faderift | and i still find pieces of you in the back of my mind

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and i still find pieces of you in the back of my mind

WHO: Sabriel and semi-open.
WHAT: Sabriel goes about her business. Probably feelings. Probably talking.
WHEN: Latter Wintermarch, after she returns from Warden training with Felix and Kaidan.
WHERE: Skyhold.
NOTES: Catch-all, starters below for interested parties. If you'd like to do something, PM me or see this plurk right here and we can figure something out!

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Sabriel hadn't seen him today, nor yesterday, nor the day before that. Or, understandably, the two weeks in Haven. It wasn't like she was keeping tabs, because they all went about as they pleased within Skyhold, but she was concerned, given that she checked in with the rest of her runaway Order fairly regularly. The last time she had seen him he'd been distant, preoccupied, and it was easy enough to guess what by - what was happening out in the west.

The west that the Inquisition had opted not to march toward, despite the scouting operation that had been sent there, and the information that had been sent back. She could understand his likely line of thought - they knew where the Wardens were, they knew there was something amiss, and the longer it took the worse it would become, but still, they were only five (six, with Felix) and the reason they had come here was for help, and that hadn't changed.

She wasn't going to let him wallow, wherever he was.

And so she sets off from the kitchens with some bread and cheese (it could be a bribe, and you never know, it could lure him) and checks out all the usual haunts. You're not getting away from her this morning, Alistair.

Edited 2016-01-19 19:30 (UTC)

Tiny cakes from Orlais had arrived in the Skyhold kitchens and Sabriel was the first to know about them; sometimes it paid off to be a regular kitchen dweller. She was also the first to make off with a handful, and she had one destination in mind - tea with Ellana.

She had been meaning to speak with Ellana anyway. She was fond of Ellana, enjoyed answering her questions, and found a comeraderie in the Council's debates and the attempts to soothe tempers that often flared which led to them both trying to get everyone to meet halfway. Sabriel had spent so long with the same people, both in the Circle and out of it with the Wardens, that to have a friend that belonged to neither? It was exciting and new, but also enjoyable, a type of kinship she hadn't felt for a long time. Especially when tiny cakes were involved - spirits only knew that Skyhold lived and breathed Ferelden easy cooking and anything that wasn't a stew was a blessing.

Sabriel heads up to the garden, leaving a brief message with her sending crystal on the way to invite Ellana to tea, and then settles in to wait.

Sabriel had thought about asking in Haven... but with Felix there, it hadn't felt right. It was something she'd been shielded from until now, almost a year after her own Joining, and to bring up such a detail from his? Insensitive. And he was better off not knowing, not now, when he was on the path to getting better. Best to let him adjust to the voices in his head and not to worry about his not-quite Cure and what else Warden mages did in the shadows.

The guilt twinged, a little. Here she was, keeping secrets from her own as they had been kept from her. But equally as much? There was no good to be fond in the knowledge she sought.

But they were not in Haven anymore, but back in Skyhold, and the urge to ask returned.

It's not hard to seek Kaidan out. The harder part is asking, as she wrings her hands. There's still time to back out, to ask about something else, but she wants to know. Needs to know.

"Kaidan," she says, after a good minute of silence. "Can I ask you about something? A Warden something."

Wherever there are tiny cakes, Ellana will be there in the hopes of getting to eat them. She's quick to enter the gardens, arriving only a couple of minutes after Sabriel contacted her. She takes a seat with a smile, and tries not to look too desperate for the treats they're having with tea.

"It's good to see you. I hope you weren't freezing in Haven."

It was the kind of late where the lute players had stopped playing and the tavern had emptied out save for its most dutiful of regulars. Even they would be gone before the dawn, and it was likely that Sabriel was one of the few souls left awake in Skyhold. But, she did know where she could find another.

She passes through the kitchens first, takes what's leftover and likely to go stale not long past the morning, then shuffles out again, the small bottled fire tied to her waist that she uses for warmth glowing dimly beneath the hall and the rooms beside it. The library's easy enough to get to, but she goes quietly, almost expertly, with food in tow. Up the stairs and round the rotunda in the shadows.

Ah, there he is.

It's mid afternoon when she goes in search of Scipio, because she has something to tell him.

Not that. Something much more exciting - the 'magic boots' which she and the tranquil have been labouring over? They've finally got them right. No explosions, no ashes, no burns or itches - just one pair of rich brown leather boots from the quartermaster with a few spells placed upon them. She has the finished article tucked under her arm as she strides about the fortress with a dogged purpose, because she can't just send him a message. No, he needs to see this in person. She has to surprise him. There's a lot of different ways he could respond, but if it were anything like those first few days here and the enthusiasm in which he met the idea...

... alright, so, that makes her a little giddy. Light-headed? Maybe it is a little self-serving to see his surprise, but she isn't thinking about that, really. She's thinking about-

"Scipio!" she spots him, at last, weaving through the crowds of nobles and courtiers and who knows what else as she runs down the stairs to the hall's entrance. "Scipio, wait!" She calls his name again, not stopping until his attention is caught, not slowing down even if it is. The boots? Hidden behind her back. This is a surprise, after all, even if her smile indicates there is something happening.

He knew she had questions. Who wouldn't? Every Warden who had seen what was needed to be done had questions. He was more impressed that she waited so long to ask him.

There were few places that Kaidan tended to gravitate towards. Today he happened to be in a corner of the Great Hall, away from the general throng. Far enough away that you could actually hear yourself think. "Of course," he said, dismissing her worries as much as he could. "To be honest, I guess there is a lot that you would like to ask."

Scipio has been feeling a little more persecuted as of late.

Perhaps not persecuted. He knows the word, in Antivan. Something more like hunted, but with a passivity. Sought after doesn't quite get at it either. No one is seeking him in particular. A handful of times has seen him thoughtfully supposing, in these days following the Joining, that he ought to explain to Alistair a bit more about the Hallway Incident that had left the door so woefully unguarded. No one would have broken in. They would not need to. It is so, after all, that a mage might turn a man to eel from behind a door, without having to see him, and Scipio does not think this with any particular venom or hatred. It is a thought more colored by awe and fear.

But no: Alistair does not seek him, nor do any mages. Women and men at the tavern seek him; that is of little surprise or change. Drinking, singing, joking, stumbling back to the room with Rafael: these are all good distractions, yet the feeling persists. Truly what he is feeling is a kind of guilt, but he scarcely knows what to call it. Indigestion? Sixth Sense? Persecution? Has he left a candle burning somewhere, and will the whole of Skyhold fall into flames?

So Sabriel must forgive him, when he turns around with guilt at the sound of his name. It will be easy to forgive, since he looks so very pathetic in his guilt, and anyways, it all falls from him when he realizes just who is doing the calling.

"Sabriel!" A cheerful greeting. She holds him in no persecution. He is glad to see her in addition to that, of course, and in addition to the smile that she wears. "I do as you command, bella."

That is, he waits. Patiently, though his interest ticks up as that guilt-persecution ticks down. "To what do I owe this pleasure, and this smile, that lights your face so prettily?"

Edited (oops adds a few words) 2016-01-20 20:42 (UTC)

"I'm not here to twist your arm for information."

--is at least not a completely discouraging way to begin the conversation, especially if the silly Antivan boy has complained loudly or at all about Dorian's behaviour some weeks ago. This greeting that is only barely a greeting is delivered in the same moment his shadow falls across Sabriel's book, approaching and halting between her and the thick-glassed window. The library is a stomping ground they have in common, but very often miss one another, with Sabriel's early rising and Dorian's more luxurious sleeping in.

But here they are, and here Dorian is. Felix is returned from his camping trip adventure and so it stands to reason, so too is the case for the rest of the Wardens. Dorian is not completely sure what to make of them, which is clear, a little, in the way he regards Sabriel now.

"But I suppose someone ought to be thanking you."

Someone who isn't an adorable forest elf, maybe.

"And you as well," Sabriel says in return. She nods towards the cakes - go on, she won't tell. "Having a talent for fire magic has its benefits in surprising ways." Lighting fires. Bottled fire. Magic boots. "And being used to Skyhold helps. I miss the warmer weather of Nevarra, though. When do you suppose we'll see spring?"

Tomorrow sounds too soon but the day after, now there's a possibility.

"Yes," Sabriel says hurriedly, the word tumbling out in relief rather than enthusiasm. She didn't expect to be denied, but it's not a topic she'd like someone else to broach. "Yes. After the - magic -" blood magic, she doesn't say, "-used in the Joining, I've- wondered. My father told me little of what mages do, and I've had no reason to suspect there was more, but- there is, isn't there? More secrets that only mages know?" Which is why she isn't asking Alistair. "Things only we can do?"

She notes the guilt in his face, places it easily enough. Sabriel doesn't blame him for the door incident. If this were months ago she might have, convinced he could do better, but there are a few merits to the tunnel vision of someone enamoured with another. Not that she's unrealistic; she's quite certain there was an attempt at guarding the door, and it was something of a fool's errand anyway, given Scipio was not a mage and not determined to see a bed ridden, slowly dying friend, whose last hours she had personally claimed and the Wardens had bargained with. It was understandable. Despite the moment of marked surprise, they had seen nothing of the Joining or the aftermath, knew nothing more. Not that letting them in was the plan, but he did guard the door. Mostly.

But the guilt slides, and then he is smiling, and that is much better, because that suits him best. Also the compliments, which, on any other day, might make her flush and look away, because does she know how to take them or how to reply beyond a Circle mage with a crush? No. But today, she is bolder, only smiling wider. Oh, the blush is there, because it's Scipio, and he does that to her; one day it will click. Perhaps she'll be brazen. Still, there is no time for embarrassment as she stops and rearranges herself, clears her throat.

"I have something for you," she replies. "A gift." She allows that to settle. "Would you close your eyes?"

Theatrics - something he might appreciate.

Of all those that had been forcefully gathered outside Felix's room, the one Sabriel was most wary of was Dorian.

It wasn't that he scared her, or anything, or she feared what he would do to her specifically; Alistair had been the target of ire that she should have taken, given it was her idea. Her and Adelaide had spoken at the council, and she felt she had her respect, and she and Ellana were fast on the way to friendship. But Dorian? The anomaly.

Also the one she felt the most guilt over given what could have been. She had taken what could have been all the time Dorian had left. No one had the right to take that, but she had. It had saved Felix (as much as Warden life was saving) in the end, but the cost had been more secrets, secrets she was not prepared to reveal no matter which way things had gone. Dorian had more time with Felix, thanks to her; but it could just have much been none at all.

She doesn't flinch, exactly, when his shadow falls over her, but she does freeze. She knows him from council meetings, knows how strong his convictions are. That's a trait she shares. Her eyes lift and she watches him, warily, uncertain as to what he'll say if he's not about to metaphorically (or literally) twist her arm.

She's not quite expecting thanks.

"Ellana has, already," she says, guard lowering a little to a wary half-smile. Thoughts aligned. "But you're welcome, Dorian. If I was able to say, I would."

The library is quiet. He likes it this way. He likes when there are more people about as well. More people to mill about with and discuss research with and just talk to. But when it's very late, and Skyhold falls asleep, and it's still and dark between the torchlight, he thinks he likes it best.

He's got a ratty book of poetry under the light of a candle, his lips moving soundlessly as he works out each line in his head. His concentration breaks as soon as he realizes he's not alone and he looks up, sheepish, and grins at Sabriel.

"Good evening." He speaks softly. "Is that food?"

Oh, if Sabriel insists. Ellana quickly takes a cake and puts the whole thing in her mouth. They're so small that no one would just take a bite, right?

"I understand that! I was hearthmistress of my clan before coming here." Which wasn't as impressive as the title suggests. She simply gathered wood and lit the fires, then made sure they stayed lit. Hardly an arduous task.

"It's hard to say, especially up here in the mountains. I've never lived so high up before. Perhaps it will be later than it is everywhere else in the south."

A gift? Any lingering touch of guilt drops completely away at those words, fractured by the grin that breaks across Scipio's face. The bitter might call this greed, but the bitter would only be calling it so in order to conceal jealousy. Gifts are always welcome, of course, but a gift from Sabriel?

"As you command," he says again, and closes his eyes as bidden. Still grinning, even with his eyes closed. "Ah, do I give you my hands, too, or does this gift need no hands?"

Just in case, he works his arms out from beneath his two heavy cloaks and offers his hands to her. His gloves make them bulky, and moving aside his cloaks lets in the cold air, but whatever gift this might be will be worth a moment's discomfort.

Kaidan took a long drink from the mug he had in front of him - only water, but it helped him to focus a little. "Your father was probably being wise in keeping it from you," Kaidan pointed out. "You can't blame him for wanting to protect you as long as possible. Yes, there are other secrets that only mages know. It's... well, there's no point in telling the warriors and rogues. They'd only worry about it, or try to protect us. But we have certain duties around Thedas that only mages can carry out. It's not easy to stomach the kinds of magic we have to use -" again, blood magic hangs in the air between them, "-but if we want to protect Thedas, to allow everyone else to live, it's what we have to do."

Kaidan knew a fair amount of it, but not all of what mages did. He was also learning as he went along. "We're also going to have to figure out if we tell our newest recruit."

The thanking thing pains him, and yet he's clearly decided as to its necessity. His looming relaxes a little, finding a comfortable angle to lean and fold his arms slackly, subconscious effort to allow her guard to continue its way down. Not for any malicious purpose so much as he isn't here to intimidate anyone.

"Yes, yes," he says, with a sigh and a flick of his hand, "secret knowledge and oaths and all that. If it was commonly known how to cure a man of the Blight, why, we'd all be doing it. And we couldn't have that."

Alright, that's a little sharply critical, but it doesn't seem directed at Sabriel, and begins and ends with his caustic brand of sarcasm only.

"I've been watching him decline for a very long while now. I'd devoted years of my life to finding a means to cure him. And then one day, long after you've accepted the fact it can't be done, a door closes in your face, and poof, he's hale and whole again. I was never going to accept that easily, but--" Dorian forces his tone gentler. "--seeing him well again, well, I never thought I would. And I understand it was your idea."

The Courts of Orlais would be stunned at such daring behaviour, but fortunately, this isn't Orlais, and Sabriel is a Warden, she's chowed down on occasion. She can't talk.

"Hearthmistress," Sabriel echoes. "Is there a story behind that?" Possibly, possibly not, but she is interested. She's aware of Keepers, Firsts, and possibly a Second in a clan, but Hearthmistress is new... or, yes, it could just be as it sounds.

"As there was snow already in fall, then it's likely that's true. Perhaps the snow remains all year round..." She shivers lightly at the thought. She is not built for snow and the cold, as little as she complains about it... even if the garden around them survives, but she's sure that's not entirely the gardens doing. There must be magic involved, there.

Near the kitchens, but not quite in the kitchens: the stables were a perfect spot for a (hungry) Warden who was conscious about getting under the chef's feet. That's where Sabriel is right now, incidentally, sat on an overturned log and trying to, y'know, act casual and eavesdrop as to what was going on when the door opened because several layers of thick stone and you got nothing. Soon lunch would be ready and strolling into the kitchen would not be a crime.

Or that was the plan because, suddenly!!, there's a dog in her lap.

She has no idea what's happening or whose dog this is or where it came from.

Help.

Edited (i missed words) 2016-01-25 23:01 (UTC)

Sabriel half-smiles before he looks up, which spreads to a full one when he does. When everyone else is gone, she can count that Salvatore will be here.

"It's likely closer to morning, now," she says, with a quieter smile. She arranges her arms and the contents she carries, holding out what she's got for him to see. It's mainly fruit, bread, what won't last. "It is. Nothing fancy or special, but..." She glances down at her hands and then to him, making an indication to take what he wants. An offering.

The question results in Ellana scrunching up her nose and shaking her head.

"There is Sylaise, the hearthkeeper in our tales of the Creators, but I never did anything really important. Just gathered wood and lit fires." She lets out a sigh. "Anyone can do that, and someone else does do that now that I'm not there. It's just a pretty name for it, I guess."

Sabriel's shiver makes Ellana want to laugh, but she does sympathize. Her little elven body does not like the cold at all. Sure, she'll suffer through it like anyone else, but it's not comfortable by any means.

"I hope that's not the case. Snow is only fun to be in for a little while, before it becomes too much."

Sabriel has no doubt that it was Tercial's wish to protect her; she's old enough to understand why. But that hasn't stopped a little part of her from sinking, from thinking that the tales he chose were particular. The best of what the Wardens could be. That was certainly his wish for her, but, if he had perhaps told her, she could've...

She stalled that thought before it could really form. It would do no real good to wonder what ifs. Everyone and everything had a time to die.

"Not telling the warriors or rogues is wise, but I- I don't know, Kaiden. I rallied so hard against Clarel and what she chose for us-" the blood magic, the possessions, she doesn't need to say, "-and we- I thought we didn't partake in that kind of magic. At all."

Imagine a painting hung straight, then tilted ever so slightly on its axis. That is how she feels, right now; her view of things ever so slightly changed.

"If he has to know..." she hesitates. Felix is a Warden, and they all knew they could not coddle him. Until he gets a chance to be back to how he was, the way things were, to rediscover his life; that's what she wants to say. But she can't. "... then not until he is well. Or there is no other choice."

Sabriel does need his hands, as it happens, but the smile in response is missed, obviously. Instead, she reaches out with one hand and rests it gently beneath his offered ones, touch light and nearly non-existent. It's not intended as anything more than a support. But that doesn't stop her fingers sliding over knuckles as she steadies them. Almost holding, almost - that's what it would look like to any onlooker.

It distracts for her a microsecond or less, because the boots, the boots are more important. She retrieves them from behind her back, and then, places them in his hands. Like this there's no warmth. These could just be a pair of boots. But close enough, as he is, the enchantments are murky on the surface, almost invisible, but there.

"Alright. Open them."

That interest fades to a sympathetic frown, instead. She can't say she understands it and nor would she say so, because that's insulting when she has no real idea, but she does understand the idea of something repetative, something you have to do because you're there and not of your choice. She, personally, is just fortunate she did not mind either path chosen for her.

No. She walks it. She doesn't have to.

"I wonder if it'll clump up inside the walls," Sabriel's voice is glum as she picks up a cake of her own. "I find it hard to sleep anywhere, but most of the better places have been claimed by bedrolls already. More of inside the courtyard and the rooms that haven't been fixed will drive more people inside."

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and i still find pieces of you in the back of my mind

Alistair

Ellana

Kaidan

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Salvatore

Scipio

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doRIAn.

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Benevenuta

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