Moving Day

[pinprick]

WHO: All the Wardens and whatever onlookers/helpers they may find.
WHAT: Moving Day
WHEN: Current-ish
WHERE: Skyhold and just outside Skyhold
NOTES: The Wardens are grounded. They have been told to camp outside Skyhold. So it's moving day.

It is a relatively flat and pretty utterly frozen piece of land outside Skyhold that the Wardens have found. Since there are only a couple dozen of them, they don't need a large space, at least. There's going to be a premium on slightly more elevated spots, so it's first come first serve. Some Wardens arrive with the sun and lay claim with canvas, stakes, ropes, and poles stacked up while they go back for heavier things. Digging into the frozen ground with the stakes is rough, especially for those who brought wooden stakes instead of iron. Some will be forced to wait until the sun softens things a bit. Some are chasing away the feeling of eviction by making themselves at home, starting fires in pits, or making light of their work through periodic bouts of horseplay. For example, one large longbowman with a wounded right arm, fed up with teasing for his inability to do heavy lifting, carries with his left arm a blond mage who hits him repeatedly with a pillow. Unperturbed, he continues on.

But when the tents are pitched and the sun is down, the cozy camp is a little less strange. People will gather around fires for warmth and companionship, knowing that after one sleep, this will start to feel like home.

Comments

[justice_is_blond]

The chuckle is a good sign. The last statement, not as much, and he's still confused as to where she's coming from.

"You could say my initial Joining was less altruistic than the second one. I joined then to remain free. I rejoined expecting to be executed. Mind, I appreciate the results. I also appreciate that some people will talk with me. It was going to be a long several years until this song gets worse, otherwise."

He sets the barrel down with the others with a sigh of relief before he looks back the way she'd come from. "Are there more?"

[doneisdone]

Teren straightens and cracks her back once the barrel is down, looking grimly back in the direction they came. "There are always more," she replies, with a roll of her eyes.
"No sense condemning one another," she says, on the stroll back to the barrels in need of unloading, "what's done is done, and here we are. All we can do now is hope to make some good out of our time left."

[justice_is_blond]

Of course there are. He hikes back up with her, nodding at her words.

"So can I ask after your perhaps-not-so-altruistic reasons? My life is now an open book to many, but other than seeing you around and knowing your name is Teren, I've nothing. Oh, and clothing. Your reputation is that you make clothing well?"

Next barrel, heave. Enough of these and he might almost not look scrawny.

[doneisdone]

Teren was expecting a question of this nature, and is prepared for it. "Framed for murder."
She heaves the barrel up with Anders, unlikely to be any less scrawny at the end of the day herself, but miracles do happen. "I made the foolish mistake of being poor and insignificant. The personal seamstress to a wealthy lady, who became involved with foul play. It was far more simpler for her to foist the blame on a member of her staff than to accept the consequences herself."
Huffing in a most undignified manner as they plant the barrel in its destination, she straightens again and wipes her brow. "To think, I thought I'd be a favored servant the rest of my life, to live and die within the warm confines of a manor. The biggest problems I expected to face were pin shortages and burst seams." Despite what sounds like complaining, she smirks mildly-- perhaps she doesn't mind where she is now as much as she's suggesting.

[justice_is_blond]

"Burst seams, truly a worry of deeper significance than it may seem on the surface." He offers her a small smirk back. "I've done a fair share of sewing. But I'd prefer being harassed by shrieks and ogres to being stuck in a small building, working away and not expecting any sort of change in my future. As might be obvious."

Considering he's known for his manifestos and stance on mage freedom, it seems likely she's aware of his attitudes.

"Dragons, though. Those I don't enjoy. I'd take stabbing myself with several pins and needles over dragons." A beat. "...Then again, I suppose most Grey Wardens don't see any, forget as many as I have."

[doneisdone]

"Bully for you then," Teren quips, feigning incredulity at his opinion on sitting in small buildings and sewing. "If I could get away with just sewing for a while, not dealing with any darkspawn or archdemons or false callings or what have you, I think I'd be just fine."

At Anders' complaint, she arches a curious brow at him. "And how many have you seen, then? I've never caught one up close, though I've spotted them off in the distant sky once or twice."

[justice_is_blond]

"I've never wanted a boring life," he returns. It's not completely true. There have been plenty of times when he's been hiding from Templars or Darkspawn or both, waiting for the opportunity to do something other than dying, when he's missed being a farmboy. ...But not that many.

Dragons are decent inspiration for wanting to be elsewhere, though.

"Seen at a distance? A few. Fought? Three. Two alive, one bones. Do you know how you fight bones that are trying to kill you? It's a pain in the ass." He shakes his head and gives her a wry smile. "Jonas and Marian took me to the best places."

[doneisdone]

"Three!" Teren exclaimed, and proceeded to be mystified by the idea of fighting something made of only bones. "...I don't, actually," she replies, "how did you manage it?"

[justice_is_blond]

"Barely." He shakes his head. "We had Justice with us, in a corpse, and he helped by enchanting our weaponry. I don't know how he did it, I couldn't reproduce it. But once he did that, we were able to actually take down the bones. And we have to hope they don't decide to ever move again."

Because yes, they killed it... but it had been killed before. That was why it was bones.

"Or perhaps I can simply hope I never have to go back to Blackmarsh to deal with whatever might still be around."

[doneisdone]

"I don't know what else I'd expect from a place called Blackmarsh," Teren remarks with a smirk, "Fereldans do enjoy their evocative names." She leans against one of the barrels, wiping her brow. "The Fallow Mire. The Storm Coast. I suppose it's nice to know what you're getting beforehand."

[justice_is_blond]

"I'm holding out for Kitten Woods, or Cuddly Forest. Perhaps Pillow Hills. One day someone will take me somewhere nice. They have to. I've gone to all of the other places."

He takes a breath, leaning against a barrel as well. "The Oh Fuck Bears Woods, the Wounded Coast, The Bone Pits, the list goes on and on. I may be making up a name for the first one, but if you've been through the Hinterlands, you know what I mean. Have you been to anything with a good name?"

[doneisdone]

Teren chuckles, and it sounds genuine. "Let's see," she muses, "...well the Western Approach is a fairly neutral name, it's just a description of what it is. Miserable place, though."
"...in Nevarra we have the Silent Plains, but I've never been. I lived on the Waking Sea. What it was waking I've never really known, unless you count myself in a storm."

[justice_is_blond]

"The Silent Plains sounds nearly peaceful. Eerie, perhaps a little foreboding, but it may qualify as the best-sounding place I've heard of. I'll count it. Waking Sea, however, makes me think of the tales sailors tell of monsters in the deeps. Then again. I've often dreamed of living on the sea."

He looks a little wistful as he tilts his head toward the rest of the barrels and starts walking again.

"Small farm, a half-dozen cats, on the sea with the breeze. And someone else, of course. I'd not want to live alone. I've never enjoyed being alone."

[doneisdone]

"It's not quite as romantic as you make it out to be," Teren assures him, "mostly, it smells of fish. And a bad enough storm can take everything: your home, your livelihood, your loved ones. ...your cats." She glances at him, her expression oddly apologetic. Somehow implying the loss of one's hypothetical cats seems crueler than any of the other options.