faderift | Coping Methods

WHO: Obi-Wan Kenobi and whomever shall encounter him
WHAT: Obi-Wan hangs about Skyhold
WHEN: Since his arrival at Skyhold through Drakonis
WHERE: Skyhold Library and also Some random battlements action
NOTES: None yet

1 | A Quiet, Well-Lit Place
The Inquisition Library was a curious thing. He was use to holos and databases, searchable by voice or material input, by keyword and title and author and a thousand other small conveniencs that managed, one after the other, to strie him at the worst of times. It was strange, to realize how privileged even the meanest peasant on the farthest Rim planet was, by comparison to this-- to the idea of something you needed being just at your fingertips, but so easily misplaced.

He wasn't even sure if the book he was looking for existed, let alone in a language he could be gauranteed of understanding. Translation technology was more lacking than common index, and his communicator, which might have helped, was little more than salvage.

After a time, Obi-Wan simply sighed, rubbed at the bridge of his nose, and put his latest selection away-- as unsuitable as the last. Clearly Materials Enhancement: The Enchanting Art of Lyrium was going to be of no use to him. Perhaps to anyone!

What in the world was Lyrium, anyways?

2 | The Truth Between
There were a lot of jokes made about Jedi and meditation.

Most of them were grounded in truth. For example, that Jedi were so inneffectual that they responded to ever crisis by taking a nap. Not that Obi-Wan was sleeping, despite appearances. He's sat, cross-legged, and very still, just on the edge of the parapet overlooking the peaceful goings-on of the courtyard below on one hand, and wide, wild view of the mountains on the other. The tower wall at his back provides some shelter, both from the wind, and from other people, but by and large he is quite exposed-- and, seemingly, unconcerned about this fact.

Actually, maybe he is sleeping. He hasn't moved in a long time, his eyes are closed, why, anyone could just come right up and--

"May I help you?"

...or not.

3 | Synecdoche
The Lightsaber was spread out in pieces on the table by the window. It was a lovely antique, this window, beautifully made with thick, bubbly glass in beautifully cut shapes depicting... Something, surely. Obi-Wan would likely have needed a more than passing understanding of the local religions to have said exactly what. Regardless, it was the brightest place in the tower, at this hour, with the sun streaming in to illuminate the exposed guts of his once-functional lightsaber.

The casing was cracked, of course, and several connections severed, one or two slagged beyond simple repair-- they'd need re-insulating and solder at best, and to be replaced outright, at worst. He was hoping, praying in a way, for the former. A replacement of sufficient purity and delicate construction would be hard to find in a society that viewed a blacksmith's anvil as a suitable tool for weapon-construction. And the insulating rings around the power supply weren't in their best shape either. It was a miracle the crystal wasn't cracked!

But it wasn't.

There it stood, sparkling in a beam of sunlight, glowing faintly with its own inner purity, a beautiful blue Kyber Crystal, perfectly cut in one lovely hexagonal spar. It was no longer than his thumbnail, and there was no doing without it-- thank the Force that it had survived where so much else had failed. Obi-Wan sighed, and went back to his inventory of parts, so engrossed in his work that he was for once ignorant of any observer's eye.

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"Not sleeping, I'm afraid, though I've slept worse places," Much worse, come to think of it. Ugh, "Please, I'm no-one's 'Lord'. I was meditating."

She's so small, and sprightly, he can't help but smile. He hasn't moved more than an inch since she arrived, but here she flits from standing to sitting, view to view on each wind-borne impulse, as as bright-eyed and curious as a sparrow.

"Obi-Wan, is my name. And yours?"

"Ariadne," she said politely. "Ariadne Everdeen." She was still getting used to her new, adopted last name. Which was funny, because she'd always wanted a last name. It was the absolutely epitome of 'normal.' It made her a Human, even when she wasn't. And of course, now that she had one, she kept forgetting to add it. "But you can call me 'Airy' if you like. Everyone does."

It was a nickname that suited her.

She pulled her braid over her left shoulder. "Well, I didn't meant to interrupt your meditating either. I understand it requires a lot of concentration. It was only that I thought you were asleep. And I'd never seen someone sleep like that before."

"Don't worry about it, I wasn't getting much of anywhere today. But fear of looking lie a fool isn't a reason not to do something, so I had to try," He considered her for a moment, smiling with only half his mouth, "And you? Have you been here long, Miss Everdeen?"

"Only a few minutes," she replied. "Honest."

A pause. And then, with a slightly abashed smile, she said, "But you probably mean in Thedas, don't you?" She glanced at the shard in her hand, like a naked brand that was impossible to hide. No matter how much she wanted to hide it, sometimes. "Nearly half a year. I was part of the first wave of Rifters."

She paused. "That's what they're calling us. I sort of like the term, don't you? 'Rifters.' It makes us sound mysterious and...exotic."

"Yes, well... we are that. Most of us come from places so different from here that we might as well have flown from the stars," Some of them, and he has to chuckle at her innocent, sheepish expression, more literally than others, "What concerns me is how little concern they seem to have for our population. You shouldn't treat a group of uninformed, unwilling participants as if they were no more consequence than a particularly odd batch of refugees."

He hesitated, then sighed, unfolding enough to put his legs over the edge beside her. It really was a beautiful place, the view unparalleled, particularly from this height.

"But you've been here so long. You must have learned so much in your time!"

"Not as much as I would have liked," she admitted. Although it heartened her a little to hear this man echoing her sentiments about the Rifters and the way they were viewed by the larger population of natives.

He'd get on well with Marcel.

She made a mental note to try to introduce them, when she had the opportunity.

"Most of what I get comes from Katniss. She's an archer with the Inquisition. She sort of adopted me." No small measure of pride in that. Ariadne was quite happy to have a sister again.

"Still, more that I have, just yet," It's bordering on bald flattery, and unsubtle at that, but he is curious. Tell Obi-Wan a story, Airy, "Anything particularly interesting, you've noticed?"

"Well," she mused, turning the single-syllable word into a three-syllable word. "There is a tension among several of the native factions. The Mages--those are the ones with magical powers--and the Templars. There's bad blood. A history of power and abuse on both sides."

She sighed sadly. People were innately good. She believed that with all of her heart. But generation upon generation of teachings that one group was better than the other had done a tremendous amount of damage.

It truly, deeply saddened her.

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