This morning, Lucien found himself heading towards Hightown once again, though this time, it was actually at his friend's request. Rilien was not one to ask for favors without great need, and so the mercenary had answered the summons the very next day, as soon as the morning had moved far enough into the hours of honest business. Which was perhaps why he was entering the Enchantment shop even as the day just began. Sandal and Bodahn were already present, and he returned warmly the greeting of the latter before settling himself onto his usual bench, leaning the axe at his back up against the nearby wall. Unusually, it did not seem that Rilien was yet in. Well, that was no particular matter; he would simply wait.
Rilien had been delayed in the receipt of several raw ingredients, and by the time he reached his shop, he was aware that it was beyond the appointed hour. Even so, he entered looking as unruffled as ever, though in truth his thoughts had been stirring uncomfortably of late, and the events of a week ago had yet to leave him. It was beginning to bother his usual quietude, and he did not truly understand what to do about it. Logically, the best person to ask about such matters was Lucien, who understood more of him than he himself did at times, and furthermore was not so mired in the situation as to be inherently biased. He would not run off to alert the Chantry authorities, but nor would he pull punches, as the expression went, if he saw something wrong with the matter. Well, aside from the obvious. It was a mark of uncommon trust that the Tranquil was not planning on withholding anything from him, either.
"Ser Lucien," he greeted, but he said no more for the moment, crossing to his work bench and depositing the large sack of ingredients there. Loosening the drawstring, Rilien began silently to file things away upon their proper shelves, a rare time-wasting tactic, as he attempted to decide how to put his predicament. It wasn't that he thought he was about to tell anything other than the truth, just that there was much to explain, and he sought still the optimum manner in which to do so. These things were usually so clear to him, but he found the waters... muddied by his own proximity to the issue. His eminent neutrality was threatened, and he found this unsatisfactory.
At last he'd finished, and with nothing else to occupy his hands, he at last turned to face his friend. "Upstairs, please," he said, casting a sidelong glance at the two dwarves, both currently busily occupied with their own business. Ascending the stone staircase himself, he emerged into a moderately-sized central room, at the center of which was a round table with four chairs arranged about it. Rilien selected one of these, and sat in silence until Lucien had done the same. He could only remain inefficient for so long, however, and he started in immediately. "You know that I currently share lodging with Sparrow. Slightly less than a year ago, she was possessed by a Desire Demon, and the problem grows only worse. I require assistance in obtaining ingredients for a potion which I believe will correct the problem." He disliked having to ask anyone for help, but perhaps Lucien least of all. By the Bard's reckoning, he was too deeply indebted to the man as it was.
Lucien followed without protest, taking a seat when indicated by his friend. There was something unusual going on with Rilien-- a tension and terseness to his movements that did not normally exist. If he'd ever met anyone that never lost the fluid grace of a predator, it was the Tranquil, and yet for all that he seemed right now to be without it. Perhaps he was simply overthinking things, but... the change in his nearly-changeless companion was unsettling. Here was a fellow who'd stared down fearsome Darkspawn, hostile nobility, and self-righteous officials with equal unflinching disdain, never once betraying even the slightest hint of anxiety. If indeed that was what this strangeness signified. Lucien had to admit, he really had no basis from which to judge what the source of this alteration could be.
Which was perhaps why he was lucky that Rilien was nothing if not direct. The statement of his problem was short, clipped, as efficient as ever, but it left the Chevalier with one widened eye and a long, heavy exhale. That, perhaps, could be enough to put anyone on edge. Sparrow was possessed? Lucien didn't know the lady very well at all, but it was obvious that Rilien did, and he supposed the differences in behavior would be simple enough to notice if you had something to work with. Actually, now that he mentioned it... "The Deep Roads. Those visions... that was her?" he asked without any particular inflection, just trying to gather all the information he could. The Tranquil nodded.
Leaning back, the Chevalier rubbed absently at one side of his jaw with a gauntleted hand, the slight rasp of stubble a sound he barely noticed. He'd never heard of any potion being able to cure a possession, but on that, he would defer entirely to Rilien's arcane knowledge. If he said it existed, it existed. Glancing over at his friend, Lucien nodded. "If you think there's anything I can help you find for it, just tell me what to look for." He did tend to get out and about in the surrounding area more than most, after all, and if he could get a list, he might be able to inquire with a few of his contacts in the supplying business. Not that they had anything illegal, but rarities... he might be able to purchase a few of those. It wasn't like he was using his recent windfall of funds for anything else, and unfortunately, there were people in the world that would refuse to sell to Rilien, be that because he was an elf or because he was a Tranquil. Lucien was neither.
There was still something bothering him, though. "Ril, don't take this the wrong way, but... it seems awfully unlike you to try solving the problem in such a manner." It was the most delicate way he could think to ask why the Tranquil simply hadn't killed her as soon as he'd discovered she was possessed. It might not have been something he cared about if it hadn't affected anything, but Sparrow had clearly put them all in very real danger down in the tunnels, and given that he'd had to stop the former Bard from killing people for less before, he was pleasantly surprised to find that he was choosing the harder, less efficient solution now. This was something that Lucien had always suspected the man was capable of-- he knew Ril felt things in there sometimes, regardless of how little or infrequently-- but this was something else entirely.
The agreement, he had expected. Counted on, actually; there was little chance he would be able to secure all of the ingredients he required on his own. Rolling one shoulder, he produced a list from his sleeve with the motion and spread the folded parchment on the table, smoothing it out with his fingers. Most of the things on it were simple enough, and would simply require journeying to the right locations, which he had included for reference. Much of this legwork, he would be doing himself, but assistance would be useful. The other items were quite rare, and included just in case Lucien happened to come across them. Sliding the list across the table, Rilien was loosening his jaw to express his thinks when the mercenary spoke first.
The question (or rather, the one implied in the statement) was a fair one, though perhaps only askable because the two had been acquainted as long as they had. In truth, Rilien wasn't even sure he could provide an answer to it. Was there a reason? Logically, yes, the danger Sparrow-- or rather, Rapture-- posed to himself and other denizens of the city that he held in sufficient regard was great, and had the demon been possessing nearly anyone else, his action would have been immediate and without mercy. This simple fact of reasoning should yield no different consequences in this situation, and yet it had. He had half an inkling as to the cause, and the instinct that he understood it all the more clearly when not fettered with his Tranquility, but at the moment, it was hard to put things into the words that would adequately explain them.
"I do not know," he confessed at last, and his brow furrowed at the admission. It was as close to the truth as he could muster. "You are correct, but I do not have the means to explain it. She is... I could not." There was simply no other way to put it.
Though it seemed to be causing his friend some distress-- regrettable, but in another sense, somewhat welcome-- the half-formed thought put a beatific smile on Lucien's face, one that carried a hint of an old mischief, from a time when his deeds burdened him less. His visible eye flicked down to the list for a moment, quickly reading the words there, and he nodded to himself more than Ril, picking up the parchment and tucking it into a pocket. He was admittedly quite interested to press this point further, though with Rilien, one had to be careful-- there was a certain point to which the Tranquil would indulge the queries of the curious, but unlike others of his kind, he possessed the presence of mind to stop talking before it was asked of him, and would refuse questions too personal or uncomfortable.
"It seems fairly simple to me, Ril. You care about her, about what happens to her. I'd wager she's not the only one you care about, either, but there are always special cases, aren't there?" he mused thoughtfully. Interesting, that such a statement recalled to his memory fine stands of white-blond hair in the wind and glittering silverite armor. How long had it been since they'd entered his thoughts-- since she had? Too long? Not long enough? It was hard to say. Regardless, the nature of such attachments was not always the same, but they were universally the ones that left the deepest impressions on the soul... and the largest scars on the heart. In a way, living as he did, without letting in enough light to bind himself in such ways again, was for the best. Rilien was all that remained to him of that life, the one person left that he trusted with everything, and the Tranquil's steadiness and reliability opened him to little risk.
"It's not a weakness, you know, to sacrifice logic occasionally. It's just another kind of strength." One that he was rapidly losing, and one that Rilien seemed to be gaining now in his stead. How very ironic.
"It is troublesome," Rilien countered flatly. This did not mean that he was presently too displeased with the notion, and he suspected Lucien would know that. On some level, the idea of feeling enough to actually have an opinion one way or another on the life or death of another was indeed concerning, but that in and of itself was another feeling. He would not deny that he was capable of caring about people, only that it was very difficult and usually not worth the effort. Lucien was his friend one way or another-- circumstance had forced his hand there, almost, but the Chevalier's easy acceptance of his idiosyncrasies had kept the bond in place, such as it was. Ashton... was similar, in his much louder, more obnoxious sort of way.
Nothing about Sparrow was so facile, which meant he understood it less. Regardless, it was as it was, and his oldest friend seemed to think it a good thing. He would reserve judgement on the matter for now, as it was also causing him a fair amount of strain, given the demon.
He desired the topic shifted, and so he did so-- as bluntly as he chose to do nearly everything else. "Your father still writes you," he observed. "Have the matters in Orlais shifted?"
As blunt and unyielding as ever. Well, no matter; Lucien was not one to dwell if the other person in the conversation was uncomfortable with a topic. So he indulged his friend and did not mention the abrupt change in topic. "Yes," he replied simply, "and no. As long as Lord Deschamps is still Judge Magister, I doubt it will. The Chantry's had him in their back pocket for years-- you know that better than I do. And naturally, I had to pick a fight with the superior officer whose brother works directly for the Lord High Seeker..." There was a poor joke in there somewhere, honestly. It seemed that, in addition to really knowing how to pick his few friends, Lucien had a knack for finding the most dangerous enemies.
It was an inherited trait, he was certain. Raking a hand through his shaggy hair, he blew a sigh from his nose and glanced askance at Rilien. "I'm still sorry about that, you know. I should have just left you to your business after the incident. Instead, I dragged you into the politics, and you had none of the protection I did." Oblivious to certain things as he'd been then, Lucien had simply assumed that the courts would do the just thing, and listen to what Rilien had to say. It had been hopelessly naive of him, and the Tranquil and his father had both tried to warn him about that. But he had been reckless, overconfident, and idealistic, so sure that what he was doing was the first step to fixing a major problem in Orlesian society-- as though he were the first person to notice it and try. As though history had not shown that people with ideas like that wound up dead. Fate had been kind enough to grant him birth into a family with influence enough to stay the harshest of judgements.
Rilien had received no such favors, and he'd always felt terrible for that.
"Your actions were irrational," Rilien agreed. At the time, though, he'd owed the man the debt of his life, and in the aftermath, he had again. At the very least, it seemed that the trouble Lucien dragged anyone into was trouble he would just as soon drag them out of again. Though the Tranquil found the idea of honor perplexing on good days and foolish on bad ones, he would not deny that one could reliably count on the Chevalier's adherence to it, and know without doubt that he'd sooner fall himself than see anyone die for his follies. "I did not understand them then." He met the other man's eyes for a split second, and the implication, at least between them, would be clear: but I think I begin to understand now.
"What's done is done. I do not long for that life, regardless. Nor should you." It hadn't suited either of them.
"Indeed not," Lucien agreed amicably, something just a little smugly-appeased in his tone.
Rilien had been delayed in the receipt of several raw ingredients, and by the time he reached his shop, he was aware that it was beyond the appointed hour. Even so, he entered looking as unruffled as ever, though in truth his thoughts had been stirring uncomfortably of late, and the events of a week ago had yet to leave him. It was beginning to bother his usual quietude, and he did not truly understand what to do about it. Logically, the best person to ask about such matters was Lucien, who understood more of him than he himself did at times, and furthermore was not so mired in the situation as to be inherently biased. He would not run off to alert the Chantry authorities, but nor would he pull punches, as the expression went, if he saw something wrong with the matter. Well, aside from the obvious. It was a mark of uncommon trust that the Tranquil was not planning on withholding anything from him, either.
"Ser Lucien," he greeted, but he said no more for the moment, crossing to his work bench and depositing the large sack of ingredients there. Loosening the drawstring, Rilien began silently to file things away upon their proper shelves, a rare time-wasting tactic, as he attempted to decide how to put his predicament. It wasn't that he thought he was about to tell anything other than the truth, just that there was much to explain, and he sought still the optimum manner in which to do so. These things were usually so clear to him, but he found the waters... muddied by his own proximity to the issue. His eminent neutrality was threatened, and he found this unsatisfactory.
At last he'd finished, and with nothing else to occupy his hands, he at last turned to face his friend. "Upstairs, please," he said, casting a sidelong glance at the two dwarves, both currently busily occupied with their own business. Ascending the stone staircase himself, he emerged into a moderately-sized central room, at the center of which was a round table with four chairs arranged about it. Rilien selected one of these, and sat in silence until Lucien had done the same. He could only remain inefficient for so long, however, and he started in immediately. "You know that I currently share lodging with Sparrow. Slightly less than a year ago, she was possessed by a Desire Demon, and the problem grows only worse. I require assistance in obtaining ingredients for a potion which I believe will correct the problem." He disliked having to ask anyone for help, but perhaps Lucien least of all. By the Bard's reckoning, he was too deeply indebted to the man as it was.
Lucien followed without protest, taking a seat when indicated by his friend. There was something unusual going on with Rilien-- a tension and terseness to his movements that did not normally exist. If he'd ever met anyone that never lost the fluid grace of a predator, it was the Tranquil, and yet for all that he seemed right now to be without it. Perhaps he was simply overthinking things, but... the change in his nearly-changeless companion was unsettling. Here was a fellow who'd stared down fearsome Darkspawn, hostile nobility, and self-righteous officials with equal unflinching disdain, never once betraying even the slightest hint of anxiety. If indeed that was what this strangeness signified. Lucien had to admit, he really had no basis from which to judge what the source of this alteration could be.
Which was perhaps why he was lucky that Rilien was nothing if not direct. The statement of his problem was short, clipped, as efficient as ever, but it left the Chevalier with one widened eye and a long, heavy exhale. That, perhaps, could be enough to put anyone on edge. Sparrow was possessed? Lucien didn't know the lady very well at all, but it was obvious that Rilien did, and he supposed the differences in behavior would be simple enough to notice if you had something to work with. Actually, now that he mentioned it... "The Deep Roads. Those visions... that was her?" he asked without any particular inflection, just trying to gather all the information he could. The Tranquil nodded.
Leaning back, the Chevalier rubbed absently at one side of his jaw with a gauntleted hand, the slight rasp of stubble a sound he barely noticed. He'd never heard of any potion being able to cure a possession, but on that, he would defer entirely to Rilien's arcane knowledge. If he said it existed, it existed. Glancing over at his friend, Lucien nodded. "If you think there's anything I can help you find for it, just tell me what to look for." He did tend to get out and about in the surrounding area more than most, after all, and if he could get a list, he might be able to inquire with a few of his contacts in the supplying business. Not that they had anything illegal, but rarities... he might be able to purchase a few of those. It wasn't like he was using his recent windfall of funds for anything else, and unfortunately, there were people in the world that would refuse to sell to Rilien, be that because he was an elf or because he was a Tranquil. Lucien was neither.
There was still something bothering him, though. "Ril, don't take this the wrong way, but... it seems awfully unlike you to try solving the problem in such a manner." It was the most delicate way he could think to ask why the Tranquil simply hadn't killed her as soon as he'd discovered she was possessed. It might not have been something he cared about if it hadn't affected anything, but Sparrow had clearly put them all in very real danger down in the tunnels, and given that he'd had to stop the former Bard from killing people for less before, he was pleasantly surprised to find that he was choosing the harder, less efficient solution now. This was something that Lucien had always suspected the man was capable of-- he knew Ril felt things in there sometimes, regardless of how little or infrequently-- but this was something else entirely.
The agreement, he had expected. Counted on, actually; there was little chance he would be able to secure all of the ingredients he required on his own. Rolling one shoulder, he produced a list from his sleeve with the motion and spread the folded parchment on the table, smoothing it out with his fingers. Most of the things on it were simple enough, and would simply require journeying to the right locations, which he had included for reference. Much of this legwork, he would be doing himself, but assistance would be useful. The other items were quite rare, and included just in case Lucien happened to come across them. Sliding the list across the table, Rilien was loosening his jaw to express his thinks when the mercenary spoke first.
The question (or rather, the one implied in the statement) was a fair one, though perhaps only askable because the two had been acquainted as long as they had. In truth, Rilien wasn't even sure he could provide an answer to it. Was there a reason? Logically, yes, the danger Sparrow-- or rather, Rapture-- posed to himself and other denizens of the city that he held in sufficient regard was great, and had the demon been possessing nearly anyone else, his action would have been immediate and without mercy. This simple fact of reasoning should yield no different consequences in this situation, and yet it had. He had half an inkling as to the cause, and the instinct that he understood it all the more clearly when not fettered with his Tranquility, but at the moment, it was hard to put things into the words that would adequately explain them.
"I do not know," he confessed at last, and his brow furrowed at the admission. It was as close to the truth as he could muster. "You are correct, but I do not have the means to explain it. She is... I could not." There was simply no other way to put it.
Though it seemed to be causing his friend some distress-- regrettable, but in another sense, somewhat welcome-- the half-formed thought put a beatific smile on Lucien's face, one that carried a hint of an old mischief, from a time when his deeds burdened him less. His visible eye flicked down to the list for a moment, quickly reading the words there, and he nodded to himself more than Ril, picking up the parchment and tucking it into a pocket. He was admittedly quite interested to press this point further, though with Rilien, one had to be careful-- there was a certain point to which the Tranquil would indulge the queries of the curious, but unlike others of his kind, he possessed the presence of mind to stop talking before it was asked of him, and would refuse questions too personal or uncomfortable.
"It seems fairly simple to me, Ril. You care about her, about what happens to her. I'd wager she's not the only one you care about, either, but there are always special cases, aren't there?" he mused thoughtfully. Interesting, that such a statement recalled to his memory fine stands of white-blond hair in the wind and glittering silverite armor. How long had it been since they'd entered his thoughts-- since she had? Too long? Not long enough? It was hard to say. Regardless, the nature of such attachments was not always the same, but they were universally the ones that left the deepest impressions on the soul... and the largest scars on the heart. In a way, living as he did, without letting in enough light to bind himself in such ways again, was for the best. Rilien was all that remained to him of that life, the one person left that he trusted with everything, and the Tranquil's steadiness and reliability opened him to little risk.
"It's not a weakness, you know, to sacrifice logic occasionally. It's just another kind of strength." One that he was rapidly losing, and one that Rilien seemed to be gaining now in his stead. How very ironic.
"It is troublesome," Rilien countered flatly. This did not mean that he was presently too displeased with the notion, and he suspected Lucien would know that. On some level, the idea of feeling enough to actually have an opinion one way or another on the life or death of another was indeed concerning, but that in and of itself was another feeling. He would not deny that he was capable of caring about people, only that it was very difficult and usually not worth the effort. Lucien was his friend one way or another-- circumstance had forced his hand there, almost, but the Chevalier's easy acceptance of his idiosyncrasies had kept the bond in place, such as it was. Ashton... was similar, in his much louder, more obnoxious sort of way.
Nothing about Sparrow was so facile, which meant he understood it less. Regardless, it was as it was, and his oldest friend seemed to think it a good thing. He would reserve judgement on the matter for now, as it was also causing him a fair amount of strain, given the demon.
He desired the topic shifted, and so he did so-- as bluntly as he chose to do nearly everything else. "Your father still writes you," he observed. "Have the matters in Orlais shifted?"
As blunt and unyielding as ever. Well, no matter; Lucien was not one to dwell if the other person in the conversation was uncomfortable with a topic. So he indulged his friend and did not mention the abrupt change in topic. "Yes," he replied simply, "and no. As long as Lord Deschamps is still Judge Magister, I doubt it will. The Chantry's had him in their back pocket for years-- you know that better than I do. And naturally, I had to pick a fight with the superior officer whose brother works directly for the Lord High Seeker..." There was a poor joke in there somewhere, honestly. It seemed that, in addition to really knowing how to pick his few friends, Lucien had a knack for finding the most dangerous enemies.
It was an inherited trait, he was certain. Raking a hand through his shaggy hair, he blew a sigh from his nose and glanced askance at Rilien. "I'm still sorry about that, you know. I should have just left you to your business after the incident. Instead, I dragged you into the politics, and you had none of the protection I did." Oblivious to certain things as he'd been then, Lucien had simply assumed that the courts would do the just thing, and listen to what Rilien had to say. It had been hopelessly naive of him, and the Tranquil and his father had both tried to warn him about that. But he had been reckless, overconfident, and idealistic, so sure that what he was doing was the first step to fixing a major problem in Orlesian society-- as though he were the first person to notice it and try. As though history had not shown that people with ideas like that wound up dead. Fate had been kind enough to grant him birth into a family with influence enough to stay the harshest of judgements.
Rilien had received no such favors, and he'd always felt terrible for that.
"Your actions were irrational," Rilien agreed. At the time, though, he'd owed the man the debt of his life, and in the aftermath, he had again. At the very least, it seemed that the trouble Lucien dragged anyone into was trouble he would just as soon drag them out of again. Though the Tranquil found the idea of honor perplexing on good days and foolish on bad ones, he would not deny that one could reliably count on the Chevalier's adherence to it, and know without doubt that he'd sooner fall himself than see anyone die for his follies. "I did not understand them then." He met the other man's eyes for a split second, and the implication, at least between them, would be clear: but I think I begin to understand now.
"What's done is done. I do not long for that life, regardless. Nor should you." It hadn't suited either of them.
"Indeed not," Lucien agreed amicably, something just a little smugly-appeased in his tone.