I have been allowed to survive to this. Through everything. Miracle. Grace.

[heorte]

WHO: Ellis + OTA
WHAT: Homecoming
WHEN: Guardian
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Thread collection. Closed and open starters in the comments. Holler if you want something bespoke or drop in a wildcard, I'll roll with it.

Comments

[poleaxed]

"Oh, some fucking excuse, that is. I'm won over." She rattling his chair more, because it occurs to her that, knowing him, he might be hiding an injury. A secretive bastard through and through. "If you've a mind to lie, at least make it good."

[heorte]

There is very little room, but Ellis makes an effort to lever himself up out of his chair. His hands catch at her arms, a minor attempt to stymie Jone's rattling.

"I was caught in the belly of a dragon, and had to cut my way out."

Ha.

[poleaxed]

A tiny cough of laughter. Her expression breaks into something like a smile. "Found your sense of humor, wherever you ran off to."

She relents, arms going slack. "You hurt any?"

[heorte]

"No," is the truth. "Sore, from too much time in the saddle. But it'll pass."

Too much time in the saddle, to many nights sleeping on hard ground without proper gear. He hadn't been able to hide away enough to make the journey easy. But he'd managed to get here, so what objection can there be?

"Are you alright?"

In which alright is such an open-ended thing. He's been gone so long. She seems unchanged to him, but what does that account for, really?

sorry.

[poleaxed]

It's all the permission Jone needs to start pulling him into a headlock, adding her knuckles to his scalp with a firm rub if he'll let her. "I'm fine. I'm fine. You, lad, disappear for who knows what else in the bloody dark without a word, oh, I'm fine, I am."

incredible.

[heorte]

It's not comfortable, but there is a very specific kind of familiarity in Jone's rough-handling. Stretched across the floor, Ruadh's contribution is a series of loud barks, more excitement than affront as Ellis twists in Jone's grasp.

She's permitted a few moments of grinding her knuckles against his scalp before he pivots reaching up to catch at her hands.

"Jone," is a groan of objection, slightly strained under the exertion.

[poleaxed]

She lets him go, laughter light in her throat. Happy to roll back into the floor, she settles in next to the dog. Ought to pay the piper, so to speak. A guard dog is only as good as it is useful. She pets the thing between its ears.

"Glad you're back in one piece, luv."

[heorte]

Resettling, Ellis braces his forearms on his knees to watch Jone and Ruadh. The tension in the mabari's frame eases, his eyes moving from Ellis back to Jone, skepticism fading under the application of pets.

He'd missed her.

"He likes you."

Or tolerates her. Will like her, sooner or later. Ellis has a strong sense of Jone's chances. She's still Ferelden at the end of it all. Who else has thrown themselves down to pay Ruadh this kind of attention?

[poleaxed]

"Yeah, he'd better. I'm in with his boss." She pats the dog's head, and doesn't look at it. Dogs are fine, she supposes, though she'll never understand the mania her countrymen have for the beasts.

"Reckon you'll not say, if I ask where you've been."

[heorte]

A low laugh.

Boss. That's hardly the word, but Ellis lets it pass while he considers the question Jone is hedging around asking.

"I'll tell you it's Warden business."

True. In a manner of speaking.