IT’S NOT A full smile , but tristan will take what he can get ( he knows what it’s like to feel everything bearing down on the corners of your mouth , smothering mirth akin to putting out a flame . )‘ who says I wasn’t struggling ?’ he can admit weakness where it’s warranted ; nobody’s free of it , and if anything it will LEND itself to jests mislyn can rightfully hurl back at him in turn ; maker knows he’s fully deserving of it . ‘ but I can only hope it is . I haven’t been to ORLAIS in some time and while it is preferable to endless sand , previous experience says snow and I don’t get along . if I lose my footing , don’t hold it against me . ’
❛ well , you certainly didn’t look it . ❜ her joy has always been a fickle thing , & now it always seems to be temporary , fleeting . like her , it doesn’t know how to remain still . her smiles fade twice as quickly as they appear , but for now it seems to be lingering just a little longer . it’s good, to talk about something so simple , to listen to tristan’s voice , light & warm & teasing . there is a heaviness to her , & always it is pressing her down , pushing & pushing until she feels like she may just break under it’s weight . but now , right now , it’s a feeling she can ignore . ❛ oh , i won’t say a word . i can’t make any promises for sera , however . ❜
You! get! shit! done! You’re determined and action-oriented, focused and persistent. Underneath your aggressive spirit, however, you’re also fiercely caring — and can be a protective force to be reckoned with if anyone crosses the people you care about.
The humidity of the Arbor Wilds clings to him even after they had long since left it behind and the warmth was appreciated as much as the setting itself ( not to mention the occurrences ) were not. Or perhaps that is a mere figment of his imagination and the supplementation of his magic to maintain that warm ambiance within the walls of Skyhold and it is far better than the pervasive chill of the mountain air. He considers and imagines and ponders and thinks and he knows where his thoughts will and before they do and the answer that dwells beneath the surface is one that he dreads as much as he covets.
And there is her : the Inquisitor, and he feels that familiar stirring of concern within him at the sight of her. It’s an automatic reaction, these days. To worry after her, to wish for her safety —— that is the price of CLOSENESS and that is the price of FRIENDSHIP in the midst of war wherein living is not guaranteed and that is something they have long since accepted.
She is near and he dwells on what happened at the temple and what happened in the space in between and his concern lays heavy over his chest, compressing his rib cage from above / while the weight of his decisions presses from below and begs to break free. He doesn’t let them, for the time being. There are more important things to discuss. ❝ ——— Are you alright, Mislyn? After everything that happened at the temple? ❞
it’s a question mislyn doesn’t truly have an answer for . it’s almost instinct to make one up for him anyways , to say whatever will take that worry out from behind his eyes . but she has a strong feeling that won’t work , & he’ll only end up worrying more . so she sighs & sits , gathers herself . brushes her fingers over the bridge of her nose , but it brings her no comfort .
there was no preparing for what happened at the temple . it would have been easier if it was only a battle , if all she had to do was fight . if mythal answered when she prayed . mislyn thinks whatever magic was laced throughout that temple should have felt familiar , should have felt like it was a part of her , even if only a distant part— it didn’t . it felt golden & beautiful & cold . but it’s warm here , in this space dorian’s cultivated for himself , & the way his magic is woven into the air is a welcoming reprieve .
❛ i don’t know . ❜ she says finally . it’s the most honest answer she can give him . she feels a hundred things at once & doesn’t have a name for most of them . maybe it’s the well . it’s wonderful , in its frightening way , this piece of her history & her faith that she carries with her . but she thinks less the ancient voices curling around the inside of her head , & more on the elves . living & breathing &you are not my people . ❛ it was … a lot ? it still is a lot . i keep think about what abelas said about
— well . about everything . ❜
❝ they talk so much , ❞ the girl says wondrously , dark eyes gulping in the glittering ballroom and guests therein . she’s a vision who at least on the surface seems unaware of it : outfitted in sky blue silk and a peppering of fine white flowers in her dark hair . her night had been occupied with dances and compliments , more than she’d ever had or received in a lifetime . or needed in as much time , as well . SHE COULD HEAR THE REVERED MOTHER NOW : temper your vanity , isabeau . . . still , beau smiles at the inquisitor . ❝ they don’t think i understand half as much as i do . did you know the duke over there is planning on raiding his neighbor’s property after their children are married ? his neighbor doesn’t . yet . ❞
she’s buoyant , obviously enjoying whatever game she’s found to amuse herself with . the champagne in her hand is warm and untouched . ❝ would you like to hear about the comtesse gerieux’s affair ? her son told me all about it , the poor thing . he’s terribly broken up over it . ❞ and beau pauses to give a genuinely sympathetic wave to a miserable looking youth slumped by the door .
well , she’s glad someone is enjoying the party , or seems to be , at the very least . or maybe beau’s just enjoying the way secrets flow like water here , no shortage of idle gossip . she certainly expects no less from orlais ; the southern half of thedas ravaged by war & demons & all sorts of very real , very dangerous things , & they still squabble over property . she fights the urge to scowl .
❛ i’m sure leliana will be thrilled at least one of us has something about the orlesians to report . ❜ creators know mislyn has certainly been trying her very best to avoid making any sort of conversation with anyone here who isn’t a servant . ❛ i know you can take care of yourself , but just … watch your back , alright ? we still haven’t figured out who exactly we’re here to stop . ❜ or maybe not stop , if she follows the nightingale’s suggestion . she’s certainly considering it . but those thoughts are moved to the back of her mind , for a moment at least . ❛ too much to hope comtesse gerieux’s boy knows anything about that, i suppose ? ❜
HE’S RELIEVED TO SEE that at the very least, the supposed savior of thedas is not dead. as a matter of fact, she’s very much alive. and then the relief fades as he is given a task: her staff. he pulls away from the cliff’s edge to stand, scan the area for any signs that it might still be around. this is easier said than done, given that he only has the one eye, but it doesn’t take long for bull to spot the stick gleaming among the tall green grass. because that’s what it is. a stick, with something heavy at the end. a glorified club, really.
he hesitates when he grabs it, because magic – for as long as he has been made encounter it – still spends shivers of terror up his spine. he’s seen what saarebas can do without, but she isn’t saarebas. she’s her own woman, and she’d just electrocuted that man to death with her hands, which is, admittedly, very impressive. and kind of hot, another voice helpfully supplies, but he quiets those thoughts and returns to where he’d left the inquisitor.
he has to kneel on his good leg to get it down to her, because they’d toppled quite some distance, but he passes it down with relative ease. it also provides an opportunity to get a closer look at the freeman, or what’s left of him. he’s singed, that’s for certain, flesh tacky and blackened from the overpowering energy of lightning. one of his eyeballs has liquefied, it seems, into white mush. he grimaces at the sight, thinks of his own eye, and decides not to think on it anymore.
he considers putting his arm down, hand open for her to take, if she needs it, but he’s admittedly not so sure that mislyn will need his help at all. she seemed to manage the murder part just fine. maybe she’ll… oh, fuck, he doesn’t know, float up using magic bullshit or something like that. at this point nothing seems out of bounds for any of them. ‘ need a potion, boss? i’ve got one left. ’ he can’t quite tell, but it was a nasty fall. a broken bone wouldn’t be shocking. he’s hurt himself from less, although he is admittedly significantly heavier.
❛ thank you . ❜ mislyn coughs once he returns , staff fitted for her looking almost comically breakable in his hand . she’s able to manage just fine without it (do you really think i need a staff to be dangerous , a lifetime ago ) , especially if the state of the freeman is anything to go by ; the smell burning off of his charred flesh in thin wisps is becoming familiar in an awful sort of way . still , she takes it from him & puts it over her shoulder where it belongs . she feels a little bit better with the familiar weight of it against her back — it’s not anything sentimental , but it’s certainly rather powerful , & in turn so is she .
her hand presses against her armor once it’s free , as if will do anything to soothe the spot where she’s sure an ugly bruise will be come nightfall . she probably does need a potion , there’s persistent pain in her side every time she inhales so something’s broken , or cracked at the very least , but she shakes her head anyways . ❛ s'okay . i’ll wait until we set up camp . there could still be more of them , someone could get hurt worse & end up needing it more than i do right now . ❜ she doesn’t know how many the others have , but if they’ve only got one between the two of them , she’d rather save it . it’s a minor injury anyways , compared to some of the others they’ve sustained ; one only had to take a glance at the many scars carved over bull’s body to tell that . so she presses on , best she can .
some months ago , she wouldn’t even know how to start making her way back up . but that was then , & this is now & she’s had no shortage of steep mountains to climb , of avalanches to claw her way out of . really this should be nothing , but her rib protests with a sharp shriek after each movement she makes , & mislyn has pushed herself about halfway up before a groan slips through her clenched jaw . she glances up at him & she’s sure he certainly wouldn’t have a problem hauling her up ; bull easily has more than a hundred pounds on her . so she grips tight to one of the more secure looking rocks with her right hand & reaches out for him with her left .
A CHUCKLE RUMBLES forth , lips curving into a smile at both her words and tone . alright , perhaps that was a bit too eager , but it’s not his fault mislyn has a talent for finding them all good fights . ( a talent ? perhaps an unwanted knack . he’ll have to ask at some point . )‘ emprise , though ? good ! still need to shake off that last adventure at the wastes . and maybe the cold will help YOU some . ’
mislyn doesn’t laugh , but there’s a barely there upwards curl of her lips & a fond sort of look in her eyes . he’s not wrong . ❛ oh yes , you’re very funny . i’ll take snow over sand any day , thank you . ❜ & she never passes up the chance to give a templar what’s coming to them ; stricken red or otherwise . ❛ how you managed to lug that blade around & not get heat stroke is beyond me , but i’m certain it’ll be just as useful there . ❜
