Derrica reaches over to poke at his arm in return, eyes bright.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you that you should be flattering healers?" She teases, gently. "Praising their art so they remember you kindly in your time of need?"
As if Derrica were so swayed. As if she were that kind of healer, willing to turn a blind eye to someone's suffering for petty reasons. She prods at Matthias' shoulder once more before readjusting, fussing at the folds of her cloak.
"You know how to fight with a sword, don't you? Or your fists?"
It's not a new sensation, but she feels the sharp, panicky need to be sure Matthias will be safe. She needs to know that if someone smothers his magic, he'll be able to kill them still.
He grins as he shies away from her, trying to avoid her retribution.
"A really kind healer wouldn't attack me, y'know. What's that make you? Anyway, I know how to fight-fight. Fists and all--I'm no boxer or anything but I'm not soppy oatmeal either, I can keep up. Knives, keep hold of the handle, push the sharp bit in--that's you done. Or them done, really."
The battles are all there, in the back of his head. Looming great shapes and smoke and shouting, with the earth squashy underfoot. Mud and blood and clumps of grass torn up, laying weirdly. A pale arm that ends in wet ragged red. He's seen it. Put a knife in someone. Blood under your fingernails. Scars and salt and everything. Ache so deep it feels like you're breathing through wet wool.
"None of that stops me from wanting to learn knife tricks, that's totally different. And brilliant. D'you do--swords, as well? Not tricks, just-- well, s'stupid, right. Just something I wanted to learn, always."
One last poke and she gives it up, folds her arms back over her knees. There's something behind this assurance. Derrica thinks she knows some of it, though Matthias' battles wouldn't look the same as hers. The chaos of taking a ship would be different from the rebellion, fighting templars. (Derrica knows what it feels like to fight a templar but if she dwells on that too long it chokes the breath from her.) There's a pause before she shrugs a little.
"I've swung a sword at people," she says slowly, which isn't much of an expertise. "I know a little. But I've never carried one. I had my staff and I had a very sharp dagger. It was usually enough to get me through."
"Usually" feels like a big qualifier here.
"We can learn that together, if you want."
Assuming that between them they know at least one person good with a sword to give them pointers.
"We'll have to find a halfway decent teacher," Matthias says, thinking along those same lines. "I'll not be taking lessons from any arsehole that happens to have a sword. I want to know how to be good at it, like. D'you know anyone?"
He's making mental lists even as he's asking, thinking of names on a page, the full record of Riftwatch members.
"I reckon templars're good enough, but then we'd have to work with a templar." Eurgh, is the face that he pulls at that. "If they're in with Riftwatch, genuinely in, that is--then I s'ppose they can't be all that bad. Still doesn't mean I have to like them."
Templars. Derrica looks as if she'd spit into the dirt. Every time she thinks this particular anger has cooled, even slightly, she's reminded that it's impossible to let go of it.
"I don't want to learn from a templar."
It doesn't matter to Derrica if they claim to be loyal to Riftwatch or not. She couldn't accept anything from a templar. The thought of it brings furious heat to her face.
"There are other people who know how to use a sword. We'll just have to ask around when we get back."
By the blessed socks of Andraste, Matthias thinks to himself, and (despite Derrica's sour expression) grins a little. Solidarity.
"Fuck templars," he agrees, with his whole heart. "We'll be able to find someone, for sure. There's loads of people. Well--not loads, precisely. But enough that we'll find someone."
"Damp builds character." He shrugs his shoulders under the wet weight of his cloak, grinning a little more. "So, me, I'm top-full of character, as I've spent whole years of my life all told sitting around in the damp. And I can think around it as well. S'ppose that means I'll have loads of time to come up with likely candidates."
Matthias is bending down to pluck another twig off of the ground to be chucked into the fire, when she asks that. There's probably something clever he could say in response, but he can't think of anything, so instead, a little lamely, he says, "Sure, yeah. I s'ppose. What is it?"
The twig sizzles a little when he chucks it into the fire, and burns away almost immediately.
you know what's fun when you think of a question and then forget it before you write the tag
Ignoring the pinch down deep in his guts--the sort of pinch that makes your whole body feel weird and numb, like someone grabbed hold of a nerve and twisted it up all wrong--Matthias picks up another twig. It sizzles softly when he tosses it in to the fire, the flames twisting it down into nearly nothing, and then to nothing at all, eaten down to ash.
She pauses. It's important to say this correctly. Is she really going to end this night maybe starting a fight with Matthias about Circles? She laces her fingers together over her knees, straightening her back.
"Because I wish I knew more. So much happened and I never knew, because I was so far from it all. And I know you, and Kostos and Nell, and probably every other mage in the Gallows knows how it was."
Leander graciously omitted, even though Derrica doesn't doubt he knows more of what it is to be a mage in Thedas than she does.
"Well, it was all different everywhere, for everyone. I learnt that much from talking with everyone. Some people had it all right. Some people had it brilliant. Some people had it all right but they know it was a trick, right. Now that they're older, they know. And some people had it shit."
Matthias had it shit. He doesn't need to say it in so many words. Could, if he wanted to. But doesn't.
"I was small, anyways. Too small to know what was going on properly. So I'm not one to ask. When you're small you like dumb things. Like, if you'd've asked me, is there anything good about the Circle? Dunno, I'd have said, but I've a blue blanket to myself now. I liked that. I was brainless."
"No, you weren't," Her voice is firm. "You just didn't know there was anything else. It's not your fault they kept that from you."
The Chantry. The templars. Derrica feels a hot rush of anger and uncurls restlessly, shaking her head.
But still, the question of it just galls her. Who could know Matthias and not love him? How could all these people look at children and think the most they deserved was a blue blanket all to themselves?
Matthias shrugs his shoulders, and then leaves them hunched up around his ears. Leaned forward, he tries to imagine himself a stone, a statue, something carved out of rock. It's an old trick that hasn't ever worked for him. There's heat in his bones, is why. A deep deep down feeling that has always been there, burning away. Secretly, he knows: this is why fire is so easy for him. Because he has some, in him, and he always has. Someday it will go out. For now it can be used. But it's unpredictable too, this flame, it isn't contained so easily, which is why he can't not respond, why he can never just leave it, why silence doesn't last and he's always got to have the last word, or at least a word.
"Don't be sorry." It comes out gruff. He rubs the heel of his hand against his eye, unstoning himself. "You didn't do anything. We're just friends, talking, and I ought not to be so," and he shrugs again, but this one is sharper.
The fire pops. A little spark spits out and lands in the dirt. The canopy of Matthias' tent has kept this area dry. The spark lives a little longer for it, glowing before it fades. Matthias looks at it.
"I'm glad yours was good," he says, after a moment. "Bloody hate Circles still. But I'm glad yours was good. 'Cause you deserve that. You're--nice."
I shouldn't have asked beats in the back of her mind. Derrica uncurls, closes the distance between them. She isn't sure what to do, how to offer comfort, and the need to do something to mitigate the hurt she's dug up manifests in her fingers catching at the bend of his elbow.
"You're good, Matthias," She promises. "I'm glad everything in my life brought me to here, and I got to meet you."
She won't wish for him to have been at Dairsmuid. But she can be clear about this, that she's glad to have met him. There's so much in him that she admires, ways he's braver and better than she is. It's a small thing to set against everything else, but it's something, at least.
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no subject
"Didn't anyone ever tell you that you should be flattering healers?" She teases, gently. "Praising their art so they remember you kindly in your time of need?"
As if Derrica were so swayed. As if she were that kind of healer, willing to turn a blind eye to someone's suffering for petty reasons. She prods at Matthias' shoulder once more before readjusting, fussing at the folds of her cloak.
"You know how to fight with a sword, don't you? Or your fists?"
It's not a new sensation, but she feels the sharp, panicky need to be sure Matthias will be safe. She needs to know that if someone smothers his magic, he'll be able to kill them still.
no subject
"A really kind healer wouldn't attack me, y'know. What's that make you? Anyway, I know how to fight-fight. Fists and all--I'm no boxer or anything but I'm not soppy oatmeal either, I can keep up. Knives, keep hold of the handle, push the sharp bit in--that's you done. Or them done, really."
The battles are all there, in the back of his head. Looming great shapes and smoke and shouting, with the earth squashy underfoot. Mud and blood and clumps of grass torn up, laying weirdly. A pale arm that ends in wet ragged red. He's seen it. Put a knife in someone. Blood under your fingernails. Scars and salt and everything. Ache so deep it feels like you're breathing through wet wool.
"None of that stops me from wanting to learn knife tricks, that's totally different. And brilliant. D'you do--swords, as well? Not tricks, just-- well, s'stupid, right. Just something I wanted to learn, always."
no subject
"I've swung a sword at people," she says slowly, which isn't much of an expertise. "I know a little. But I've never carried one. I had my staff and I had a very sharp dagger. It was usually enough to get me through."
"Usually" feels like a big qualifier here.
"We can learn that together, if you want."
Assuming that between them they know at least one person good with a sword to give them pointers.
no subject
He's making mental lists even as he's asking, thinking of names on a page, the full record of Riftwatch members.
"I reckon templars're good enough, but then we'd have to work with a templar." Eurgh, is the face that he pulls at that. "If they're in with Riftwatch, genuinely in, that is--then
I s'ppose they can't be all that bad. Still doesn't mean I have to like them."
no subject
"I don't want to learn from a templar."
It doesn't matter to Derrica if they claim to be loyal to Riftwatch or not. She couldn't accept anything from a templar. The thought of it brings furious heat to her face.
"There are other people who know how to use a sword. We'll just have to ask around when we get back."
no subject
"Fuck templars," he agrees, with his whole heart. "We'll be able to find someone, for sure. There's loads of people. Well--not loads, precisely. But enough that we'll find someone."
no subject
"We have the whole ride home to think about it," she says practically. "It'll be a nice distraction from the damp."
Not everyone is likely to agree with that, but.
no subject
no subject
It's only polite to check before asking someone a deep, backstory question, after all.
no subject
The twig sizzles a little when he chucks it into the fire, and burns away almost immediately.
you know what's fun when you think of a question and then forget it before you write the tag
It's a terribly selfish question. Derrica winces around it, hastily follows it with, "You don't have to answer it."
i did the same thing yesterday i'm sympathetic
"Why?"
ty for your understanding
She pauses. It's important to say this correctly. Is she really going to end this night maybe starting a fight with Matthias about Circles? She laces her fingers together over her knees, straightening her back.
"Because I wish I knew more. So much happened and I never knew, because I was so far from it all. And I know you, and Kostos and Nell, and probably every other mage in the Gallows knows how it was."
Leander graciously omitted, even though Derrica doesn't doubt he knows more of what it is to be a mage in Thedas than she does.
no subject
Matthias had it shit. He doesn't need to say it in so many words. Could, if he wanted to. But doesn't.
"I was small, anyways. Too small to know what was going on properly. So I'm not one to ask. When you're small you like dumb things. Like, if you'd've asked me, is there anything good about the Circle? Dunno, I'd have said, but I've a blue blanket to myself now. I liked that. I was brainless."
no subject
The Chantry. The templars. Derrica feels a hot rush of anger and uncurls restlessly, shaking her head.
But still, the question of it just galls her. Who could know Matthias and not love him? How could all these people look at children and think the most they deserved was a blue blanket all to themselves?
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
no subject
"Don't be sorry." It comes out gruff. He rubs the heel of his hand against his eye, unstoning himself. "You didn't do anything. We're just friends, talking, and I ought not to be so," and he shrugs again, but this one is sharper.
The fire pops. A little spark spits out and lands in the dirt. The canopy of Matthias' tent has kept this area dry. The spark lives a little longer for it, glowing before it fades. Matthias looks at it.
"I'm glad yours was good," he says, after a moment. "Bloody hate Circles still. But I'm glad yours was good. 'Cause you deserve that. You're--nice."
no subject
"You're good, Matthias," She promises. "I'm glad everything in my life brought me to here, and I got to meet you."
She won't wish for him to have been at Dairsmuid. But she can be clear about this, that she's glad to have met him. There's so much in him that she admires, ways he's braver and better than she is. It's a small thing to set against everything else, but it's something, at least.