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WHO: Samouel and Anyone
WHAT: Doing odd jobs around Skyhold, and everyday life stuff.
WHEN: Anytime during the first two weeks
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Anything and everything can happen. Prose or brackets welcomed

There was always something to be done around Skyhold, which was perfect because without having any missions to go on, Sam would have probably slowly gone insane. As it were Sam threw himself more into his practices.

On most days Sam busied himself with dedicating his time to his magic. Mornings often found him in the library picking out a book and later taking it to the dining hall to read as he ate his food, or finding a secluded spot in what was being turned into a garden. Always to himself, invested in the pages, and trying to be out of the way of everyone.

Afternoons he took to actually practicing his magic. A good part of the time he would offer any aid he was capable of doing down at the tents where they cared for the injured and sick. He wasn't nearly as skilled as the more practiced healers who had trained most of their lives in the Circle, but he made up for it with determination. Or if he seemed to just be in the way, Sam found himself testing out spells on the practice dummies behind the Herald's Rest.

The other days that Sam didn't dedicate to magic, he dedicated to manual labor and honing the skills his father taught him. It was also a way to make a few coins here and there. While he did spend some amount of time helping with the stables, Sam primary kept himself to the forges housed behind the tavern. It was hot, rough work, but it didn't both him in the least. It reminded him of things before the Conclave, or even the Blight. Didn't hurt that it was warm and he got a fair workout in the process.

Evenings Sam always found himself at the Herald's Rest. He never drank, except maybe once in a while when Cabot pressed that he try the new "special" of the day or a friendly suggestion by another was made. For the most part he simply just spent time in the tavern because there wasn't anywhere else to go. Especially on those nights that sleep either would not come to him or he just didn't want to face his dreams.

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"I think metal would be more fearsome and striking, yes?" It would take more time- but it would be well worth the wait. Something that spoke of who and what he was- he'd need a new cloak to go with it but that he could manage elsewhere.

"Take your time. I will find a way to keep busy about the hold until it is finished."

Wait. Metal feathers? Shit, what had he just gotten himself into? Sam sighs. He had to ask. "Is there going to be a certain way I can get a hold of you?"

"You see now why I wanted a stop gap until Herren saw fit to give Wade my letters rather than something custom. Do not worry about it." He can be particular when given cause, armor is sufficient cause. "If you have need of me I am in the tavern almost every night- doing what I can to keep the peace."

"I can see. You're a very demanding man, Zevran." There's a smile on his face, but he's looking down at the sheet of paper, sketching out a design. He might have to have one of the others think of it. He's not the most artistic.

At hearing the mention of the Herald's Rest, Sam looks up. "Has there been issues at the tavern?"

"Not yet. But people are tired and Skyhold is not what most might have thought when they chose to travel here, we have mages and templars, humans, elves, a handful of qunari all milling about and trying to get along in order to save the world. There will be bickering. Tensions are high. All it will take is one fool to set the whole thing up in a brawl that might end in bloodshed. So I sit, I sing, I play the lute and tell wild stories. It keeps people calm- but it is much like trying to pin a sheet of paper over a window to keep out the rain. It will not hold for long." And when it failed it would be catastrophic. "We very nearly had blood a night or so ago. One of the Dalish was spoiling for a fight and everyone could tell. I handled it."

Not well, but he handled it.

Edited 2015-10-22 07:27 (UTC)

Zevran has a point. There are a lot of people gathering at Skyhold, all of whom with different backgrounds. Even if they did have a common cause it was going to be a while because things got settled. The lack of beds doesn't help.

At hearing that there had actually been a fight Sam grows concerned. He hadn't heard it. Then again he was a heavy sleeper when he could sleep. Or perhaps that was when he had ended up walking into Lady LeBlanc?

It further bothers him to hear that it is a Dalish. "Didn't happen to be a guy with silver hair? Yay high?" Sam holds his hand up about a foot shorter than him.

"No, but I have had a run in with him as well of a decidedly more pleasant sort. Though I think they know one another." With Beleth calling for Cy afterward, it's not that much of a stretch. "The one I had a roll in the mud with had darker hair and skin. Bit like a bastard too."

It'd taken one of his poultices to get rid of THAT bruise. Ugh. "You would think Dalish would have a stronger sense of self preservation. We're outnumbered. Now is not the time to be rocking the boat."

So Zevran had met Cyril then. Sam raises a brow at that. Well at least he's not talking about Cyril, and he's pretty sure Gavin wouldn't start a fight, so that rules him out. But it seems Cyril knows the Elf that started the fight? So definitely from the same Clan. He can't remember their names though.

At the mention of 'we're outnumbered' Sam has to assume Zevran is referring to Elves in general. Rather not stick his foot back in his mouth, Sam decides just not to comment. Ugh.

"He bit you?"

"Right on the cheek." A beat. "My face, not my ass."

Sam makes an effort not to smile at the correction. Biting someone on the ass during a fight? That would have been odd. He moves to get a look at Zevran's face. "I take it you treated it? I don't see it."

"A very strong poultice and some oil." He sighs, reaching up to rub the spot. "Like a rabid mabari. He has talent but no control whatsoever. With training he could be marvelous- but he was all rage, absolutely no focus. Better suited to a berserker than a rogue."

"And you handled it? With those injuries you had? Well that must have been a pain in the ass." No wonder his wounds were red.

"I've had to fight off an entire cell of crows with a broken arm and a seeping chest wound. A brawl with a fool and a hole in my shoulder? Is nothing." He shrugs- glad to be able to do so. "More than anything, yes, it was an irritant. Should he attempt to jump me I shall be all the more ready for him."

Sam makes a face at hearing the conditions Zevran has been in to fight. "You're one surprise after another. Broken arm and a chest wound? Jeez. Well obviously that doesn't compare."

There is some concern at hearing the Dalish elf might cause issues later. "You think he would try?"

"I live an adventurous life." He waves it off. It is nothing, it is a trifle, nevermind he thought he was going to die, he didn't. Clearly.

"Honestly? If I were him, I would. He was not pleased at losing the fight. Took a swing at me after I let him out of the mud to walk away. Someone that angry? Does not think clearly."

Well whomever this Dalish was, he sounded most unpleasant. Sam would have to watch out for him. He sighs.

"Well with now knowing that... you sure you want to wait that long for the armor?"

"He was young. I have been fighting off people such as he most likely longer than he has been alive. I will be fine. At least seven daggers, remember? He would have to get close to do anything and he was not terribly quiet." He will manage.

He wants to comment that it was an inexperienced fighter who had injured him in the first place. Best not. "Well I hope the use of daggers will not be needed in any case. Nor that you find yourself under attack. I know you're more than capable, but still."

Its a reminder he would ignore. This? Is a matter of pride, sadly. "We shall see. Perhaps nothing will come of it. Still I shall perhaps mind my leathers as they are not completely useless- at least until the scale mail is ready?"

Sam hums at that and offers out his arm. "Well you're going to have to give it back for me to start any work on it."

"AH, fair enough." Getting out of it is a good deal easier than getting into it. Soon enough he's down to his shirt and vest, holding the whole of the armor out for Sam. "My thanks. This will be marvelous when you are finished, I am certain."

Sam accepts it graciously, humming in thought as he looks at the armor. Oh boy. Folding it over his arm, Sam grins. "You have much faith in me." There's a small huff of amusement as he holds out a hand for Zevran to shake. "It was a pleasure meeting you Zevran. I look forward to our next meeting."

"And I as well, Sam." He clasps Sam's wrist rather than his hand, a tradition he'd seen...somewhere? It may have been Fereldan, he could not recall. "If you have need of me, I'll be at the Tavern- or wherever there is trouble, most likely."

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