faderift | [open & closed] and when that day comes

Byerly, for all his softness and indolence and general lack of skill at riding, was a good choice to navigate the Fereldan backwoods. When he wants to, he can sound like anyone else. Not a local to Crestwood, and not a common soldier, but he can soften his drawl enough that he can be mistaken for a petty officer of some sort. And he's picked up scars enough by this point to look the part.

But he doesn't feign with this woman. Even though it would likely smooth the way to pretend at commoner status, it feels like the wrong thing to do.

"You're Prudence?" He swings down from the saddle without waiting for her to confirm, grimacing lightly at his stiffness. There's two horses with him - the mare he rode in on, and another fitted with tack for a second rider. "Obeisance is in a bad way. I'm here to take you to him, if you'll come."

She's already gone a touch paler when he says her name, and lowers her hands from the chemise she's hung to dry them on her apron. She nods silently, in the manner of one too tense to speak-- the little one stands and hugs around her leg, and she bends to pick them up with a tight squeeze.

"I'll come," she says finally to Byerly, bringing the child and murmuring something to the oldest girl, who extends her arms to hold them.
"Tell your da," comes the command to her other daughter, who takes off running, "I'll be back when I can."

With the way things set into motion, there has clearly been some preparation involved; perhaps they knew about the undertaking, and have been awaiting the worst.
"Got to grab a few things," Prudence says, clipped, over her shoulder to Byerly as she moves toward the house. There's a sack inside the door, already packed, waiting for her.

The children from the well have come around the side of the house to gawk, staring at Byerly and the horses and whispering.

"Of course." It stirs feelings in him - uncomfortable, uneasy - to watch her lack of surprise. Does Nadine have a pack like that, tucked away? Ready to take up if she gets news of him? Nauseous thought.

He looks over to the children. It wouldn't be right to perform for the sister - but the kids deserve something to make this all seem a bit less grim and terrifying. He smiles at them and half hunches over to get closer to their height.

"Ho there, moppets," he greets. "How's about two of you go fetch pails of water for these war-steeds? They rode hard and nobly."

One of the kids smiles a little, and the quirk of his mouth resembles his uncle's as much as his mother's-- the other hastens to obey, going back for the bucket and hauling it over to the first, who assists.

"Are you from Riftwatch?" the first one asks, eyes shining with curiosity.

Byerly feigns shock. "How were you able to tell?" And then, theatrically, he turns his gaze downward to take in his own uniform. "Ohh, I see. Very clever."

Then he lifts his eyebrows and smiles. "I am from Riftwatch. I know your uncle there. He's a very brave man."

Well. He's a somewhat brave man. But one did not speak ill of the ailing.

It's enough to make the little boy laugh, the other one bashfully joining along as they look between each other and back to Byerly.

"I'm going to join Riftwatch," says the more cheerful of the two, at the same time the other asks, "is he going to die?"

Prudence comes out of the house just in time to meet her husband at the door, and they embrace tightly-- he isn't going to get in her way.

Thank the Maker that Prudence’s reappearance keeps him from having to respond to either child.

“Just need a few moments to tend to the horses,” he says to her. “Are you accustomed to riding?”

"It's been some time," Prudence answers, turning from her husband, "but I can do it. Take what you need for them."
The two boys run to her, talking simultaneously, and she stills them gently with a hand each to the tops of their heads. The girl with the smallest child comes around the corner of the house, and the one who ran to get their father pops her head out the front door, and three more wander uncertainly out from the barn.

The little one runs to her again, and she picks him up with a tight hug and a kiss to the cheek. "You're to mind your father and Hattie," she says with a brusque tenderness, "all of you."

"Bring me back a sword?" pipes up the Riftwatcher-to-be, who's shushed by one of his sisters.

Dear Maker. The children just keep...appearing. Byerly dearly hopes that some of these are the neighbors' children, or adopted, for the sake of this poor woman and her poor body.

Once the horses are ready, Byerly half bends over and interlaces his hands in a reasonably recognizable offer: do you need a boost into the saddle?

The child is set down, and a last glance at her family signals Prudence's imminent departure. She accepts the boost and, with a little difficulty, makes it up into the saddle-- it has been a while, and it takes her a moment to adjust herself comfortably before she looks to Byerly with a nod.

The younger children follow them down the path to the gate, and a closer look at Prudence's smile betrays that she is stalwartly preventing her face from crumpling with tears; this may be the first time she's ever been away from them. Away from home at all.

Byerly kicks his horse into a walk. He pointedly does not look at Prudence's face. While many of his countrymen - and countrywomen - are broadly, wildly emotional, others (especially in the North) feel that open displays of grief are shameful. He doesn't yet have the measure of Prudence, but he certainly doesn't want to risk causing her discomfort if she's of the latter sort.

Instead, he simply says, "If you have questions, I can answer them. Or we can ride in silence. As you prefer."

For a moment it almost seems as though Prudence didn't hear him; she's quieter than her brother, but stoic in a similar way, her face stony as she takes the measure of the situation.

"How bad?" she finally asks, risking a furtive glance to Byerly.

It would be a pleasant thing to be able to provide some measure of comfort. But it would also be cowardly. It would only spare him; for her, it would just delay it, and likely cause all the more misery for that delay.

"Death is a possibility. But it is far from a foregone conclusion. We have excellent physicians working to support him."

She nods, stares stiffly forward, internalizes her reaction. Someone with this much life to hold together doesn't crumble easily.

It's only after a prolonged silence that Prudence speaks up again, apologetic: "I realize I never asked your name."

"Ah - My apologies. It was rude of me not to offer it. Byerly Rutyer." He offers a nod in lieu of the elegant bow he'd make were they standing. "Of Dragonmount."

Prudence nods back, only moments later catching the true meaning of what he's said. Rutyer, Dragonmount.

"You're--" she breathes, going a little pale, "apologies, my lord."

Maker. That's right. He's been in the north so long he's practically forgotten that there are places where his name actually holds some weight.

"Second son of a second son of a second son." That's hardly true, but easier to frame it that way than to explain the convoluted inheritances of the sprawling Rutyer clan. "No sort of lord."

(But of course there are other reasons why a person might go pale and breathless upon learning they were sharing company with a Rutyer. His family had produced more thrill killers and sadists than could be found at a full meeting of the Tevinter Imperial Senate. But he doesn't know how to address that fear without making a joke of it, and it doesn't not feel like a good time for a joke.)

Prudence, at least, is from a provincial enough community that she's unlikely to know all the nuance of a noble family that don't affect her directly: Rutyer from Dragonmount is enough to ring a bell, to tell her she's in the presence of someone important. It's for this reason that she's reassured by his answer, and manages to relax slightly, but only slightly.

"What brought you to work with Riftwatch?" she asks, out of genuine curiosity and an additional need to fill silence.

"Service to Queen Anora." He offers a slight smile to Prudence. "I went to observe what Riftwatch was doing and report back to her, to ensure we wouldn't be caught off-guard by any developments in the North."

I was spying is such a dreadfully ugly way to put it.

"Has the war touched you here at all?"

"Some."

Prudence isn't a fool, she knows what a spy does. He might be spying now, but the shape of her dismay looms too large for her to care: Riftwatch already knows where Obeisance is from, there's nothing else to learn anyway.

"The Inquisition came through some years back. Drained the lake." It's difficult to mark how she feels, or felt, about this, stating it as an objective fact.

[open & closed] and when that day comes

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