WHO: six, marcus, marcoulf, barrow, matthias, laura & derrica WHAT: escorting some stranded orphans back to ostwick WHEN: firstfall 9:45 WHERE: on the road to ostwick NOTES: n/a.
Though he has no children of his own (THAT HE KNOWS OF), Barrow spent his childhood as the elder brother of a sister whose entertainment he took as his own personal responsibility. He's well-equipped with stories and jokes, and can often be seen surrounded by the orphans when they've stopped to camp. There's a game to see who can gather the most firewood, who can do the best nug impression, who can be the quietest when it's time for everyone to turn in.
His tent seems to accumulate orphans over the course of each night, split up as they are throughout the campsite, and he's growing increasingly tired as a result-- he's never going to turn them away, but each time someone new comes in, everyone already there has to rearrange themselves and Barrow takes up nearly the entire tent when he isn't piled with children.
It doesn't seem to dampen his spirits, however, and he catches the occasional snooze during the day when they stop for water or other necessities.
Barrow's patience for the children seems limitless. Laura's is not. At some point, in some night, she appears at the tent flap along with one of the youngest children--a little boy looking to sneak in with the others.
"This is not your assigned tent," she informs the sleepy children, piled in around Barrow like wayward puppies. "There is no longer room for Barrow."
"You have to leave," she tells the children, in what she assumes is a kind tone. Her voice is flat and brooks no argument.
And the children argue anyway.
"We want to stay here," a girl mumbles, half-asleep.
"I'm not leaving," says a boy.
"If someone attacks, Barrow will not be able to defend you because he will be unable to move." Laura crouches down before the opening of the tent, so she can look at the children on their own level. "You may die."
The children's response is a mix of fearful cries and argument; Laura, only expecting the latter, doesn't know what to do with the former. She stares into the tent, the muddy scents of too many people filling it, and realizes that Barrow has fallen asleep.
If he is not going to assist her, Laura is not going to insist on moving everyone back to their proper tents. He doesn't appear to care that the children have disobeyed, which is his own failure to bear. She reaches in for the arm of her orphan, the girl who talked back to her, and pulls her out from the tent.
The conversation doesn't happen until one of their last nights on the road. Derrica sits up on watch, listening as Barrow's tent grows silent. Maybe she doesn't need to discuss this with him at all, but Derrica can't let it pass. She can't raise the issue of what she suspects about Barrow with Matthias, though maybe that would be an easier talk to have.
She likes Barrow. (Had liked Barrow.) That means she talks to him about her suspicions, which apparently entails ambushing him when he extricates himself from his tent to take his turn on watch.
"I can sit up with you," she volunteers. "There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about, after what happened in Nevarra."
Which could mean literally anything, but she would be that Barrow knows what she means.
In response, Derrica takes up her own staff. His question goes unanswered until they've taken up places on the edge of camp. Her hands are clammy where they grip the smooth-worn wood, but her voice is carefully steady.
"I'd thought at first that Matthias just didn't like you for some reason, but then I saw the way you fight."
Or felt the stifling, dampening spread of energy coming off him in waves as they'd slogged through the crowds of the dead.
Oh, it's going to be one of Those talks. Barrow respectfully remains silent as they traverse the camp, lighting up a cigarette as they go, at which he puffs good-naturedly while Derrica speaks.
There's a pause, after her question, and he lowers it. He doesn't look angry, at least, or even that cagey-- if anything, he's annoyed, but not with her. "...was," he admits, and looks at her while he takes another drag. "Haven't been for some years now."
Discerning even a glimmer of annoyance angers her. Unable to tell who it's directed at, all she has is her own immediate assumption that even the topic is a burden to him. She draws in a deep breath, forcibly keeping her own anger at bay.
"Why did you leave?"
It's a simple, blunt question. Derrica doesn't even know for certain that the answer matters to her. She'd like to hear it, but isn't sure what she'd do with the knowledge. So he left. What had he done before he'd parted ways with the order? How long had it taken him to grow tired of corralling people like her?
"It fell apart," Barrow says with a shrug, remarkably serious for the first time since he came to Riftwatch. "I could have followed the Knight-Commander all over the world trying to force people back into their cages as Andraste intended," (this is clearly not meant in earnest), "or I could say, welp, it was a job while it lasted, time to move on."
He takes another drag. "I was never suited for that life. Just as well that it ended."
"What does that mean, it fell apart?" Derrica asks, each word clipped. "The rebellion happened, and it was inconvenient for you?"
It's hard to dredge up anything soft and sympathetic in this moment. Just a job? What had his job required of him? Had any part of it ever given him pause before he'd parted ways with his order?
She's grafting the whole of the templar order onto him in this moment, expecting his answer to make up for everything they'd done. It's impossible for Barrow to bridge this gap.
Barrow gestures vaguely around himself. It fell apart.
"Inconvenient..." He pulls a face at that, shaking his head. Derrica is speaking with venom, but taking it at face value is the approach he knows best.
"The rebellion was," he muses, blowing out a breath of smoke and giving his stubbly cheek a scratch with the hand holding the cigarette, "an excuse to not have to do it anymore. ...so if anything, it was convenient."
He looks down at her, knits his brow, and gives one shoulder a shrug. "Sorry, love. I don't know what you want me to say."
It's unfair to hold one man to account for the sins of an entire organization. Derrica knows this. But it's so hard not to look at him and feel the same burn of anger and fear that's dogged her steps for years.
"You should have told me."
She thinks back to healing him all those months ago in that little bar with Eshal yelling at two fighters in the ring just a few feet away. If she'd known, she'd never have offered, nor would she have grown to enjoy Barrow's brash, jovial demeanor.
"I don't know what you should have said, but it would have been..."
Easier? No. But at least she wouldn't feel like this, foolish and endangered. She draws her cloak tighter around her body, shakes her head wordlessly rather than trying to put those feelings into words.
He probably should've told a lot of people. Maybe even everyone. But 'probably' doesn't solve anything.
"It was..." he admits heavily, "...a chance to start anew." Forgetting everything and beginning again, free of the bias that had kept them under the boot for so long. He'd advise her to do the same, but has a suspicion she wouldn't be too receptive.
The luxury of being able to simply walk away from what his past—
How many of them couldn't simply start anew? How many of them couldn't separate their present from their past and what had been visited upon them by templars? Her initial incredulous expression hardens to anger before she turns fully away from him.
"You don't deserve it," Derrica says, the faint fluttering urge to soften her words gone unacknowledged. "It doesn't go away just because you want it to."
Barrow knows instinctively that he's done wrong at this point, and his natural joviality has melted away into an awkward hunch as he focuses almost exclusively on his cigarette. It's not that he's insensitive, he'd tell anyone who asked, it's that he knows when to choose his battles (and the answer is usually Never, Unless A Sword Is Needed).
He doesn't challenge her, and perhaps doesn't even disagree. But he doesn't say anything either, no doubt hoping she'll drop it and go away so he doesn't have to make a break for it.
Rather than doing any of the many things that immediately come to mind (hitting him, cursing him, etc) Derrica draws herself up, takes a deep breath, and shakes her head dismissively.
"Don't speak to me outside of what's necessary for our work."
And then she spits into the dirt between them, before turning to walk away without waiting for a reply. What else is there to say now? Everything has been made painfully clear, and Derrica isn't interested in anything beyond firmly closing off any friendship between them.
He opens his mouth as if to acknowledge her, but simply closes it again and nods. Presumably that warning applies now.
There's an uneasy little tug in his heart as she walks away, spit or not. Perhaps he shouldn't be so dismissive. Or perhaps this is exactly why he should.
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Barrow ota
His tent seems to accumulate orphans over the course of each night, split up as they are throughout the campsite, and he's growing increasingly tired as a result-- he's never going to turn them away, but each time someone new comes in, everyone already there has to rearrange themselves and Barrow takes up nearly the entire tent when he isn't piled with children.
It doesn't seem to dampen his spirits, however, and he catches the occasional snooze during the day when they stop for water or other necessities.
no subject
"This is not your assigned tent," she informs the sleepy children, piled in around Barrow like wayward puppies. "There is no longer room for Barrow."
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"Please," he says wearily, "if they all shuffle around again it'll take hours."
Help Him
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And the children argue anyway.
"We want to stay here," a girl mumbles, half-asleep.
"I'm not leaving," says a boy.
"If someone attacks, Barrow will not be able to defend you because he will be unable to move." Laura crouches down before the opening of the tent, so she can look at the children on their own level. "You may die."
no subject
Useless to Laura's cause, Barrow begins to snore faintly, snatching the moment when he can.
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If he is not going to assist her, Laura is not going to insist on moving everyone back to their proper tents. He doesn't appear to care that the children have disobeyed, which is his own failure to bear. She reaches in for the arm of her orphan, the girl who talked back to her, and pulls her out from the tent.
deposits this extremely late tag here
She likes Barrow. (Had liked Barrow.) That means she talks to him about her suspicions, which apparently entails ambushing him when he extricates himself from his tent to take his turn on watch.
"I can sit up with you," she volunteers. "There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about, after what happened in Nevarra."
Which could mean literally anything, but she would be that Barrow knows what she means.
no subject
“What’s on your mind?”
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"I'd thought at first that Matthias just didn't like you for some reason, but then I saw the way you fight."
Or felt the stifling, dampening spread of energy coming off him in waves as they'd slogged through the crowds of the dead.
"Can you answer me honestly— are you a templar?"
no subject
There's a pause, after her question, and he lowers it. He doesn't look angry, at least, or even that cagey-- if anything, he's annoyed, but not with her.
"...was," he admits, and looks at her while he takes another drag. "Haven't been for some years now."
no subject
"Why did you leave?"
It's a simple, blunt question. Derrica doesn't even know for certain that the answer matters to her. She'd like to hear it, but isn't sure what she'd do with the knowledge. So he left. What had he done before he'd parted ways with the order? How long had it taken him to grow tired of corralling people like her?
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He takes another drag. "I was never suited for that life. Just as well that it ended."
no subject
It's hard to dredge up anything soft and sympathetic in this moment. Just a job? What had his job required of him? Had any part of it ever given him pause before he'd parted ways with his order?
She's grafting the whole of the templar order onto him in this moment, expecting his answer to make up for everything they'd done. It's impossible for Barrow to bridge this gap.
no subject
"Inconvenient..." He pulls a face at that, shaking his head. Derrica is speaking with venom, but taking it at face value is the approach he knows best.
"The rebellion was," he muses, blowing out a breath of smoke and giving his stubbly cheek a scratch with the hand holding the cigarette, "an excuse to not have to do it anymore. ...so if anything, it was convenient."
He looks down at her, knits his brow, and gives one shoulder a shrug. "Sorry, love. I don't know what you want me to say."
no subject
"You should have told me."
She thinks back to healing him all those months ago in that little bar with Eshal yelling at two fighters in the ring just a few feet away. If she'd known, she'd never have offered, nor would she have grown to enjoy Barrow's brash, jovial demeanor.
"I don't know what you should have said, but it would have been..."
Easier? No. But at least she wouldn't feel like this, foolish and endangered. She draws her cloak tighter around her body, shakes her head wordlessly rather than trying to put those feelings into words.
no subject
"It was..." he admits heavily, "...a chance to start anew." Forgetting everything and beginning again, free of the bias that had kept them under the boot for so long.
He'd advise her to do the same, but has a suspicion she wouldn't be too receptive.
no subject
How many of them couldn't simply start anew? How many of them couldn't separate their present from their past and what had been visited upon them by templars? Her initial incredulous expression hardens to anger before she turns fully away from him.
"You don't deserve it," Derrica says, the faint fluttering urge to soften her words gone unacknowledged. "It doesn't go away just because you want it to."
no subject
He doesn't challenge her, and perhaps doesn't even disagree. But he doesn't say anything either, no doubt hoping she'll drop it and go away so he doesn't have to make a break for it.
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"Don't speak to me outside of what's necessary for our work."
And then she spits into the dirt between them, before turning to walk away without waiting for a reply. What else is there to say now? Everything has been made painfully clear, and Derrica isn't interested in anything beyond firmly closing off any friendship between them.
no subject
There's an uneasy little tug in his heart as she walks away, spit or not. Perhaps he shouldn't be so dismissive.
Or perhaps this is exactly why he should.