open | i'm somewhere, you're nowhere

[paperwing]

WHO: Sabriel and you
WHAT: It's been a year since Sabriel became a Warden, and she's feeling a little down.
WHEN: (waves hands) Anytime before the Wardens leave west, and going forward to early Drakonis.
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: CW: descriptions of death, violence. If you wanna use this for something else you had in mind for Sab, that's cool too. If you'd like a specific starter, shoot me a PM or ping me on plurk!

Sabriel is not one to seek attention, but she is known, and noted. She could have been like any other mage, diligent, studious, one who keeps herself busy and assists when she's needed and sometimes meddles when she's not. But when you have a voice amongst the mages, and speak for them, you're noticed; when you're a Warden, the same. The Warden's reasons for being here were still not publicly known, and their actions were, as always, shrouded in mystery, and chock full of secrets.

Sabriel had a few secrets of her own that even her fellow Wardens did not know. Burdens. Secrets kept so tightly sealed and pushed away to deal with later, later, later. But, later was now. It was the time of year she dreaded, days creeping forward and her usual distractions fell short. She could keep an Old God's song at bay for so long, but what she had done? The guilt for it, the remembrance? Not so much.

Too many secrets. She was not as pure hearted as they assumed, by far. They could guess at her father being dead, if they were so inclined; an Abhorsen only rises when their predecessor falls. That was the way of it. He had been a Warden for almost three score years, so they would assume it was his Calling that took his life.

It wasn't, in the end. She had failed. It had been her.

Everyone had a time to die. She knew that, the cornerstone of everything Terciel had ever taught her. But she had never dealt with it, never faced it, and never, ever, forgave herself. And now, it was later, and she didn't know how. She was different, changed. For those who knew her, it wouldn't be difficult to notice.

There was an attempt at normality, but it was fleeting. She attends meetings without input, takes tea with a polite thanks and conversation falls short. Where once she sat in the library and studied, now her time there was spent staring from the windows, unseeing at the courtyard below. Sometimes she would hum the unfamiliar ditty that was her constant companion, but what she saw were the fields of Ghislain. She sits in her corner of the tavern in the evenings, wine and meal untouched, appetite lost, something telling for someone who rigorously planned her next meal. None of this - going through the motions, if it could be called that - was for her benefit, but for those who were going west. They didn't have to know. They had enough to deal with, and she had her own orders to follow, if she were not to go with them. Let them think it was sullenness, nothing more.

Once they go, however, she retreats to her shared room, insomnia's hold tight. She lays awake at night, and sleeps during the day, steps along the battlements when it's at its worst and fights back those damned tears when it's little better.

How else was she to deal with this but by herself? It was all she had ever done.

( WILDCARD! AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT )

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[serannas]

There's been a change to Sabriel lately. Ellana would have to be blind not to notice. She's turned inward, lost in her thoughts more often than not and hardly saying anything at all unless Ellana directly asks her something. While the other Wardens leaving for the Western Approach could be a cause of her new attitude, Ellana thinks there's more to it than that.

She thinks about confronting her about it several times in their room, but she doesn't want to risk Sabriel growing upset in what should be a safe space for her. There are a couple days where she just waits to see if Sabriel will reveal what's wrong, but when it's clear that she plans to endure it, Ellana has to take action.

Skyhold seems big until you actually do a full circuit around it, and it doesn't take her long to come across Sabriel on the battlements. She stops beside her and looks down on the valley below, the tents dotting the landscape like freckles.

"What troubles you?" she asks, unwilling to bother with small talk.

[paperwing]

The reply is already on her lips. Nothing, when it should really be, everything. Sabriel swallows both down.

It's hard to share; for so long it was her and her father, and what ails a little girl can be smoothed over by a warm smile and company. For just as long again? She was alone. She had those in the Circle - peers, friends, Enchanters - but there was always a divide. It wasn't an absent parent; many suffered worse fates. No, she had simply grown up quickly, a protector for those in need. It was humourless, really, that she could not do the same for herself.

But when you're close to someone, they know. She's not surprised Ellana has noticed, nor that she's gotten straight to the point. They were friends, for one. They shared a room, for another. How could she not? It wasn't a charade she could pull off all the time, and for what she knew of it, those attempts were likely lousy.

Sabriel looks away from the valley - a valley she wasn't really looking at - and to Ellana.

Everything, she reminds herself. Who was she to lie when asked directly?

"It is almost spring," she says, hesitating. "There are some things that I have not- that happened, a year ago."

[serannas]

Ellana turns to give Sabriel her full attention. That she doesn't dismiss her is a good sign. She was hoping Sabriel wouldn't deny that she's been brought low lately. The question is if talking about it will help. Ellana hopes so. Sabriel is such a dear friend that would do anything for anybody, and Ellana can do no less. Whatever this is about, she'll try to help.

"Some not good things, I take it? And you are recalling them because the anniversary is coming up?"

[gatheringstorm]

Sabriel's listlessness hasn't gone unnoticed, not by a certain Vashoth mage who remembers her from childhood. Korrin hasn't had much time for socializing, between the mess at Emprise du Lion and one crisis after another even outside it. To say that the last month has been eventful is a laughable understatement. And yet, there's a twinge of guilt as Sabriel's silence during council meetings is noted. She hates seeing her old friend like this, and without knowing what can be done, can't let her think she has to go through it alone.

So when the Warden is spotted at the tavern with her food untouched yet again, Korrin heads over a rests a hand on Sabriel's shoulder. Her voice is softer than it usually is in the noisy tavern, but she's close enough not to worry about being heard. "Hey, let's get out of here for a while. It's getting too crowded anyway."

[paperwing]

What had been a comfort was now noise; shapeless noise, almost stifling. There's a growing frustration underneath her vacant expression, and it's only the touch of Korrin's hand on her shoulder that pulls her from both. Her eyes move, to look at her eldest friend, but she says nothing. She's quiet still a little while after that, even, considering - or, just thinking about what Sabriel, the normal one, would do when given the option to go. If it even were an option.

It is not a bad one. Sabriel nods, mutely, making to stand. As her friend wishes.

"That sounds like a good idea."

[gatheringstorm]

"Good. I'm getting tired of the noise." Korrin has tolerated a lot louder, but she's not in the mood to deal with it and listen to Sabriel. So, outside it is. She'll head up the stairs to the right, preferring the view that the battlements affords them. Between that and the evening breeze, she feels a little invigorated already and looks over to her Warden friend, hoping it's done the same for her in some measure.

"What's on your mind, Sabriel? Something is, I know that. You don't skip meals and give thousand-yard stares at council meetings for 'nothing'."

[bunko]

Sabriel's corner of the tavern is Scipio's corner of the tavern, too. The small forever, it is this table, these chairs, and Sabriel, just as they have agreed.

And Scipio is a hero, lately returned from Emrpise du Lion. He has given himself many hero's rewards, but it is hardly an exaggeration to name this forever that he shares with Sabriel as one of the very sweetest rewards. And this one not even because he is a hero! (Though of course, he is, still, a hero.) This one is because he is Scipio, and they have made this promise together.

Since he has returned, he has seen Sabriel, but he has not caught her at the tavern. Either he was too late or she was too early, and so tonight, he has both come early and stayed late, until he finds sight of her and then abandons his conversations with other patrons, stepping away without so much begging their pardon. Sabriel sits alone, but there is another chair, and Scipio draws it up beside her and sits down with a happy sigh.

"There," he announces. Or maybe here would be better, since now he is here. No matter: when he looks along at her, he finds her somewhat distant. "You have a look of such troubles, bella. I don't like it."

[paperwing]

She has heard some tales. Not many, but some, from a singular source, of Scipio's actions at Valeska's Watch; pleasing to hear, but more at ease that he was safe. If he were a hero, sadly, that or heroism had scarcely crossed her mind in the past few days.

There was habit involved in being here, yes, and the comfort, the noise, the fact she can forget for a while. But this is not the type of thing she can just forget, or push aside any longer - not until enough days slip by that it isn't that time of year any longer. It already feels like months, decades, millenia. Each second drags onward.

Scipio arrival brings with it her most briefest, scarcest of smiles, the smallest he has received in recent months. Acknowledgement, or gladness, or both; her only companion until now is a glass of wine, either sipped or poorly filled (the latter is the truth, as it happens) and his company is more habit, more comfort, wanted, but it doesn't really lift her out of her pit of self-loathing, in which she has long since settled.

"I do not mean to." She had tried... and failed, apparently. "But if I do, it is... inevitable."

[bunko]

"It is not," he corrects, with less boldness than he might usually correct. As careless as he can be, he can tell when a soft touch is best, when his declarations should be more gentle than ringing. "No trouble should be inevitable, not for you. Not while I am here."

Though, depending on how deep her troubles are, this is perhaps a promise that Scipio will not be able to keep. This thought crosses his mind for only a second before he puts it away. What trouble could stand against him? What trouble cannot be cheered away?

He takes her wine glass and replaces it with his cup, which is full to the top and still warm. "There. To start, you must have a drink. This is a thing that helps with the troubles. Three sips, and then you tell me, what it is that casts your face like this. Agreed?"

Agreed, get it? He taps his lower lip. If she says agreed, they will need to seal it.

[paperwing]

Sabriel sighs, a deep, heavy, settled sigh. "It is," she disagrees. Her reply is soft, but resigned. It is what it is. It would be nice if it were true, that he could whisk every trouble away (with his presence, his words, a sip of wine, his kiss), but no. Admitting it doesn't make it true, because it is inevitable.

It is also not his weight to carry, not a story she wants to tell. There are others, better ones, with better endings. Not happy, necessarily, but happier. The sort of happiness that reminded her of him, not just for how she felt. His world was of luckiness, of happiness, and to bring something so sad into it...

But she is too tired to argue. Resolve decays as time doesn't mend.

Not that she says or does anything right away. She watches each movement, the wine, the tap of his lip, his words that wash over her as her frown reasserts itself. Sabriel hesitates again - suggestions ignored for now, their agreement tabled - as she wrestles with her words.

"Are you certain you want to hear it? It is not something that can be taken back, and something heard is not something that can be forgotten. It is mine to bear already, I would not want to-" she sighs, exhaling.

She tries again, though this time, reaches for his hand, the same that tapped his mouth. There is intent, there, yes, but she wants him to be sure - even now, when she is ill-of-ease, she still thinks of others first. "Are you certain, Scipio?"

[bunko]

Well.

No, he is not certain. Not when she looks so seriously at him, her face cast so grimly, this resistance to his cheer. Scipio's hesitation is all internal. Not for the first time (and certainly not for the last) does he think, what would Rafael do now?

Easy answer. Rafael would excuse himself, soften his excusing with flattery or else just stand up and leave. This is his way. It is not Scipio's, though perhaps it should be. How else can he stop himself from getting into such troubles, troubles of the heart, of friendship, of the empathy that flows sweetly in his blood and so often turns his pity and sorrow toward others. You make your own life difficult, Skip, is what Rafa would probably say. Among other things.

But how can he tell her that he will not hear what troubles her, when she looks at him so? Scipio turns his hand so that he is holding hers more properly, and laces his fingers through hers. There. A bond. He cannot leave now.

"I am certain," he tells her, quite seriously, "yes. I am certain that I will hear you. And after you have said these things, I am certain that I will kiss you. Now, please. Tell me this trouble."