faderift | A dillweed in a can, there's nothing lamer than

WHO: Pel Ashara and YOU
WHAT: Returning from Suledin Keep with a new spinning wheel, new battle moves, and a busted-up face.
WHEN: Late Guardian/present
WHERE: Skyhold's courtyard
NOTES: Warning for memories of violence?

One of the ruined houses in Sahrnia had a perfectly good spinning wheel inside, its owners dead. None of the townsfolk wanted it, so Pel loaded it onto a cart.

Now, she's setting it up, and it's not only the spinning wheel that is new. She's wearing a brand new dress and a wide elven belt, something a great deal more feminine than she has ever worn before. The right side of her face is sporting a magnificent set of new bruises as well, the eye swollen half-shut and bloodshot. Several people have offered to heal her, but she wants people to see an elf capable of withstanding pain.

Later, she's put spinning aside and picked up her staff, going through some exercises she learned from Dorian's first class. She can still see an angry red templar cutting off her magic, then swinging a backhand blow at her face like he's punishing a naughty slave. Her depth perception is not great right now, and she occasionally has to pause to wait for double vision to become single vision again.

If you are also practicing at melee combat, she'll give a half-smile (the other half of her mouth hurts too much for that).

"Want to?"

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Pel manages to find Zevran despite the weird vision thing, and pauses for a moment, closing her swollen eye until there's only one of him.

"There you are." She approaches. "I've made you something. Come with me to the gardens?"

"Pel-" The patch lingers still- though he's slowly learning to work with the new face, the vulnerability of a blind side- he is still no so blind as to not balk at her eyes. "Why have you not seen a healer?"

"It'll heal on its own." A twitch at the non-busted corner of her mouth. "And you should see the respect it's given me. Big shems give me a wide berth now."

"You are leaving yourself vulnerable on one side." He knows the pain such an injury comes with- and knows what causes such bruising well enough. "This is not a badge of pride, it is a wound. You are being foolish."

Says the elf that's only recently stopped drinking on rafters.

Shush.

"I'm not planning on going into battle this way," she says lightly. "It's not often I have the chance to establish this sort of reputation."

But. He has a point.

"I'll have someone take care of it later. I want to show you something first."

"You're an elf, Pel, all you need to do is look at a human long enough to earn one of those." Bitter, too bitter, too biting- he scrubs a hand over his own face and sighs. Be easy. "Be careful of those that look to intently. They may decide they like the look of it upon you."

Warning enough, he supposes. "I will be checking on you tonight. If you still have this bruise I am dragging you to the healing tents by your ear."

Nevermind that it makes him sound like a clucking hen.

Well, that's sombering. She glances away then.

"It was a red templar. He cut off my magic and hit me backhanded with his gauntlet like I was an impudent servant. I had to fight him with my staff. The pain reminds me I survived. You're right, it's foolish."

"That is not a road you wish to start down. It seems comforting now but-" He shakes his head. "That is not a crutch you want. Trust me. You are here, you breathe, you live, he does not. Take comfort in that."

He reaches out to cup her unbruised cheek, tugging her in to rest their foreheads together for a moment. "There are better things in Thedas to hold your attention than a bruise, Stella."

"People won't ever respect me." She swallows, blinking rapidly. "They could fear me, though. I fear them enough, it's only fair. Maybe if I have their fear, it will be as good as being respected."

"Fuck them." Simple, sweet, vulgar- things the fantasy never would have been. But honest. "They already fear you, why else do they think they try so hard to avoid you? To fit you into a box that you are far too large to be trapped in? Never let them see you flinch. Never let them see you bleed. That earns far more respect, far more fear than walking about with proof that you can be beaten."

Sam wasn't practicing at the time, but being in the area he had of course taken notice of Pel working on her technique. Seeing that she was still sporting those bruises and swollen eye he gives a sigh, noting how it seems to be affecting her practice. That's why he had offered to heal it back at the Keep once they all had met up again, but Pel wanted to make a point to everyone.

"Still having issues seeing well?"

"Now that we're back in Skyhold," she says quietly, "people aren't going to know this isn't from some random Inquisition bully."

She gingerly touches the bruised side of her face and sends healing energy. Now it's only about half as bad as it was.

"That's the best I can do, for now. I'll see someone later. I'm not much of a healer."

"It's a good time to practice," she argues. Pre-argues, really. "Next time a red templar bludgeons me in the face with his gauntlet, I'll have practice fighting with the handicap."

It would be easy to just fall into the argument and suggest that there were easier ways to practice a handicap, but clearly she's made up her mind and doesn't want to hear his points on it. "Do you want to practice so that next time they won't get the chance to even give you one?"

"I am sure you were marvelous in the Emprise." Not at all condescending- her magic is nothing to sneeze at. "What is it you wished to show me?"

Happier thoughts. Better things. She'd been so excited.

"Of course I do." She grips her staff near the base and a quarter of the way up, rather like someone might hold a sword. "Ready?"

Without waiting for him to respond, she jabs outward toward him.

She takes his hand and walks him to the garden. There's a bare-ish spot of earth under a few trees there, small enough to be cozy for a couple of lovers.

"Right here. Sit."

She sits on the grass and pats a spot beside her for him.

"Wha-" He's honestly glad he had brought his staff along this time, using the side of it to hit the length of Pel's to direct it away while he takes a step back. She certainly was fast to act.

Once he feels he's at a better distance he swings the other end into his hand so he's holding his weapons horizontal to his body.

It is easy enough to follow- he keeps her on his good side, head tilted slightly so he might hear anything that comes at him from the other. The gardens, though-

This is new.

"...as you wish." And sit he does. "What is this for?"

She takes out a ring and holds it out to him.

"Put this on. On your finger," she specifies before he can give her shit.

She has to remember not to smile, because smiling hurts. Her next jab is at his instep, where he can't reach unless he changes his grip on his staff.

"What?" The most innocent face ever, he gives her. But he puts the ring on his finger- it feels strange, he is not one for jewelry, but a gift is a gift. "It is lovely, Pel. Thank you."

But when he puts the ring on, a hundred tree-roots rise from the ground, twisting, weaving, climbing higher. She puts her hand on his wrist to let him know this is to be expected, that he can relax. And soon, the roots make a dome around them, with a little skylight above. It is secure and private.

"You can spend as much time in here as you like, and nobody can come in if you don't let them. That ring won't work for anyone but you, even if you lose it."

Kallian winces in sympathy when she sees the bruises, and brings over a small pot.
"I... thought this might help. With the bruises. Arnica, calendula and seed oils... If that's OK..."

It's rude beyond measure to decline such a gesture, so Pel nods faintly. "Yes. It is. Thank you, Kalli."

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A dillweed in a can, there's nothing lamer than

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