faderift | Wintermarch Is Always Interesting

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Wintermarch Is Always Interesting

WHO: Samouel Gareth and Anyone
WHAT: Sam celebrates the 16th quietly with a letter from home. Catching up. Work and lessons as usual.
WHEN: (Backdated to) Wintermarch 16 and onward
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES:No warning at the moment. Catch all for some CR with Sam. Birthdays are weird.

After First Day it had taken a few days for Sam to pull himself out of the weird rut he had fallen into, what with a variety of good and bad things to start off the year; seeing James and the others from Ostwick, finding out that the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander had been killed, Krem having gone off on a mission, playing in the snow with others, etc. After that Sam seemed like his old self, falling into his usual routine of various lessons, magical and otherwise, as well as work. Even so it seemed like around the middle of the month his attitude took a dip again, appearing when he wasn't actively doing anything or paying attention.

[Magic Lessons]
Lessons sure have gotten more interesting since getting back from Emprise du Lion. Sam is even more determined to progress his training in spirit healing, and the other schools of magic. Even so he still has fun with it, learning to chill his hand without freezing it for the most part, or letting the younger mages 'teach' him how to do spells.

[Sparring: Magic or Melee]
For Sam being efficient in both his magic and his physical strength together or separate were important, both himself and anyone else who might be with him on missions. What little he had learned before Emprise du Lion had certainly saved him rear, so he makes a habit in shadow sparring about every day. Anyone is welcome to give him some pointers or ~~kiss his butt~~ challenge him to a spar.

[Armory]
Without any orders, Sam has been spending less time in the armory, though he still goes in some evenings to practice. Anyone looking to have something made or just wanting to talk where it's warm are more than welcome to join or meet up with him here.

[Tavern]
Even though he isn't a big drinker Sam has been enjoying certain drinks now and again at the tavern since he isn't needed at the armory as much. For the most part he spends his time chatting to various members of the Chargers, or just sitting in their general area, listening to their stories. Otherwise he can be found a the bar, the bartender giving him a look every time he decides to just drink tea instead of alcohol.

[Baking with Christine]
Christine had mentioned that she was starting to bake. Curious to how things were going and wanting to be of some support, Sam figures it would be a nice gesture to show up. Maybe offer a hand to help her with whatever is she is planning on making.

[Sina: This is how you pot (a plant)]
Well Sam had agreed on First Day that he would help with potting and moving plants with her. Even so he hadn't been expecting to be grabbed after magic lessons by the Dalish and getting his hands dirty. Not that he's complaining, but it was unexpected.

[~~Birthday~~ The 16th]
The day before Sam let everyone know that he was planning on taking this day off, that nothing was wrong, but just needed a little time. For the most part Sam takes the chance to sleep in, wasting as much of the morning while he can, and coming out once lunch was being served. It's during his meal that he receives a letter that he tears into with a bit of urgency. Halfway through a small smile spreads across his face, though just as sad as it seems happy. The rest of the day he can be found sitting around watching other in the training ring, taking a walk along the battlements or in the tavern drinking, checking out his letter every so often.

[Wildcard]
Pick your own adventure.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Christine studies his face and swallows back anything she might say without thinking. Like how will you survive? Where would you go that they won't find you? She turns away and bites the inside of her cheek. When the rebels fled from the Templars, they were in a big group and some people had the clarity of mind to figure out ways to keep them alive. But the Circle is a system that makes mages dependent upon it. Christine feels helpless without supplies being given to her. Yes, she's learning to cook, but she doesn't have to find out where and how to get grain to grind into flour. There is so much she doesn't know how to do on her own.

"I would worry for you," she murmurs finally. "Even though you have skills... you could hide what you are and be a blacksmith. You would do well. But still, I would worry."

There's an odd silence between them with Christine looking at him, and Sam purposely keeping his eyes on the apple as he slices. It's a difficult subject, talking about the future and where they might be when it happens. Him saying he won't go back is as tough saying as Christine saying she won't fight it and return.

"And I'll worry about you. Behind stone walls, and locked away from the world." He looks up then and gives small sigh. "There's just a bit too much out here that I can't give up if they decide to do that. I won't give them up."

"I'm not sure--" She hesitates, but then forces herself to press on. "I do not wish to return, but I'm not sure I can go through all this again. The running, going hungry, seeing others turn violent." Even at Redcliffe, there were some mages who had had enough, and suddenly there was talk of rebel mages torching houses, stealing food, and holing up in the Witchwood.

"I was lucky once. But I'm not sure I will be again. For now, I have protection, but I can't talk of someday." She can't talk of having a family of her own; not the way the world is now.

There's silence again as Sam considers Christine's words, the press of knife into apple somewhat deafening in his ears because of it. He hadn't been one of the mages that needed to run and hide, and he can't imagine what that must have been like. Even in the future he might not fully know what it's like since he's been learning, and wouldn't be keeping himself strictly to a group of mages.

"If someday does happen... and at that time you don't want to go back, I'll be sure to help." Stopping in his slicing again, he gives a small smile. This hadn't been where he wanted the conversation to go, but it was important to consider.

Having his support didn't occur to her at all, and she glances over at him, spotting his smile.

"I would... I would be most grateful for that, Sam." It's all she can think to say, but this means more to her than simple words. She didn't expect anything like real friendship with him because she always focuses or work and studies. But that's what they have, isn't it? Why is she rolling out this crust and making him a pie for him birthday? It's because they're friends.

She ducks her head a little to try to hide the prickling tears coming to her eyes as she continues to spread out the crust until it's a good size and she's forced back any strong emotions from showing.

Even if they aren't the closest of friends, Sam certainly considers the two of them to be such. Taking lessons together, discussions on their spells and work, spending time together in general, and now baking together - just not anyone baked you a pie for your birthday after all. Course there was the typical Orlesian versus Ferelden squabbles from time to time, but they were mostly amusing than anything.

He's glad to hear that Christine will consider his offer when the time comes, but right now... he hadn't meant to make her upset. Least of all he wanted to make her cry, though it seemed she was doing a valiant job of not letting herself do that.

With a sigh, Sam looks at the items on the table before his eyes fall on something in particular. After a few moments, when Christine has lifted her head he reaches over and runs a finger across her nose, leaving behind a strip of flour. "You know for someone who cooks you don't have nearly enough flour or stuff on you."

If there's ever a way to draw her from her sad mood, it's to make Christine dirty. Flour can hardly be called dirty, and yet she acts with such righteous indignation that it may as well be.

"Sam!" She jerks away from him, wiping at her nose like a cat who gets water flicked in its face. "You are such a child! I am a neat cook!"

Well seeing her like this was a whole lot better than seeing her on the verge of tears, even if it meant having Christine glaring at him for having the audacity of getting her dirty.

He must be in trouble if she was saying his name like that, but even so Sam cannot help but break into a wide grin. More so because Christine has only managed to wipe more flour on her nose because of rolling out the dough. "What's the fun in that? Nothing wrong with getting a little dirty," he teases, chuckling at being called a child despite he was turning twenty seven.

If anyone can handle Christine's glares with humor and a positive attitude, it's Sam. Because she's hardly ever really angry to begin with. She's simply annoyed.

"Hmmph," she hums, looking very put out. "Dirty is hardly fun. It is something that wastes time because then you must wash it all off to be clean again." This is supreme logic at work here. She rubs a knuckle against the side of her nose.

"Did I get it all?"

He could say 'yes' when she asks, but Christine would probably figure it out eventually, especially when she went to wash up, and at that time he'd probably have a more put off Orlesian on his case at that time. "I think you managed to get more on your face."

Going back to slicing the apples, slipping a few into his mouth from time to time, he grins, watching as her annoyance pulls her further and further from the previous subject.

She lets out an annoyed breath and dutifully wipes off both hands on her apron before attempting to clean the side of her nose again. She shoots him a look and turns back to her work, a smile creeping onto her face as she does. Sam is a ridiculous person. Such a child. Utterly insufferable. A dog lord.

And a good friend, but that's besides the point.

Taking a knife, she carefully cuts strips out of her dough for the lattice-work design, letting Sam sneak apple slices into his mouth. She'd prefer if he left it all for the pie, but he is the birthday boy.

"Nearly done?" she asks, once her own cutting is done. "We need to add the spices to the bowl, stir it up, and then the apples can go in the pie shell."

It's only a few slices, not enough to ruin the pie. Just enough to curb his stomach from thinking about the pie while it came together.

"Mm," he hums lightly in confirmation, cutting the last slices into the bowl. "How much of each spice do we need?" Even though he asks, Sam leans closer to get a better look at the book, tilting his head a bit as he mutters the measurements to himself. "I guess all that sugar makes sense..."

Even after reading the book it takes a couple more times of him looking at the book to get the correct measurements, and asking Christine each time if he was doing it right. "How does this look?" he finally asks, tipping the bowl for her to look at the mixed apple slices and spice.

Christine points to each spice for him, even though he can see for himself. Then she confirms each measurement with a nod of her head and a simple "Yes," until he's finished. She glances into the book, looking thoughtful.

"I have never seen an apple pie be made before, but everything appears to be equally coated, so it must be right. Here we are." She pulls the pie pan closer. "Into the shell." And she will get the lattice-work ready after he pours it all in.

"I always watched when my aunt made them, but I never really paid attention. Just kind of... stared. You know?" All of this seemed familiar, but it had been so long ago. It was kind of fun honestly.

Picking up the bowl and tilting it, Sam starts to pour the apples into the shell, using the spoon once in a while to make sure it didn't get all over the place. "Alright. Guess it's your turn."

"I cannot remember my mother's cooking," she says, starting to weave the dough strips together. "I think I know what the kitchen looked like, and I remember someone helping... a servant perhaps? My mother was often ill so that would make sense. But I cannot remember more than that." Christine shrugs. She can't recapture the past, but that's not a bad thing. Maybe writing her parents a letter will lead to something good moving forward.

Once she finishes and has trimmed the edges, she sets her hands on her hips and smiles.

"I like it. Now we just put it in the oven. The coals were already raked out so we can just put it in. The cook baked bread not an hour ago, so I believe it should still be hot."

The lattice top to the pie is certainly pretty, and rather different. It made sense that Christine would like it, especially since she was the one to make it.

"Alright." Opening the door to the oven first, Sam then slides the pie across the brick into the middle of the embers, shaking his hand slightly at how warm it had been just being there for a moment. "How long do you suppose it'll take to cook?"

She does like pretty things. There is no denying that. Pretty and feminine: that describes Christine's style perfectly.

"Hmm, let me check." She scans the recipe until she comes to the end. "About forty minutes. Well, that should give us time to clean up and enjoy a cup of tea, won't it?"

He gives an exaggerated huff at hearing they have to clean even though he's already grabbing the spices and heading towards where Christine had gotten them from. "What kind of tea should we have?" he calls over his shoulder.

"Something for the afternoon," she replies, wiping up the flour mess. A tea that can be enjoyed with biscuits would be best, but first she needs to leave the kitchen as she found it.

"You are the birthday boy, so you may decide."

"The 'birthday boy' asked 'you' what you wanted to have," he calls back. "And what kind of tea is good for the afternoon? I can literally drink the same stuff all day long."

Christine rolls her eyes, but she's smiling too. All right, she'll pick. She roots around for boxes of tea leaves, giving several a sniff and shaking the leaves around to see what's in it.

"Something lighter than morning tea," she muses. "Perhaps an herbal tea? How do you feel about mint?"

"Can't say I've drank a lot of mint tea to tell you how I feel about it, but herbal mint sounds good for while we're waiting." Coming back Sam looks at Christine expectantly, not quite sure where anything is. "Kettle and mugs?"

"Ah, over here." She walks around the kitchen like it's her very own now, setting everything out before handing him the kettle.

"Make yourself useful and fetch some water from the well, hmm?"

'Make yourself useful'. Being handed the kettle, Sam raises his brows, a small grin pulling at his lips though he's trying to look offended. "Bossy aren't we?"

Even though he says that Sam still gives a bit of a bow before wandering off to go fill the kettle. He doesn't take long to do it, but he certainly takes longer than needed, whistling a bit when he returns.

"Better that someone be than no one," she replies, smirking a little. While he's gone, she continues the clean up until the kitchen is actually in more order than how the last cook left it. Christine has managed to resist reorganized all the shelves, but only because no cooks are there for her to point out the changes to, and she knows she'd throw a fit if she returned to the healer's tent and found her system in disarray.

"Good. Just hang it over the fire there."

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