faderift | Closed | The journey goes on as your love ever nears

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Closed | The journey goes on as your love ever nears

WHO: Pel and YOU
WHAT: Arriving back at Kirkwall
WHEN: Early Firstfall
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Pel would have written to her close CR to let them know she's coming back, so if you think your character would have known about this, assume she wrote! Prompts written by request.

Closed to Close CR

The woman who steps to the dock from the boat is scarcely changed from the woman who, nigh-on a year ago, stepped from the dock to the boat. Her hair is a little lighter, perhaps, and plaited down her back instead of on each side. There is more lean muscle, a body harder and sturdier than ever before. She is not wearing armor at present, but she does carry a unique sword, which few saw before she left--an ancient elven blade with a hilt long enough to effectively double as a staff. Nevertheless, she has changed. Her heart has grown, her mind has stretched, her decision to live quietly as possible exchanged for the certainty that she must do more than study in order for this war to be won. It is not a joyful certainty. She wanted to continue in peace with no greater worry than raising a child, but that would not be realistic. If she falls in battle, she prays Sina will forgive her.

It is the child she hoisted up to the dock who has changed. Little Sina walks straight up to a total stranger and hugs his legs, her host of white, wild curls mussed from the journey.

"No-no," Pel says quickly, taking the toddler's hand, "that's not your lethallen." She steers her daughter in the direction of the nearest greeter--you. Sina immediately transfers her embrace to the correct person this time, despite not recognizing you any better than the random stranger.

"This is your lethallen," Pel says with a grin.

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There's a vigorous rap at the door of Val's room. Upon opening the door, Pel is there, smiling and so glad that she is very nearly showing teeth. That's a big deal--she hates her teeth.

"Hello, lovely. Did you miss me?"

Of course she wrote to him regularly, and also to let him know she might be coming back to Kirkwall. She didn't confirm.

She had written, of course, and not just to tell him that she was thinking of returning. She had written before that, and Val had written back, long letters full of complaints and musings, with butter and jam smeared in the margins, and sketches at the spare space at the top and bottom, half-formed and fully forgotten.

And she had written, to tell him that she was thinking of returning, and Val had read those words and had been pleased, of course. But he is less attentive to the days as of late. Old habits have resurfaced, like sleeping beneath a library table and carrying about a folded bit of parchment and a wax crayon, so he can make a note or take down a thought, should such a thing strike him as he goes about his day.

Therefore he is slightly more pale, when he opens the door. More scholar than adventurer, at present, though that will soon reverse. And there are ink spots on his cheek, like beauty marks, and his hair is tousled (artfully, inadvertently)--and his eyes are slightly unfocused, still back at the work that he has stepped away from, to answer this knock--

But when Val sees that it is Pel on the other side, he gasps aloud. Whatever peevish expression might have been brewing clears, immediately, swept entirely away, and he grabs hold of her in an embrace, such as a de Foncé has never offered to an elf.

So, there.

Pel squeezes him tightly. It’s good to know Val gives good hugs, better to know that his affluent friends haven’t talked him out of their friendship. Of all her companionships, this is the strangest, and for that it is exceptionally delightful.

“Missed you,” she says, showing no sign of letting go.

"Did you?"

Val squeezes her tightly before he lets her go, and even them he keeps his hands on her arms, holding her at arm's length so he can good a good look at her. She looks much the same as she did when she left.

"Ah, but of course you did. I read your letters. And how could you not! Now, come in, you must come inside--"

He pulls her into the room after him. All available surfaces are stacked with books and parchments, half-rolled maps and inkwells, cups of tea and mugs of ale, half-drunk. There's a large plan tacked to the wall--a pit dug into the ground, and four star-shaped diagrams drawn meticulously in the margins. The fifth one is half finished.

Val pulls out the chair from the writing-desk with a flourish. "And you must tell me everything of your journey here. I did not realize, how quickly you would arrive!"

Pel sits in the offered chair and props her feet up wherever she can. It’s been a long day and this is her first sit-down in hours.

“Well it’s only a climb down a mountain and a ride on a boat,” she understates, as if there’s nothing to any of that. “And hauling things in a barrow down to the alienage. I found a really wonderful caretaker for Sina while I work. What have you been up to these days?”

Cyril has been buzzing since she heard that Pel would be arriving in Kirkwall. He had missed her more than he could say. Missing out on Sina's development had been depressing on some levels too. Now, though, he can make up for lost time.

When she hugs a stranger rather than coming up to him he laughs. "Though that stranger is rather good-looking, at least you have good taste little one." Then he hugs the child before moving to embrace her mother.

Sina wraps her tiny arms around Cyril’s neck, trying to encourage him to pick her up. Pel hugs him tightly, as if she can squeeze the last year into his body. If he has not picked up Sina by the time the hug ends, she raises her arms to him.

“She’s tired,” Pel explains. And doesn’t point out that the girl doesn’t remember her time here before. That much is obvious. Inevitable, even. “I was recommended a nanny for her in the alienage. You should visit any time you like. How have you been?”

Cyril is never one to deny Sina for long so he picks her up as soon as the hug with Pel is done. He looks at the little girl and smiles at her in a slightly goofy kind of way.

"Traveling can be rather exhausting, so I understand." Then, after he focuses on Pel again. "Nari and I have been talking about helping out more in the alienage, this will be an excellent excuse for us to visit more."

“You’ve looked after her, like we promised?” To Sina. They promised it to the spirit of Sina as she passed through the Fade on her way to the gods. Pel has been writing to Nahariel, of course, but it’s comforting to know she can see her promise through in person.

"I think it's more she's been looking after me," Cyril replies, thoughtful but still happy.

“Good to hear,” Pel says with a grin, and moves in to wrap both cousin and baby together in another hug. Sina wriggles a little and draws away enough to point at Cyril’s vallaslin when the hug is over.

“Beem,” she says as if it’s a revelation.

“It’s the same as mine, isn’t it?” Pel tells her.

“Mamae been,” Sina confirms, touching the markings.

Cyril grins at hearing the little girl talk. He had kept his communication with Pel through the crystals, but this was the first time he had heard her voice in person.

"Yes, I got them to match your mother," he answered. He spoke to Sina clearly, as he would any other person. He didn't turn his tone into a sort of baby talk like some others might.

"Will you want some of your own? When you're older?"

Little Sina would be little by any standard, but attached to Alistair's leg she's practically a speck. He's seen bigger cats. So of course what he says is: "Maker, you're enormous."

He then promptly halves their height difference by sitting down on the ground in front of her, entranced enough to ignore anyone who might think he's being undignified even more than he would usually ignore them.

"What has your mother been feeding you?" he asks, and cuts a look up at Pel, because he doesn't actually expect Sina to answer. Not coherently. "Extract of giant?"

Sina promptly plops herself into Alistair’s lap. Pel grins.

“I can hardly believe it, it happened so fast. Though you look the same.”

She bends down to hug Alistair tightly.

If not for the sword, Alistair might drag Pel down onto the ground too, but since there is a sword involved—sheathed or not, still unwieldy—he settles for wrapping one arm around her shoulders while she bends. (The other hand stays on the baby's back, even though she's probably big enough not to need support, because no matter what he says, she's so small.)

"What," he says. "I completely changed my hair."

He hasn't changed his hair.

After a beat, Pel’s fingers tousle Alistair’s hair a little. “More grey in it, maybe.”

“What?” he says again, and—largely for the benefit of the baby—makes a show of rolling his eyes around trying to look at his own hair. No success there, obviously. “Liar.”

Maybe. Maybe not. He hasn’t gotten a good look at the top of his head since, you know, ever.

He lifts his knee to give Sina a bounce.

“Don’t be cruel in front of the baby.”

"Lethallan!" Merrill returns in delight, for both little Sina and for Pel. The child is scooped up and a kiss is immediately pressed to her brow. Once she's certain Sina is secure, Merrill moves next to Pel, offering a one-armed embrace so that they might have a three-way group hug.

Merrill can't quite stop smiling.

"How was your trip?"

Pel throws her arms around them both, feeling elated and peculiarly as though she is coming home. She hasn't felt that in many years.

"Slow and rocky," she admits. "I'll never be used to ships." She pulls away to look Merrill over head to toe, re-memorizing. "You look well. Ghilan'nain, I missed you so much. How have you been?"

"Isabela told me it's better when you're on the deck," Merrill confides, even as she offers Sina a little tickle in the hug. "But we'd have to find a ship that would let us."

One of the Inquisition ones, most likely, even though they're filled with cross pirates.

Ducking her head in embarrassment at Pel's assessment, Merrill shrugs. "Oh, well. I was gone for a while myself - and ended up getting a bit lost - but other than that! Other than that, I've been as well as can be expected."

Alive. Clanless, in a way, but not friendless - even if she misses the friends that weren't there. And she has purpose.

"You both look lovely - and I missed you, too. How was Skyhold?"

Pel looks suddenly solemn. “Different, since the invasion.” She busies her hands by straightening out some of Sina’s curls. “More focused. Less merry. I trained a small battalion of arcane warriors and I’ve been assigned here to do the same. I can’t sit safe and cozy in my study while troops get nearer and nearer my daughter. I asked to fight, so here I am.”

"So here you are," Merrill echoes, smile softer, quieter. It doesn't fade entirely - she can't let it fade, not when she has Pel with her again, not when Sina's namesake is here. She shifts just enough to press her head to Pel's.

"Plenty of work to be done, always, but- not today, hm?"

For all that Pel's face is a welcome sight—as is her daughter's—it is a hard one. The last time she'd seen the woman had been marked by her broken weeping, and with that, the weather turning, and the babe's name...

"Walking already!" Nari piles as much good will and humor on top of it as she can and is kneeling down with a broad lopsided smile as soon as she marks the toddler's trajectory. It's less likely that the little one will be able to mark what tightness there is in her that she can't hide. "Soon running, and jumping, and climbing trees no doubt," she reaches out to gently poke the girl's nose with the tip of her finger, "so much as there are trees to climb in Kirkwall."

Finally, the finger offered to grab at (or eat, or both), she raises her eyes to look at Pel, her voice a little calmer than it had been for her daughter. "Aneth ara, lethallan. How fares Skyhold?"

“Somber.” Pel seems thoughtful about that. “But focused. Driven, determined. Since the invasion, I mean. But no one is giving up, and everyone is proud to be Inquisition.”

Sina takes hold of the offered finger, using it to steady herself as she bends to look at a knot in one of the planks of the dock.

Nari looks down briefly as her finger is grabbed. The little one's hair is so fine, still, blowing in the breeze. Her hand around Nari's finger so small. She remembers other fine hair, other fingers holding hers, other wide eyes filled with the solemnity and wisdom of youth that mirrors that of the aged.

The memories sit on her shoulders like spread wings made of lead, lifting and weighting at the same time. She wants to withdraw her finger. She wouldn't move it for the world. Why did they have to come back when the wind smells like this?

No. She's glad. She is.

"Where will you be living?" Strained, but friendly still. "There are rooms still open in the Gallows, I think."

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Closed | The journey goes on as your love ever nears

Closed | Val

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goddammit I didn't hit send

story of my life

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