The key to faith is not proof, but inspiration

Mother Bryony Verreuil of Kirkwall (OC) [This is a Dragon Age modern AU roleplay blog, set in Kirkwall 2013. Part of the City of Chains universe.] My other CoC-verse blogs: Zevran, Morrigan, Feynriel My personal blog Stuff I've written

[butchers-boy]

A Night at the Ballet - [Nathaniel and Bryony

[butchers-boy]

"A pleasure, Bryony." Nathaniel smiled and brushed his lips across the knuckles of the woman’s hand before releasing it and pouring her a glass. "That is a lovely name, though one I can’t recall having heard before, even with our having both come from the coast. I hope you can forgive me if we did meet before and I have forgotten it. My head is dreadfully full of names and faces, and some of them leak out whilst others are pouring in."

He cleared his throat and passed over the glass, easing himself back in his seat thereafter. “Though, I find it hard to believe I’d forget yours.”

At her mention of the performance, his eyes passed up to the stage, watching as the various technical staff milled about around and across it, preparing for the show to continue once intermission wrapped. “If you want the truth, I haven’t been paying attention.” He snorted out a laugh, a bit harsh but edged with good humor as he sipped from his own beverage. “Horrible, I know, but these tickets belong to my father. He always has season passes to the larger cultural events. I do actually enjoy ballet, I just…” he sighed, fingers trailing through the strands of his dark hair leaving it slightly mussed in the aftermath. “I guess I’ve seen so many I can sometimes forget they aren’t just background noise. Earmarks of a life of privilege, I suppose.”

[motherbryony]

Bryony accepted the glass of scotch with a murmured “thank you,” giving it an appreciative if unschooled sniff before sipping at it lightly, reflecting that it was lucky that this was the one hard liquor she could handle without a mixer – she couldn’t handle much of it, but she had never found the taste unpleasant in the way of most other such things.

“I’m fairly sure we haven’t met,” she laughed, biting at her lower lip slightly at the tacit compliment.  “I somehow have a good memory for names and a bad one for faces, but the first one is serviceable enough, and I also rather doubt I’d have forgotten, in your case.”  It was the truth.  Nathaniel was certainly handsome, and his looks had a slightly forbidding edge of the sort prone to snagging in one’s memory. 

Her eyebrows rose at his admission, but her smile was amused.  “I suspect that’s probably the case for a lot of the people in this section of the theater, but I also strongly suspect that most of them wouldn’t dream of admitting it like you just did.  If the performance is background, what’s in the foreground?  Or should I ask?” 

[heartwrencher]

☽ A Rare Find :: [ for Bryony ]

[heartwrencher]

"I don’t know that I’d expect a Chantry mother to be tall, but age and fussiness does seem to be part of the persona," he offered in an attempt at mild jest, sipping his own coffee to fill the space while she did likewise.

The wind that powered her hair into her face pushed Fenris’s stiff, well-made jacket collar up, unfolding it for him. He left it as it helped to block the cold, as well as shield his mouth from view as he strugled to decide how best to answer her latter question.

There was no legitimate way to described what he did for money, he feared. “I came to Kirkwall at the very end of last year. I am still getting my bearings,” he tried. “Mostly I spend my time fixing up my new home and clearing out some of the things that the…previous owners left behind, the likes of which I do not need.”

[motherbryony]

Bryony chuckled as he agreed with her description of the clergy stereotype.  “I had a small group of friends in college who specifically planned on changing that general persona, but I’m the only one of them who actually took the sash, so it ended up being a pretty big job.”

She listened curiously to his answer to his question about profession.  He had had an inheritance, then, perhaps?  It was hard to tell, but Fenris seemed faintly uncomfortable with the topic, so Bryony elected not to press it.  Inheritances could get rather awkward, as she recalled from any number of counseling sessions she’d been called on to run for family members feuding over a less-than-ironclad legal will.

Instead of prying into the particulars, she smiled, dipping her head in a nod and asking, “How are you finding the city?  It’s a bit of an odd place to get used to in some respects, I think.”

[butchers-boy]

A Night at the Ballet - [Nathaniel and Bryony

[butchers-boy]

"Amaranthine?" Nate chuckled, nodding his head. "Thedas truly is far smaller than we choose to believe." 

He rubbed at his jaw, nodding politely as the waitress delivered his bottle of scotch. When she had gone, he poured himself a glass and turned his attention to the lovely woman at his side. “I am not native to The Marches, though I have passed much of my time in either Kirkwall or Orlais. Originally I’m from Amaranthine as well.”

"Nathaniel Howe." He said, extending the hand not holding the glass full of liquor. "My father is Senator Rendon Howe. May I request a glass on your behalf. Somehow it’s less appealing to finish this bottle alone knowing there is someone worth sharing it with."

[motherbryony]

“Small world, indeed,” she laughed delightedly at the revelation that he was from Amaranthine.  “My adopted family’s from Orlais.”

Her eyes widened in surprise at the name, for while she wasn’t consistently up-to-date on Fereldan politics, she did know of Senator Howe, in the vague familiarity of one who listens to the radio occasionally.  “Bryony.  Well… Mother Bryony Verreuil, but I use both title and surname as little as possible,” she replied, taking his hand with a smile. 

“And that’s kind of you; I will have a glass, though probably only one.  Like I said,” she added wryly with a glance down at her own petite frame, “not much of a head for it.  How are you liking the performance?  I’d not seen this particular ballet before, but I’ve wanted to for years.”

[orsinofe]

Confessed Temptations [Orsino & Bryony]

[orsinofe]

He nodded along with her resting his chin on his thumbs while his forefingers pointed upwards across his lips.  “That about sums it up, yes.”  He added as she finished her line of thought.  “Magi and demons can hear each other in the fade, yes.  But, the stronger you are and the more prepared, the less likely you are to be targeted as you’re simply not worth the time and effort it would take for the demons to subvert your defenses.”

“There are some that can tune them out almost effortlessly, or so they’ve said.  I do not know how true that is.  On many occasions I have had to use quite a bit of effort to thwart demonic attempts.  It is not as foreboding as one might think though.”  He clarified for her with an arch of his brows.  “The demons try to see how much fight you’re willing to put up.  Most won’t even bother if you’ve got protections up in the fade.  By the time they’d manage to get anywhere, it’d be time to wake up assuming there’s nothing keeping you asleep.  So there is danger, but it is not constant.”

“People in poor health, mental health, or weakened states of being are at higher risk of being tempted or possessed as the case may be.  However, there are people that are willing to help those, and often time’s healers spend a great quantity of their time shielding those that are sick from the horrors of the fade.  It is something people tend to forget and take for granted.”  He sighed knowing that Bria had done everything she could for him, but it had not been nearly enough.  He owed much to the one that saved him from his nightmares.

At her inquiring statements referring to his questions about her adoption, he breathed out a quick breath and straightened his back.  “I only ask because you mentioned it.  Your face it reminds me of someone else, but I can’t quite place it at the moment.  But, you grew up in Amaranthine, you say, as far as you know?”  He shrugged his shoulders.  “It’s possible I’m seeing things.  I’m not in the best state of mind as you might guess coming out of this.  Otherwise, no offense mother, but I would not be here.  A demon disguised as a chantry mother does not lead one back to the chantry so quickly to seek aid.”

Though the comment was harsh, he kept a neutral expression.  He meant nothing against Bryony.  The situation was unfortunate, but he would have steered clear of the walls and Hightown if he had a choice in the matter.  Unfortunately, he needed the absolution and confession, or so he was beginning to realize.  His shoulders shivered ever so slightly as he felt the slight burning sensation crawl through his veins. 

“When a mage is attacked by demons, danger is not easily escaped as the battle is waged on many fronts.  I am just surprised that I am still in control of my own faculties.  If Meredith had liked me any less, I think she may have put me through the Rite already.”  It was meant as a joke initially.  But, there was so much truth in the words that he found no humor in them as they crossed his lips. A heavy breathed sighed from his nose as he placed his empty teacup on the desk and leaned back in his chair again looking over the woman sitting across from him.

[motherbryony]

She nodded along thoughtfully as the First Enchanter explained more about demons and mages in the Fade, more curious about it than she particularly wanted to admit.  Every time she was exposed to mages, she realized how little she actually knew about them and the struggles they faced – and it seemed like something she really should have a better handle on, being what she was.

“Yes, Amaranthine.  I could have come from somewhere else, I suppose, but that’s the first place I remember living.”  Bryony shrugged.  That he would think he recognized her was interesting, but not of any great note, most likely.  The First Enchanter was an elder, and had likely seen a great many people throughout his years, even if his life was lived in the Circle.

“Oh, no offense taken, First Enchanter,” she assured him with a concerned frown.  “You’ve been through a lot.  Though I still am not entirely sure what I can do to help, I’d like to however I can.  I’m guessing you didn’t come just for an ear, if you’re uncomfortable around priests at present.”

[heartwrencher]

☽ A Rare Find :: [ for Bryony ]

[heartwrencher]

"Ah," Fenris replied with a breath, his eyebrows rising along with his interest. "You are a Chantry initiate?" He glanced over her, trying to take stock of anything she may have been wearing that would have made such a thing obvious.

"But weren’t in your ‘school days’?" He wasn’t exactly certain whether that meant primary, secondary or tertiary school. Her age was difficult to discern, as she was petite and smooth-skinned. "I don’t mean to pry." The last was perhaps an unnecessary addition, as his savior had offered up more informaiton about herself than he’d actually asked. If she had been resistant to discussion, she simply could have given a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer and bid him farewell.

But the longer Fenris was in Kirkwall, the more he grew to understand that the social expectations of polite conversation could sometimes be a burden even when the individual with whom one was conversing expected and needed very little. In other words, she did not know that he would not have been offended by a curt answer, and she seemed like a friendly person. He hoped that she did not feel obligated.

[motherbryony]

“A Mother,” Bryony replied with a quiet laugh.  “Though people don’t usually believe me unless I’ve actually got the sash on.  Apparently we’re all supposed to be tall, old, and fussy, or something.”  Her free hand fluttered vaguely toward her waist, though even had she been wearing the sash that day, it would have been mostly covered by her jacket. 

She took a careful sip of her coffee before elaborating.  “And I certainly don’t mind talking about it.  I was referring to college – I studied history and religion, then entered the Chantry as a novice after I graduated.  History students aren’t usually the most rowdy lot, so it’s funny to think about that being my time of wild youth, but there you go.” 

A gust of wind blew dark hair across her face and into her mouth, and she brushed it aside and grinned at him.  “What about you, though?  What do you do?”  Her new acquaintance being an apparent Hightown resident meant he was at least somewhat affluent, but he didn’t have the manner of a businessman of any variety – and indeed, seemed too naturally aloof to thrive in most positions one might find above the plate – which made her all the more curious. 

[orsinofe]

Confessed Temptations [Orsino & Bryony]

[orsinofe]

It was his turn to watch her as she searched her own thoughts for what she knew about the magi as a whole.  It certainly didn’t take long for her to give her limited knowledge, but she seemed to have an open mind about the topic in general, which was more than he could say about most people in her shoes.  It was one reason he had dreaded of coming to talk to someone, but if she had managed to talk to Meredith, then there was some hope that she would listen and hold what he said in true confidentiality.  There was some clause he was aware somewhere about confessions that could harm others were to be reported to the proper channels.  He needed to make certain that wasn’t going to happen or he would wind up without his magic.

“Then you know very little, but it is at least a base of knowledge that I can build from.  There are varying degrees of manipulating the fade and thus using magic.  Some can see it quiet plainly whereas others need to be trained, and still others that will never be astute enough to see the inner workings of the magic they wield.  The stronger a wielder is, the less ripples they can make within the fade if they so choose.

It’s very much like skipping a rock over a pond.  A normal mage will cast some spells and the rock will make a large splash leaving people all over noticing that something occurred elsewhere.  A slightly more skilled rock thrower might make it mostly across the pond leaving smaller less noticeable ripples through their entire path.  And, then the greatest of magi will levitate the rock across the water and no one will notice the rock ever was moved from one side of the pond to the other.”  He took a breath and watched her for a moment before continuing.

“Demons are attracted to the ripples and their source very easily, and once they know that you can produce ripples, you don’t really drop off their radar.  They do tend to go after the more vulnerable targets or the easiest ones for them to attack more often than those that disperse their ripples.  However, sometimes demons are willing to go after certain targets as long as their fee is met, which could range from sacrifices to pledges to the sheer fun and entertainment of getting to toy with a magic wielder.

Currently, I believe that I fall under that category.  Someone wants to make an example of me by turning me into an abomination.  I’m certain you’ve heard that word in your Chantry books.  It is a mage who has been corrupted or possessed by a demon and turned to using blood magic.  The magic itself from all the studies I’ve seen is rather harmless in practice except to one’s self or the sacrifice if they should use someone else’s blood.  But, the power that is granted through the use of the power of one’s own life is tremendously more powerful than that of Lyrium.”  His eyes turned very serious as he looked over at her.

“Blood magic was practiced long ago, if you read your history books.  It was once a harmless form of magic until people learned that they didn’t have to sacrifice their own life to fuel the magic.  Then, it was changed into something that is now seen as dangerous and all users of the magic seek to dominate and control other people.  Power corrupts, Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”  He sighed feeling the topic nearing too close to the topic he was delicately dancing around; his own temptation with the magic itself. 

Bowing his head for a moment he contemplated what she was saying earlier and decided to throw the topic back to her for a moment while he gathered his thoughts and to see if she had any questions.  “Let me stop there just in case you have questions over what I’ve been saying.  I’m happy to clarify anywhere that you’re hazy.  But, I do have two questions for you.  You’re adopted?  Do you know who your real mother is?”  He quirked an eyebrow at her relaxing further into his chair while sipping at his near empty tea cup. 

[motherbryony]

Bryony listened quietly to the information, letting it sink in as she sipped at her tea.  “No, that pretty much all makes sense, within the metaphors you’re using.  So you were captured by people who wanted to corrupt you, and… they’re still trying?  I have heard from some of the more… alarmist elements…”  She wrinkled her nose as she spoke of certain other priests who were more outspoken on the issue of magic.  “…that mages can always hear demons in the Fade, that they never really stop tempting you?  Although I’ve always thought if that’s the case and it was really bad, there would be a lot more verified cases of possession than there are.”

The young Mother seldom felt she was qualified to opine on issues pertaining to mages, but when the occasional initiate or even full cleric started talking about how much danger they were in at all times from even the mages in the Gallows, even she was comfortable telling them they were being foolish.

“And yes,” she added, quirking an eyebrow to his last two questions.  “I was fostered at the Amaranthine Chantry in Ferelden for a year, and one of the lay sisters adopted me right after I turned four.  Genevieve Verreuil is her name.  I was never able to find out who my birth mother was, or even where I originally came from, although I’ve always assumed I was just a local foundling.  Why… do you ask?”

[audreynical2]

"Try the Apple Pie a la Mode"

[butchers-boy]

A Night at the Ballet - [Nathaniel and Bryony

[butchers-boy]

A glass of wine drained, Nathaniel purchased another and returned to his seat, silencing his phone and slipping it back into his inside jacket pocket.  He eased into his seat and passed his eyes across the crowd, noting that just about every other person there at least appeared to be enjoying themselves. 

This is what your life’s turned into, Howe. Chasing after ghosts you can’t have and playing errand boy to a man who will never see value in you beyond your sharing his name.

With a bitter chuckle he drained the second wine glass, holding it up with a shake that drew the attention of a nearby theatre steward. “I don’t suppose you’ve got anything stronger than wine.”

"Bartend’s got scotch, sir, if that would be to your liking."

"Bring the bottle." Nathaniel replied, handing the young woman enough coin to pay for it several times over then sinking back in his chair with a hand pressed against his temple. 

It was at this point that he noticed the woman at his side, her striking eyes shifting distinctly away when he caught them so as not to appear to have the concern that he’d seen. “Not to worry. I’m Fereldan. My constitution is built to handle far stronger grades than whatever he is likely to bring me.” He rasped, attempting a smile though he was certain it lacked in both warmth and sincerity. 

[motherbryony]

The tall, sharp-featured man’s request for a bottle of scotch to follow his wine adjusted Bryony’s estimation of his mood from ‘possibly unhappy’ to ‘very definitely unhappy,’ and again she wondered why he was here.  Or maybe the point was that the performance was a distraction?

And maybe I should mind my own business, she chided herself silently.

It was too late, though – he’d noticed her attention, and she found herself grateful for dusky skin that would mostly hide the blush she felt creeping up her cheeks.  “I’m familiar with the Fereldan love of whiskey, though I’ve never had the head for it myself,” she murmured, returning a small smile.  “I grew up in Amaranthine, actually.  Are you visiting from Ferelden, then, or do you live here, now?”

[absolutioninflame]

Truth and Illusion - [Anders and Bryony]

[absolutioninflame]

"For now, if you could go into the top, left drawer and retrieve one of the packages of sterile instruments for me?" Anders smiled and moved back to see to Moira’s progress. "There is a tray against the back wall you can drape and lay them out on. I’ll need them to cut the cord and see to the child on once he’s born."

The young woman was breathing hard and clinging to her husband’s hand when he approached. “I f-feel a pressure.”

"That’s fine." He reassured her with a smile and a hand on her shoulder through which he released a stream of rejuvenating energy to strengthen her resolve and relieve her fears. "That just means it’s time to push. So let’s do it." 

He moved down to her knees, lifting the drape just enough that he could glance occasionally for any signs of distress, but focusing in on her face and holding her eyes. “Alright. On the count of three you’re going to push down just like we practiced. One. Two. Three.”

With three the woman cried out briefly though it tapered off into an extended grunt, her face going red beading with  sweat from the strain. After a few moments, she dropped back against the bed, breathing hard.

"You’re doing great." His voice remained calm, a steady smile on his face as he glanced to Bryony to see how she was holding in.

[motherbryony]

Bryony found the drawer he’d indicated, a little concerned that she wouldn’t know what ‘instruments’ to retrieve, but there was only one type of package that had multiple things in it, and she breathed a small sigh of relief as she grabbed one.  There was a box of sterile gloves nearby as well, which she also snagged – it had been a while since she had washed her hands, and if she was going to be handling instruments, she didn’t want to contaminate them. 

Setting the tray near Anders as requested, she pulled a pair on – they were laughably big on her, but dexterity wasn’t something she was likely to need much of, fortunately – and opened the instruments, laying them out in easy reach on top of another of the drapes. 

There had been what looked like disposable linen cloths in the drawer as well, and seeing the way the young mother’s hair was starting to stick to her face with sweat, Bryony returned to retrieve one and dampen half with cool water before handing it to the woman’s husband with a small smile.  Having done that, she returned to her place near but not hovering over Anders.

[heartwrencher]

☽ A Rare Find :: [ for Bryony ]

[heartwrencher]

"Fenris," said the elf in return, shaking his new acquaintance’s hand with a gloved one of his own before allowing his eyes to swivel in the direction of the courtyard she’d mentioned. He crossed through their on occasion himself and knew it well.

With a wordness nod, he began to head in that direction. As soon as they had rounded into the courtyard and off the sidewalk, Fenris released a breath he hadn’t recalled holding and slowed his pace, though he continued to put distance between the pair of them and the street, just in case.

"So," he said after a moment. "I am curious. Is rescuing strangers a habit of yours?"

[motherbryony]

Her new acquaintance – Fenris – visibly relaxed when they were out of line of sight of the coffee shop and his frustrated admirer, making Bryony even more glad she had intervened.  Discomfort had been plain enough to read as it was, but having a reference point to compare to made it all the more striking. 

Bryony stepped into the lee of a support column, eyes sweeping across the sparsely-populated courtyard.  The tables were sometimes at a premium here in the warmer months; as it was, most of the other people in the area were in the process of bustling between storefronts.  She chuckled quietly at the question, turning her gaze back up – for he was substantially taller than she – to Fenris and shook her head.  “Not since my school days, really, though it was something that happened a fair amount then, when my friends and I would go out together.  People who can’t take a hint are especially prevalent in the nightlife, but I don’t tend to partake in that much anymore.”  Her smile grew wry.  “Though it’s not technically disallowed, the Chantry elders tend to frown upon initiates frequenting bars and the like.”

[orsinofe]

Confessed Temptations [Orsino & Bryony]

[orsinofe]

His thoughts were trapped in that place.  That dark place where the thrum of magic called from his blood, and the demonic hiss from the pride demon urging him to touch the power, feed the calling.  The hand that reached out in sympathy was mistaken for a brief moment for the same hand that had been used to torture him and he swift retracted it blinking a few times to clear his vision and reorient himself.  It was not often he allowed himself to be so entrapped in his visions that he forgot where he was, but he had.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he brought an unsteady hand to his tea cup and raised it to his lips managing to get a good swallow down.  Inhaling a deep breath and exhaling a slow one to steady himself as she asked him to further the story past the torture to the rescue.  Prodding him to leave that place that so easily entrapped him, so easily enticed him.  Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he breathed a sigh.

“Not the Knight-Commander’s people.  Meredith herself like an angel sent from the Maker.  It’s very fuzzy, but I believe she was alone for the first part.  I had left a trail as best I could for her to find me, but I had not dared hope…” there were more thoughts there, but he was hesitant to voice them.  It wasn’t an easy thing to admit, and yet, the look on Meredith’s face when she had first saw him there had been relief followed swiftly by horror.  He had beaten it; he had survived.  But, he hadn’t, not really.  Deep down he had touched something of that power that still thrummed through his veins and called out his name.  Only now he was attributing it to demonic energy or blood that had been transferred into him through the ‘Holy Water’ substance.

“They had at least found my staff.”  He pointed to the stick that he had left at the door.  There was no need for weapons in this room, but he carried it around everywhere.  “We were able to fight the demons, but one of the recruits was badly injured, perhaps killed – I can’t recall – before the rest of the numerous Templars stormed the building.”  Rubbing at his temples and the strong headache that had begun to pulse through the veins there, he closed his eyes tightly squeezing it away.

“There were dark dreams, very dark dreams after that.  I was unconscious for a long while in the care of the Circle clinic.  My first day back; I had wished myself dead.  My first night back; I almost was.  The fade is not a friendly place for a mage as strong as I in a weakened and defenseless state.”  This time he looked at the mother, his eyes seemed aged and weary.  “My… my daughter…” and the somniari, “…is the only reason that I made it through the night.  The memory she gave me to cling to was…” almost, “…strong enough.”  He cleared his throat and drank the last of the tea from the cup.

His eyes trailed across the woman’s features, the dusky skin and soft features around her eyes.  The hesitant yet calming smile upon her lips; he couldn’t quite place it, but it seemed very familiar to him.  There was more to his story, and perhaps he would get there with her.  But, first, he needed to trust her at her word.  Normally, that was not an issue for him, but this entire debacle started because of a mother’s guise, and that made this harder.

“What do you know of the magi, Bryony?  What have you perchance researched or been informed about aside from confidentiality, of course?  There are certain things I need you to be familiar with before I can continue.”

[motherbryony]

Orsino seemed to retreat inward for a long moment, and Bryony had begun to wonder if she should attempt to interrupt his thoughts when he finally, sluggishly came back to the present, sipping at the tea and looking unspeakably weary.  She listened intently as he continued, though it was a bit difficult to follow, and she had the unsettling sense that she was missing some important implications of what he was describing. 

Dark dreams?  Did that mean demons?  Bryony had heard that the denizens of the Fade never truly stopped attempting to seduce mages to let them come forth into the physical realm, but there had to be more to it than that, as she’d never heard of a Harrowed mage being this troubled, before. 

Granted, she hadn’t heard much, period, but there were some things she’d expect to have seen if they happened with any regularity, her own relative isolation from the Circle notwithstanding. 

He was looking at her now, searching her face for… what?  Understanding?  Smiling more didn’t seem appropriate, but she bore his scrutiny calmly, waiting for what he would say next.  When the question came, she nodded.  “Less than I would like, I’m afraid.  I remember being very curious about mages and our Order’s relationship to them when I was a girl, but though my mother – well, adopted mother – was a lay sister, she never seemed to approve of that curiosity.  So I know that you undergo the Harrowing to prove yourself resistant to demonic temptation, and that you can send people into the Fade using lyrium, and…”  Her smile grew wry, and a touch embarrassed.  “Not a great deal else, unfortunately.  I know what the Chant says, of course, but as I’m sure you know, that’s far more mythos than actual information.”

[heartwrencher]

☽ A Rare Find :: [ for Bryony ]

[heartwrencher]

"Usually, in Hightown," Fenris explained, stuffing one hand into a pocket while the other brought his coffee to his lips for a sip before drawing it away again, "I deal with behaviour more blatantly rude and therefore easier to dismiss in kind. That woman was a whole new breed of discomfort for me." The last was spoken in an even drier tone, his eyes sliding back down the sidewalk toward the coffee shop, just in time to spot the scorned woman emerging.

"I wouldn’t mind hearing what it was that drove you to act, though I would prefer to do so a bit further away," he said hastily, already stepping further down and glancing around for somewhere to hide.  "Regardless, you have my thanks."  He removed his free hand from his pocket and extended it to her to shake if desired, eyes repeatedly glancing over his shoulder to make sure she hadn’t spotted them yet and attempting to make his frame smaller so as not to stand out so easily.

"And my apologies in advance if this turns…violent."

The word was chosen in jest.  He hoped it was rightfully so.

[motherbryony]

Bryony followed the elf’s gaze to see his would-be seductress exiting the coffee shop as well and winced.  Hopefully the girl was just leaving, and not coming out to give them both more trouble.  “I’m definitely on board with getting out of the line of fire.  She seemed pretty unhappy with me,” she replied with a chuckle, before taking his hand to shake.  “I’m Bryony, by the way.  Pleased to meet you.”

The Mother glanced about, getting her bearings and recalling what else was in the area.  She supposed they could always try to dodge the girl and slip back into the coffee shop, but that spot of trouble wasn’t moving away from the door quickly enough that they were likely to be able to avoid being spotted in doing so.  “There’s a bit of a courtyard area around the corner from here, among the shops,” she suggested, nodding in the appropriate direction, which was conveniently away from the girl.  “It’s still outdoors, but sheltered from the wind, at least.  Shall we?” she asked with a warm smile.

[fyeahbattlestargalactica]

[motherbryony]

Secret Santa [Bryony to Duncan]

Cold gusts of wind tugged at Bryony’s sash and seemed to be trying almost playfully to sweep her hat from her hair, but the winter sun was bright enough to offset the chill, making for a truly pleasant afternoon.  The paper protecting the gift she carried from the wind rustled quietly as she walked, heading for Kirkwall’s Grey Warden outpost. 

The Mother had met the former Warden Commander by chance in a rather unlikely location – the free clinic in Darktown run by an apostate activist, where she had been occasionally volunteering as an assistant.  The irony there still made her smile to herself, and even moreso the memory of her own nervousness when she had realized who the careworn yet obviously distinguished man was.  It was faintly ridiculous, in hindsight, that she had been afraid that he would report her to her superiors; he obviously had had no intention of exposing Anders, and so it should have been a much easier jump than it actually was to realize that meant her secret was just as safe.  Duncan had read the dregs of that nervousness on her face when she introduced herself as a priest, and his chuckle had been friendly, reassuring. 

She had liked him from the first; he had wisdom of both a depth and quality she had very rarely seen before, a wisdom drawn from an obvious lifetime of making hard calls and living with the results, of having others’ lives depend on his leadership day in and day out.  Wise as the Revered Mothers and Grand Clerics could be, their view was necessarily limited by their isolation.  Bryony knew that, now, to an almost shameful extent.  Duncan was wise in a way that would shy away from being called that, because he did not look for acolytes to sit at his feet and soak in his words.  He just… was. 

She had begun to look forward to the days when her clandestine clinic shifts had a chance of coinciding with one of his visits, so they could talk, though she never asked for stories of life as a Warden, as she had gotten the early impression that that was a topic best left to emerge only on its own, if at all.  Instead, they spoke of the world, and the small and curious things there were to see tucked away in the corners, a thousand details of cities she had never seen, and a few she had.  It had always been an odd friendship for her, but a very easy one. 

Reaching the Warden outpost at last, Bryony took the elevator all the way up to the roof.  The herb garden was sparse, given the season, but the blustery wind still picked up a few verdant scents, and she breathed them in with a small smile before walking past them to a smaller garden area, set off from the rest by a low wall topped with a stark tangle of rose bushes. 

It was more of a rock garden than anything else, but it had a serene beauty to it that changed little with the seasons.  Bryony walked the narrow path, pebbles crunching quietly underfoot, until she came to her destination and finally unwrapped the bundle she carried.  No hothouse flowers, these would dry in the cool wind, eventually to scatter across the garden and become part of it instead of wilting limply across the small monument like frail intruders until someone removed them.  Bryony’s smile took on a note of melancholy as she carefully placed the winter bouquet against the engraved stone, and she stood before it for several minutes before quietly turning back down the path.  

[orsinofe]

Confessed Temptations [Orsino & Bryony]

[orsinofe]

“Everything we say here is confidential assuming you find nothing that warrants immediate necessity for attention?”  He queried before he answered her question.  Expecting a somewhat elaborate explanation, he was surprised by how abrupt her response was; though he was certain to keep his features arranged much as they normally were.  “Well, as long as you don’t go telling the Knight-Commander that I really despise the taste of coffee, I’ll have some tea; black, squeeze of lemon, touch of honey, and no sugar.” There was a pause before he added, “Please.”

As she set about retrieving the tea, he watched feeling a nervous anxiety creep into him.  This is a bad idea.  It doesn’t matter that I’ve never even used the magic.  The fact that I’ve even touched it even under duress is enough to have me made Tranquil.  If I can’t confide in someone I trust more than some Chantry Mother, what makes me think I can tell her without obtaining the Rite?  His thoughts were whirring through his mind as if a tornado were running amuck. 

Exhaling a deep ragged sigh when she placed the tea in front of him, he bowed his head trying to blink back the tears.  He was a mage that could wield blood magic and had touched it’s power; there was no light at the end of his tunnel.  His situation was rather hopeless.  Still, he decided to walk through this one step at a time.  Perhaps the Mother would be able to steer him down a road to clarity or peace without invoking the Rite.

“I’m sure you’ve read my file, but if you for some reason haven’t, I might as well start in the beginning.”  He took the tea into his hand feeling it a bit too warm from the kettle, so he blew a cooling film of ice across the top of it before taking a sip of the slightly cooled beverage.  “A few months ago, two or so, I had come to the Chantry just for a change of pace after being allowed to wander the city again for the first time…since I was nine years old.”  Just saying those words was a realization to his own mind that shocked him into momentary silence.

He took another sip of his tea to cover it, but he knew the Mother had seen the hesitation.  Still she had not pushed for him to continue, which actually encouraged him to do so.  Quietly rebuking himself, he continued anyway, “I came here, sat a few floors down in a chair and was approached by a Mother who chatted with me at length.  When I exited the Chantry, I saw the very same Mother or perhaps a demoness with her likeness, under assault or at least the shadows seemed to be moving as if she were about to be attacked.  I ran forward pressing my back to hers before I realized my mistake and was brought to unconsciousness.”

Inhaling and reminiscing upon that moment, he focused on his tea for a moment.  He glanced at the Mother for a moment longer before picking up his story, “Needless to say, the Mother turned out to be a desire demon that was working under a pride demon that was working for the Invisible Sisters.”  Looking down at the still visible but subtle scars upon his wrists where he had been bound, his pallor paled. “I was taken to what I was later told was a warehouse near the Docks and tortured.”  The last sentence seemed emotionless and monotone as he was trying to keep the memories that haunted him at bay.

But, as he suspected, that had failed miserably.  He fell silent dropping the tea cup to his lap as he stared at the liquid replaying the scene in his head.  I’ve been waiting to get my hand on you…it’s only going to hurt for a little while…using blood magic like the devil you are…save yourself…change…or…die.

[motherbryony]

“Nothing you say here leaves this office unless you want it to,” Bryony affirmed in response to the First Enchanter’s question, hoping to allay some of his obvious discomfort.  His jest brought a chuckle and a nod as she rose to prepare tea for both of them.  “Your secret is safe with me, though to hear her speak of it, it’s no wonder you don’t like coffee, if the only coffee you’ve had was in the Gallows.” 

She set the steaming mug carefully on the desk in front of him as she moved back to her chair, her own cup of tea in-hand and smelling wonderful.  “You’re not sure about talking to me,” she observed gently as she sat down.  “That much is obvious.  So whatever brought you, it’s serious, which is all the more reason I promise that I will do my utmost to help.  I’m here as a friend and a counselor, not a confessor.”  Bryony gave the elf across from her an encouraging smile and waited patiently for him to tell her why he had come. 

Her eyes widened in surprise when he mentioned not having been able to move about the city since he was a child – he was the First Enchanter, and the Knight-Commander had referred to his privileges as if they were exclusive to that high office.  Did that mean that the other mages in the Circle might never leave, in a lifetime?  That was… troubling, but she supposed the policies by which the Circle was administered were in place for a reason, and the Knight-Commander was certainly an intelligent, capable woman.  The fear she had shown at the idea of her own compassion had worried Bryony slightly at the time, but that worry had been overridden by appreciation for the woman’s self-awareness. 

As Orsino continued his story, she listened with mounting horror.  He had been specifically targeted for an attack – and how must the Knight-Commander feel about that, after how conflicted she had been with regard to allowing him to leave the Gallows in the first place?  Bryony frowned in concern as her guest trailed off into silence, seemingly trapped for a moment in the tide of terrible memories.  Carefully, she reached across the desk and laid a small, dusky-skinned hand on his wrist, aching in sympathy.  “That is… awful,” she murmured, knowing the words to be inadequate even as she said them.  “The Knight-Commander’s people found you?”

[discerning-secrets]

✿ Roses Mean Remember [ Bryony & Ryleigh ]

[discerning-secrets]

Ryleigh stood back, holding the vase with some surprise as she watched the mother sweep up the mess. “Uh…thanks.” She said after another long moment. She’d already set the roses off to the side, so she slipped back up the steps to get some water. By the time she returned the mother had already finished dumping the last of the vase fragments into the dustbin. Securing the new vase (after making sure to chip away the remaining fragments of broken stone) she finally moved to sweep up the roses, arranging them carefully before stepping back.

She glanced around the room that was right once more and relaxed faintly. She knew they didn’t care if they had roses, or if the tomb was dusty and strewn with leaves—but she did. It was all she could do for them now. “My name is Ryleigh.” She said at last, turning to move up the steps and back out into the open air. She nodded at the name, filing it away before she said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to join you. I’m not quite ready to return to the city, and I believe you still have quite a bit of wondering left to do.”

She waited for the mother’s nod of agreement before she fell into step beside her, dark chocolate eyes sweeping across the quiet graveyard intently before returning to her companion. “So how did you end up a Chantry mother?” She asked curiously, pausing when she recognized a headstone and pushing away the tangle of detritus while the woman jotted something in her little notebook.

It always confused her how families could half break down her door with demands for retribution, and yet the moment their loved-ones were placed in the ground, they seemed to forget about them.  Oh sure, there was the occasional parent or spouse that would come out with a flower, but for the most part the bodies in the graveyard were abandoned to the worms, forgotten while time slowly wrapped their memory in weeds and moss. 

[motherbryony]

“Ryleigh,” the Mother repeated, smiling.  “I’m Bryony.”  The request to join her on her rounds was one that Bryony met with delight – while she appreciated the quiet nature of duty at the out-of-city chapel, the days sometimes stretched a bit long without company.  “Of course; you’re more than welcome.”  She gave her notebook a wry glance before gathering it up, along with the pail.  “You’re right; I’m not even half through the maintenance rounds.  Good thing it’s a pleasant afternoon for a walk.  I’ll just drop this off the next time we swing close to the chapel itself.” 

Quiet prevailed for the next few minutes, as the two women passed monuments in general good repair, but then there was an older stone half-covered in a fast-growing creeper.  Bryony stopped to make a note that the plant might need to be guided elsewhere, wondering when the last grounds check had actually happened.  It had clearly been a while, and she was willing to bet at least one of the clerics scheduled to do so had skipped it due to uncomfortable weather, or some similar excuse.  She smiled her thanks as Ryleigh pulled the vines and leaves away from the headstone, tucking the notebook away to help finish the task.

“This is something I chose young, actually,” she answered.  “I was fostered in the Chantry as a child, and later adopted by a lay sister and her family.  Mother didn’t push me at it, but it was an easy source of comfort and familiarity as I was growing up, and the more I learned, the more I wanted to be a part of it.  I went through the typical waffling about what I wanted to do when I was a teenager, of course.”  She chuckled and shook her head, stepping back onto the path when they had finished clearing the grave.  “But by the time I was old enough for college, I’d settled on joining the Maker’s service, so I studied divinity and history, and here I am.” 

The wind picked up, pulling stray wisps of dark hair into her face, and she brushed them away with a quiet laugh of enjoyment before looking over to her companion.  “What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

[heartwrencher]

☽ A Rare Find :: [ for Bryony ]

[heartwrencher]

The possibility that this new intruder could have been just as dicy as the woman he was presently sitting adjacent to was likely high, and yet Fenris found he didn’t care. It was a choice between remaining cornered and getting into open ground, at the least, and he was goin to take the latter and run with it.

Or her, as the case was.

Unfortunately, his current pursuer did not seem willing to go down without a fight.

"Excuse me, we’re having a conversation," she said, batting her eyes at the newcomer in the most vicious manner Fenris had ever witnessed.

"No," he said, risking rudeness. "We’re not. I have other plans," he said, adding a reluctant nod of his head and muttered apology to the now livid and humiliated-looking woman whose tight-lipped stare made the hairs on the back of Fenris’s neck stand up.

Without saying another word, Fenris stood from the table and followed his saviour out the door, coffee still in his hand.

Once they’d emerged onto the sidewalk, he allowed himself to be led away a few more paces before turning to her and nodding. “Thank you. Was it that obvious I needed a rescue?”

[motherbryony]

For a moment, Bryony worried that the man would assume her to be no better-intentioned than the younger woman who had cornered him, but if that was true, he seemed to prefer his chances with Bryony, for he responded with some alacrity.  The snubbed woman was obviously unaccustomed to being denied what she wanted, giving Bryony a look that the Mother thought might have a fair chance at actually eating away at her like acid.  She contined to ignore the girl rather than smile or otherwise acknowledge that venom, for fear it would invite escalation. 

Did that actually happen, or was it a myth perpetuated through formulaic films about secondary school drama?  Bryony did not especially care to find out.

The winter air felt almost refreshing after the stuffy warmth of the coffee shop, and Bryony felt herself relax substantially, letting out a relieved sigh before turning to the silver-haired man with a smile.  "You're quite welcome, and yes... I'm pretty sure there are darkspawn more subtle than she was being.  Common problem of yours, I'd imagine?" she asked before realizing that she could still be seen as just attempting to usurp the girl's position of speaking to him.  "I'm sorry," she said with a chuckle.  "I promise I'm not trying to do the same thing she was.  Don't let me delay your escape if you just want to be left in peace."