It was a bright morning, but cold. That didn't stop Vesryn from running outside of the Herald's Rest without so much as a cloak.
His boots crunched over the snow, surefooted and steady, guided by Saraya's instinct. Much as with the Fade, her condition had returned to normal, or as normal as it could be for them, in the days following Zethlasan's use of blood magic on him. He'd even allowed himself to think that nothing would happen at all, given the apparent lack of result of Nightmare's toying. More prying in his mind that had no visible effect. He liked to think that Stel had interrupted Zeth in time, halted whatever he intended to do. It occurred to him that he should have brought the man in, questioned him to find out what the demon had taught him, what his intentions really had been. But he couldn't stand the thought of seeing him any more.
And then, a week and a half later or so, Vesryn simply went to sleep for the night, woke up the next morning and... he knew it. Instantly. And Saraya knew it as well. It was a remarkable thing, a little thing but something that had been denied to her for so, so long. The realization of it brought tears to his eyes, and he laughed like an idiot into his pillow for several minutes before he thought to get dressed. He needed to tell Cyrus about this. Even after everything Stel's brother had been through, he was still the most valuable source of knowledge on this. And his knowledge hadn't been taken from him, just his magic. He would want to know, surely. It was a remarkable intellectual pursuit, and Vesryn found himself wishing he could find something that would help Cyrus feel like he was contributing still. To show him how valuable he still was.
He took the steps up onto the wall two at a time, half expecting to see Khari and Stel out here for their morning routines. He was glad to hear that she'd been cleared for full physical activity again. Astraia had done an excellent job patching her up, all things considered, but it took a more experienced, more trained hand to ensure she made a full recovery.
Only at the top of the wall did Vesryn realize that a cloak might've been wise. His face was probably turning red, along with the tips of his ears, but it hardly mattered to him. The workshop looked to be mostly repaired by now, and he'd heard that Cyrus had moved back into it. He jogged up to the door, knocking a few times and then letting himself in, as he didn't imagine he would be interrupting anything this early.
"Cyrus, there's been a change with Sa—"
He cut himself off abruptly, noticing the other elf in the room. Dark haired, with no vallaslin on his face, but garbed more crisply than any servant around Skyhold. The elf that had pulled them from the madness on the other side of the Crossroads, Vesryn realized. He'd barely had time to look at him then, and with everything that happened after with Zeth's illness, he'd not thought to investigate. When he turned and had his attention on Vesryn, Saraya gave him a rather large jolt of... alarm, almost, or just sheer surprise. It was a powerful feeling, one that left him blinking rather dumbly at the sight of the other elf. Saraya was immediately and strongly conflicted, with emotions that outright confused Vesryn.
Highly suspicious and skeptical, even going so far as to be wary of a threat, but at the same time... extremely respectful. Almost approaching fear or... reverence?
"Ah, I'm sorry. I seem to have interrupted something." Vesryn struggled to push Saraya's feelings aside and maintain some kind of composure. "I don't think we've met. I'm Vesryn Cormyth." He thought for a second. "Suppose I don't really have a title. We'll go with 'Champion of the Inquisition.'"
“You haven't." Cyrus still looked like he really needed some sleep, but he wasn't near so wan as he'd been in the weeks after his attempted assassination and subsequent ordeal. He was dressed in roughly the same fashion as the elf, a loose tunic of nice fabric, but his was blue and bore no embroidery save at the cuffs. They were both standing; Cyrus looked to be sorting books on his desk, while the elven man had been reading one—another copy of the same lexicon he'd given Zeth, actually.
Cyrus sighed. “Right. Manners. Vesryn, Harellan. Harellan, Vesryn." He turned to place a book on the uppermost shelf, leaving his companion to smile amiably.
"Champion of the Inquisition? I'm honored." There was clearly a little bit of humor in his voice, but it didn't seem at all malicious. Quite the opposite. "As Cyrus said, my name is Harellan. I'm... a friend of his." When Cyrus snorted in a way best described as skeptical, he amended slightly. "Of sorts." He placed a hand on his heart in what seemed to be almost a sort of salute, though no bow or anything so formal accompanied it.
"If you've matters to discuss in private, you need only say so. I can always return at another time."
It was the tree on the front more than anything that Saraya was fixated on. She didn't recognize him, Vesryn could tell, and it would indeed be strange if she did, for every person she had met on Thedas had been through his eyes, save for those dead for ages. But the collection of things about him struck her as very remarkable, and soon her stunned reaction morphed into one of inquisitiveness. She demanded to know more.
"Harellan? That's... an interesting choice of name, if you don't mind me saying." By the reckoning of the Dalish it meant something along the lines of "traitor to one's kin" but as Vesryn understood it the meaning was not quite as harsh. More along the lines of a deceiver, or a trickster. "Are you from the north somewhere? Forgive my curiosity." It was a bit hard to properly satisfy Saraya's need to know more without outright giving her away. Nor did he know what questions to ask exactly. He got the sense the ones he used weren't quite right.
"I had another name once, of course." Harellan conceded the obvious with a slightly more slanted smile. "My kin are from the north, yes. The Imperium, to be precise. Though certainly few know we're there, for the reasons you might suspect." His eyes moved to Cyrus's back for a moment, something unidentifiable flitting over his expression before it was gone. He closed the book and set it down on the desk's end. "Would you like to sit? I admit I feel a bit crass, inviting you to do that in someone else's workshop, but..."
Cyrus sighed audibly. “You both know very well that I don't care. Have a seat, if it please you. It can't possibly be more awkward than the last conversation I hosted in here."
Harellan raised both brows, but he didn't ask, shrugging instead. "There you have it, then."
"Fair enough," Vesryn said, picking a chair and sinking into it. He rubbed his hands together briefly, working out the bit of cold that had seeped into them on his way over. There was a lot to be gleaned from the bits of information he shared. Being from the Imperium was almost certainly how Harellan came to meet Cyrus. But he couldn't have been a slave. If he ever was, he was no longer such. He didn't have any of the mannerisms for it, the things that were so hard to work out of one's system. And he'd mentioned that few knew of his people's placement, implying that they were some kind of hidden group. And yet he wasn't Dalish, or at least he lacked the vallaslin. Maybe that went along with his name.
"I'm from Denerim, myself. Might have some of the accent left, I suppose. I don't really consider it home anymore, though. Alienages never did agree with me." It was unfair of him, he supposed, to ask all the questions and offer no information of his own. Though there was a specific piece of information he'd be hanging onto until he was certain it was safe. If this elf was a friend of Cyrus's, though, and a mage... and that tree. Saraya was fixated on it. "Those symbols... they're of Mythal, no?" He knew full well they were. He'd seen enough similar designs, the most recent being the markings that adorned Shaethra's forehead, a tree pattern symbolizing her chosen elven deity. But he didn't know why Saraya was so intrigued by this one in particular.
Harellan blinked, glancing down almost as though he'd forgotten the heraldry was there. For that was how the symbols were worn—like the identifying markers of a noble house of a kind. He touched the one on his sleeve as he lowered himself carefully into a chair. "Ah. Yes. They are. The armor's a family heirloom, of sorts. The rest is personal taste, I suppose you could say." He let his hand fall to the armrest of the chair. "As I recall, you've quite a nice set of armor yourself. I'd not have expected there were chances to come by such items in Denerim, but if Alienages disagree with you, I suppose it makes more sense."
Vesryn pulled one of his legs up to rest upon the other knee, touching a hand briefly to his forehead. He felt not unlike a child being embarrassed in front of his friends by his mother, mostly because he was just unprepared for the reactions Saraya was having. A family heirloom... that piece in particular caught her attention, and any suspicion she had was overridden by a desire for him to simply take the leap. They were among friends in Skyhold, and several knew of her already. If this Harellan would be spending time among them, as he had been thus far, he would find out eventually.
"And how do the two of you know each other?" Vesryn couldn't really figure out just how to drop Saraya into conversation with someone on their first meeting. The other times it had taken significant interest from another party to pry it out of him, or a level of trust to be built up that he did not have. He found it strange to say the least that Saraya would want this so immediately, but as ever he was willing to heed her instincts.
Harellan glanced at Cyrus, who shrugged. He'd apparently anticipated being consulted on this, but his expression didn't indicate any particular reservations. “You can tell him, if you want." He moved from the desk to the shelves, starting to put the books into a neat, though apparently not alphabetical, order on the first one.
The elf's brows furrowed. "But Estella—"
Cyrus snorted. “Would not mind, if it's him." He said it matter-of-factly, but then returned to what he was doing.
Harellan sighed slightly, then smiled with more than a little wryness. "He does not act much like my student, does he? But nevertheless, I am the one who taught him. The dirth'ena enasalin." He seemed to suspect that Vesryn would understand the elvish words, because he didn't translate them back into the trade tongue. "And now, I teach Estella. Dirthin'era, which is quite different." He lifted a shoulder. "I am fortunate to have the knowledge to impart, more perhaps than the skill to act."
That... potentially explained a lot. Many powerful mages were interested in elven history, artifacts, and specifically their mastery of magic, but Cyrus in particular had always struck Vesryn as having a particular focus on it. Perhaps this was why. He didn't know who exactly Harellan was yet, but if Estella trusted him enough to allow him to teach her, Vesryn saw no reason he couldn't do so as well.
He shifted in his seat, somewhat uncomfortably. This was never going to get easier to explain, was it? "My armor came from ruins, a rather well preserved set I found years ago. It wasn't in great shape then, but some modern techniques were able to get it back into form. I have a habit of wandering into ruins, born from when I escaped the Alienage at eighteen." The memory was as stupid as ever, but he was ever so glad he'd done it, for all the wonders he'd been led to in the years that followed. All the wonders that still lay ahead. "I found a ruin in the Brecilian Forest by accident, and there I... accidentally absorbed the consciousness of an ancient elven woman. She's been in my mind ever since, sort of sharing the same space."
Huh. He'd never really just let it out like that to a relative stranger. It felt pretty good, and he was interested enough to be keen on the reaction this time. He smiled a little at Harellan. "I call her Saraya. She can't speak to me or you, but if she could, I imagine she'd say hello. Or something of the sort."
Harellan immediately looked intrigued, though he did glance at Cyrus for a moment. His student nodded, then shrugged, a clear confirmation. Harellan blinked, then moved his attention back to Vesryn. "Fascinating. Aneth ara, Saraya." He paused a moment, then tilted his head. "She is aware of the outside world, yes? I confess I might have simply assumed that." His smile was a little self-effacing.
“Aware, and able to interact in limited ways, via Vesryn here." Cyrus met Vesryn's eyes, raising an eyebrow. It seemed, if anything, to be an attempt to ensure that Vesryn was all right with him elaborating. “It was a consciousness transferral, not a possession or anything of the kind. There are limitations, though. Saraya doesn't sleep or dream so it's—" He paused abruptly. For a few moments, there was silence.
“It was impossible for me to find her in the Fade. When I had the capacity to even attempt it." He cleared his throat and resumed shelving.
Harellan's face contorted, some kind of blend of disappointment and sadness spreading over his features before he sighed and nodded. "I see. I've certainly never encountered such a case before, though... I do know of some cases of consciousnesses transferral. Not personally, you understand, but I've seen records of such."
He'd studied such things, then. It only made sense, given it was where Cyrus probably inherited his interest from. That Saraya was not the only case of something similar happening was intriguing, but some of Cyrus's explanation finally brought him back around to the point he'd originally been intending to make.
"Actually, Cyrus, there's been a change. It's what I came to speak with you about." He leaned forward, settling both feet on the floor again and resting his elbows on his knees. "Saraya slept last night. I'm... honestly not sure how I know that, but I guess I could feel her coming to as I did. She was able to... rest, I suppose, purposefully stop being aware for a few hours." He couldn't help but smile. "She hasn't slept since she still had a body." The positives of the revelation were enough to outweigh the ominous side of it, but only barely. There was some analysis he could do already.
"I've encountered two old, powerful demons since joining the Inquisition," he said for Harellan's benefit. "Both of them knew magic capable of affecting our bond somehow. I wasn't sure what Nightmare, the powerful Fear demon, did. He mentioned restraints on Saraya that still exist, ancient magic that still binds her even in my mind. And now Obsession, this Desire demon, was able to do more through blood magic. Almost two weeks later, there have been no ill effects, and Saraya is able to sleep again."
Cyrus moved away from the bookshelves at last, taking a third chair a bit more heavily than usual. He didn't seem to be as certain of the positives as Vesryn was; if anything, he looked concerned. “I'm not sure this is good news." He pursed his lips together, then elaborated. “There were considerable ill effects when Nightmare interfered. If the restraints have been further loosened, and it's manifesting in a delayed way like this..." He shook his head, running both hands back through his hair to rake it out of his face.
Harellan reached up to rub at his jaw. "It's hard to know what to say about such a unique case." He glanced between Cyrus and Vesryn for a moment. "If I may say so, the only real option available right now is to monitor the developments. Excessive worry won't help anything."
They were both right, Vesryn supposed. Or at least, both outlooks were valid. His excitement at the development was probably blinding him a bit to the potential consequences it might have, but so far there were none worth mentioning. It hadn't felt right at first, but given time he was able to adjust until it was no longer noticeable. And now Saraya could sleep. They would need to do some testing of this, to see if she could sleep while he was awake, to see what could rouse her, or if they simply slept together. Well... of course not like that, but the thought was immediately amusing to one party and annoying to the other.
"For all we know, the ill effects of Nightmare's interference could've been just an initial reaction to the bonds being strained. Or possibly from physically being in the Fade at the time." He glanced between them. "Caution, of course, we'll stick with that, but it seems to me there's at least a chance this won't be what I feared. That's what Nightmare did, after all: play on our fears."
Cyrus considered that for a moment, then nodded slowly. “That's... fair enough." He didn't sound entirely convinced, but he didn't attempt to press the point, either. “I'm glad you're all right, though. After what happened." He offered half a smile, thin but seemingly genuine. “Sorry I can't be of much help."
"Well, we'll figure it out when we know more." Vesryn said it with confidence, and he believed it too. As far as he was concerned, he now had two minds at his disposal that were far better suited to think about these things than he was. Cyrus's helpfulness to Vesryn had never been dependent on his magic, only his mind. "For now, I think I'll take my leave." He patted his knees once, pushing himself up to stand and offering a hand out to Harellan for a shake. "It was a pleasure meeting you. I should mention that Saraya finds you quite intriguing. This... really isn't a normal thing, believe me."
Harellan stood and took his hand, grasping it firmly. "Well, the interest is mutual. You're welcome by whenever you wish. Either for her sake, or yours, if you like."
His boots crunched over the snow, surefooted and steady, guided by Saraya's instinct. Much as with the Fade, her condition had returned to normal, or as normal as it could be for them, in the days following Zethlasan's use of blood magic on him. He'd even allowed himself to think that nothing would happen at all, given the apparent lack of result of Nightmare's toying. More prying in his mind that had no visible effect. He liked to think that Stel had interrupted Zeth in time, halted whatever he intended to do. It occurred to him that he should have brought the man in, questioned him to find out what the demon had taught him, what his intentions really had been. But he couldn't stand the thought of seeing him any more.
And then, a week and a half later or so, Vesryn simply went to sleep for the night, woke up the next morning and... he knew it. Instantly. And Saraya knew it as well. It was a remarkable thing, a little thing but something that had been denied to her for so, so long. The realization of it brought tears to his eyes, and he laughed like an idiot into his pillow for several minutes before he thought to get dressed. He needed to tell Cyrus about this. Even after everything Stel's brother had been through, he was still the most valuable source of knowledge on this. And his knowledge hadn't been taken from him, just his magic. He would want to know, surely. It was a remarkable intellectual pursuit, and Vesryn found himself wishing he could find something that would help Cyrus feel like he was contributing still. To show him how valuable he still was.
He took the steps up onto the wall two at a time, half expecting to see Khari and Stel out here for their morning routines. He was glad to hear that she'd been cleared for full physical activity again. Astraia had done an excellent job patching her up, all things considered, but it took a more experienced, more trained hand to ensure she made a full recovery.
Only at the top of the wall did Vesryn realize that a cloak might've been wise. His face was probably turning red, along with the tips of his ears, but it hardly mattered to him. The workshop looked to be mostly repaired by now, and he'd heard that Cyrus had moved back into it. He jogged up to the door, knocking a few times and then letting himself in, as he didn't imagine he would be interrupting anything this early.
"Cyrus, there's been a change with Sa—"
He cut himself off abruptly, noticing the other elf in the room. Dark haired, with no vallaslin on his face, but garbed more crisply than any servant around Skyhold. The elf that had pulled them from the madness on the other side of the Crossroads, Vesryn realized. He'd barely had time to look at him then, and with everything that happened after with Zeth's illness, he'd not thought to investigate. When he turned and had his attention on Vesryn, Saraya gave him a rather large jolt of... alarm, almost, or just sheer surprise. It was a powerful feeling, one that left him blinking rather dumbly at the sight of the other elf. Saraya was immediately and strongly conflicted, with emotions that outright confused Vesryn.
Highly suspicious and skeptical, even going so far as to be wary of a threat, but at the same time... extremely respectful. Almost approaching fear or... reverence?
"Ah, I'm sorry. I seem to have interrupted something." Vesryn struggled to push Saraya's feelings aside and maintain some kind of composure. "I don't think we've met. I'm Vesryn Cormyth." He thought for a second. "Suppose I don't really have a title. We'll go with 'Champion of the Inquisition.'"
“You haven't." Cyrus still looked like he really needed some sleep, but he wasn't near so wan as he'd been in the weeks after his attempted assassination and subsequent ordeal. He was dressed in roughly the same fashion as the elf, a loose tunic of nice fabric, but his was blue and bore no embroidery save at the cuffs. They were both standing; Cyrus looked to be sorting books on his desk, while the elven man had been reading one—another copy of the same lexicon he'd given Zeth, actually.
Cyrus sighed. “Right. Manners. Vesryn, Harellan. Harellan, Vesryn." He turned to place a book on the uppermost shelf, leaving his companion to smile amiably.
"Champion of the Inquisition? I'm honored." There was clearly a little bit of humor in his voice, but it didn't seem at all malicious. Quite the opposite. "As Cyrus said, my name is Harellan. I'm... a friend of his." When Cyrus snorted in a way best described as skeptical, he amended slightly. "Of sorts." He placed a hand on his heart in what seemed to be almost a sort of salute, though no bow or anything so formal accompanied it.
"If you've matters to discuss in private, you need only say so. I can always return at another time."
It was the tree on the front more than anything that Saraya was fixated on. She didn't recognize him, Vesryn could tell, and it would indeed be strange if she did, for every person she had met on Thedas had been through his eyes, save for those dead for ages. But the collection of things about him struck her as very remarkable, and soon her stunned reaction morphed into one of inquisitiveness. She demanded to know more.
"Harellan? That's... an interesting choice of name, if you don't mind me saying." By the reckoning of the Dalish it meant something along the lines of "traitor to one's kin" but as Vesryn understood it the meaning was not quite as harsh. More along the lines of a deceiver, or a trickster. "Are you from the north somewhere? Forgive my curiosity." It was a bit hard to properly satisfy Saraya's need to know more without outright giving her away. Nor did he know what questions to ask exactly. He got the sense the ones he used weren't quite right.
"I had another name once, of course." Harellan conceded the obvious with a slightly more slanted smile. "My kin are from the north, yes. The Imperium, to be precise. Though certainly few know we're there, for the reasons you might suspect." His eyes moved to Cyrus's back for a moment, something unidentifiable flitting over his expression before it was gone. He closed the book and set it down on the desk's end. "Would you like to sit? I admit I feel a bit crass, inviting you to do that in someone else's workshop, but..."
Cyrus sighed audibly. “You both know very well that I don't care. Have a seat, if it please you. It can't possibly be more awkward than the last conversation I hosted in here."
Harellan raised both brows, but he didn't ask, shrugging instead. "There you have it, then."
"Fair enough," Vesryn said, picking a chair and sinking into it. He rubbed his hands together briefly, working out the bit of cold that had seeped into them on his way over. There was a lot to be gleaned from the bits of information he shared. Being from the Imperium was almost certainly how Harellan came to meet Cyrus. But he couldn't have been a slave. If he ever was, he was no longer such. He didn't have any of the mannerisms for it, the things that were so hard to work out of one's system. And he'd mentioned that few knew of his people's placement, implying that they were some kind of hidden group. And yet he wasn't Dalish, or at least he lacked the vallaslin. Maybe that went along with his name.
"I'm from Denerim, myself. Might have some of the accent left, I suppose. I don't really consider it home anymore, though. Alienages never did agree with me." It was unfair of him, he supposed, to ask all the questions and offer no information of his own. Though there was a specific piece of information he'd be hanging onto until he was certain it was safe. If this elf was a friend of Cyrus's, though, and a mage... and that tree. Saraya was fixated on it. "Those symbols... they're of Mythal, no?" He knew full well they were. He'd seen enough similar designs, the most recent being the markings that adorned Shaethra's forehead, a tree pattern symbolizing her chosen elven deity. But he didn't know why Saraya was so intrigued by this one in particular.
Harellan blinked, glancing down almost as though he'd forgotten the heraldry was there. For that was how the symbols were worn—like the identifying markers of a noble house of a kind. He touched the one on his sleeve as he lowered himself carefully into a chair. "Ah. Yes. They are. The armor's a family heirloom, of sorts. The rest is personal taste, I suppose you could say." He let his hand fall to the armrest of the chair. "As I recall, you've quite a nice set of armor yourself. I'd not have expected there were chances to come by such items in Denerim, but if Alienages disagree with you, I suppose it makes more sense."
Vesryn pulled one of his legs up to rest upon the other knee, touching a hand briefly to his forehead. He felt not unlike a child being embarrassed in front of his friends by his mother, mostly because he was just unprepared for the reactions Saraya was having. A family heirloom... that piece in particular caught her attention, and any suspicion she had was overridden by a desire for him to simply take the leap. They were among friends in Skyhold, and several knew of her already. If this Harellan would be spending time among them, as he had been thus far, he would find out eventually.
"And how do the two of you know each other?" Vesryn couldn't really figure out just how to drop Saraya into conversation with someone on their first meeting. The other times it had taken significant interest from another party to pry it out of him, or a level of trust to be built up that he did not have. He found it strange to say the least that Saraya would want this so immediately, but as ever he was willing to heed her instincts.
Harellan glanced at Cyrus, who shrugged. He'd apparently anticipated being consulted on this, but his expression didn't indicate any particular reservations. “You can tell him, if you want." He moved from the desk to the shelves, starting to put the books into a neat, though apparently not alphabetical, order on the first one.
The elf's brows furrowed. "But Estella—"
Cyrus snorted. “Would not mind, if it's him." He said it matter-of-factly, but then returned to what he was doing.
Harellan sighed slightly, then smiled with more than a little wryness. "He does not act much like my student, does he? But nevertheless, I am the one who taught him. The dirth'ena enasalin." He seemed to suspect that Vesryn would understand the elvish words, because he didn't translate them back into the trade tongue. "And now, I teach Estella. Dirthin'era, which is quite different." He lifted a shoulder. "I am fortunate to have the knowledge to impart, more perhaps than the skill to act."
That... potentially explained a lot. Many powerful mages were interested in elven history, artifacts, and specifically their mastery of magic, but Cyrus in particular had always struck Vesryn as having a particular focus on it. Perhaps this was why. He didn't know who exactly Harellan was yet, but if Estella trusted him enough to allow him to teach her, Vesryn saw no reason he couldn't do so as well.
He shifted in his seat, somewhat uncomfortably. This was never going to get easier to explain, was it? "My armor came from ruins, a rather well preserved set I found years ago. It wasn't in great shape then, but some modern techniques were able to get it back into form. I have a habit of wandering into ruins, born from when I escaped the Alienage at eighteen." The memory was as stupid as ever, but he was ever so glad he'd done it, for all the wonders he'd been led to in the years that followed. All the wonders that still lay ahead. "I found a ruin in the Brecilian Forest by accident, and there I... accidentally absorbed the consciousness of an ancient elven woman. She's been in my mind ever since, sort of sharing the same space."
Huh. He'd never really just let it out like that to a relative stranger. It felt pretty good, and he was interested enough to be keen on the reaction this time. He smiled a little at Harellan. "I call her Saraya. She can't speak to me or you, but if she could, I imagine she'd say hello. Or something of the sort."
Harellan immediately looked intrigued, though he did glance at Cyrus for a moment. His student nodded, then shrugged, a clear confirmation. Harellan blinked, then moved his attention back to Vesryn. "Fascinating. Aneth ara, Saraya." He paused a moment, then tilted his head. "She is aware of the outside world, yes? I confess I might have simply assumed that." His smile was a little self-effacing.
“Aware, and able to interact in limited ways, via Vesryn here." Cyrus met Vesryn's eyes, raising an eyebrow. It seemed, if anything, to be an attempt to ensure that Vesryn was all right with him elaborating. “It was a consciousness transferral, not a possession or anything of the kind. There are limitations, though. Saraya doesn't sleep or dream so it's—" He paused abruptly. For a few moments, there was silence.
“It was impossible for me to find her in the Fade. When I had the capacity to even attempt it." He cleared his throat and resumed shelving.
Harellan's face contorted, some kind of blend of disappointment and sadness spreading over his features before he sighed and nodded. "I see. I've certainly never encountered such a case before, though... I do know of some cases of consciousnesses transferral. Not personally, you understand, but I've seen records of such."
He'd studied such things, then. It only made sense, given it was where Cyrus probably inherited his interest from. That Saraya was not the only case of something similar happening was intriguing, but some of Cyrus's explanation finally brought him back around to the point he'd originally been intending to make.
"Actually, Cyrus, there's been a change. It's what I came to speak with you about." He leaned forward, settling both feet on the floor again and resting his elbows on his knees. "Saraya slept last night. I'm... honestly not sure how I know that, but I guess I could feel her coming to as I did. She was able to... rest, I suppose, purposefully stop being aware for a few hours." He couldn't help but smile. "She hasn't slept since she still had a body." The positives of the revelation were enough to outweigh the ominous side of it, but only barely. There was some analysis he could do already.
"I've encountered two old, powerful demons since joining the Inquisition," he said for Harellan's benefit. "Both of them knew magic capable of affecting our bond somehow. I wasn't sure what Nightmare, the powerful Fear demon, did. He mentioned restraints on Saraya that still exist, ancient magic that still binds her even in my mind. And now Obsession, this Desire demon, was able to do more through blood magic. Almost two weeks later, there have been no ill effects, and Saraya is able to sleep again."
Cyrus moved away from the bookshelves at last, taking a third chair a bit more heavily than usual. He didn't seem to be as certain of the positives as Vesryn was; if anything, he looked concerned. “I'm not sure this is good news." He pursed his lips together, then elaborated. “There were considerable ill effects when Nightmare interfered. If the restraints have been further loosened, and it's manifesting in a delayed way like this..." He shook his head, running both hands back through his hair to rake it out of his face.
Harellan reached up to rub at his jaw. "It's hard to know what to say about such a unique case." He glanced between Cyrus and Vesryn for a moment. "If I may say so, the only real option available right now is to monitor the developments. Excessive worry won't help anything."
They were both right, Vesryn supposed. Or at least, both outlooks were valid. His excitement at the development was probably blinding him a bit to the potential consequences it might have, but so far there were none worth mentioning. It hadn't felt right at first, but given time he was able to adjust until it was no longer noticeable. And now Saraya could sleep. They would need to do some testing of this, to see if she could sleep while he was awake, to see what could rouse her, or if they simply slept together. Well... of course not like that, but the thought was immediately amusing to one party and annoying to the other.
"For all we know, the ill effects of Nightmare's interference could've been just an initial reaction to the bonds being strained. Or possibly from physically being in the Fade at the time." He glanced between them. "Caution, of course, we'll stick with that, but it seems to me there's at least a chance this won't be what I feared. That's what Nightmare did, after all: play on our fears."
Cyrus considered that for a moment, then nodded slowly. “That's... fair enough." He didn't sound entirely convinced, but he didn't attempt to press the point, either. “I'm glad you're all right, though. After what happened." He offered half a smile, thin but seemingly genuine. “Sorry I can't be of much help."
"Well, we'll figure it out when we know more." Vesryn said it with confidence, and he believed it too. As far as he was concerned, he now had two minds at his disposal that were far better suited to think about these things than he was. Cyrus's helpfulness to Vesryn had never been dependent on his magic, only his mind. "For now, I think I'll take my leave." He patted his knees once, pushing himself up to stand and offering a hand out to Harellan for a shake. "It was a pleasure meeting you. I should mention that Saraya finds you quite intriguing. This... really isn't a normal thing, believe me."
Harellan stood and took his hand, grasping it firmly. "Well, the interest is mutual. You're welcome by whenever you wish. Either for her sake, or yours, if you like."