Vesryn stepped away from the drilling Inquisition soldiers, removing his helmet and allowing his impressive mane of silvery hair to fall down his back. He'd worked a sheen of sweat up in the effort of drilling a few individuals among the group. His skills were well utilized in testing and improving the upper tier of soldiers, weeding out those that had hit their ceiling, skill-wise, and finding those that truly had some potential. As always, he trained as he fought, and wore his full plate.
The suit was not unlike a second skin at this point. He knew every facet of its weight and shape, how much it would restrain his movement, how much of an attack it would stop. He knew the effect it carried as well. A champion did not allow gear to become worn down, rusted, and shoddy. He presented the most splendorous image possible, to be deserving of awe, and inspiring of victory. Not everyone had the temperament for it, nor the resolve. A champion received just as much ire as they did affection, and it had to be endured. For the champion falling was as crushing to morale as it was uplifting to see him stand.
He came to a stop just outside the stone wall that encircled the lowest level of Haven's houses, beside the gate, and accepted a water skin from one of the serving boys, tipping his head back and savoring the icy coolness of it. It was a benefit of making a home base in such a cold location, he supposed. Swishing the water before swallowing, he handed the skin back to the boy, who ran off to attend to others.
Planting the haft of his large practice axe into the snow, Vesryn leaned upon it, and surveyed the drilling soldiers with a practiced eye, evaluating from afar. It was not long, however, before he noticed an approaching pair of familiar faces: the Avenarius twins.
Cyrus, as ever, walked with a distinct sense of purpose, his stride long and his carriage upright. Estella had to hasten to keep up, taking a stride and a half for every one of his. They appeared to be having an argument of some kind, from the looks on their faces, though it wasnât a particularly vehement one. Whatever it was, it ended with Cyrus sighing deeply and shaking his head just as they came within range of Vesrynâs hearing. âAs you wish, then, Stellulam. I shall simply inquire, for now.â
He turned his attention forward, and if it werenât obvious before, it swiftly became evident that it was Vesryn they had come seeking, for they made a beeline directly for him, angling to avoid approaching the drills too closely, though Estella's step hitched slightly as she seemed to want to pause and observe. Cyrus wore the expression that seemed easiest to his faceâsomething pleasant enough, but with touches of sharp slyness that prevented it from being entirely mild. His eyes narrowed in keen interest as they approached, head tilted slightly to the left in a piece of body language common to both of them.
He opened his mouth to speak, but paused slightly, furrowing his brows as if recalling something. âGood afternoon, Vesryn,â was what he settled on, but it was clear he wasnât keen on lingering over the pleasantries. âIf youâve a moment, Iâve a question for you.â
Behind him, Estella grimaced slightly.
Vesryn regarded him evenly, eyes moving between he and his sister as they approached. Estella seemed a bit unsure, or perhaps apprehensive about something, but then, this was not a new expression for her. Cyrus was less so, though he was getting the sense that the man was restraining himself from something. Nevertheless, Vesryn smiled in an amiable manner, turning away from the drills to give them his full attention.
It was extremely tempting to offer a smart-ass response and answer a question of his choosing before Cyrus had even asked, but he got the sense there was some amount of business to this meeting. "I'm all ears. Ask away."
Cyrus smiled, edged like a shard of ice, and just as mirthless. âYour guest.â He tapped the side of his head. âSaraya. What is she, exactly?â
Any trace of Vesryn's previously friendly demeanor vanished in an instant, his features instead settling into hard lines, questioning. The way he immediately tensed was obvious. Not only did he know of her, but he knew her name? How could he know that?
His own alarm was only coupled with Saraya's, who was inclined to regard Cyrus as a direct, immediate threat, something Vesryn was close to agreeing with. It was the smile, the unshakable confidence, and the certainty in the way the question was asked. He didn't respond, instead finding Estella's eyes, and hoping for some kind of sign that he shouldn't be threatened by all of this. Saraya felt much the same. While Estella was still something of an unknown entity to her, she did not radiate threat in the same way she felt from Cyrus.
âItâs all right,â Estella said, almost as soon as his eyes landed on her. She stepped up beside her brother, throwing him a look best classed as cross, then shook her head and returned her attention to Vesryn. âWe donât mean her, or you, any harm. Apparently, the version of yourself that was in the future Cyrus and the others traveled to didnât feel the need to hide her presence.â Something in her eyes softened slightly, and when she continued, her tone was less urgent.
âPerhaps, in time, you will feel the same. Weâre certainly not demanding anything of youâIâm fairly sure my brother is only curious. If you donât want to talk about her, you need not, and we will keep this to ourselves.â The last, at least, was firm, and she glanced at Cyrus from the corner of her eye, as if prompting him.
Cyrus didnât exactly look chastised, but with some obvious reluctance, he nodded. âYes, yes, youâve no need to worry that Iâll go shouting it from the rooftops. The Chantry types would all misunderstand anyway, something about possession or the like. Iâm not interested in having you both killed by some zealot, of that you can be reasonably sure.â He paused, then huffed. âAnd of course, even explaining is optional, though I donât see what harm it could do. Iâm a scholar, not a Templar.â He didnât appear perturbed by the situation at all, though it was hard to imagine heâd missed Vesrynâs sudden wariness.
"I hope you told future me that he's a moron," Vesryn grumbled, scratching at the back of his head. He'd heard only bits and pieces about what had happened to Cyrus, Romulus, and the magister woman upon being spellcasted out of existence for a few moments, and most of that was hearsay. He hadn't even known he was in the future with them, let alone that he'd gone ahead and told them about Saraya. A magister, and a man who surely would have been one.
Saraya's disposition towards Cyrus after his comments was one that could've been described as "willing to spit on him." In that particular moment, Vesryn felt much the same way. "Tevinter mages needed no templars to drive my people to the brink of ruin. Considering what we just went up against in Redcliffe, I'd say that not so much is different in this Age." Cyrus might've opposed Cassius, but from where Vesryn stood, the two were merely a half-step apart from each other. Undoubtedly Estella occupied the space in between.
He sighed. If he was to remain with the Inquisition, this would now need to come out. He probably could tell them to simply turn around and forget this brief conversation ever happened, but would Cyrus stand to let him fight alongside his sister, if he were unwilling to explain what it was that gave him power? If he didn't trust them? He didn't trust Cyrus, not in the slightest, but from what he had seen, the man was at the mercy of Estella's will, a will that was almost always mercy. And he trusted that.
"When I was eighteen, I fled Denerim and my shoddy arranged marriage. I took some friends and bolted into the Brecilian Forest. We didn't prepare for the dangers of the forest, because we were idiots." Giant, walking, angry trees, and equally large spiders were the things that ultimately sent them running for their lives. "I was separated, and fled into an old ruin. When I felt a thirst, like a fool I drank from a pedestal, and the crystal clean water contained within."
He shrugged, palms up, as though the rest should simply be obvious. In truth, that was about all he understood completely. Ancient elven magic was not something he understood the inner workings of. He could recognize it, through Saraya's recognition of it, but he was no mage, and that was something his passenger could not teach him.
"The water caused me to begin hearing things, one of these being a vial. Only after I grabbed it did I realize that it contained the remnant of an elven woman, preserved magically through the ages from a time when my people were still great. She... travels with me, now."
Cyrusâs expression shifted; now he simply looked thoughtful, his brows furrowed and his mouth set into a slight frown, any trace of guile apparently replaced by contemplation. âWater? A most peculiar medium.â His fingers twitched, like heâd rather be doing something with them, but he remained where he was. âDefinitely not a spirit, then, in the sense that the word is usually understood. Certainly not a demonâŠâ He trailed off before seeming to return to himself sharply, his murmur strengthening to proper speaking volume.
âWhat is the extent of your ability to communicate with her? Is it a direct mind-linkâthat is, can you âhearâ her thoughts, or anything like that?â
He'd never really needed to describe it to many people before. The Stormbreakers had never known, nor had they any members with the insight needed to ask questions that he couldn't avoid. In fact, it seemed that it was only himself that could give away this secret, as he'd done in the future. His mouth hung open for a moment, while he searched out the correct words.
"I... feel, what she feels. She cannot speak to me, not in words, but emotions come through clearly enough. I expect it has something to do with the fact that I'm not a mage. Some ritual would've been required as well, to properly transfer her into a body." Saraya's assent was enough to confirm that, but over the years Vesryn had been able to deduce that her state of suspension had been performed upon her, not a choice she'd made herself. Likely a mage with far more power and knowledge than even she had done this to her, and Saraya had been left with little choice in the matter.
"Instincts, too, I feel those as well, reactionary impulses. I learned a long time ago how to separate my own thoughts from hers, but if we both allow it, her instincts can become my own. She taught me everything I know, through repeating the motions until they were more or less my own." Not entirely so, of course, as he was painfully reminded whenever Saraya saw fit to demonstrate how far he yet had to go. Vesryn grimaced.
"She doesn't like you, not in the slightest. She doesn't like many people, though. We're different in that respect."
Cyrus laughed at that, if only for a moment, then shook his head. âMost people donât.â He shrugged, nonplussed by it, and hummed thoughtfully. âThat does explain a great deal, yes. For a moment, Iâd thought⊠but no, never mind.â Whatever thought heâd been about to express was discarded, apparently not judged worth the effort. âWhat is done can usually be undone, especially if the ritual wasnât properly completed. Were I you⊠well, in any case Iâm sure youâve already figured out that itâs a good idea to avoid magic that affects the mind. Iâve no idea how stable her tether to you is, though with some time, I might be able to find out, if you cared to know.â
His continued interest was evident enough, but if he had more questions or further thoughts, he kept them to himself.
Mental afflictions of the magical variety, as Cyrus had mentioned, were already something Vesryn looked to avoid, though in his line of work, it was not always easy. Still, he didn't come up against those sorts of mages all that often.
"I'm curious, I'll admit... in the future that you visited, what caused me to be so careless with knowledge regarding Saraya?"
âThatâsâŠâ Estella broke in, interrupting whatever her brotherâs answer may have been. She looked uncomfortable, and pursed her lips. âAs I understand⊠in that future, you were captured by people working against us. They found out about Saraya somehow and tried to⊠get her out.â She grimaced. âI very much doubt it had anything to do with carelessness on your part. Some Magisters, and those that do their biddingâŠâ She let the thought trail off, apparently deciding it did not need to be explicitly finished.
âI am certain you can infer the rest.â Any trace of amusement had abandoned Cyrus.
"Ah. Well then." Vesryn found himself regretting he'd asked, but also a bit... vindicated, perhaps. He'd always suspected there were many ways that could lead to separation between himself and Saraya, and had always assumed that most would ultimately lead to Saraya's death, if there was not a proper way prepared to contain her. It was something he could never wish upon her. When she was released from his mind, it would be of her choosing, and it would be followed by death, and peace. They had long since agreed it to be so.
"As long as you consider, as I do, anyone desiring Saraya's removal to be an enemy, then I believe we can continue to work together." The thought of leaving if they felt otherwise was not pleasant, but Vesryn would do it, if it meant Saraya's safety. That, above all, was his concern. "I don't know if you can understand, but at this point... losing her would be losing a part of me. The parts I consider most worthwhile, actually."
âMm.â It was hard to interpret Cyrusâs reply as particularly committal, but he looked thoughtful again, rather than quite so glib as he had before. âConsidering how few people would even know to seek her, thatâs a rather minimal obligation in exchange for considerable assistance, but Iâm not the one who can decide upon it.â
âBut I can.â Estella said it with a solidity uncommon to her voice, meeting Vesrynâs eyes and nodding slightly. âAnd I do. As long as you want to be here, youâre welcome to stay. Both of you.â From the way her jaw was set, she really meant it, too.
"Well," Vesryn said, smiling, though still a bit uncomfortable, "that's that, then."
The suit was not unlike a second skin at this point. He knew every facet of its weight and shape, how much it would restrain his movement, how much of an attack it would stop. He knew the effect it carried as well. A champion did not allow gear to become worn down, rusted, and shoddy. He presented the most splendorous image possible, to be deserving of awe, and inspiring of victory. Not everyone had the temperament for it, nor the resolve. A champion received just as much ire as they did affection, and it had to be endured. For the champion falling was as crushing to morale as it was uplifting to see him stand.
He came to a stop just outside the stone wall that encircled the lowest level of Haven's houses, beside the gate, and accepted a water skin from one of the serving boys, tipping his head back and savoring the icy coolness of it. It was a benefit of making a home base in such a cold location, he supposed. Swishing the water before swallowing, he handed the skin back to the boy, who ran off to attend to others.
Planting the haft of his large practice axe into the snow, Vesryn leaned upon it, and surveyed the drilling soldiers with a practiced eye, evaluating from afar. It was not long, however, before he noticed an approaching pair of familiar faces: the Avenarius twins.
Cyrus, as ever, walked with a distinct sense of purpose, his stride long and his carriage upright. Estella had to hasten to keep up, taking a stride and a half for every one of his. They appeared to be having an argument of some kind, from the looks on their faces, though it wasnât a particularly vehement one. Whatever it was, it ended with Cyrus sighing deeply and shaking his head just as they came within range of Vesrynâs hearing. âAs you wish, then, Stellulam. I shall simply inquire, for now.â
He turned his attention forward, and if it werenât obvious before, it swiftly became evident that it was Vesryn they had come seeking, for they made a beeline directly for him, angling to avoid approaching the drills too closely, though Estella's step hitched slightly as she seemed to want to pause and observe. Cyrus wore the expression that seemed easiest to his faceâsomething pleasant enough, but with touches of sharp slyness that prevented it from being entirely mild. His eyes narrowed in keen interest as they approached, head tilted slightly to the left in a piece of body language common to both of them.
He opened his mouth to speak, but paused slightly, furrowing his brows as if recalling something. âGood afternoon, Vesryn,â was what he settled on, but it was clear he wasnât keen on lingering over the pleasantries. âIf youâve a moment, Iâve a question for you.â
Behind him, Estella grimaced slightly.
Vesryn regarded him evenly, eyes moving between he and his sister as they approached. Estella seemed a bit unsure, or perhaps apprehensive about something, but then, this was not a new expression for her. Cyrus was less so, though he was getting the sense that the man was restraining himself from something. Nevertheless, Vesryn smiled in an amiable manner, turning away from the drills to give them his full attention.
It was extremely tempting to offer a smart-ass response and answer a question of his choosing before Cyrus had even asked, but he got the sense there was some amount of business to this meeting. "I'm all ears. Ask away."
Cyrus smiled, edged like a shard of ice, and just as mirthless. âYour guest.â He tapped the side of his head. âSaraya. What is she, exactly?â
Any trace of Vesryn's previously friendly demeanor vanished in an instant, his features instead settling into hard lines, questioning. The way he immediately tensed was obvious. Not only did he know of her, but he knew her name? How could he know that?
His own alarm was only coupled with Saraya's, who was inclined to regard Cyrus as a direct, immediate threat, something Vesryn was close to agreeing with. It was the smile, the unshakable confidence, and the certainty in the way the question was asked. He didn't respond, instead finding Estella's eyes, and hoping for some kind of sign that he shouldn't be threatened by all of this. Saraya felt much the same. While Estella was still something of an unknown entity to her, she did not radiate threat in the same way she felt from Cyrus.
âItâs all right,â Estella said, almost as soon as his eyes landed on her. She stepped up beside her brother, throwing him a look best classed as cross, then shook her head and returned her attention to Vesryn. âWe donât mean her, or you, any harm. Apparently, the version of yourself that was in the future Cyrus and the others traveled to didnât feel the need to hide her presence.â Something in her eyes softened slightly, and when she continued, her tone was less urgent.
âPerhaps, in time, you will feel the same. Weâre certainly not demanding anything of youâIâm fairly sure my brother is only curious. If you donât want to talk about her, you need not, and we will keep this to ourselves.â The last, at least, was firm, and she glanced at Cyrus from the corner of her eye, as if prompting him.
Cyrus didnât exactly look chastised, but with some obvious reluctance, he nodded. âYes, yes, youâve no need to worry that Iâll go shouting it from the rooftops. The Chantry types would all misunderstand anyway, something about possession or the like. Iâm not interested in having you both killed by some zealot, of that you can be reasonably sure.â He paused, then huffed. âAnd of course, even explaining is optional, though I donât see what harm it could do. Iâm a scholar, not a Templar.â He didnât appear perturbed by the situation at all, though it was hard to imagine heâd missed Vesrynâs sudden wariness.
"I hope you told future me that he's a moron," Vesryn grumbled, scratching at the back of his head. He'd heard only bits and pieces about what had happened to Cyrus, Romulus, and the magister woman upon being spellcasted out of existence for a few moments, and most of that was hearsay. He hadn't even known he was in the future with them, let alone that he'd gone ahead and told them about Saraya. A magister, and a man who surely would have been one.
Saraya's disposition towards Cyrus after his comments was one that could've been described as "willing to spit on him." In that particular moment, Vesryn felt much the same way. "Tevinter mages needed no templars to drive my people to the brink of ruin. Considering what we just went up against in Redcliffe, I'd say that not so much is different in this Age." Cyrus might've opposed Cassius, but from where Vesryn stood, the two were merely a half-step apart from each other. Undoubtedly Estella occupied the space in between.
He sighed. If he was to remain with the Inquisition, this would now need to come out. He probably could tell them to simply turn around and forget this brief conversation ever happened, but would Cyrus stand to let him fight alongside his sister, if he were unwilling to explain what it was that gave him power? If he didn't trust them? He didn't trust Cyrus, not in the slightest, but from what he had seen, the man was at the mercy of Estella's will, a will that was almost always mercy. And he trusted that.
"When I was eighteen, I fled Denerim and my shoddy arranged marriage. I took some friends and bolted into the Brecilian Forest. We didn't prepare for the dangers of the forest, because we were idiots." Giant, walking, angry trees, and equally large spiders were the things that ultimately sent them running for their lives. "I was separated, and fled into an old ruin. When I felt a thirst, like a fool I drank from a pedestal, and the crystal clean water contained within."
He shrugged, palms up, as though the rest should simply be obvious. In truth, that was about all he understood completely. Ancient elven magic was not something he understood the inner workings of. He could recognize it, through Saraya's recognition of it, but he was no mage, and that was something his passenger could not teach him.
"The water caused me to begin hearing things, one of these being a vial. Only after I grabbed it did I realize that it contained the remnant of an elven woman, preserved magically through the ages from a time when my people were still great. She... travels with me, now."
Cyrusâs expression shifted; now he simply looked thoughtful, his brows furrowed and his mouth set into a slight frown, any trace of guile apparently replaced by contemplation. âWater? A most peculiar medium.â His fingers twitched, like heâd rather be doing something with them, but he remained where he was. âDefinitely not a spirit, then, in the sense that the word is usually understood. Certainly not a demonâŠâ He trailed off before seeming to return to himself sharply, his murmur strengthening to proper speaking volume.
âWhat is the extent of your ability to communicate with her? Is it a direct mind-linkâthat is, can you âhearâ her thoughts, or anything like that?â
He'd never really needed to describe it to many people before. The Stormbreakers had never known, nor had they any members with the insight needed to ask questions that he couldn't avoid. In fact, it seemed that it was only himself that could give away this secret, as he'd done in the future. His mouth hung open for a moment, while he searched out the correct words.
"I... feel, what she feels. She cannot speak to me, not in words, but emotions come through clearly enough. I expect it has something to do with the fact that I'm not a mage. Some ritual would've been required as well, to properly transfer her into a body." Saraya's assent was enough to confirm that, but over the years Vesryn had been able to deduce that her state of suspension had been performed upon her, not a choice she'd made herself. Likely a mage with far more power and knowledge than even she had done this to her, and Saraya had been left with little choice in the matter.
"Instincts, too, I feel those as well, reactionary impulses. I learned a long time ago how to separate my own thoughts from hers, but if we both allow it, her instincts can become my own. She taught me everything I know, through repeating the motions until they were more or less my own." Not entirely so, of course, as he was painfully reminded whenever Saraya saw fit to demonstrate how far he yet had to go. Vesryn grimaced.
"She doesn't like you, not in the slightest. She doesn't like many people, though. We're different in that respect."
Cyrus laughed at that, if only for a moment, then shook his head. âMost people donât.â He shrugged, nonplussed by it, and hummed thoughtfully. âThat does explain a great deal, yes. For a moment, Iâd thought⊠but no, never mind.â Whatever thought heâd been about to express was discarded, apparently not judged worth the effort. âWhat is done can usually be undone, especially if the ritual wasnât properly completed. Were I you⊠well, in any case Iâm sure youâve already figured out that itâs a good idea to avoid magic that affects the mind. Iâve no idea how stable her tether to you is, though with some time, I might be able to find out, if you cared to know.â
His continued interest was evident enough, but if he had more questions or further thoughts, he kept them to himself.
Mental afflictions of the magical variety, as Cyrus had mentioned, were already something Vesryn looked to avoid, though in his line of work, it was not always easy. Still, he didn't come up against those sorts of mages all that often.
"I'm curious, I'll admit... in the future that you visited, what caused me to be so careless with knowledge regarding Saraya?"
âThatâsâŠâ Estella broke in, interrupting whatever her brotherâs answer may have been. She looked uncomfortable, and pursed her lips. âAs I understand⊠in that future, you were captured by people working against us. They found out about Saraya somehow and tried to⊠get her out.â She grimaced. âI very much doubt it had anything to do with carelessness on your part. Some Magisters, and those that do their biddingâŠâ She let the thought trail off, apparently deciding it did not need to be explicitly finished.
âI am certain you can infer the rest.â Any trace of amusement had abandoned Cyrus.
"Ah. Well then." Vesryn found himself regretting he'd asked, but also a bit... vindicated, perhaps. He'd always suspected there were many ways that could lead to separation between himself and Saraya, and had always assumed that most would ultimately lead to Saraya's death, if there was not a proper way prepared to contain her. It was something he could never wish upon her. When she was released from his mind, it would be of her choosing, and it would be followed by death, and peace. They had long since agreed it to be so.
"As long as you consider, as I do, anyone desiring Saraya's removal to be an enemy, then I believe we can continue to work together." The thought of leaving if they felt otherwise was not pleasant, but Vesryn would do it, if it meant Saraya's safety. That, above all, was his concern. "I don't know if you can understand, but at this point... losing her would be losing a part of me. The parts I consider most worthwhile, actually."
âMm.â It was hard to interpret Cyrusâs reply as particularly committal, but he looked thoughtful again, rather than quite so glib as he had before. âConsidering how few people would even know to seek her, thatâs a rather minimal obligation in exchange for considerable assistance, but Iâm not the one who can decide upon it.â
âBut I can.â Estella said it with a solidity uncommon to her voice, meeting Vesrynâs eyes and nodding slightly. âAnd I do. As long as you want to be here, youâre welcome to stay. Both of you.â From the way her jaw was set, she really meant it, too.
"Well," Vesryn said, smiling, though still a bit uncomfortable, "that's that, then."