six tilts her head, curious. "I do not know their opinion on Rifters or magic, nor Gods of other worlds. I have already been informed that my faith may cause trouble with the Chantry."

She had already had a discussion about what the Chantry thought of her 'false Gods', even though Six could tell them that she had heard her God with her own ears, that Sarenrae had spoken to her. That, she thinks, is more real than any God that those in Thedas seems to claim to hold to their hearts. She knows she cannot judge them, that their worlds are different, but the judgement she had received from others...

Shaking her head, she continues, trailing after Merrill with a touch of something like bemusement. All her friendships thus far have been rather distant, separate, but... Merrill is already different.

"Somewhere quiet. I think he would like that." Now she is softer, quieter, a touch pained. "A place where he might not be disturbed often."

[chainlightning]

Merrill shrugs. "They're not not welcome there. As long as everyone treats them with respect, it shouldn't be a problem." And she is fairly certain that Six would treat them with respect.

Still, there's a little snort. "Everyone's faith that is different than what the Chantry believes causes problems with the Chantry." They're not known for their tolerance. Merrill never forgets that, as much as she has friends that follow the faith.

Six says 'somewhere quiet' and Merrill nods, continuing off the trail. She winds around roots and rocks and brush, sometimes slowing when the footing isn't as she'd like - it's a bit muddy. Eventually, she leads Six to a copse with gnarled branches and a few berries.

"The berries aren't edible for people - birds and beasts only. But he'd be protected by the branches."

[swordproof]

"Then perhaps I will pay them a visit." It's an uncomfortable thing for her, she thinks, if only because of the fact that she has never felt comfortable around other elves. She's too tall, too thick, too heavy, and there's no denying the fact that there's an edge of something painful and uncertain about it.

Shaking her head, she lets her hand move to the amulet around her neck, fingers pressing into the wings and the symbols there. Let the Chantry think what they want about Sarenrae, she tells herself. Let them imagine what they like. She will not turn her back on her - nothing could convince her of that. She'd sooner die.

Following Merrill is easy enough, at least, and she steps along without even considering the mud. She steps through it, noting the fact that Merrill doesn't have shoes on - maybe she should be offering a lift, perhaps, but... The other woman does not seem too concerned.

The copse is lovely, and her eyes dance over it.

"It is lovely." There's a sense of something solemn about her, a sadness that hangs on her shoulders. She shrugs off the weight of it, letting her bag drop down to her side so she can pull up the blanket wrapping up the sword, shaking it out and wrapping her fingers around the hilt. "I think he would have liked it here."

[chainlightning]

"You can at least come visit me," Merrill offers, as gently as if she were trying to calm a spooked halla. "And then go from there."

Perhaps it would be easier if she were not alone, if she were with someone she knows. Merrill has found that she is vary rarely argued with in the alienage. Perhaps it's because she's a mage, perhaps it's because of what she's done for them, or perhaps it's because she's got the vallaslin - but more likely it's because of her general personality. Either way, she's more than willing to take advantage of it for the good of others.

The copse is lovely, and Merrill steps aside to let Six come closer with the sword. If she wants help, Merrill will help - but this is not a burial for her. She is a guide and a friend, but she will try hard not to overstep any boundaries.

[swordproof]

"I think I would like that," Six agrees gently, unsure of herself. It's not often that she's been welcomed anywhere, certainly not in the realm of the elven. She has to force herself to calm the urge to reach and touch her ears, glad that her braid tucks around enough to cover them a little. "I speak the language of my people at home, but... Perhaps I could learn some of the elvish here as well."

Adalia would like that, Six thinks. Adalia would enjoy knowing her sister is trying to embrace the elven part of themselves. Her blood connection is thinner - her sister's mother was elven, while hers was not - but she still carries the blood of the elves. Is that not enough? Will that not suit?

She does not know, and it is hard enough with the other wars in her mind.

Slowly, Six peels off her gloves, placing them to one side and, without pause, begins to dig with her bare hands, scooping up the earth and placing it to one side, heedless of the dirt or the damage it might do to her skin or her nails. She dug his grave with her bare hands; she will do the same here.

"... His name was Adrian Rowan. He named me and so I carry his name with me." It's to fill the silence but also to unburden her heart; she has not spoken of him in depth, barely a few words spoken in this realm to create a picture of the man she so dearly loved.

[chainlightning]

"We're missing much of our language, our culture," Merrill warns, sighing softly. "But I can teach you what I know."

The stories vary in the telling, changed by time and clan and isolation. Still, they all revolve around the same theme; Merrill thinks, hopes, that until they can reclaim what they've lost, it will be close enough.

She watches, quiet, until Six speaks. Her staff is leaned on easily, and Merrill nods. "Adrian Rowan," she repeats, looking at the grave. "It's a good name."

[swordproof]

"Anything would be enough." Enough to feel as though she has a place here, when the Chantry shames her and her bulk seems too threatening and dangerous.

At least this is something familiar. It is his third burial, Six thinks, schooling her face to stop it trembling. The first by hand, dirt clogging her nails and tears deafening her ears. She had dug his grave by hand and mourned for what had felt like months before she had been forced to leave, weakness and the voice of her God calling her. The second had been in his home, beneath a tree his parents had chosen.

It was not enough. Perhaps this will soothe her spirit.

"I loved him very much." That is easy to admit; she knows how deeply she had cared for him. "He gave - he chose my name. I would have followed him into death."

[chainlightning]

"Ir abelas," Merrill murmurs, both a response and a first lesson for Six. "I am sorry."

Sorry she cannot teach Six more. Sorry for the loss of Adrian. Sorry that she is here, in a world that is strange, without him.

There is little else she can say - none of it compares to the loss of someone you love. Merrill knows that deeply.

"Can I ask why he chose a name for you?"

[swordproof]

There isn't much more Six can say about it; she had barely had the strength to tell Adalia, but that had been before she had slept and gained four years worth of memories. She had lain Adrian to rest at home, that feels like enough for her, but at the same time... It isn't. She needed to do it here, too, where the weight of him is still so sure and settled around her, the greatsword a mantle in her pack.

Perhaps she should have taken it to a smith. She did not.

Slowly, she begins to place the hilt in the ground, closing her eyes for a moment. No prayers yet; she doesn't have the words.

"I did not - it was not something he knew." A lump in her throat; how odd. "He enjoyed the dice games. When I began my training under him he became luckier, rolling the sixes he needed to be the victor. He called me his 'lucky six' and I took that name to replace my old one."