Some might not have known where to find Rilien, hidden as he was in his high-top nook, but Sparrow did. She'd made it her business to know, though she wasn't exactly sure why it was a concern of hers. Nestled as he was in the western tower with an accompaniment of swift-winged birds who shrieked whenever she ventured too close to the rookery. It seemed as if they sensed her far sooner than she could see them. Since coming to this place, she'd climbed those spiraling stairs more times than she cared to admit. Never quite making it to the top. Always finding some excuse to turn around.
This time, she found herself weaving through the courtyard. Nervous fingers tapping at her sides, hooked beneath the belt hanging around her hips. She found herself back on the cobblestone steps, mouth set into a determined frown. Each step felt too heavy, too loud. She braced herself for the crooning wails of birds, and beady eyes, all turning to witness a conversation she was far too unsure about.
Haven had been messy business, and it reminded her all too much of Kirkwall. Perhaps, on a grander level. She'd never fought beside so many soldiers, so many men and women she'd drunk with only nights before. Alive and well. Warm and so assured. Bumping elbows and tankards, singing songs into the chill night. A puzzling sentiment when she reflected that half of them were no longer with her. So quickly, strangers had become allies. Companions, fellow swords at her sides, and just as swiftly, they'd become corpses at her feet. War held no qualms, it took who it pleased. She'd had no time to properly mourn. Besides, there were those here who'd lost far more than she had. As long as Aurora and Rilien lived, she could breathe easy. She would not falter. In Kirkwall, her world had only just been growing larger. Inch by inch, in small, understood bites, but things here were... complicated. There was too much she did not understand.
Another step brought her over the lip of the staircase, where she halted her ascent and peered into the spacious rookery. It reminded her, perhaps, too much of how she remembered Rillien. Of his old shop in Kirkwall, of their now-abandoned hovel in Darktown, of all the reflections she'd tried to lay to rest. He was a constancy that persevered against her memories, reeling her backwards, instead of forward.
Rilien’s office, if it could be called that, really didn’t look too different from the way his shop used to—only the items involved were the tools of a Spymaster and intelligence agent rather than the ones belonging to an enchanter. It was still meticulously clean, everything was still exceptionally well-made, and he still seemed to fit perfectly into the picture. At present, a raven standing on his shoulder, turning its head to observe her entrance with a sharp black eye. It cawed once at her, than clearly decided she was fine to ignore, and went back to adjusting its position on its tranquil perch.
The elf in question was deftly tying a small tube around the leg of another bird, this one a bird of prey, but a small one, perhaps a kestrel or kite. Once the tube was secure, he whistled a trilling note, and it hopped out the window, flapping its wings several times before taking flight out the opening left for it.
Only then did he turn to her, regarding her steadily as always, his eyes holding hers without the faintest trace of awkwardness or emotion at all. He blinked slowly, then tilted his head towards the chair in front of his worktable, offering it to her without a word.
A younger Sparrow might have bullied her way into Rilien's space, uninvited and listless, claiming parts of the rookery as if it were a home she intended to make. As if she were a restless bird sweeping in from the window, building a nest where it did not belong. She'd grown old enough to understand that that wasn't how people worked. Her deliberate cautiousness belied previous experiences, refined in places that compelled growth. Changes that hardened her features, twittered hesitations that hadn't been there in Kirkwall. They were not unpleasant in her eyes, only necessary.
As soon as the window came into view, her expression wavered. Of course, she'd known that he was alright. He had survived Haven's attack as she had heard, but whatever inkling of doubt she'd harbored sifted away when she actually saw him. Standing there, alive. Meticulous movements, as familiar as ever. A small slip of a smile tipped her lips up, and as if she'd been caught doing something nefarious, it smoothed itself into a fine line. She idled on the top stair and allowed herself a deep breath through her nostrils, expression sorting itself out. Dulling into something a little more acceptable. Because, if she knew anything for sure, their conversations were never easy.
With the unspoken invitation determined into a simple head movement, Sparrow climbed the remaining stair and moved towards the lone chair facing Rilien's mundane, hardwood desk. She did a fine job quelling her curiosity as to what the rookery might have held, folding her hands in her lap. As bland as it looked, it reminded her of his shop. Everything in its proper place. Her eyes did, however, slide over to the raven tottering on Rilien's shoulder. An acceptable focal point. Far easier than meeting his eyes, “I'm glad you're alright.” Her words, clipped as they were, ended abruptly, as if she'd tried to reign her words in too late. She looked uncomfortable for a moment and took the time to straighten her posture, sliding up in her own perch, “And I know, I don't know how that kind of loss feels, but I wanted to... I'm sorry for your loss. Tanith. I didn't know her as well as I wanted to. But she was important to you.”
There were several heartbeats of utter silence, and then Rilien moved, smoothly as ever, reaching up to his shoulder and coaxing the fat raven onto his hand instead. He returned the creature to its perch, silencing its protests with some kind of dried fruit from the look of it, shrugged out of his sleeve, was the best guess from the way it suddenly appeared in his hand. He rubbed at the side of its neck with two long, pale fingers, long callused over by knives and instrument-strings in equal measure.
Sparrow counted these seconds, thumped her fingers against her knees, rapt. Her eyes slid away from the raven's beak and lingered somewhere between between Rilien's eyes, his nose, his cheekbones. She considered his expressions as one might study a particularly interesting book, though her intents were perplexed, muddled things. A child fumbling for meaning that went beyond its understanding. Perhaps, trying to read between the lines, as they once had. He was a book she could not interpret. Always searching for something where there was nothing—though she was sure, so sure that she had not been mistaken. She watched. Listened and waited. Attempted to puzzle out small infractions to his dispassionate state.
“Before I met her, I was a selfish, impulsive child.” He’d never actually told her who Tanith was to him, though it had been obvious that they knew each other beforehand, even from the way they interacted since Sparrow had joined the Inquisition. Two years, the amount of time Tanith had supposedly been working for him, was not long enough for the kind of rapport they had, especially not considering how difficult it was to get to know Rilien to any extent at all. “After I left the Circle, I was… this.” He clearly referred to his present state of tranquility.
“But for a short time in between, I was better. She taught me how.” There was no emotion in his tone—there almost never was. But something about the way he cast his eyes towards the floor was different. Rilien never hid his gaze or ducked his head—that he was doing both now was quite unusual, and particularly telling.
She had noticed their interactions. Whereas she might not have perceived anything at all, it seemed as if, of late, she noticed everything. Non-important things, coloring her field of vision. Imperceptible moments that shifted far beyond hapless assistant and the Inquisitor's spymaster, not unlike the subtle ticks he seldom displayed. She wasn't sure just how long they'd known each other, but they'd moved together as if they belonged to the same puzzle. Synchronized. An understanding that could only be achieved by knowing far more than she did. Parts of Rilien she would never come to know. Losing someone who had been so tangled in one's life, old and new, was just another facet she could not understand. At least not in the same sense.
Smoothing her hands over her knees, Sparrow watched him look away. Something she'd never seen him do before. If anyone had faced these, or any, circumstances with the aplomb of an unflappable statue, placid against whatever torrents pounded against him... it was Rilien, though now she wasn't so sure. She wondered, often. Of what could make him look like this. Cause shifts in his temperate veneer. Force ripples across the things she remembered. It seemed as if Tanith was the source. She smothered down the compulsion to ask how she had taught him. How he had been better in those days. It was an inappropriate, selfish thought. A fleeting moment of weakness. Her eyebrows pinched together and her hands dropped back down into her lap, though she could not recall moving them.
He took his own chair, the moment passed as quickly as it had come about, his composure once more utterly unruffled. “You do not need to feel obligated to see to me. I am the one who severed our tie. If it is easier for you to behave as though I do not exist, I will accept that.” It would seem he’d noticed her previous aborted attempts to visit. Then again, that wasn’t surprising; he never missed much, least of all when it came to her.
A small muscle jumped in her jawline, crushing her teeth together. He had been the one to change things between them. It did nothing to extinguish the quick flare of annoyance, flaring her nostrils before she could subdue her irrationalities. This hadn't been why she'd come here. She didn't know why she'd come. Her shoulders slumped a fraction of an inch. A concession of disbelief. Or a consideration of familiar circumstances, “Coming to see you has always been a choice of my own. Severed tie or no.” She refused to say that he too was important. As Tanith was to him. As Aurora and Rilien continued to be, in contrasting shades.
He blinked slowly, his head tilting just fractionally to the side, and an exhale declined his shoulders just fractionally, an ever-so-slightly more ponderous breath then the one he’d last taken. “As you wish.” He offered no protest to her actions, no reminder that he’d intended for her to stay far from him for what might well amount to the rest of their lives. It was hard to say if he understood it in those terms. Likely, he had simply done what he always did: acted in the way that made the most sense to him, without consulting those on whose behalf he acted.
Reaching downwards, he produced two glasses from a smaller table at his side, it would seem, and set them on the large one they sat at. A bottle of something followed; not wine, though. It looked to be a large, bulbous container, the kind often used to hold multiple servings of beer. What he poured into the glasses, though, was a bright gold color, and lacked the froth that ale would have produced. “Estella keeps me supplied with this—I think you might find it to your taste.”
As you wish.
Words that might've enlisted her ire, but now only drew a soft sigh. Sparrow leaned forward and cupped her hands around the cup, dragging it close enough to peer into. It almost looked like liquid gold. Unlike any drink she'd been served in taverns, but this was no tavern and Rilien was full of surprises. She leveled her nose lower and took a quick whiff. It was sweet. Not sickeningly sweet. There was a soft warmth there, if it could be rightly described. Her eyebrows drew together as she swirled the contents and finally brought it to her lips, taking a mouthful. Strange, to say the least, but not unpleasant. Crisp apple rose to the forefront, accompanied by spices she could not put her finger on.
A laugh bubbled from her lips, and stifled down just as quickly. An uncontrolled reaction to an unexpected beverage, which overlooked their ridiculous circumstances. Everything and nothing had changed. There was a continuance of push and pulls, and she wasn't sure which direction either of them were going in. And where reading between the lines had done them so well before, she supposed that would not change either. She settled back into her seat and took another ginger sip, eying Rilien from over the glass lip, “I'll admit. This isn't awful.”
“No." Rilien spoke softly, taking a swallow without looking down at the glass.
“It is not."
This time, she found herself weaving through the courtyard. Nervous fingers tapping at her sides, hooked beneath the belt hanging around her hips. She found herself back on the cobblestone steps, mouth set into a determined frown. Each step felt too heavy, too loud. She braced herself for the crooning wails of birds, and beady eyes, all turning to witness a conversation she was far too unsure about.
Haven had been messy business, and it reminded her all too much of Kirkwall. Perhaps, on a grander level. She'd never fought beside so many soldiers, so many men and women she'd drunk with only nights before. Alive and well. Warm and so assured. Bumping elbows and tankards, singing songs into the chill night. A puzzling sentiment when she reflected that half of them were no longer with her. So quickly, strangers had become allies. Companions, fellow swords at her sides, and just as swiftly, they'd become corpses at her feet. War held no qualms, it took who it pleased. She'd had no time to properly mourn. Besides, there were those here who'd lost far more than she had. As long as Aurora and Rilien lived, she could breathe easy. She would not falter. In Kirkwall, her world had only just been growing larger. Inch by inch, in small, understood bites, but things here were... complicated. There was too much she did not understand.
Another step brought her over the lip of the staircase, where she halted her ascent and peered into the spacious rookery. It reminded her, perhaps, too much of how she remembered Rillien. Of his old shop in Kirkwall, of their now-abandoned hovel in Darktown, of all the reflections she'd tried to lay to rest. He was a constancy that persevered against her memories, reeling her backwards, instead of forward.
Rilien’s office, if it could be called that, really didn’t look too different from the way his shop used to—only the items involved were the tools of a Spymaster and intelligence agent rather than the ones belonging to an enchanter. It was still meticulously clean, everything was still exceptionally well-made, and he still seemed to fit perfectly into the picture. At present, a raven standing on his shoulder, turning its head to observe her entrance with a sharp black eye. It cawed once at her, than clearly decided she was fine to ignore, and went back to adjusting its position on its tranquil perch.
The elf in question was deftly tying a small tube around the leg of another bird, this one a bird of prey, but a small one, perhaps a kestrel or kite. Once the tube was secure, he whistled a trilling note, and it hopped out the window, flapping its wings several times before taking flight out the opening left for it.
Only then did he turn to her, regarding her steadily as always, his eyes holding hers without the faintest trace of awkwardness or emotion at all. He blinked slowly, then tilted his head towards the chair in front of his worktable, offering it to her without a word.
A younger Sparrow might have bullied her way into Rilien's space, uninvited and listless, claiming parts of the rookery as if it were a home she intended to make. As if she were a restless bird sweeping in from the window, building a nest where it did not belong. She'd grown old enough to understand that that wasn't how people worked. Her deliberate cautiousness belied previous experiences, refined in places that compelled growth. Changes that hardened her features, twittered hesitations that hadn't been there in Kirkwall. They were not unpleasant in her eyes, only necessary.
As soon as the window came into view, her expression wavered. Of course, she'd known that he was alright. He had survived Haven's attack as she had heard, but whatever inkling of doubt she'd harbored sifted away when she actually saw him. Standing there, alive. Meticulous movements, as familiar as ever. A small slip of a smile tipped her lips up, and as if she'd been caught doing something nefarious, it smoothed itself into a fine line. She idled on the top stair and allowed herself a deep breath through her nostrils, expression sorting itself out. Dulling into something a little more acceptable. Because, if she knew anything for sure, their conversations were never easy.
With the unspoken invitation determined into a simple head movement, Sparrow climbed the remaining stair and moved towards the lone chair facing Rilien's mundane, hardwood desk. She did a fine job quelling her curiosity as to what the rookery might have held, folding her hands in her lap. As bland as it looked, it reminded her of his shop. Everything in its proper place. Her eyes did, however, slide over to the raven tottering on Rilien's shoulder. An acceptable focal point. Far easier than meeting his eyes, “I'm glad you're alright.” Her words, clipped as they were, ended abruptly, as if she'd tried to reign her words in too late. She looked uncomfortable for a moment and took the time to straighten her posture, sliding up in her own perch, “And I know, I don't know how that kind of loss feels, but I wanted to... I'm sorry for your loss. Tanith. I didn't know her as well as I wanted to. But she was important to you.”
There were several heartbeats of utter silence, and then Rilien moved, smoothly as ever, reaching up to his shoulder and coaxing the fat raven onto his hand instead. He returned the creature to its perch, silencing its protests with some kind of dried fruit from the look of it, shrugged out of his sleeve, was the best guess from the way it suddenly appeared in his hand. He rubbed at the side of its neck with two long, pale fingers, long callused over by knives and instrument-strings in equal measure.
Sparrow counted these seconds, thumped her fingers against her knees, rapt. Her eyes slid away from the raven's beak and lingered somewhere between between Rilien's eyes, his nose, his cheekbones. She considered his expressions as one might study a particularly interesting book, though her intents were perplexed, muddled things. A child fumbling for meaning that went beyond its understanding. Perhaps, trying to read between the lines, as they once had. He was a book she could not interpret. Always searching for something where there was nothing—though she was sure, so sure that she had not been mistaken. She watched. Listened and waited. Attempted to puzzle out small infractions to his dispassionate state.
“Before I met her, I was a selfish, impulsive child.” He’d never actually told her who Tanith was to him, though it had been obvious that they knew each other beforehand, even from the way they interacted since Sparrow had joined the Inquisition. Two years, the amount of time Tanith had supposedly been working for him, was not long enough for the kind of rapport they had, especially not considering how difficult it was to get to know Rilien to any extent at all. “After I left the Circle, I was… this.” He clearly referred to his present state of tranquility.
“But for a short time in between, I was better. She taught me how.” There was no emotion in his tone—there almost never was. But something about the way he cast his eyes towards the floor was different. Rilien never hid his gaze or ducked his head—that he was doing both now was quite unusual, and particularly telling.
She had noticed their interactions. Whereas she might not have perceived anything at all, it seemed as if, of late, she noticed everything. Non-important things, coloring her field of vision. Imperceptible moments that shifted far beyond hapless assistant and the Inquisitor's spymaster, not unlike the subtle ticks he seldom displayed. She wasn't sure just how long they'd known each other, but they'd moved together as if they belonged to the same puzzle. Synchronized. An understanding that could only be achieved by knowing far more than she did. Parts of Rilien she would never come to know. Losing someone who had been so tangled in one's life, old and new, was just another facet she could not understand. At least not in the same sense.
Smoothing her hands over her knees, Sparrow watched him look away. Something she'd never seen him do before. If anyone had faced these, or any, circumstances with the aplomb of an unflappable statue, placid against whatever torrents pounded against him... it was Rilien, though now she wasn't so sure. She wondered, often. Of what could make him look like this. Cause shifts in his temperate veneer. Force ripples across the things she remembered. It seemed as if Tanith was the source. She smothered down the compulsion to ask how she had taught him. How he had been better in those days. It was an inappropriate, selfish thought. A fleeting moment of weakness. Her eyebrows pinched together and her hands dropped back down into her lap, though she could not recall moving them.
He took his own chair, the moment passed as quickly as it had come about, his composure once more utterly unruffled. “You do not need to feel obligated to see to me. I am the one who severed our tie. If it is easier for you to behave as though I do not exist, I will accept that.” It would seem he’d noticed her previous aborted attempts to visit. Then again, that wasn’t surprising; he never missed much, least of all when it came to her.
A small muscle jumped in her jawline, crushing her teeth together. He had been the one to change things between them. It did nothing to extinguish the quick flare of annoyance, flaring her nostrils before she could subdue her irrationalities. This hadn't been why she'd come here. She didn't know why she'd come. Her shoulders slumped a fraction of an inch. A concession of disbelief. Or a consideration of familiar circumstances, “Coming to see you has always been a choice of my own. Severed tie or no.” She refused to say that he too was important. As Tanith was to him. As Aurora and Rilien continued to be, in contrasting shades.
He blinked slowly, his head tilting just fractionally to the side, and an exhale declined his shoulders just fractionally, an ever-so-slightly more ponderous breath then the one he’d last taken. “As you wish.” He offered no protest to her actions, no reminder that he’d intended for her to stay far from him for what might well amount to the rest of their lives. It was hard to say if he understood it in those terms. Likely, he had simply done what he always did: acted in the way that made the most sense to him, without consulting those on whose behalf he acted.
Reaching downwards, he produced two glasses from a smaller table at his side, it would seem, and set them on the large one they sat at. A bottle of something followed; not wine, though. It looked to be a large, bulbous container, the kind often used to hold multiple servings of beer. What he poured into the glasses, though, was a bright gold color, and lacked the froth that ale would have produced. “Estella keeps me supplied with this—I think you might find it to your taste.”
As you wish.
Words that might've enlisted her ire, but now only drew a soft sigh. Sparrow leaned forward and cupped her hands around the cup, dragging it close enough to peer into. It almost looked like liquid gold. Unlike any drink she'd been served in taverns, but this was no tavern and Rilien was full of surprises. She leveled her nose lower and took a quick whiff. It was sweet. Not sickeningly sweet. There was a soft warmth there, if it could be rightly described. Her eyebrows drew together as she swirled the contents and finally brought it to her lips, taking a mouthful. Strange, to say the least, but not unpleasant. Crisp apple rose to the forefront, accompanied by spices she could not put her finger on.
A laugh bubbled from her lips, and stifled down just as quickly. An uncontrolled reaction to an unexpected beverage, which overlooked their ridiculous circumstances. Everything and nothing had changed. There was a continuance of push and pulls, and she wasn't sure which direction either of them were going in. And where reading between the lines had done them so well before, she supposed that would not change either. She settled back into her seat and took another ginger sip, eying Rilien from over the glass lip, “I'll admit. This isn't awful.”
“No." Rilien spoke softly, taking a swallow without looking down at the glass.
“It is not."