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

"Gruagh," she repeats, brow furrowing just a little at the pronunciation, but it smooths out almost immediately afterward. "Accurate." A gentle giant, but a giant nonetheless. "Thank you."

For naming him. For returning to tell her of the name.

"You were gone longer than expected." This is the opening, perhaps, for him to tell her how it went.

Or not. She's not in charge of Ellis.

The invitation does not go unnoticed.

However, Ellis looks past her to the vast library they're standing in. Considering their surroundings. Weighing up the potential to be overheard before he answers, "Aye."

Adrasteia would be forgiven, were she to assume that was the entire sentiment Ellis meant to expression.

Instead, his fingers flex on the shelf alongside him, gaze returning to her to propose, "We should speak in the Warden office."

A place with a closed door, and some privacy.

Time and patience have taught her that if there's one thing that is true, it is that Ellis is not a man who will be rushed to speak. So he answers, and she waits and is eventually rewarded with... something like information. An idea, anyway.

And, well. If Ellis is concerned about being overheard, then perhaps it is understandable that Adrasteia takes this to mean he has news, and probably not of the good sort. So she unfolds her hands and nods, turning towards the stairs.

She has the key to the office.

A moment's pause once inside, door closed behind them. A press of his palm over the wall and it's fresh coat of paint. Or fresher. It's been months since they applied this together.

They could talk more of her horse. (Sweet-tempered and affectionate, bearing up under weeks of travel without fuss.) But they could have talked about that in the library. So Ellis crosses to lean back against the desk, shoved against a far wall. Arms crossed. Adrasteia has given him room to decide upon his approach, and he chooses carefully, pulling words together and settling upon—

"What would you hear first?"

Good news: Ellis is in some ways extremely unchanged. Bad news: he's still This Way.

"Let's start with the worst of it, by your measure, and work our way back toward whatever could be considered not the worst of it."

She's pocketed the key somewhere within the folds of her robes; Ellis leans against the desk, and she stands between the two chairs seated opposite, leaning a bit against the one to her right. He is still This Way, it's true, but...

If he were to suddenly become effusive, she'd worry more about that, most likely.

She wants to know what kept him longer than he'd expected to be kept, mostly, but what he thinks is the worst of the news will probably go a distance towards explaining that mystery.

What is the worst part of it?

One hand comes up, presses palm briefly to his mouth as he turns over the past six months in his mind. He thinks of sitting high up with his back to the stone of the tower's outer wall, murmuring to Tony that he's failed.

He thinks of those long stretches of time where he had been unsure whether or not he would follow through on his promises to return. It would have been easy to stay. (He is leaner than he was, all of him reoriented inward once again.) It might have been the right thing to do, but there is nothing for it now, unless he leaves within the day to return.

But, in the moment—

"They've given up much of their library. Whatever is of use and hasn't been destroyed has been sent into Tevinter."

Bad news that hadn't phased Tony or Yseult, or even Ellis, really. He presses on, hand falling from his face as he speaks.

"And the Wardens are...fracturing, I think."

Adrasteia frowns a little, a furrow appearing between her eyebrows. She knew it was bad, that the leadership was probably rotten from the inside out, but she had no idea they were sending the studies and histories of the Wardens off to Tevinter.

It's not wholly surprising, really, but it bodes ill.

"Fracturing in what way?" Does he mean the fact that there are those that appear to have chosen the opposing side in this war, because if so...

Well. She knew that already.

The question digs at a nagging doubt: he should have stayed longer, found out more.

But he can't give space to that now.

"There's rumors that Wardens have been disappearing. Leaving."

A slight smile for it. Here the two of them are, both having left. Ellis having done it twice.

"Not everyone is pleased with the First Warden, or with how much sway Tevinter has now. But no one's speaking openly of it."

"Of course not."

Adrasteia sighs, folds her hands, unfolds them. She's always hated how secretive the Grey Wardens are, how there is very little chance for open dialogue when something is going very awry or even just middlingly so.

"Do we know where they're heading, if anyone has a plan, or is it all souls for themselves and themselves first?" She shakes her head, looking toward the ceiling. "Does it even matter? If Corypheus can bring about a Blight and puppet us around?"

"I didn't stay long enough to hear it if they did."

Maybe another six months. A year. Maybe that would have been enough.

If he leaves tomorrow—

"There are places I plan to look. I don't imagine the Scoutmaster would pass up the opportunity to make contact."

But as to the rest—

Ellis can't decide that for her, what matters and what doesn't. He has this, a clear course forward. It's where his attention is directed, and in a way, it's answer enough. If he believed it didn't matter, he would have stayed in Weisshaupt Fortress.

Another sigh. It's a question that plagues her, time and time again. Can she really make a change from without/within an organization that is hinged on Blighted blood magic, secrecy, and not telling one another anything?

"Do you plan to go alone again, or take anyone with you?"

There's no accusation there. No tone of dismay. She only wishes to know so she can prepare.

"Richard and I spoke while you were gone. About his intentions to become a Warden."

She imagines that Ellis is not fond of the idea.

Adrasteia has made a misstep here: if she cared for an answer to her first question, she might have saved the latter admission until after Ellis had given it.

Because once the subject of Richard and his aspirations are raised, it pulls Ellis' attention wholly away from any of the things he meant to discuss with her. A complete narrowing of focus, Ellis' jaw tightening. He had been still to begin with, leaning against the desk, but there are small signs of this shift in his bearing. A straightening of the spine, the flex of his jaw, the beat of quiet as he lets this revelation settle before prompting her with a single, questioning, "Aye?"

Go on.

Edited (comes back days later to squint at words) 2022-05-20 03:39 (UTC)

Goodness.

Ellis withdraws into his focus so completely that it takes a lot of energy for Adrasteia not to bite her tongue and curse for even having brought it up. She sighs, and shakes her head a little.

"He said he was waiting for you to return with research." She opens her hands and shakes her head. "He had found records that Warden Alistair gave to the Inquisition and wished to ask me questions about them, which..." Well. Adrasteia has never exactly been connected to other Wardens, especially after Adamant, so asking her about things other Wardens know is hit or miss at the best of times. "He was curious about whether or not blood magic is a common practice for us. And we spoke a bit, of the magic he knows from his world."

All this is turned over, considered for a few beats before Ellis finds a rejoinder.

Ellis has returned, but the records he was searching have been shuttled elsewhere. Perhaps he should have chased them down. Perhaps he should have stayed. The things he might have pursued rattle around and around, amplified by all the prickling worry and fear surrounding Richard's curiosities. It all skirts close to anger, which requires a moment of reorientation, so that Ellis' tone is contained, steady when he questions—

"What did you see fit to tell him?" as he uncrosses his arms, braces hands on the wood of the desk.

"I told him he would need to ask Warden Alistair directly for more information," Adrasteia provides this half-truth because of a multitude of reasons, including but limited to Ellis does not tell her things, narrowing her eyes just a little. "What would you have had me say to him?" He knows we are Tainted, she thinks and doesn't say. "He wants to become a Warden."

She opens her hands and shrugs. "Is your hesitation in that regard about him or about us?" Us being the Wardens, not just the two of them.

The measuring look she receives in return does not indicate that Ellis has been convinced by this explanation. Perhaps it would, had he known less of her.

The shrug needles at him. Ellis feels some sharp bite of temper, and waits it out, lets the stir of reaction settle before he speaks again. Not to accuse, though the sentiment catches at the back of his throat.

"No more than what was said to us," is one answer, delivered without inflection.

Perhaps he will work his way towards a second one. Perhaps not.

"'You may yet live but I wouldn't hold my breath?' Is that what I was to tell him? Because that is all I was told." She fights, and loses, the struggle of keeping exasperation out of her tone. "He can read, Ellis, and the man is many things but foolish is not one of them."

She stops, breathes. Adrasteia needs to calm down. "If you wish to be angry, be angry with Alistair for making it part of a record. You did not see fit to tell me of his interest. You don't see fit to tell me now of why you hesitate. I think he would make a good Warden; what other necessity is there but a willingness to die for this cause?"

By contrast, Ellis remains very still.

But the look he gives her telegraphs the answer: yes, that is what should be said. Perhaps not in those words. Joppa was kinder, if only because Joppa did not appraise them of the full scope of their gamble until afterwards. But then, it wouldn't have mattered. He came to this life by a different route than Adrasteia.

And he is quiet, sifting between her rejoinder. Waiting, collecting his own words.

"You did not care to tell me before you collected that bit of shrapnel in your hand."

The distinction doesn't need to be spelled out: to Ellis, revealing it after the thing was done is not the same as offering up advance notice of that particular plan.

It is likely hard to tell whether his silence on other points is simply stubbornness. But it is hard to answer her, without giving away knowledge of Silas that doesn't feel as if it is his to give.

"No." And that was a mistake, perhaps; it has definitely strained things between them in ways she didn't predict and doesn't like. "I believed you would have tried to talk me out of it. Or taken it upon yourself, if I couldn't be convinced. And I didn't want to take that risk."

She sighs. Twists her hands in front of her.

"Do you think he shouldn't be a Warden?" Isn't that what this is about, really?

A minor movement, not a shrug, but dismissive all the same.

There is little point in talking about her decision to acquire the shard. She has it. Nothing can change that now. Adrasteia made her decisions, and Ellis has made his own. He doesn't seek apology, or explanation.

He waits out the muted flutter of temper. Watches Adrasteia's hands. Considers the scope of what her question requires, and decides—

"My opinion matters now?"

An answer posed flatly, a stone dropped from a great height.

The thing Adrasteia thinks, lightning-quick, hurt, possibly unkind, but doesn't say is this:

If it hadn't mattered, he would be a Warden by now, either in fact or in death.

Instead she swallows that impulse. It wouldn't improve... anything about this conversation. Anything about the growing schism between herself and Ellis.

"Were you under the impression that it didn't?"

Trust, Ellis is not unaware of that possibility.

It looms over the question of Richard, of Silas, and renders it almost moot to him.

In fairness, Adrastiea is not the sole bearer of all the growing discontent tightening in his chest. It feels like something has been broken between himself and Silas, though Ellis hasn't fully identified it.

But it's not a fracture deep enough to pry an honest assessment from Ellis.

"If I say no, will that end your consideration of the possibility?" is just as measured as anything else Ellis has ever said. Tone flattened into utter neutrality, an absence of emotion.

"I don't know," she answers honestly. "I would... prefer more of an answer than just no. I would like to know why." Ellis trusted Silas at one point, she thinks; what's changed?

She's not sure it matters. She's suddenly not even certain this conversation matters.

"If we both reject him I have no reason to believe he won't simply find another Warden willing to do the work."

This is something Ellis has considered. There are Wardens outside of Weishauppt Fortress, perhaps even Wardens trustworthy enough to do the work. The strain between Ellis and the outliers of their organization don't dispel all the reasons to be cautious in dealing with them.

"You would bring more people into our ranks, knowing what we can be used for now?"

An issue that exists almost separately from Silas. There had been argument of this before, in the field in Ghislain. It had kept him and Alistair back in the siege in Nevarra, for fear of what might happen. It's only part of his reluctance, but it's a question that must be considered.

And beyond that, Ellis has been forcibly reminded of it all, spent months observing how deep Tevinter has sunk their hooks into the Wardens. Observing the First Warden, installed for a reason, and thinking of what that meant for their Order.

"I would. People with eyes open, aware of the risks. Not as we have been. Closed and secretive and fighting amongst ourselves to what ends? To become puppets, and not to rally against it?"

She opens her hands, closes them. Frowns at nothing. "I believe that to allow the Grey Wardens to whither and die in this war is not an option, or at least neither a safe nor sane one; the possibility of Blight looms ever-present, still. Do I think that we will be able to stop Corypheus?" Adrasteia shakes her head. "Once, perhaps, before..." Before Adamant. Before she stopped believing in the ability of the Grey Wardens to continue as they'd begun.

"But I have to believe there will be something after this war. And I believe that Wardens will have a role in protecting Thedas again."

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heorte - 2022-06-16 05:24 (UTC) - Expand