faderift | [open]

WHO: Teren, Barrow, and Benedict, and YOU
WHAT: catch-all
WHEN: Haring
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: shirtless dilf enclosed

Teren

She crashed a dragon into a tower. And though she lived, Teren was flung from the beast and came to land somewhere in the rubble below, where an aptly remembered healing potion was enough to keep her from expiring on the spot, but moving her body in any meaningful way has been a struggle since then.
Incredibly fortunate to have had no significant internal damage (at least that the potion didn't handle), and with any broken bones splinted and healing, Teren is simply far too sore to move from her bed. After all her big talk about the Wardens not getting into any situations that couldn't be solved without Anders or Inessa...
...here she is.
A captive audience, if perhaps not a happy one.

Barrow

The air is brisk, the day is fine, and Barrow is swinging a hammer around in the sparring range. He's been learning to use it since first arriving in Kirkwall, rather liking the idea more than the usual boring old sword and shield, but having never had the opportunity to play with one until now.
He cuts quite a figure in doing so, and should be approached with caution unless alerted first. He's also only wearing a shirt about half the time, since even in the Haring chill, physical exertion takes its toll.

Benedict

I. (open) There's a certain anxious industriousness to Benedict these days, and if the growing pile of writing-filled parchment he keeps carefully resting on the bench is any indication, he's got a project.
He's also made some pretty decent headway with in weaving a screen for the window with straw from the cell floor, which both prevents the cold wind from coming in and bathes the little room in a pleasant sepia light. It's clearly the work of an amateur, but one can almost mark how much his skill has improved from the start to where his progress currently lies.

He can often be found working on either project, or perhaps painting or reading, swathed in both of his blankets for warmth and powered by nervous energy.

II. (one thread please, first come first serve) On the night of the strange dreams that grip the denizens of Riftwatch, there comes a cry of abject panic from Benedict's cell, followed by the sounds of someone in terrible emotional distress.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I heard it was something to see," Ellis says from the doorway. "What you did with the dragon."

At the very least, Ellis isn't inclined to bring up what Teren had cautioned them against. He isn't sure he should be here in the first place, but he's brought a bottle of strong wine and is more than prepared to leave.

But it felt as if he should at least look in on Teren. Whatever arrangement she and Alistair had struck, it had left her as the most senior among them. This was the best way Ellis knew to show respect, even knowing that he was certainly not the person Teren would like to see.

Angling her head toward the voice, Teren gives a little grunt as she sees who it is, her expression nearly forming into a smirk. Ah, it's this one.

"I imagine it was," she replies, beckoning him forward with one spindly finger, since booze is the only way she can enjoy herself while bedridden and bored out of her mind. "It would seem you made it out of the fray in one piece."

"Aye, mostly one piece."

No lost limbs, and whatever was left had been sewn back up neatly. As she beckons, he approaches, gingerly takes the seat at her bedside.

"That new healer, the Chantry sister, sorted out the worst of it."

Not that his injuries could compare to Teren's. She'd dropped out of they sky onto a dragon. Ellis doesn't need specifics to know that Teren was lucky to be laid up, rather than dead. He starts working open the bottle.

"How long until you're allowed up?"

Then dropped off a dragon onto the ground after it hit the tower, but who's comparing. Teren snorts at his question.

"Allowed," she grunts, "I'll get up when it pleases me." Which... it just. Doesn't, at the moment. Obviously.

"Of course."

Teren vs. Sawbones, who will win?

"Is there anything else you need, while you're recuperating?"

A question Ellis is fully aware may be answered with "fuck off." He isn't sure whether that would be a relief to hear or not. Part of him wants to drag the inevitable conversation from Teren, to hear all her judgement and recriminations unravel and have done with it, but he knows that's unfair. What good does that do her?

"Not from you."

It's less than a fuck off, but almost worse in a way; she'll barely spare him the energy of her hatred. Why bother, when she still has to work with him?

For a moment, Ellis doesn't say anything.

He finds himself uncertain as to how he should proceed. In fact, he's been avoiding this particular situation for years before he'd veered in Riftwatch's direction. Teren's camaraderie shouldn't matter, but he finds that it does.

"I know you don't have much reason to trust me," He begins carefully. "But I am committed to our business here. And to following your example."

Mostly. He already knows there are aspects of the way Teren moves within this organization that Ellis won't be able to support. Untangling the positioning of the Grey Wardens within Riftwatch has already been an undertaking.

"I hope you'll give me a chance to be of use. That's all."

She raises an eyebrow at that, leveling her gaze at Ellis. Her example? That's... not actually that reassuring.

"What made you leave them," she asks at last, pinning him with her eyes. "What is it about us that you prefer."

These are questions that require some measure of truth. Ellis looks back at her steadily for a long moment. No discomfort shows on his face. It's easier with Teren for so many reasons, but chief among them is that he is aware of her low opinion. He doesn't think his answer will do anything but confirm what she already thinks.

"I believed my goals were the same as theirs. After what happened at Weisshaupt I realized that was—I'd been wrong."

And his mistake had come at a high price. He'd opened the necks of so many Wardens, believing in that last stand, one great and final battle to wipe away the Blight. Contemplating the failure of that proposal and what had come of it still makes him sick with guilt.

"What you and your people are doing here is good. There is a threat, and you are working to address it, and that is all I have ever wanted to do."

Among other things, but he's told her enough. The bones of the truth will suffice, for now.

Teren stares at him a long while, considering his response. Perhaps it satisfies her, perhaps it doesn't; there's no indication on her face whatsoever, though she does finally nod.

"Very well." Looking away from Ellis and out the window, it seems the conversation has concluded. At least she hasn't ordered him out again.

There's no reason to press her further. If he were younger, maybe he would have tried to drag something more concrete from Teren. But Ellis expects nothing from her. Teren heard him out. It's more than he believes he deserves. If she's willing to hear him out, and allow him the opportunity to change her mind, it's far more progress than he expected to make.

In the silence, he stands, uncorks the bottle and pours the liquor into the tea cup on her nightstand.

"To your health," Ellis tells her, as he puts the bottle back down.

And immediately beats a hasty retreat towards the door. Better to get out before either of them have a chance to test the fragile middle ground they've landed on.

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