Snippet #2090627

The sun dipped behind the horizon, pulling the light of day with it. To Solvej, it had always seemed as though those last few rays went kicking and screaming, streaking purple and pink defiance across the darkening canvas of the sky like a child torn away from his finger-paint, or else a mage-student who wanted to finish just this one spell, I know I'll have it soon Ser Templar can't lights-out wait for one more hour? She never had been able to say no, for while there was no magic under her skin, she recognized drive and dedication when she saw them. Those things had always resonated with her, striking some unheard chord in her soul that she could feel more acutely than she could comprehend.

It was moments like those in which she'd always wondered if it was the right thing to do, trap the mages in their iron-barred cages and watch the life bleed from them in stages. Truly, the windows in the Anderfels Circle were barred. Maybe it was a mercy; the outside world did not look quite so lovely punctuated with cold, dark metal. And it wasn't, but maybe it was unfair that they never got a chance to know that.

Solvej knew something of cages, and maybe that explained why she recruited magi almost exclusively when it was her turn for that sort of thing just a few months ago. There was no denying that they were necessary, and there would be no denying it if they succeeded, for three of them were magic-users, and had they been locked away in Circles, she had no doubt that they wouldn't even know where to find what they were looking for, much less be able to conquer it. Snorting, she rapped herself sharply across the cheek. Melancholy reflection ill suited her. Perhaps it was just something about a damn sunset that made her such a sentimental fool. Bracing her hands on the ship's railing, she leaned over a bit, staring into the choppy water below. Hadn't it been smoother this morning? The sea was a mystery to her.

She'd have to tell them soon. They were within two days of Orlesian port and they had the right to know what they were facing. She couldn't help but want to stretch out the respite for as long a she could- even if Kerin was hardly getting any rest. The thought brought a lopsided smile to her face, and she glanced back over her shoulder towards the mainmast. She was well away from it, but it was the tallest thing on the bloody boat. And the dwarf the shortest. Which was true. There weren't even any rats aboard, and the one dwarf she'd seen on the crew was just a few inches taller than Kerin. But really, damn sentiment anyway. It seemed to demand that she spare them the bad news, let this calm before the storm last as long as she could make it. Now there was a maritime metaphor that she understood perfectly.

The air was getting cooler as the afternoon slowly transformed into evening. It had always been a beautiful transition, with it's heavy clouds laced with golden washed textures, and bright pastels strewn unevenly across the retreating sky, sun slowly submerging behind the horizon. The stars were beginning to come out, tiny pin-pricks of light in the vast expanse above. Dusk held promising prospects of new beginnings, unfurling closer Ethne's dream garden. Vibrant pinks metamorphosed into wine-coloured lilacs, fruit capsules bobbing. Chromatic purples burst into lovely orchids, spreading it's petals wide like a hawks feathered wings. Kaleidoscope of colours swirled and bled into one another. Unfortunately, certain colours looked off. Pale, or revered, or mixed up. It did not, however, lack it's luster. The sun's warmth slowly leeched away, replaced by a fresh, rejuvenating chill. He listened hard, and never stopped listening, even if it was subconscious. Sounds were as beautiful, or even more so, then actual sights. The occasional soft squawks belonged to the seagulls flapping and busying themselves in the waters, seeking refuge in the choppy waves, dipping their heads in search of fish. It was the constant shifting of the ship, rhythmic rocking offering it's own hum. Gentle breath-beats obviously coming from the mast's direction. He'd seen Kerin's silhouette still wrapped around the mainmast, clinging on for dear life, it seemed, though he'd taken precautions to remain unnoticed. It was one thing he was actually good at. His heartbeat seemed the loudest, adding it's own crescendo to the breathtaking soundtrack eventide offered.

There were no marbled songs, two octaves too high, within the ship's belly. Not anymore. Everyone else had drawn back into their own quarters, pulling itchy blankets tight around their shoulders and drifting off into snuffling, wheezing, snorting sleep – unless he counted his own in their ranks. He wouldn't have been surprised if many of his companions stood vigilantly awake, far too concerned with their thoughts, with their worries. Rhapscallion cupped his empty hands, placing them gingerly in his lap. He regarded them seriously, squinting. It was ridiculous, but he wished, desperately, that he had a goblet of apple cider. Sun-bellied, sun kissed liquid of warmth and fallen leaves and a familiarity that did not leave you when you blinked or looked away. Overripe apples that left your hands smelling sweet, sticky. This was his vulnerability at his greatest; at his strongest. Hope fluttered in his chest at dusk, leaving him completely, utterly open. He closed his fingers, curling them towards his palms. He missed something.

Rhapscallion's legs crossed smoothly, retracting from the safety of the wooden rails, where he'd been kicking his legs back and forth like a thoughtful child. It was only then that he noticed, while leaning precariously backwards, inches from letting the back of his head touch the planks, Solvej leaning across the railing a few paces away. How hadn't he noticed her before? The half-breed was an inky smudge of shadows against a background of darkness, dusky skies hardly offering any light in the form of stars or it's half-moon – easily missed, easily overlooked if one was so focused on their thoughts. There was something etched across her face. Perhaps, she was worried? He stifled a small chuckle, pressing his knuckles to his lips, when she rapped her knuckles against her cheek, obviously reprimanding herself for a silly thought. Finally, Rhapscallion pushed himself to his feet, silently, quietly, and approached his companion from her left side, sidling beside her. “From the looks of it, I don't think Kerin's gotten a wink of sleep.” He commented breezily, arching his eyebrows, then knitting them together. He suddenly looked contemplative, etching lines at the corner's of his eyes, as if he were gathering something within himself. A flooded balloon growing larger and larger. He tapped his fingers against his elbow, scratching behind his stubby ear with the other. Like Solvej's unbidden melancholy, it did not suit him. Then, it spluttered out in one long string: a babbling sentence of truth. “I'm afraid, you know? Of going home. Of doing all this, Sol. Will there be an after all this? There. I said it, I'm afraid.” Her gardens, his bakery, their lives.

He needed to talk to someone about this. Who better, then, to abolish his fears than his Mentor?

Solvej actually jumped a bit when Rhapscallion appeared out of the umber-dark shadows of the ship. Normally, she wouldn't react so even when someone got the drop on her; she had grown quite adept at shielding herself from expressing disadvantageous feelings. At present, however, she was distracted enough that she simply forgot to steady herself. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him, and she was halfway through some guttural admonishment in the language of her forefathers (and mothers) before her tongue stilled in her mouth and she turned abruptly out towards the ocean again.

He was afraid. And why shouldn't he be? She was quite certain she was not leaving this journey alive. The realization would not dim her cold ferocity, only feed it, for she was not quite ready to consign the rest to the same death she had predicted for herself, and that would keep her fighting harder, watching more carefully, and sleeping with one eye always open. Her bare-knuckled grip tightened on the railing, though she eased her face into a half-cocked smirk, the kind of reckless expression that fit her like she'd been born wearing it. Grey eyes sparked dangerously, and she tossed her short mane back in a careless gesture, ridding her face of the few copper hairs that had been plastered against it by the wind. Her breathy laugh was soft, a raspy chuckle from the back of her throat more than the pit of her belly where it should have been.

She glanced at him askance, that gloriously-dishevelled, half-rabbit protegee of hers, and one of her hands left the railing, curling into a loose fist before she knocked him in the shoulder with it. "Afraid? Afraid? Where's that would-be Chevalier they promised me? The gallant hero of women and children everywhere, the fearless Grey Warden who'd face down the whole horde with his hands alone, bare as the day he was brought into the world he was meant to save?" Her tone was flippant, irreverent, and entirely unconcerned, but the dark circles beneath her eyes and the unconscious crease in her brow spoke differently.

"Besides, if you're going to protect that ladyfriend magelet of yours, you'd best stiffen that jelly-spine, you bloody lout." She was certainly teasing him now, if the sly slant of her mouth was anything to go by. It had always been like this between them, some effulgent mix of stern advice and acerbic mockery, but she'd never, never, dream of making him other than he was. Solvej wasn't an optimist. Hell, she was a cynic, jaded-green as they come and entirely unapologetic about it. But the world needed people like him, and people like the Dreamer, more than it would ever need people like her. Cynics were a dime a dozen; true optimists, with real ideals and the innocent hearts to follow them without reservation, those were precious gems worth protecting.

He reminded her so much of her brother that it hurt, sometimes.

"You'd be ignorant of the danger or too stupid to value your own life if you weren't afraid, Rhap. It's not about preventing fear; never has been. It's about conquering it instead." Her voice was quiet enough that it was almost carried away on the ocean's breeze.

He smiled apologetically, lifting his hands as if to say he didn't mean to frighten her. Her thoughts musthave been fluttering through the winds, like ash on a breeze, for him to startle her. Usually, whether or not Rhapscallion's footsteps were masked or dampened, she would have immediately spun on her heels to flick his forehead, grinning widely. She always seemed to know he was coming. Perhaps, even before he'd decided to step towards her. He joked about it, often. As if she had telepathic abilities, or the fact, that just maybe, he was just too easy to read. Like fluttering pages whipping through the wind, outlining his personality, his bubbly thoughts, and all of his emotions that, usually, swept into one rampaging typhoon. Her glare was half-assed. So, Rhapscallion didn't cringe away like a pup who's snout had been taped. She'd turned so quickly, back towards the ocean, that he couldn't help but follow suit. It really was beautiful. There was a wildness, an uncontainable freedom, that frothed in it's gushing swells. If they were in the ocean, surely, they'd be swept away under it's currents, swept clear from the ship, where they'd be alone in it's depths. Still, even though that particular thought scared him, Rhapscallion couldn't help but think that the inky ripples, reflecting the pinprick stars and half-moon, was radiant, divine, breathtaking. Unapologetic, pure.

With sights like these, it was easy to forget what they were doing, where they were heading, and what hardships they'd have to face. It was easy to shuffle everything under a rug and leave it for a rainy day. Things were easier in moment's like this. He wished, fervently, that they'd freeze in time, and roll along like ponderous slugs. It was a childish wish. Rhapscallion had never been careful, had never understood why he'd have to sleep with one eye open, or ever be cautious, when he was surrounded by reliable people like Solvej, like Blathnat, like Ethne. He believed, wholeheartedly, in people. It showed in the way he slept around people, with his blades settled away from his calloused hands, regardless of the company he kept – and he was a heavy-sleeper. His assurance and confidence in others kept him from pessimism, whisking it away, promptly, from his mind. He watched Solvej as he always did when searching for reassurance, inspiration, support. Sometimes, Rhapscallion watched her because he was worried. Even in the darkness, he'd seen her hands tighten on the railing. He could imagine white splotches blossoming near her knuckles. But, like always, Solvej surprised him in the most pleasant of ways. Her expression transformed. She tossed her head as if ready to face the world, laughing. She, like the sea, was beautiful. He believed she didn't know this.

The half-breed had been peeking at her, and caught her glance, before arching his eyebrows, in awe. Her ineffective fist buffeted his shoulder, as if to say stop that, honestly, what's wrong with you. It was her next words that touched him, dipping deep in his chest to pluck, loosely, at his heartstrings. He couldn't help but smile, sheepishly. A fearless Chevalier? It'd never really occurred to him that anyone had truly, honestly, taken him seriously when he spoke of becoming one of Orlais' most devoted knights. It was a fleeting dream – nothing like becoming a baker, but still, even still, Rhapscallion wanted to do great things and become as strong as he could to protect those he cared about. It was the most precious: his companions. Even if Solvej's tone was flippant, carelessly silly, there lied some truth there. She believed in him, didn't she?

Ladyfriend magelet. His ears flattened immediately. Thankfully, because of the nightfall's gloom, she wouldn't be able to see them burning. Nor could she see the blush faintly painting his cheekbones, hopefully. Rhapscallion flapped his hands, indignantly. Ethne's strength came from a sunny brilliance that shimmered in every direction, banishing the shadows back to their corners. Perhaps, he was one of those shadows, waiting and watching from the sidelines. It was filled with kindness and generosity. Things that people often lacked. “She's strong, you know? Wouldn't need me, the great fearless Grey Warden, to protect her. Definitely not.” He playfully bumped her shoulder with his own, clearly embarrassed, before brushing his fingers through the fringe of his cropped hair, settling them at the scruff of his neck. Even in the darkness, you couldn't miss the dazzling flash of teeth peeking from between his lips, stretched into a toothy grin. They heckled each other, constantly, but even so, he knew that Solvej would always be there for him if he needed help.

Solvej just chuckled, a surprisingly-mellow sound, and shook her head with the air of one long-used to this sort of exchange. She couldn't see his face or his ears, but she knew from that tone, sheepish and bashful, that she'd struck home on that little thought. "Of course she is," the Templar replied sagely, though the gravity was what her levity had been before: just a shade false, for the benefit of the exercise. "But even the strongest among us couldn't achieve this alone." That was just a fact. She reached up to tousle his hair with her fingers, for no other reason than the simple fact that she could. It was not often that Solvej made friends, mostly because there just wasn't time under the present circumstances. Before, there hadn't been a need.

She was willing to acknowledge, perhaps only since she met Rhapscallion, that she'd always had need of friends, but hadn't known how to name that hollow feeling in her heart. Whatever the case, the time since had made her even more fiercely adamant on behalf of those she saw as hers: her comrades, her allies, and her friends all.

His fingertips slipped away from his neck, dipping quickly to dash the tears brimming at the corner's of his eyes. Quickly, and perhaps, unnoticed. Rhapscallion heaved a dramatic yawn and stretched his arms up above his head, curled fingers entwining together before he dropped them down over Solvej's shoulders, pulling her into an angled hug. It would've been a comical sight given their height difference. “Thank you.” It was a whisper, equally muffled. He released her, clearly rejuvenated. Maybe, just maybe, they'd be alright after all.

The woman responded to the half-hug by elbowing him in the ribs, then surrendered and reached up, patting him on the back. "Nonsense, you blighter. I did nothing at all."