faderift | we laid our names to rest along the dotted line

It was snowing, heavy enough to be just shy of a blizzard. why anyone would want to be out in this weather was another question entirely - the wiser were in the tavern, the majority hunkered down in their tents until it blew over, and the unlucky stuck ot in the hills huddled around what was left of a campfire.

Harding was in none of these places, and was doing neither of those things. She was out in the snowdrifts, Rena and Morgan at her heels, the only two who were crazy enough to join her in such a venture and who were adamant she would not go alone. Harding's armour was covered in scraps of mismatched fur, a thick and heavy scarf bundled around her neck and over her head and down her back, where Rena tugged at it in their raggedy, slow-progress making line. The scarf did nothing to stop the wind; sharp and unyieldy, it picked at her eyes, making them water, turning to ice tracks on her cheeks. Most would have given up by now, but she couldn't do that, because she knew for a fact that Bruce was out in this, and he had no idea where he was heading. Even blinded by snow, she still knew roughly where she was, just outside of Sahrnia, close to the Elven ruins and the lingering states and offerings from the Dalish. Her scouts had reported the latest wagon of arrivals several hours ago, and they had arrived just as the blizzard hit, sans one healer. And so, Harding had gone to look for him.

Which was proving harder and harder as the storm whipped at her feet and bow, the occasional low howl of a wolf in the distance. Just where was Bruce?

Just like in the Mire, Bruce only makes his way to Emprise du Lion when things there had settled down more. He had fully intended to head out earlier, but the situation with Zevran had required his attention far more than a trip out here. Now that Zevran was on the road to (proper) recovery, Bruce finally had the time to come over for the things he had intended to do.

He should really know better by now that things never worked out in the way he expected them to.

The sensations were all mild at first - just an ache there, a discomfort that only lasted for a minute - but the further he went into the region the harder it was to simply stay on his feet; the heavy snow wasn't helping with the situation either. If only he could understand what was even the cause of what was happening to him.

He wasn't sure at all where he was now, or how far (or close) he was to the camp. With every step he took the world was seemingly getting fuzzier and the discomfort piled upon each other like stones. Even if he wanted to try and use magic to keep himself going, he couldn't focus well enough to cast anything. Maybe that was what he should try to do.

Focus, Ballard. He shook his head to try and clear his mind in order to do so, stumbling forward still to keep himself going at the same time. Multitasking usually wasn't a problem for him but this time it was next to impossible, and Bruce ended up being so focused on trying to clear his head that he didn't notice the branch in front of him until he tripped and fell right into the cold, cold, snow.

It was a bit hard to remember anything else after that.

She could hear shouting, which was better than what she could see, which was nothing. It was masculine, a little ways behind her, which meant it was Morgan. She could just about make out the words 'go back'.

"We're not going back," she shouted back, regretting the instant she opened her mouth as snow tumbled in, which she spat out. Doggedly, she continued on, one step in front of another, slow progress. "We're too far out. Shelter, yes. But if Bruce is alone out here, he'll be-"

Dead by morning, is what she's going to say. She doesn't, for two reasons - the first, that it stirs something buried deep in her gut. It's not quite panic, but it's close. A distant, clouded memory of Haven, losing people in the snow. Bruce was not a scout. She was not responsibile for his safety, or what would come after, the letters, the belongings, the shared grief. But he was her friend; perhaps her closest. She would not leave him out in the snow.

The second reason she doesn't is to prevent herself falling forward, Rena's hold on her scarf tightening.

"The wolf statue," her fellow dwarf observes. Harding was right about the ruins, then; she can just about make it out, a few metres to their right. Rena likely only noticed due to the buffer Harding was providing. "Shelter. But near it's feet, look-"

Harding does look.

Almost buried, half-frozen, but there is someone lying there. It could be a soldier, a Red Templar, another scout, or it could be-

Harding moves, her own scouts follow.

"Bruce," she says with relief. "You fool," she scolds to his mostly unconscious form. It doesn't last, as the relief turns to action and though the walls are half what they used to be and lighting a fire could be nigh impossible, the ruins are the closest place to take him. She's already making to dig him out. "Come on, Bruce, wake up. Bruce!"

The cold bites at him, harsh and unforgiving. Not that it was a huge surprise; the world has never found reason to be kind to him. Bruce feels himself fading as the cold numbs his senses, and deep inside he feels it starting to stir, the primal instinct to simply survive kicking in. It's duller than usual though, the sensations far more muted, and Bruce is far too tired to think of the reasons.

In the distance he thinks he hears somebody shouting his name, but Bruce can't be too sure; the cold might be playing tricks on his mind. It's far easier to ignore it, he thinks. There's no reason why anybody would try to look for him - nobody would miss him, and nobody should. He brings nothing but pain to others.

It's a good thing Harding can't hear those thoughts, then, but his continued silence tells her what she immediately needs to know - that he'll freeze to death if he stays here, and the blizzard isn't about to let up anytime soon.

"Or don't." She continues digging, loosening the snow's grip on him, talking with the barest of hopes that'll he wake before then, but he's too far gone. She's seen it before, but she is not, absolutely not, going to entertain the possibility of the worst-case scenario until there's no other option. "But you will. You're not going anywhere, you hear me? I'm getting you out of here."

She could ask Morgan to do it, or Rena to assist. But before either of them have time to look up from their combined efforts of tearing the snow that's gathered away, Harding acts. She lifts him, remaining snow and all, from the ground with the briefest of grunts as she accounts for the limbs and the height and the fact he's more than double her size. But once she does account? She manages, as if she were picking up nothing more than an injured child.

One foot, then another. It's the blizzard that actually stops her from going forward with speed, Morgan dutifully taking point as the ramshackle group makes for shelter. Only steps away, seconds, but it could feel or be hours before they make it. It's hard to tell how long anything is, out here.

It takes a while before Bruce regains conciousness again - and when he does he vaguely realizes that somebody is apparently carrying him. Even in the cold he can feel the warmth of that person where they're pressed close. It helps a little, at least in that moment.

Won't last long, he thinks to himself, mind slowly reminding him the complications of freezing like this outside. The trek to Skyhold after the destruction of Haven had been almost just as bad, but back then he had things to focus on. This... it wasn't exactly the same.

He tries to move, an instinctive reaction borne from his years of having to be constantly on the move. Bruce struggles however futilely to try and move out, not wanting to rely on the help of others. Weak as he may be he could... manage this. Somehow.

The walls are not as solid as she would have liked, and though they passed what might have once been a door, everything is crumbling away, barely enough to shield one dwarf let alone four people. Harding's beginning to think that perhaps they should have ducked behind the Fen'harel statue rather than trudge forward looking for a point with enough cover to protect them. A fire would be a luxury, at this point.

But they were closer. Morgan had sped up, and she didn't feel as burdened, even though each step was long, laborious. It becomes more-so when her unconscious cargo decides it's time for him to put in an appearence, but a look at his face and he's not really awake - just reacting. A spasm of movement, trying to- ah. Probably trying to get up and stumble away.

"Bruce," she repeats. Her words are likely lost to the blizzard. No matter. "If someone else were like this, you'd tell them to lie still. So that's what I'm telling you." His foolishness could wait. Appeal to his sensibilities, if the words even made it to him. "It's your turn to be helped. I won't even ask you to let me."

Seconds later, minutes, who knows, and she adds, "We're almost there."

Did Bruce hear it? It's hard to say, considering everything, but there is a sense of familiarity that he can't deny. Something that he can recognize, however faintly, and even that by itself is something that is rare enough for him. When you've spent years on the run there is never enough time to settle and become familiar with anything. So to feel something like this is... strange, to say the least.

Strange, but comforting enough at the same time. It's enough to have him stop, at least for now, too sluggish and tired to really do anything else. He can faintly feel movement beneath him but its hard to make out anything with the cold that still rages on.

So he does what his body does let him do - which is to give into his exhaustion and fall back unconscious, putting momentary faith and trust in that familiar feeling that he can sense. With luck, it won't end in relative disaster.

Almost there.

Harding had meant what she said. Either her words had hit a nerve or he had passed out again, and though the snow persisted, it couldn't be everywhere at once, no matter how hard it tried. There was a fortunate higher wall, a well-timed corner, and that was where they bunkered down.

The snow began to ease sometime around nightfall. What had ripped at her face hours earlier had become a gentle, intermittent flurry, which was good, because it meant that they could light a fire. She was tending it, now, prodding the smoldering ashes and the twigs and branches that were to replace it. Across the fire, Rena and Morgan were asleep, heads on packs and backs pressed to one another for warmth, a bundle of human and dwarf and cloaks. Harding had shed her cloak and most of the furs, which had been used to protect Bruce from any further onslaught by the elements.

Harding wasn't sure how late it was, how long until dawn, just that it had been a long time. Rena had woken a few times, watched her for a few minutes - a silent offer - and then went back to sleep. Harding couldn't, even if her only companion was the crackle of the fire and wayward thoughts she didn't really allow to form.

For Bruce there is no sense of time between him having fallen back unconscious and him finally waking up again. One moment there's the cold and the next he's staring up into a dark ceiling and the smell of smoke on his nose. The cold is still here, but its more tolerable now - no longer biting into his skin and numbing his mind. Although it'll be a while yet before his mind can be as sharp as it usually would be.

Still, its awake enough for him to put two and two together and know that he didn't just end up here magically. Bruce takes a moment to try and gather his strength before he starts to try and get up - not exactly a task that's easy to accomplish at the moment, with how sluggish and worn out his body feels.

For every Warden that came to Skyhold, it reminded her. Like any Ferelden, Harding remembered the most recent blight, though her own memories of it were distant and known through tales of a friend's brother's father's cousin's son that had been there at Denerim. The darkspawn never truly made it to the Hinterlands, and it was the dead that had plagued Redcliffe. To a young surface dwarf with many wooly charges, it could have been just that. A story, one that was too belated to frighten her at night; the Wardens belonged in those stories just as much, heroic figures placed into fresh tales - most of them of Cousland, Prince Consort to the Queen. Her interactions with Skyhold's Wardens had been few, scarce, at best. There was something amiss, and that bothered her, but she respected her orders enough not to pry into what it was that they were doing here, what it was that they were running away from. Their Order was, as she knew it, heroic. Best to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Still. Though their presence was near non-existent, news was passed back from the west through various channels, and Harding felt it only proper to pass them on not only to Leliana, but to the Wardens, which is why she was seeking one of them out. Kaidan just happened to be the first one she stumbled across.

"Warden Alenko," she interrupts from whatever he is doing. "Might I have a minute?"

He'd heard of Scout Harding, of course. Most of the young recruits seemed to speak of her in hushed tones, respecting her skill as a scout. He had just never run into her personally, and wasn't exactly sure what to expect.

But he smiled at her, turning from what he was doing (which wasn't much) to face her. "Scout Harding. How can I help you?" The Inquisition's main scout seeking out a Warden? Was it news? Had the Inquisition decided to act at last?

"Nothing too serious," she says with half-a-smile. Also likely not what he wanted to hear most, as it wasn't much, in all. "Just bits and pieces from the reports that have made it back here."

She reaches inside a pocket and pulls out a piece of parchment that seems far too big for such a thing, even though it's rolled up and tidily tied with string, which she offers to him. "I'm only sorry it's not more than that."

Kaidan took the offered parchment with a nod. If it was pieced together from the reports, she would know exactly what was in it, so there was no point hiding it as he opened it up. "No real change then," he said softly, angry that so many of his fellow Wardens were still under the control of Clarel and her cronies.

Her smile turns sympathetic as he begins to read, even if he might not see it. It would be nice if she could pass on better news, but unfortunately, saving the world meant prioritising, and the Wardens request had to be put aside, indefinitely.

"Must be hard," she says, quietly. "Not being able to do much."

Maker knows how long the Wardens would actually be able to live with their request for help being put aside. Corypheus was a danger to the whole of Thedas, and he needed to be dealt with, sooner rather than later. There was only so long they could ignore what he was doing the Wardens.

"That's one way of putting it," he said with a small smile. "I've spent the last fifteen years on the road. It's hard to be still."

Harding's knowledge of one of Skyhold's more recent additions was limited, but constant, thanks to the mounting number of reports she received that started with 'the golem'. In the span of a week she had received five different accounts of how all birdkind had been threatened and how they, noblekind and anyone-whom-was-in-the-general-vicinity kind felt a vague notion of the same thanks to the staring and the sarcasm.

Really, enough was enough. It was high time she meet this golem. There were far better uses to their time than becoming a menace to local birds.

The golem was, well, not difficult to find, exactly where Harding expected to see them in the courtyard (it was not like they could go anywhere, and there was another array of reports dedicated to the fact they kept trying). She approaches directly, not fazed in the slightest, because when you're a dwarf, everything is larger than you. Plus she's not a bird, so there's no chance of becoming paste, realistically speaking.

"Lead Scout Harding," she introduces, rattling off the title as any soldier would. "I'm here to-" Well. Hm. First thing's first. "What should I call you? The scouts neglected to find that part out."

The massive golem turns when the dwarf approaches, and there's an odd quirk of their brow as Harding introduces herself politely. Lead Scout? What did a lead scout want with Shale?

"It is here to what? Ask me to move? I have moved many times," the golem says with a grumble. "It should learn to go around me." They weren't in the best of moods, it seemed, but Harding was in no danger of becoming a wet smear on the ground. It just meant that Shale was a little less interested in giving a damn.

"I am Shale. Its scouts should ask, next time."

Being large and imposing, Harding figured, was likely not doing much in Shale's favour. She halts mid-step, reconsidering her non-fazed outlook, because Shale is far larger than she expected. But, no. Still not fazed.

"They should," Harding agrees, loudly, for the benefit of those of them that are listening in to this conversation. She sighs, a short exhale of breath. "It's not so much about moving, Shale. You are entitled to go where you want as you please." She pauses. Going outside of the Courtyard was hardly an option, given that there was so much of Shale and the repairs just couldn't handle it. "The reports say a lot of different things. But I was more interested in what you wanted to do by being out here. The courtyard or otherwise."

Edited 2016-03-03 15:06 (UTC)

The golem couldn't exactly move where they pleased, because this pathetic run-down place threatened to break under their feet everywhere they went. Shale didn't exactly enjoy the thought of being stuck somewhere halfway through a floor or a staircase. (Not to mention all the pissy people having to do repairs.)

The courtyard would do, but it was a little like being stuck in Honnleath. Shale was almost a little claustrophobic thanks to that. Going around Ferelden with the Warden had been much simpler.

"I am here to smash the sky-opener under my fists until it is paste," they say almost nonchalantly. "I have already fought an archdemon once. It was fun."

That's a goal she can't say anything against. Even if her plans against Corypheus are either to shoot as many arrows at him as necessary or dismantle his empire beneath his feet, whichever came first, rather than using her fists. A golem's fists, though? Makes sense.

"An archdemon, huh," Harding echoes. The one at Haven? Or one from a Blight? It seemed... insensitive... to ask for the specifics of that one, if not for the insult of the archdemon's intergrity, but to figure out... which Blight it was... in the first place. Golem's might have been created by dwarves, but it was all a little over her head, a little too much like magic.

But, it does imply strength. She hums, thoughtfully. "Hmm. What are your thoughts on bears, Shale? Or other larger animals?"

Who knows how many Blights Shale had lived through, lost in the Deep Roads? They sure as heck didn't know, and was happy to just have been through only one they remembered. The fighting had been fun, but the feelings less so.

"Yes. I did not kill it, but it was still fun. This time I want to punch it in the face and see if stone can crush dragon scales." One thing at a time. Then they would step on Corypheus repeatedly, wash themselves of the crazy shit and wander off again.

Not actively working towards that goal was the main frustration in their life right now.

"...bears? They are loud an annoying. Sometimes it takes two punches to kill them, so they're not as squishy as other creatures. Why does it ask?"

"I was thinking of offering you a job," Harding says openly, with a smile. Maybe it would save the courtyard and the bird population, or maybe it would just give Shale something to do than wind up in a half dozen reports a week. It was a better use of time than any, she figured. "Not just for bears or archdemons, but punching things in general. Scouts are, by nature, stealthy; punching isn't something we're very good at when we get caught out. And sometimes there's a problem, and you just need..." need a golem to hit it? "... the element of surprise on your side. Or a golem."

"A job," Shale repeats, watching the dwarf intently. It wasn't something the golem had quite expected, but now they were definitely curious. It sounded like she wanted Shale to be a scout bodyguard... which they could deal with it it meant getting out of this damn courtyard for once.

"I do not sneak well, but an element of surprise? I definitely am."

we laid our names to rest along the dotted line

Bruce - Emprise du Lion, lots of snow, tiny dwarf carrying huuman men, you know how it goes

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le timeskip?

timeskip \o/

Kaidan - Skyhold

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Shale - Skyhold

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