VI. SEMI-CLOSED.

[liberalum]

WHO: Dorian Pavus; Sabine; Marcus Kane; and the people that happen to them.
WHAT: Purely a catch all to cover off the next month.
WHEN: Mid-Guardian through mid-Drakonis.
WHERE: Skyhold, Emprise du Lion, and beyond.
NOTES: This is a catch-all for pre-planned threads, rather than open prompts. PM or plurk me if you'd like to do something!

Comments

[ungovernable]

( she is so still, her hands in his; the weight of her fingers barely-there, almost limp, her expression unchanged and everything about her very - still. she doesn't suck in a breath or buckle at the knees or press a hand to her mouth, overcome; she stares through him for a long moment as if he isn't there, and does absolutely nothing at all. max nudges at her knees and her lips twist but if it was going to be a grimace or the preface of something else, it never gets there -

she nods, very slowly, and knows something of anger.

hercules fucking hansen is a warden. more than that, he is a warden of some years; doing stupid, heroic things is entirely in his wheelhouse. getting captured. of course. he will have thrown himself headlong with nary a thought to - he is not afraid, she thinks, and she could scream this whole fucking castle off its foundations with how angry she is that he has handed her that fear to carry. she didn't ask this. she didn't know. she hears we last saw hansen alive and some part of her seizes and she hates him, irrationally and immediately - not dorian.

hercules, who she has never yet managed to manage to her satisfaction.

if he dies it will serve him.

her grip - becomes a grip. and then becomes a bit uncomfortable. and then-- )

And the others?

( perhaps anders will have had the decency to die. )

[liberalum]

They returned, safely.

[ It's not really said like he expects her to feel better about it as a result, only stating a fact. Beneath her gripping hands, his own are pliant, there to be gripped, and only curl in return as hers loosen again.

His eyebrows raise as he inhales a breath, and adds; ] Including the dog. [ Obviously. ] Although he's been in a bit of a state ever since.

Hansen's a Warden, and therefore, in a way, among his own kind. I have faith he won't have a chance to nobly sacrifice himself any further before we can talk the Inquisition into moving properly west.

[ungovernable]

( she does not feel better, but she absorbs the information. she could ask after the injured, but dorian is in front of her whole enough, and hercules is captured, and she doesn't care. the wardens can look after their own. they apparently love nothing better, so let them. she wishes them joy of it, the secretive bastards.

(later, she will remember that she doesn't dislike sabriel and inform her of hercules' capture; she will want to be kept appraised of what the wardens do next. right now, they could all march single file to the deep roads without turning a hair on her pretty head.)

she studies dorian's hands in hers. they need a bit of attention. moisture. a manicure. they can attend to that shortly. )

Yes.

( her voice sounds very far away. she feels a little as if she's underwater; she looks up at him abruptly, eyes huge in her fox's face for an instant before she shutters the expression to neutrality. and -

buries it in his shoulder. )

[liberalum]

[ He's polite enough not to draw attention to her feelings, meeting wide eyes with a steady look of his own. Just because one person makes love to another person does not in itself connote love, not exactly, nor even generalised attachment, but it hadn't stopped Dorian from giving a particular damn as to the particular Warden left behind.

He's hopeless, that way.

Awfully, it seems as though he wasn't all the way wrong, but he can respect and understand the shuttering up. Perhaps they can have a drink. Or she can step into an embrace and his arms can slide easy around her, ahead of his thought process.

He sighs, just subtly, more felt than heard.

Men, right.

He's long since left behind the smell of the desert; there is, instead, the persisting dampness that comes with cold weather journeying, and also something faint, like old blood, and that elusive smell of storm soaked into his armors. ]

We have one of them in our custody, [ he says, incidentally. ] He'll either be helpful or dead, or both, by the time this is all done with.

[ungovernable]

( her voice is muffled, but not the malice in it -- )

Come, Dorian, let us not limit ourselves.

( the venatori can absolutely be helpful and dead by the time this is all done with, and if she is given an opinion in the matter, she has that one ready to be expressed in the very strongest terms. something upon which to work out some of the anger that she wasn't prepared for when she woke this morning and readied herself for a day she hadn't intended to involve this much -

whatever this is.

this is not how she planned anything. at least dorian is here. )

[liberalum]

True! We could entrap his spirit into eternal servitude, find something appropriate out of one of those charming books you leant me. Make it do a little dance.

[ He pats her hair, absently detangles where one curl has gone awry. ]

The spirit, not the book.

[ He eases her back, with the hope of sharing a smile, even if it's like his, which is small, wry, barely counts as one at all. ]

[ungovernable]

We shall keep him in a jar--

( she allows herself to be moved, but does not smile. still, all is not entirely lost;

she presses her palms to his stubbled cheeks, eyes wide with sudden recognition, processing information she had a moment ago been far too preoccupied to take in, a small whistling noise of oh escaping her.

your perfect facial hair, dorian, what happened. )

[liberalum]

Now, now, don't give me that look.

[ His hands lift to cover hers. ]

I've recovered from far worse. Besides, you should see the state of our dashing ginger Warden.

[ He draws her hands back down, and holds them once more. ]

Is there anything I can do? Besides dig up a nice robe and keep you in your cups throughout this soiree I've been hearing talk of.

[ungovernable]

( it takes her a moment to process that and realise he must mean alistair. hercules is not the only redhead in the wardens, he's just the only one she's immediately thinking of - and she frowns, again, but leaves whatever thought prompted it unvoiced. there are a lot of things, probably, that benevenuta is not going to say out loud, the next several weeks.

--and pulling a face; )

Keep me out them, Dorian.

( if she's just going to be a mean drunk, better not to go at all, but not going at all isn't an option. )