[open & closed] and when that day comes

[thereneverwas]

WHO: Barrow & friends
WHAT: ye olde lyrium detox in its various stages
WHEN: vaguely Wintermarch
WHERE: the infirmary
NOTES: I'll be adding a few starters at a time since I want later developments to feel organic and make sense. please feel free to request something if you don't see it here!

Comments

[bouchonne]

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."

[thereneverwas]

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.

[bouchonne]

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."

[thereneverwas]

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."

[bouchonne]

"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."

[thereneverwas]

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."

[bouchonne]

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.)

[thereneverwas]

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.

[bouchonne]

"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?"

[thereneverwas]

"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.