« My Lady. » Radonis stretched his arms backwards and a pair of thin hands quickly removed the cloak of his official regalia from his shoulders. He did not move as Alesa walked around him and took off the rigid golden piece that rested on his chest and closed the upper parts of his robes. « We have been invited to a dinner party and I daresay that our presence is not negotiable. » He stood just outside the threshold that led to her private apartments. That is, to the rooms that, for now, he had offered her. There was time to add a new whole wing if she so fancied (he was still debating whether to let her pay for it entirely or contribute with a gift directly from his treasury.)
Beata smiled quietly to herself as she approached the great elf from behind, knowing he would hear her coming long before she neared him. Fëanaro sat before their shared campfire, watching the flames flicker; his dark hair caught the light and cast it back like smoldering embers. She bent and wrapped her arms about him quickly, her chest pressed tight to his back for long heartbeats, then released the embrace and wordlessly took her place across the leaping fire, smiling secretly.
The flames brushed his fingers, curling around them like hair. He had to call them, to forcibly bend them until they obeyed his bidding; they did not sing, they did not turn into a gem, more fiery than a ruby, following the flow of his thoughts. The entirety of Thedas (calling it Elvhenan would have meant paying it a compliment that it did not deserve) was deaf and mute, was like trying to shape an iron bar without heating it up first, like trying to cut a diamond with a softer stone.
Her steps distracted him from his aching, frustrated outrage, and he closed his fist around the flames, dispersing them. Step after step, soft against the carpet of dry leaves, she halted right behind him; expecting her to proceed to her spot, Fëanáro did not turn. She did not, and he only vaguely registered her movement out of the corner of his eye. Before he could speak, before he could look at her, before he could, in fact, do anything at all, she bent over him and grabbed him. No, that was more akin to a hug.
Tension grew in his shoulders and back muscles, yet its surge did not find an outlet. Her touch was not hostile, it did not warrant a violent reaction. Still he frowned, caught between the abrupt impulse of freeing himself and sheer bafflement. He breathed in, otherwise utterly motionless, and her chest moved in unison with his shoulders. It lasted long enough for him to grow accustomed to the sensation, not enough to grow uncomfortable with it. Beata let him go, but that did not release him from his taut posture.
Something of the touch lingered. With narrowed eyes and a frown, he stared at her through the campfire, leaving his question unspoken. A question or a confused accusation; for that feeling, that of an embrace, had been long-forgotten and she had dared to awaken again the memory.
Thrask took a peek at the pathway. « No, it’s a mage. » He pressed his back against the rock again and grabbed his rigt hand with the left one. His arms were shaking. Visibly shaking? He didn’t know. He swallowed --- tried to swallow, despite his dry tongue against an arid palate.
« Are you sure? » Ambra whispered.
Thrask cast her a glance. A lay might think that the traveller used that staff to help herself in the walk. But given the situation in the Hinterlands, even a lay might realise the truth. « It’s a mage », he repeated.
« Then maybe she’s got some. »
He jerked and grabbed her forearm just as she started moving. She met his gaze. « Don’t. »
Ambra’s eyes widened more. « Your hands are frozen, Iachob. And you look like--- Maker’s breath, just fucking let me do it. »
His fingers were indeed numb, his palms cold, pierced by pins and needles. And he was thirsty. In the way a fish convulsing upon a quay is thirsty. He had thought that it could not get worse, during the last sleepless night, but it was getting worse. It was like sand in his mouth, and the torture had been going on for four days. Or... maybe it was three. He couldn’t remember how many times he had already watched the sun rise, since his last dose. Reduced, to make it last longer. He had sucked the little spoon and licked the opening of the vial, in the hope of catching a little bit of remaining dust with his tongue. But it had finished. And he needed it.
But what if Ambra was about to face someone who was as angry, and spiteful, and... what if the mage they had found was just like Grace?
He tried to swallow again. « It might... she might be a Maleficar. You are not going to... Listen, Ambra--- »
« You aren’t even thinking straight. Let me go, let me handle this », she hissed and tugged her arm. He did not mean to loosen his grip, did not want to, but his muscles were so fatigued, his mind so weary. He stammered meaningless syllables, as he leaned further against the stone.
« You stay here », Ambra ordered, and he complied because he could do nothing else. « I’ll get some of the damned dust, one way or the other. »
The sky above, between the leaves, was exceptionally blue.
She clutched her fur-lined shawl on her chest and started descending the green slope toward the pathway. Most of her clothes were dirty, her boots more than the rest. She almost looked Fereldan.
A foot on a protruding root, the other on the grass, she nearly ran down toward the mage. (Blisters on her toes were hurting as much as her soles, but fuck her feet; there were no more marble floors, fancy shoes and the clicking sound of heels.) She raised an empty hand just before reaching the path, to greet the woman; put a smile on her face, working hard to make it reach her eyes.
The woman was young and dark-skinned, or at least younger and darker than Ambra. And now that she was right in front of the stranger, blocking the way between trees, Ambra hesitated, if just for a moment, because Iachob’s concerns weren’t so completely absurd (the knife at her belt wouldn’t help her against magic). Even if he was becoming downright paranoid. If that was what withdrawal looked like, then it was such an ugly, frightening thing.
She took a step forward. « Madam? », she said, tilting her head and moving her hair to one side of her neck. « Could you help? I’m going south and I’m in, ah, need of supplies. Food, water... » Her gaze glided down, from the woman’s face to her hips and legs, looking for vials or anything else that could contain lyrium. Then she glanced up, almost elusive in her little smile, and lowered her voice. « Other... things? Maybe? »
five times kissed (you know i'm not passing this chance up!)
➳ this cute meme here! | responding slow & not accepting
▲ Peacefulness does not form like it use to. When one can push into the flowery meadows of the Hinterlands & not worry about blood painting the flowers; not worrying about a body left from w a r. This was not the case, this was peaceful - it was rare & they were taking advantage of it. A rest before pushing into the fight, to continue fighting for that good. A mixture of birds chirping, wind brushing through thick blades of grass & the occasional giggle from the two seated against a tree. Hands are brought together, fingers entwined; joke shared & caresses felt, she never felt so at e a s e. Lifting their hands, Sera kisses the back of Beata’s hand once, one more on top of Beata’s hand that rest against her shoulder. The giggles come again, ‘Y’know I hate nature, yeah?’ Though she was not complaining with her there, in fact she l o v e d it.
▲ Now things were getting interesting. Even though she had accepted earlier to dance with Beata, when the reality strikes it was a bundle of nerves all over again. On the floor, in front of people & with the Inquisitor? While she knows the Beata many may not, she was still being watched by the many & the many who judged. It was no surprise Sera took down one glass of wine QUICK as if to shed away those bundle of nerves. Hands are met together & she’s pulled out onto the floor. Music comes to a new slow, filled with the elegance through instruments for an indication to move ( which feet do not ). She is giggling in a fit of nervousness & Beata is laughing with her, at her? No, of course not. It was about rhythm & following, these complex steps she does not understand. Fingers are laced at one side, she feels a hand on her hip & her own on Beata’s shoulder. Blue hues dart from the beautiful image before her, to the many others surrounding her - she’s trying to learn as she goes. & while she was no expert, she was slowly grasping the hang of this dancing thing. How fancy she feels, gross.
Nervous fits of laughter weaves into a more tone of excitement, smile light & settle - eyes bright for she was enjoying herself ( not that she would tell ). & when it does end, smile fades as if she wishes to continue. But, instead she leans forward to capture lips against her own. It’s soft & as smile remains, a sigh if relief emitting once broken, ‘Sorry?’ she whispers against her lips. Maybe it had not been wise in front of everyone, but she could not help herself.
▲ ‘I’m not goin’ in there.’ This was now her third time stating this, with such a unusual stern tone too. Typically it was to joke, but now she was setting her foot down that she was not about to step foot in the creepy cave. With the shivers running down her spine at the eerie cold & the fog pooling at the entrance of the cave, these were not signs to venture forth. If one looks close, she swears there is bones crushed into the soil - why venture forth? Treasure, answers to questions, she did not know nor did she care. Head is cocked upwards to watch Beata’s expression, the other two companions seeming willing to press in. Oh, so she was the scaredy cat here? She could watch guard! That seemed reasonable. Stepping forward, she turns so she is instead facing Beata, cocky grin that becomes normal painted over once worried features.
'Y'know you’re grand, yeah?’ Hand raises with thumb outwards, pointing to Beata as she turns to face the other companions, 'I mean wow, I hooked a lucky one, yeah?’ Sarcasm, it seems she’s up to something. With hands reaching up, she cups both of Beata’s cheeks teasingly, as she leans in to kiss her - it’s as if this were to be the last time she would see Beata. & when she pulls back, grin remains, 'It was so good knowin’ you, I mean once you step in that cave, you –’ She feels hands on her shoulder, urging Sera towards the cave & she groans, 'I could’ve watched guard! Fine! You’re protectin’ me.’
▲ A groan of a reply, she feels a hand caressing the curve of her form, soft lips pressed once to her temple & then again at her cheek. The sun is shining bright over the mountains, rays penetrating through curtains that were supposed to be closed. Eyes squint as she quickly pulls the covers over her head, curling up into a ball of sorts - she did not want to wake up. & with Beata trying to wake her, she cannot help but to groan again & again ( she was never the morning person ). She can hear the sleepy tone of Beata commenting, something about waking up, it’ll be a great day? She did not know, nor was she paying attention. Five more minutes - no, another hour! Sounded great. But, she knows it would not work. With a sigh of defeat, she quickly pulls the covers from over her head, sitting up suddenly to playfully glare at Beata.
It does not last long however & quickly she scoots over to Beata to practically crawl on top of her ( she was light ). She straddles across Beata’s hips, one leg on either side of, arms remaining crossed over her chest, 'You know you’re annoyin’, yeah?' Another teasing comment as she leans down, arms carefully resting on either side of Beata, 'Really, annoyin, kind of like –’ One kiss to Beata’s chin, another followed to her cheek, nose - about everything, this was becoming a normal morning routine that made them both laugh. & finally she does press one to lips, it’s only broken by both of their laughter.
▲ 'You’re fine, you’re fine –’ A whisper on repeat, breathing an unsteady rhythm of worry if not fear. It was too much, they stepped into too much, but she was trying not to blame. Nothing was registering, they were confident, they were fighting & winning & then she remembers a flash of red. Magic, blood - she does recall. It blew them all back with one blow & she’s suddenly on the ground & she swears she sees crimson pooling at loose cloth of Beata’s armor. Instinct comes in to protect & she rushes to Beata’s side & the rest falls to current. One arm is wrapped loosely around Beata’s waist, fingers of her free hand running slowly through brunette locks. They’re coated in sweat, dirt - & now Sera with blood, it was too much. The WARRIOR fights to protect & the MAGE circling them in a green aura, but what needed was medical.
The ARCHER is there for support, Beata means too much to Sera to let her sit there in pain & watch, was she even awake? 'Everythin’ will be fine –’ She has to motivate herself, motivate Beata if she is listening. Hand reaches down to bring Beata’s hand into her own, thumb drawing light circles against her hand in reassurance, ’– fights are just tricky sometimes, yeah?’ There is a form of laughter, weak as smile grows tired. Why wasn’t she responding? Had the blow knocked her out, or - no, she was breathing. Head tilts as she leans forward to press a longed kiss against her forehead, everything would be alright.
