heaven, a gateway, a hope

[byblow]

WHO: Grey Wardens & You
WHAT: A daring and not at all ragtag group of Grey Wardens has walked all the way across Orlais to inform the Inquisition--just in case it hadn't already realized on its own--that everything is terrible.
WHEN: Harvestmere 22
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: This post has: (1) A single group "we just got here, we're freezing, who is in charge, what do you mean you haven't decided yet" starter that we'd like to keep to one chronological thread. (2) Open starters for individual Wardens set later in the day/week.

OOC Note: Regarding the first starter--threadjack away! Anyone is welcome to wander onto the scene to see what's going on and wander back out at their leisure, to fall silent for a while, etc. No tagging order. But let slower taggers get a word in edgewise!

Comments

Sabriel (OTA, whichever format you would prefer!)

[paperwing]

Sabriel is the last to drift away when given free reign of the fortress. It's not that she doesn't want to get to know it; it just feels a great deal like not doing anything - they're safe, but who knew how long that safety would last? - but she swallows that frustration. In what had been a constant push, now they had to wait. Waiting had become as much a foreign concept as all the years she'd spent in the tower, effectively waiting for the day of her conscription.

Thoughts for another time.

She doesn't get a bed, but she gets a change of clothes, and clean water. The blue tunic is pulled tight over an undershirt several sizes too big, but it'll do. The sword sits against her hip, a weight and reminder of many different things. She near sticks to her fellow Wardens and returns to them immediately after freshening up, but that's habit - she's spent the better part of her life with several dozen of the same people. They haven't. Besides, they all need time. Perhaps it'll really sink in what has happened. Perhaps she'll just be kept awake the same as always.

Despite the exhaustion, she wanders. The last time she entered a tavern is when she was young, and she's not bold enough to start now, and skirts clear of it, takes to watching the Templars and soldiers training in the courtyard with her arms folded, as one would when they were committing every movement to memory. She walks through the beginnings of a garden, of something that will become grand someday if well kept and tended to - perhaps what her estate once looked like, years and years ago - and watches the sun through the leaves. It's cold, but it's tolerable. The sun is always a welcome sight.

As night approaches, she retreats indoors, finding her way to the spiraling rotunda and it's humble supply of books, touching familiar tomes and eyeing ones of interest. She rustles up some paper and ink from somewhere, and writes, writes for near an hour, focused and without pause, only frowning and crossing out the words when they've become a chant to match the rhythm in her head. Focus, focus, focus keeps it at bay. Later still, she's on the battlements, her fingers warming the stone beneath her as she sits against the wall, but still she shivers, missing friends, missing being alone, missing her father. Later still, when Skyhold is at its quietest, she reads in the library, scribbles sums and nonsense on parchment, and then she passes out in a nook.

She's awake again long before the dawn.

[gatheringstorm]

In the evening, Korrin's taking a break from her usual stop at the tavern. She needs a change of pace, and a night's break away from hearing the same people complain about the same issues in earshot. So, she's at the rotunda library, idling perusing the stacks and trying to settle on some night reading that isn't one of Varric's books yet again. She enjoys those, but tonight--something different.

When someone approaches, Korrin speaks up. "Better watch out, the railings are less sturdy than they should be. I've spoken up about it, but--" And then she finally gets a good look at the woman approaching and just stares. It's been a long, long time but she remembers that face. At least she does if her mind isn't playing tricks on her. "...Sabriel? Is that really you?"

[paperwing]

Her attention is elsewhere from the railings, more-or-less absorbed by the familiar sight and the comfort that familiarity brings with it, that Sabriel doesn't hear half of what Korrin says, a feeble voice tapping against the more insistent one of the Old Gods. It's only when she hears her name that the compulsion shatters.

She knows the qunari before her, even as she says the name. The face swims; a hazy memory, very old, more innocent and also more dangerous times, lifetimes ago. "... Korrin?" she half smiles - the first smile she's given for quite a long time.

[gatheringstorm]

"Of course. Who else?" At least her horns and freckles are the same, and as usual Korrin towers over her whatever the age. She grins, relieved and delighted to find a friendly face from her past. After the Valo-Kas left, she had been feeling a bit adrift, but this helped somewhat.

"You just got here, didn't you? There's no way I could have missed seeing you, otherwise." Putting down the book she had been holding, certain it wouldn't be needed tonight after all, she stepped away from the bookshelves to have a better look at her childhood friend.

[paperwing]

"I've seen so many qunari, yet-" -so many more than she ever saw as a child, but what does that matter, now? Of all those she expected to see, it wasn't one that she had befriended, one that her father had chuckled over when she spoke of her. When she was younger, anyway.

What matters is that it is Korrin, and she reaches to touch Korrin's arm appreciatively. Sabriel's by no means short, but as they're closer to one another now, it is almost like they are still children.

"I did," she admits, and then softly sighs. "Earlier today, actually, and not with the best of news. But I doubt that was on the minds of most... just seeing us caused enough of a commotion." Or disturbance in the mid-afternoon Skyold ritual to oggle or avoid a group of strangers, if naught else.

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin doesn't hold back from giving Sabriel a brief hug, glad to see the other alive and well after all this time. Considering the chaos of the past few years and especially lately, that's not an insignificant feat. The qunari mage and her fellow Haven survivors can attest to that, though it's a story for another time.

"And a much-needed boost in morale, too. We've heard reports of Grey Wardens disappearing, just as the world's gone to shit. Not that I blame them or you, but it was obvious something was up. Whatever news you have, we'll deal with it."

She nods encouragingly, ready to hear what's happened. It's not going to be good, naturally, but at this point it's to be expected. Actual positive news would be more of a shock.

[paperwing]

Sabriel embraces her in return, but she's slow to respond, clumsy and clunky movements - as long ago as she last smiled, the last hug she gave was not exactly the most pleasant. But the moment passes without much else than her smile weakening, which would have happened anyway with Korrin's optimism about morale.

She runs her hands up and down her arms, as if hit by a sudden chill. It could just be the fortress; it's no Nevarra, but it's also the realisation of guilt. What should have, could have been a much-needed thing was just the opposite.

Sabriel sighs, gently. "It's a long story, Korrin - and very little of it good." She drifts towards the railing, her hands dusting against the rail. "Whatever reports you've had are likely to be true."

There's still time to not dig deeper, if she wants; though if she's anything like the girl she knew, Sabriel already knows what the answer will be.

[gatheringstorm]

That warning deters her not at all, and Korrin just crosses her arms, her face set and not interested in backing away from the truth. She shakes her head, sighing. "I haven't heard anything truly detailed, I'm not one of the higher-ups here. Just a mercenary mage who happened to be in the right place at the wrong time and got swept up in this."

Wait, was she a mage when they last knew each other? No? Oh well, it's out now.

"All I've heard -all the public at large has heard- is that they've been disappearing. It's connected to what the Inquisition is facing, isn't it? The timing is too convenient for it to be anything else."

[paperwing]

A smile flickers onto her face at the mention of one particular thing. "You came to magic?" Distantly, that... pleases, delights her inner eight year old, and the fascination they'd both had with Sabriel being able to create fire in her hands. But it doesn't surprise her.

But it's not a question she expects - nor wants - an answer for. Just a moment of nostalgia, as she sighs again, nodding.

"I can't tell you everything," she begins. Not that she does not want to, just that it's Wardens, and there are oaths, and despite being branded a traitor she will not denounce her order and its honour. "The disappearances are true - they would have worsened had the Orlesian commander not summoned the southern Wardens to her side. Do you know of the Calling?"

Long Before Dawn

[salvatore_underfoot]

Salvatore has been up most of the night. Part of it is because sleeping is uncomfortable and drafty and cold, and he hasn't found a way to make it better yet. The other part was that, while tossing fireballs and setting things on fire is all fine and good, he's not altogether fond of some of the looks he gets when he tries to work in a little necromantic magic training as well. He's been taking time at night to practice away from judgement.

So he's not quite focused as he shuffles up a curved stair and up into the library. He bed isn't here, but it's a fair bit warmer than the corner he scraped up for himself into another tower. And closer.

He acknowledges the other mage with a heavy nod, not entirely surprised to find someone else here, or awake. He takes a handful of steps before stopping and shoving a hand against his face. His head hurts. She's ... familiar?

[paperwing]

Sabriel is slumped in a chair, only claimed due to the late hour and the fact her body is protesting at how tired she is, too tired for things like posture, but too wary of closing her eyes in case the song haunts her dreams. Which it will, she has no doubt.

She knows someone passes her, even half asleep as she is. Then she blinks, straightening, as if shocked into paralysis or hit by a rush of adrenaline kicked into place by surprise.

She knew the man that passed her. More than knew him.

"Salvatore?"

[salvatore_underfoot]

He knows that voice. He searched the whole of Perendale tower for that voice. But it was gone. She was gone. Just gone. No warning, no good-bye. Had their disagreement been so bad? He was going to apologize, try and make amends. It was too late.

How long ago was that?

He turns, and confirms that it really is her. "Sabriel."

[paperwing]

Long enough that whatever she had felt had long since ebbed. She was not one for leaving something unresolved, to vanish without a word, but she had not expected to suddenly be stripped of time. The argument was... an inevitability, but her upheld silence had been her choice, and then she had gone. She was forced to let it go.

And then, as the Circles fell, and she had no way of knowing what became of Perendale, just that it too, was gone. She had to let that go, too.

She inhales. "I thought you-" -he was what? Dead? She hadn't expected them to survive, much less to anticipate seeing anyone from her former home as part of the Inquisition. "-Perendale? What happened?"

[salvatore_underfoot]

He winces. She thought what? He can imagine - and to be honest, it had been close. After hearing what happened in other Circles, that's a natural conclusion to draw. He'd thought the same of her, to tell the truth.

"It fell." Obviously. He doesn't want to get into the details. Not now. Maybe later, when the shock has worn off. "We, uh, those of us that were left came here.

But what happened to you?" He doesn't mean for it to be accusatory, just curious, but it is, a little.

[paperwing]

"That's- that you made it out..." she trails off again. It's not good. It should never have happened to begin with. The Circles were safety, a place of learning and stability and then they were not as the war escalated, and all the news she heard was hand me down with nothing she could do. She had given herself to what she had to be. Given herself and... well, now she was here, because she would not give them everything.

"The Wardens declared my father dead. They came for me. I've been with them ever since."

Until, well, now.

[salvatore_underfoot]

His brows furrow. Is she upset that...? The Circles were prisons. Even Nevarra was not immune to the poison of corruption and power struggles. The Order was no good for them.

"I see. They swept you away without a chance to say good-bye." He scrapes a hand over his scalp and looks away briefly. "Or would you have, if you had the option?"

[paperwing]

"No," she says it too quickly, too fiercely, that it even surprises her at the ferocity. It also sounds like someone quick to defend when they would have in fact done the opposite, so she swallows, biting her lip, an attempt to sound more sincere.

"No. I would have. I would have done things differently - a great many things. I would not have kept my silence, Sal."

She hopes he can still believe that, in her. She's given him enough reason not to.

[amygdalae]

[It feels a bit like sneaking, but Bruce likes to visit the library at night, when most of Skyhold is quiet and the usual hustle of activity isn't around. Without as many people around Bruce feels a greater sense of freedom, and he can better peruse the things he wishes to read without constantly having to look over his shoulder. As much as he can make excuses, there's only so long he can keep up the tale of not being a mage if he's constantly seen reading up on magic.

Although for this particular night Bruce isn't really aiming to read any particular book. He had heard that some more books had come around and just wanted to see what were the new titles in stock, as it were. So here he was, up in the library, wandering around more than anything else.

It doesn't take long before he notices the young woman, her focus all directed towards her writing. Bruce doesn't pry into what she's writing, of course, but he recalled when was the last time he saw her and--he would feel bad if he didn't at least ensure that she was alright.]

If you write any harder into the paper, I think you're going to puncture your quill right through it.

[paperwing]

[It wouldn't be that interesting if he did chose to pry; what had started out as a documentation of events had gradually become singular sentences to random words and a dogged determination not to match them with the whispering in her head. Or shouting. It felt more like shouting.

The voice of the stranger interrupts that, as she's forced to look up.] Then I would find another. [Sabriel's voice is sharper and more stubborn that she intends, taught from tension. She inhales, exhales.] But you're right. It's not... making that much of a difference anymore.

[amygdalae]

[Bruce certainly isn't going to fault her for her grit, but still it would be better if the poor paper didn't suffer any more because of it. He supposed it at least wasn't anything more than mere paper, for what its worth.]

Maybe a break would help. [He suggests as kindly as he can, doing his best to keep his voice quiet as he speaks. It is quite late, after all.] Perhaps you could go out and take in a bit of fresh air? I usually find that helpful.

[paperwing]

[The break would be a fine idea, if it were something she could take a break from.]

Already tried that. [She almost smiles. Almost. But her words are softer now.] I thought something that reminded me of home would... [... something. Would help, at the very least. They all have different ways of managing. Alistair, for instance, talked no matter the hour-

That thought interrupts itself.]

Speaking with someone might-- but I understand if not. I already took up enough of your time today.

[amygdalae]

[Even if she doesn't say it alone, Bruce can understand. Sort of. He doesn't quite know what's going on with all of the Wardens, but troubles of the mind is something he knows very well.]

Don't worry about me. [He assures her, giving a small smile. He then gestures vaguely with his hand towards the outside.] Do you wish to stay here, or should we go elsewhere to speak?

[paperwing]

[He may say that, but she will. He does't have to listen, but he's willing, just as he was earlier that day.

Kindness. It was always nice to know it, to know it as a person.]

Elsewhere. [It's said with some uncertainty, but then she makes up her mind, and stands.] It's time I gave this place a break from me. [She wouldn't want to loathe it, being somewhere she's likely to go.]

[amygdalae]

Elsewhere sounds like a good idea.

[He says it kindly, without any judgement at all, stepping backwards so that she can get out of the table she had been occupying.] Do you have any place in mind?

[paperwing]

[She does, though without a destination, looks back and forth for a minute. There's outside, but she's had her fill of cold air for and outside for the day (had enough outside to last for weeks, honestly, she missed ceilings), and there are other places she has and hasn't seen, but, actually-]

They don't lock the kitchens at night, do they?