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

[amygdalae]

[The Wardens may be here now, but work hasn't changed much at all for Bruce. He continues with his usual duties of caring for the refugees and sometimes the soldiers, even as a good number of them were whispering and wondering around the presence of not one but five Grey Wardens within the Inquisition. Some of them asked Bruce about it too, but he didn't give any answers. Why the Wardens were here Bruce did not want to claim anything, but from the little he had discerned...

He supposed if they were to know, they would be informed eventually.

So he maintains his usual work, never stopping, only finally managing a break around dinner time. The refugees and such all gathered in their usual spots with food and drink, but Bruce himself was settled far away from the general crowd, sitting by himself as he slowly ate the meagre meal of stew and bread. It wasn't much, but it was enough - and enough was all that Bruce needed.]

[bunko]

[Scipio might have eaten at the tavern, and then had a few bites here and there in between then and now, but that doesn't stop him from getting a bowl of stew.

Which, he realizes, as he walks around slurping broth, was a little unfair of him to do. There are people truly in need here, people who didn't have three meals today already. Then again, it's very good stew, and he's very cold, and the sun is going down.

He still offers the bowl to a few of the refugees, in case they want it--as seconds, maybe?--but everyone declines. And so Scipio sits down, bowl still in hand, and slurps, loudly, off of his spoon.

Then he turns to Bruce, and holds up his half-filled bowl.]

Do you know who made this?

[amygdalae]

[Bruce blinks in surprise at the inquiry, not really expecting having been spoken too -- and well he hadn't quite noticed the presence of this particular Warden.

At least, he's pretty certain he's a Warden.]

Someone from the kitchens, I assume. [He replies after a pause.] Why, did you like it?

[Today's stew had been especially sweet - although its not much of Bruce's taste - but he can see people liking it.]

[bunko]

Yes, it's quite good. Don't you think?

[He slurps again, happily, and dunks his spoon back into his bowl.]

It could stand to be spicier than as sweet as it is, I think--even if the spice was only black pepper, to heat it. If the weather is going to insist on being so cold, pepper is the least they could do. Then again, it was free, and it was given to me, so--

[He shrugs, and slurps another spoonful.]

No complaints. You?

[amygdalae]

[...if Bruce didn't know better, that almost sounded exactly like complaining to him.

But of course, he's not going to say that.]

It is a bit sweet for me. [Bruce says instead, trying to be as amiable as possible.] But that's really my own personal preference.

[bunko]

[He nods in agreement, even as he takes yet another bite.]

Spicy, then. [A guess. If food is not sweet, then it is spicy. Who has time for anything in between? This is now a kinship between them, and so there will be no protest to his proposal:] That makes two of us. And surely there are more out there--so we'll suggest spice. Or ask for it, if they're wary of angering those who do prefer it sweet. Black pepper, if it can be spared.

[amygdalae]

[There's more to taste than just sweet and spicy, but Bruce isn't going to comment on that.]

I'm sure asking for some pepper shouldn't be an issue. [Unless they keep asking, but Bruce... isn't going to do that, of course. He just hopes the other isn't going to do that.]

[bunko]

Think so?

[He peers, dubiously, into his bowl--and there is a moment in which he debates going to ask right now.

But no.]

I'll ask later. If I went into a kitchen right now, I might never leave again for the warmth. Every time I stand up, I remember how cold it is. Or perhaps it's getting colder.

[amygdalae]

Winter is coming soon. I wouldn't be surprised if it got colder around here.

[Being on a mountain probably doesn't help with the chill too, but once winter properly hits the cold will most likely only get worse.]

[bunko]

[Winter. He actually pulls a face at that word. It's more than a little childish to pull a face, especially given his age and whatever gravity his position might lend him, but.

Winter. Colder. Preemptively, Scipio shivers, and shrugs his two cloaks closer to himself.]

How do men live through winters? How many socks does it take?

[amygdalae]

[It might be childish, but Bruce can't exactly blame him. Considering how cold it can already be up here knowing that it'll actually get colder from here on isn't a very appealing thought either. For him or for the refugees here.]

Lots of fire, I imagine. [He says wryly, then pauses at the next bit.] I'm not too sure how many socks, though. Depends on how many you can spare, I imagine.

[bunko]

[His look of mild horror is, fittingly, only mildly exaggerated.]

If I wear half and wash half, I'll still only have twelve pairs--I can't spare a single one. You'll have to find your own. [Possessively, he scrunches his toes in his boots. Doing so does not make him feel any warmer.] Fire might be easier to come by. We need more mages. I know one who did a handy fire in a bottle trick for me. She could make a killing selling those.

[amygdalae]

[...Bruce certainly had no intentions of taking any of his socks in the first place, but now he makes a note to try and leave them alone as well. This man must really like his socks.

So rather than harp on the sock topic, he moves on to something safer. Generally speaking.] Fire in a bottle? That does sound handy. [Pause.] Perhaps you could ask the mages about that - they might be able to figure something out.

[bunko]

Maybe.

[Hope colors his tone, but only dimly. Scipio flexes his toes in his socks and boots again, and confesses:]

The mage who made it the first time doesn't have time to keep me warm. I don't know that she wants to keep on being my benefactor. But we were on the road rather a long time. She might be more generous after a rest. And I could ask others, until then. Have you found mages to be generous?

[amygdalae]

I suppose it depends on the mage in question.

[A small grimace as Bruce says that. It's not that mages are bad or anything, but--well. A good number of them were usually more concerned with their own survival than anything else. Bruce couldn't blame them, obviously, but still... it was a sad state of affairs.]

But the mages here are very reasonable, I've found. You shouldn't have much problem asking for their help.

[bunko]

Think so?

[That's good news, if ever he's heard it. He flexes his fingers in his gloves now, trying to imagine fire in his hand, a handy trick. (Handy. It's funny.)]

It's so much to keep track of--allegiances, and all. Who will help you and who won't. It makes me miss the taverns. Everything so easily solved, and a man might as well be your brother once you've shared a cup. Better than blood, or oaths.

[And also: more temporary, which he misses almost the most. This long-haul rubbish is awful.]

[amygdalae]

[Bruce gives a slow nod. In a way, he understands - while he had been out on the run trust was hard to give and take. Everywhere there was danger and the possibility of being found, and it was hard to be able to trust anyone. And now being here... everyone may have similar goals, but how would he know who to trust still? How could he?]

We're all here because we want to try and help with the danger that Thedas faces now. [The words are probably something that's been said millions of times now, but its said so often because it is true.] If Thedas is gone, then all our differences don't even matter.

[bunko]

Yes.

[That is true. More or less. When Scipio thinks grandly--well, his definition of grand thinking differs, slightly, than a more honest man's would. He has always done his best to avoid thinking like a more honest man.

But there is truth to what this man says. It is a sobering thought. Scipio doesn't like it might, or the truth of it.]

Yes, I think--you're right. Yet it won't be easy, for men to think this way. [Men--but all the races, truly, and all the allegiances. He smiles, a little.] Perhaps we should just all stay drunk.

[amygdalae]

[He lets out a small, amused sound at the suggestion, a tiny smile forming on his lips.]

Coordination would be hard if we were all drunk, I think. [And Bruce himself isn't one for drunkenness and alcohol anyway, so that's already kind of ruined. Not that he'd say anything of that, of course.] But I'm sure we'll be able to figure out something that can make us all work together when the time calls for it.

[Or so he hopes, anyway. Bruce isn't a hopeful kind of person, but--who knows? These were difficult, ever-changing times.]

[bunko]

Oh, learning to fake coordination, that isn't so hard.

[Take it from an expert, an expert who has spent a lot of time being drunk but very successfully acting as if he was not.]

Teaching true unity might actually be harder. I think people like to have things to fight about. I don't know why, but they do. I think it would be tiring.

[amygdalae]

[Well, Bruce supposes he can't quite go against that argument, considering how he's not much of a drinker himself. He hasn't so much as touched a bottle in his life.

That isn't the point, though.]

I can't say I disagree with you. [People somehow always deviate to conflict. Perhaps because it was easier to band together when there was a reason floating above them, a banner that held them together. Or maybe because everyone was different and there would always be conflict.]