WHO: Athessa, Madi, and YOU WHAT: post-Dream catch-all WHEN: after part 2 of dream time WHERE: The Gallows/Kirkwall NOTES: tags will be slow, brain still bad
Vanadi finds that he doesn't quite believe that — Athessa not being a nice person. A harder person, perhaps, but he has difficulty imagining her without the compassion.
Fortunately, he doesn't have to. It's the one relieving truth that he keeps coming back to, using repeatedly to sweep away the pointless doubts and anxieties. It's going to take one, one of these rounds.
He tugs her to a stop as they pass through one of the doorways, his free hand reaching to cup her face, request attention. It's just a stupid, selfish indulgence, but he really must lean in to steal a slow, soft kiss.
For whatever reason, being pulled to a stop takes her aback, her eyes questioning before he kisses her. Silly, really, considering who they are and where they are and what they do together. Why would she be surprised by this kiss?
But she is. She smiles and returns the kiss and leans against him. Curls her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. Maybe some small part of her wonders why he didn't try to make her younger self realize she was dreaming, that she was wrong, but what does that matter now? He found her, even if he couldn't bear to be unknown to her. She saved him, despite the pain of him leaving, and he wanted to come back to her, which is the only thing she's ever wanted to hear from anyone.
"Something like this happened last year, too," she says when they part again. "Not...Not to say that this is normal, because fuck that, but...The disorientation and the gut-rattling, visceral fear? That subsides. Eventually."
He doesn't move off entirely once he's stepped back. For a moment he simply looks Athessa over, her face cupped in his hands and his eyes attentive. Every detail reassures, soothes. He still doesn't quite feel himself, but he feels that he can see himself again. It's encouraging progress.
"Good to know," he says at last, releasing her (though only to take her hand again, of course). "Then is this a tradition you forgot to warn me about, by any chance?"
"Gods, I hope not. Unless everyone is keeping mum about it being a recurring thing, I think last year was the first."
But it happening again doesn't bode well for any hope that these are isolated incidents. If they were in her bed instead of in a semi-public corridor, Athessa would be snuggling close and breathing him in as a ward against the notion of repeated spirit incursions, taking comfort in his scent and warmth and proximity.
Alas, they are in this corridor, being passed by Gallows staff and friends alike, mostly ignored aside from the odd sidelong glance.
"Are you—" She stops herself. Asking if he's alright seems silly. Pointless. "—Tell me how you're feeling. Talk to me about... about anything." Let me help, somehow.
That's a tall order. Most people would get some surface evaluation, perhaps only assurance that he's fine now — or doing better now, if he were feeling more honest. But Athessa deserves more than that. Vanadi frowns faintly, thoughtfully, and tugs them back into a slow walk.
He's silent for a while, working out how to order his thoughts, but looks preoccupied enough with it that his silence couldn't be mistaken for avoidance. That he can say something on the matter, though, that he's no longer paralyzed by heart-gripping fear, that's valuable. And possibly due entirely to Athessa's presence.
Finally, he settles on, "I've spent so very much time alone, lately. I mean — not here, of course, but before arrival. The dream tore everything away that I've found here, and threw me back into isolation — even more so, perhaps, because of the cruel twist of one-sided familiarity. I had Erik, but..." But a recent acquaintance wasn't near enough. He takes a breath, then sighs it out. "The dream, I can cast off. The memories and fears it's left me with are harder to shake."
It's not an easy silence to bear but it does help that she can see, looking up at him and trying not to let her attention weigh overmuch, that he's muddling through something. And when he speaks, of course it's with words and feelings with which she herself is familiar.
When it's her turn to give some thought to the words she chooses, her face is more subtly preoccupied; a twitch of the brow here, gaze flickering only slightly. She can't fix this for him, no matter how badly she wants to. She can only be, and be in empathy. Perhaps that's enough.
She hopes it's enough.
"I wish I had something smart and comforting to say," she ventures, her thumb brushing over his knuckles as they walk, hand in hand. "Or that I could fix it. But failing that...and no matter how lame it sounds...I know how you feel. And I'm sorry you have to feel it now."
He squeezes her hand in turn, long fingers tightening without any particular actual force.
"I doubt if there's anything smart or comforting to be said," he says, but it's with a faint smile. "But believe me when I tell you -- well, you are fixing it. You being here is enough." He leans as he walks to brush a kiss against her hairline, and adds, "I am fine, really. And I'll realize that at some point."
It's something like what Bastien would tell her, perhaps already has told her, when she has a bout of melancholy. Athessa hopes that, even if she's bad at showing it, she's absorbed some of Bastien's wisdom. Enough, at least, to impart to Vanadi.
"We can be slow as molasses to catch up with being alright. But...yeah. It's alright to not be fine."
They're more comforting words than Vanadi figures he deserves -- though he certainly does need them, so he's not likely to turn them away. He nods faintly, moving on with a faint smile. And as they step into the kitchen, Vanadi pushes back his shoulders and resolves to leave not just the courtyard behind him.
"The other dream, though," he says, tone gone thoughtful. "I left you to find a way to stay here, yes? I had been meaning to look into that. I sincerely hope it won't be quite so dramatic in actuality."
She has to laugh, a short staccato burst of commiseration and hysteria. Yeah she should fuckin' hope it wouldn't be that dramatic.
"Seriously, like for one thing I could just, I dunno," she shrugs, moving only so far from him as she needs to in order to start making coffee. "Go with you or something. Clearly. But..."
There's the matter of weighing the pros and cons. And, unfortunately, remembering a time long past with an axe and a shard-arm.
"Maybe don't sell yourself to the Venatori to pursue that?"
Vanadi drops to a lean against the counter nearest to Athessa, both arms folding over his chest. His laugh his smaller and brief, dry.
"Honestly," he says with a huff, "What did I think I was doing, leaving you behind? I'm shocked I managed it with any success. Very unrealistic, if you ask me."
Though -- it had been a different him. That was a more stable and steady version of himself, without all the fear he holds about himself as tightly as his usual cloak. He brushes the memory of it away, which is cruelly far from his reach.
"Do you know of any successes with that, though? Or know of anyone else who might?"
"Ah, yes." An obvious answer, isn't it? Even know, he apparently knows enough about her to have pinned that role on her in the dream. He considers the matter thoughtfully, with less grimacing. Her role in it all hadn't been so bad; the suffering he'd undergone wasn't the point of that sequence, and hadn't lingered after waking.
"Well, I expect she'll have a different answer than get a couple of tattoos. Relievingly, honestly. They didn't at all match me."
There's a curl in his lip as he starts, "Please, I would never consider a..." Which is as far as he gets before he quite suddenly recalls that his main objection to tattoos no longer applies to him. He blinks, the look fading out into a startled blank.
Athessa watches that shift in expression, muted surprise and confusion raising her brows. It's merely coincidental and not pointed that when she reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear, her sleeve slips back to show her own tattoo.
"A tattoo," he finishes, sounding a little distant. "Or at least, that was the case in Rune. It would have been a faded mess of nothing after not even a quarter of my life. But of course I suppose that isn't the case anymore."
Does that mean tattoos are back on the table again? Maybe. Not any time soon.
It does make sense to assume that with all the changes he went through just to arrive in Thedas as he is, a shortened lifespan would be among them, but then again...what if it didn't?
That's not something Athessa wants to indulge in imagining right now.
"Well, I know a good artist if you ever decide you want that."
It's a strange thought. He eyes Athessa, attention lingering on the flower at her wrist.
"I'm sure I wouldn't know what sort of designs to even begin thinking about." It sounds like a dismissal, but isn't meant as one. To soften it, he nods to her flower. "Is there meaning to yours?"
Athessa nods, rolling her sleeve so she can hold her hand out for him.
"Forget-me-nots," she says. "To remind me of where I started, and how far from there right here and right now is."
It's a bit more complicated than that, but she's never truly had the words for it all. She turns her wrist over and traces the lines with her fingertips. The stems of the forget-me-nots aren't linked to form a complete circle, but off-set and left open.
"And that I'll never belong to anyone but myself."
He reaches when she offers, fingers curling gently around her wrist as he lifts it somewhat higher for inspection. It is a lovely design, he's thought so before; he's not certain why he'd never before thought to ask for its meaning. But he nods, his fingers tracing the line after hers -- more out of fondness for touching her skin than any particularly marvel at lines he's seen before.
"That's quite the story they have," he murmurs, and considers that he has no such reminders to want to keep alive in himself. It seems best kept to himself.
"It was also kinda a way to prove myself," she says even as she's nodding that yeah, it is quite a story behind a bit of ink. "Since I never got my vallaslin."
He releases her wrist, and the same hand lifts to brush a twist of hair from her forehead, about where he's seen those Dalish tattoos on the few he spots in the city. "What would it have looked like, if you had?"
She in turn brushes his hair back from his face to kiss his forehead, and draws some kind of winding pattern starting between his brows and arching up to his temples.
"Probably something that looks like antlers, or vines. I had ideas of which one I'd wanted, 'course, but ultimately it'd be up to the Keeper. Which one, and whether or not you were ready for it."
He ducks his head to accept that kiss, those tracing fingers, but his eyes are on Athessa's face. It's strange to imagine such a design on her -- he's never put much thought to it before.
"What would a Keeper base that sort of thing on?" He'd ask what a Keeper is too, but -- that one's sort of self explanatory, he supposes.
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Fortunately, he doesn't have to. It's the one relieving truth that he keeps coming back to, using repeatedly to sweep away the pointless doubts and anxieties. It's going to take one, one of these rounds.
He tugs her to a stop as they pass through one of the doorways, his free hand reaching to cup her face, request attention. It's just a stupid, selfish indulgence, but he really must lean in to steal a slow, soft kiss.
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But she is. She smiles and returns the kiss and leans against him. Curls her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. Maybe some small part of her wonders why he didn't try to make her younger self realize she was dreaming, that she was wrong, but what does that matter now? He found her, even if he couldn't bear to be unknown to her. She saved him, despite the pain of him leaving, and he wanted to come back to her, which is the only thing she's ever wanted to hear from anyone.
"Something like this happened last year, too," she says when they part again. "Not...Not to say that this is normal, because fuck that, but...The disorientation and the gut-rattling, visceral fear? That subsides. Eventually."
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"Good to know," he says at last, releasing her (though only to take her hand again, of course). "Then is this a tradition you forgot to warn me about, by any chance?"
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But it happening again doesn't bode well for any hope that these are isolated incidents. If they were in her bed instead of in a semi-public corridor, Athessa would be snuggling close and breathing him in as a ward against the notion of repeated spirit incursions, taking comfort in his scent and warmth and proximity.
Alas, they are in this corridor, being passed by Gallows staff and friends alike, mostly ignored aside from the odd sidelong glance.
"Are you—" She stops herself. Asking if he's alright seems silly. Pointless. "—Tell me how you're feeling. Talk to me about... about anything." Let me help, somehow.
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He's silent for a while, working out how to order his thoughts, but looks preoccupied enough with it that his silence couldn't be mistaken for avoidance. That he can say something on the matter, though, that he's no longer paralyzed by heart-gripping fear, that's valuable. And possibly due entirely to Athessa's presence.
Finally, he settles on, "I've spent so very much time alone, lately. I mean — not here, of course, but before arrival. The dream tore everything away that I've found here, and threw me back into isolation — even more so, perhaps, because of the cruel twist of one-sided familiarity. I had Erik, but..." But a recent acquaintance wasn't near enough. He takes a breath, then sighs it out. "The dream, I can cast off. The memories and fears it's left me with are harder to shake."
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When it's her turn to give some thought to the words she chooses, her face is more subtly preoccupied; a twitch of the brow here, gaze flickering only slightly. She can't fix this for him, no matter how badly she wants to. She can only be, and be in empathy. Perhaps that's enough.
She hopes it's enough.
"I wish I had something smart and comforting to say," she ventures, her thumb brushing over his knuckles as they walk, hand in hand. "Or that I could fix it. But failing that...and no matter how lame it sounds...I know how you feel. And I'm sorry you have to feel it now."
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"I doubt if there's anything smart or comforting to be said," he says, but it's with a faint smile. "But believe me when I tell you -- well, you are fixing it. You being here is enough." He leans as he walks to brush a kiss against her hairline, and adds, "I am fine, really. And I'll realize that at some point."
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It's something like what Bastien would tell her, perhaps already has told her, when she has a bout of melancholy. Athessa hopes that, even if she's bad at showing it, she's absorbed some of Bastien's wisdom. Enough, at least, to impart to Vanadi.
"We can be slow as molasses to catch up with being alright. But...yeah. It's alright to not be fine."
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"The other dream, though," he says, tone gone thoughtful. "I left you to find a way to stay here, yes? I had been meaning to look into that. I sincerely hope it won't be quite so dramatic in actuality."
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"Seriously, like for one thing I could just, I dunno," she shrugs, moving only so far from him as she needs to in order to start making coffee. "Go with you or something. Clearly. But..."
There's the matter of weighing the pros and cons. And, unfortunately, remembering a time long past with an axe and a shard-arm.
"Maybe don't sell yourself to the Venatori to pursue that?"
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"Honestly," he says with a huff, "What did I think I was doing, leaving you behind? I'm shocked I managed it with any success. Very unrealistic, if you ask me."
Though -- it had been a different him. That was a more stable and steady version of himself, without all the fear he holds about himself as tightly as his usual cloak. He brushes the memory of it away, which is cruelly far from his reach.
"Do you know of any successes with that, though? Or know of anyone else who might?"
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"I don't know of any successes, no, but uh...the person to ask about that stuff..."
She pauses, grimacing slightly. "...is probably Wysteria."
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"Well, I expect she'll have a different answer than get a couple of tattoos. Relievingly, honestly. They didn't at all match me."
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"I didn't think they were that bad, actually. I mean, that you suffered for them was, of course, but they looked fine."
Between the Dalish thing and the decade spent in Rivain thing, Athessa is a little biased in this area.
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"You'd never consider a—?"
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Does that mean tattoos are back on the table again? Maybe. Not any time soon.
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That's not something Athessa wants to indulge in imagining right now.
"Well, I know a good artist if you ever decide you want that."
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"I'm sure I wouldn't know what sort of designs to even begin thinking about." It sounds like a dismissal, but isn't meant as one. To soften it, he nods to her flower. "Is there meaning to yours?"
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"Forget-me-nots," she says. "To remind me of where I started, and how far from there right here and right now is."
It's a bit more complicated than that, but she's never truly had the words for it all. She turns her wrist over and traces the lines with her fingertips. The stems of the forget-me-nots aren't linked to form a complete circle, but off-set and left open.
"And that I'll never belong to anyone but myself."
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"That's quite the story they have," he murmurs, and considers that he has no such reminders to want to keep alive in himself. It seems best kept to himself.
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She in turn brushes his hair back from his face to kiss his forehead, and draws some kind of winding pattern starting between his brows and arching up to his temples.
"Probably something that looks like antlers, or vines. I had ideas of which one I'd wanted, 'course, but ultimately it'd be up to the Keeper. Which one, and whether or not you were ready for it."
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"What would a Keeper base that sort of thing on?" He'd ask what a Keeper is too, but -- that one's sort of self explanatory, he supposes.
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