The armor racks were a new addition.
He hadn't ever expected to need them. Long had it been since anyone in the House Avenarius went to war, in the full sense of the word. Not since Tiberius's service in the perpetual Qunari conflict. Cyrus hadn't ever planned to take the field himself in such a manner, and if he should ever need to do so, he'd counted on his magic to be plenty of protection. Both his youthful hypotheses were now obviously false, and so it came to this.
The armor itself was in the traditional Tevinter style, though thankfully it had been made before unnecessary ornamental spikes had come into fashion. Several generations ago, that. Nevertheless, it was angular, designed for clever deflection and swift movement more than sheer stopping power. The joints were chainmail, a shirt of the same long enough to hit roughly his knees, split at the front and back for mobility. The plates were what he'd expect for a set commissioned for his house specifically; darkened and enchanted until they were a deep indigo color in most places, blackened silverite serving as the secondary color for accents and displays of the maker's craftsmanship. It seemed to shirk the light, or absorb it instead of reflecting, no doubt a product of the Formari's enchantment.
It had been sized for him not long before he left Minrathous, or so his steward had informed him. It might need a few more adjustments for muscle mass gained since, but it would do for now. The practice set next to it was heavier and plainer, lacking the enchantment or the more purely decorative storm motifs, but designed to be worn to replicate the other, with more weight for training purposes. Leon had offered him use of the Inquisition's supplies, but for his armor at least, Cyrus felt it better to make sure he had the best available to him, and not take resources that could be necessary to another. Swords were less important; nearly anything made well enough to pass Leon's muster for purchase would do, and a pair of them rested against the wall.
He sighed. “I'm not sure I haven't chosen wrongly, Stellulam."
His sister pushed off her place against the wall behind him, taking the few necessary steps to stand beside him instead. With a hum, she reached out, tracing a cloudlike swirl in a band of them placed at the upper edge of the chestplate. Stellulam dropped her hand away and turned her head to look at him from the side. “I am," she said quietly. “Cy... I can't imagine what this is like for you. Maybe no one can." His situation was unique, after all; magic and dreams gone, but emotions intact, when once he'd had all three. “But it's not wrong to want to move on. To do something else. Even if this..." She paused, exhaling softly through her nose.
“I hope that this is temporary. That you can find a way to fix it. But this—trying to find a place in things that doesn't have anything to do with it. That's not wrong. It wasn't wrong when you had magic, and it's not wrong now." She offered him a smile, and moved her left hand up to lay at the back of his right shoulder. “I think you'll get a lot out of this. The rest of us do, and I know they won't mind if you join, too. There's a lot we can learn from you, and you from us."
A lot to be learned. He supposed that was true. Cyrus hadn't felt like he had this much to learn since he was an adolescent, locked away in his rooms until he'd mastered some important piece of magic or theory. He'd always known, of course, that there were limits to what he knew and could do, but only seldom had they ever seemed so... acute. Had his own capacities seemed so underwhelming. A lot to be learned, and a place to be found.
He supposed he could imagine worse things.
Reaching forward, he removed the practice set in pieces, collecting them all in a sack which he threw over his shoulder. “I suppose it's worth attempting, at least." He half-smiled at her, as genuinely as he felt himself capable in the moment. “Lead on then; I must go avail myself of the mercy of your... friends." The smile got a little easier.
Predictably enough, Stellulam turned a slight shade of pink, then elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Not another word, thank you very much." She passed from the workshop first, drawing even with him again as soon as there was enough room to do so.
“Oh, but why not?" Cyrus adjusted the burden over his shoulder and chuckled softly, almost under his breath. “I think it's positively adorable. The lovely Lady Inquisitor and her dashing, steadfast Champion. They'll write very sappy romantic tales about it someday, just you watch." Cyrus had never before had the opportunity to take part in the age-old sibling tradition of teasing his sister about her personal life as such; he planned to make the most of it. Of course, he knew she was the furthest thing from frivolous in such matters, and that they were sensitive, but in a way that was all the more reason.
She needed to believe it was all right, for people to care about her. He'd take all the help he could get in proving it. And that was even before considering what a spectacular distraction it was from the less-pleasant things he could be contemplating instead.
“Ugh." Stellulam looked as though she very much wanted to be anywhere else at the moment, running a hand down her face and sighing heavily. “Cy... please don't do this during practice. It's already difficult enough to look at him and not—" She shook her head emphatically, more red than pink by this point.
He laughed outright at that, almost surprised that he could do it. Reaching over, he scrubbed a hand a few times over her head, mussing her ponytail with a bright grin on his face. “Not what? Oh do finish the thought, dear Stellulam. If you don't, I will, and you know where my mind is apt to wander." He did feel a little bit bad; he was clearly much more accustomed to this particular flavor of banter than she was, and she was making it so very easy for him. It didn't stop him from making things worse, of course.
“Actually... I have a better idea." Cyrus arched both brows. “Maybe I should ask Vesryn how he thinks the rest goes, hm?" He picked up his feet a little faster, breaking into a run towards the tower door, which was now easily within sight.
“What? Cy, no!" She took off after him, catching up as soon as he'd twisted the handle. Launching herself at him, she slammed into his side, carrying both of them over the threshold and into the soft dirt on the other side. The clanking of his armor pieces accompanied the more solid thud of their impact. She gave his arm a good whack, though as usual, it wasn't nearly forceful enough to cause actual pain. “Don't you dare!"
"The rest of what now?" Vesryn asked. He and Khari had apparently paused their spar, and the larger of the two elves had his helmet off and tucked under one arm. Sweat lined his brow, and his breathing came quicker than usual with exertion. His eyes went back and forth between the two new entrants to the room, his lips threatening to break into a smirk or a grin as they often did. He planted the butt of his training axe in the dirt, leaning slightly on the head. "I could've sworn I heard my name."
“Nothing," Stellulam said quickly. “Absolutely nothing." She glared down at Cyrus, though she failed to look especially threatening when she did so. Huffing, she pushed off him and stood, offering a hand down to help him to his feet. “Though Cyrus does have a question for the both of you. Don't you, Cy?"
Khari glanced between all three of them; the expression on her face suggested she knew she'd missed something, but then she shrugged as if to herself, and it disappeared. “A question for us?" She arched her brow and tilted her head to the side.
Cyrus sighed, more from the end of a good laugh than anything approaching weariness, and took Estella's hand. He had a feeling he'd pushed about as far as she was willing to let him, for now, and so he'd turn the topic as she seemed to want. It was the point of today's excursion, after all. Pulling himself to his feet, he dusted himself off a bit and nodded slightly. “I do, yes."
For a moment, he glanced about the room. As the whole bottom floor of a large tower, it was quite spacious, and less bare than he'd expected. There seemed to be a fair amount of equipment. In addition to racks for practice weapons, there were dummies, both wooden and straw, small targets, and what looked like a series of vertical poles lashed together, most likely for assistance in balance training or something of the kind. If this was the Spymaster's setup as he'd heard, then it was clear that the fellow knew what he was about. That was reassuring, in a way.
He cleared his throat, returning his attention to the other two. “I've, ah, heard that the three of you spend a great deal of time practicing here. I find myself with the need to... shift combat roles, shall we say, and I was hoping you might consent to my joining you." Cyrus felt a bit of a grimace forming on his face, and didn't fight it. “I realize that this isn't the sort of thing you'd want to do in front of anyone and everyone. And that perhaps a certain amount of trust is requisite. I'd understand if you declined, but Stellulam thinks—and I agree—that there might be a considerable amount I could both contribute to and gain from your efforts."
“Can you teach me more about mage tactics?" Khari asked the question almost immediately, and looked quite intent on the answer, meeting his eyes unblinkingly.
Cyrus nodded. “That's... most of what I have to offer, yes, though demonstrations will have to fall to Stellulam where necessary." From her lack of surprise, he assumed the news must have filtered to her somehow. Oddly enough, he didn't mind.
She shrugged. “Seems fine to me. Ves?" Khari turned her eyes to the other elf.
"Would be a bit hypocritical of me to say no, I think." He said it with a bit of self-effacing humor, resting one elbow against the top of his axe. "Not that I'd want to. You're more than welcome."
“See?" Estella smiled at him. “Told you they wouldn't mind."
So she had. Cyrus felt himself relax a little, then nodded. “Excellent. Ah... perhaps one of you would not mind teaching me how to don armor, then? I'm not used to wearing it, but I'm going to need it, at this point." It was more than a little uncomfortable to admit not knowing something so basic to so many others, but everyone had to start at the beginning with anything new. That was simply the way of learning.
And Cyrus was not averse to learning, at least.
He hadn't ever expected to need them. Long had it been since anyone in the House Avenarius went to war, in the full sense of the word. Not since Tiberius's service in the perpetual Qunari conflict. Cyrus hadn't ever planned to take the field himself in such a manner, and if he should ever need to do so, he'd counted on his magic to be plenty of protection. Both his youthful hypotheses were now obviously false, and so it came to this.
The armor itself was in the traditional Tevinter style, though thankfully it had been made before unnecessary ornamental spikes had come into fashion. Several generations ago, that. Nevertheless, it was angular, designed for clever deflection and swift movement more than sheer stopping power. The joints were chainmail, a shirt of the same long enough to hit roughly his knees, split at the front and back for mobility. The plates were what he'd expect for a set commissioned for his house specifically; darkened and enchanted until they were a deep indigo color in most places, blackened silverite serving as the secondary color for accents and displays of the maker's craftsmanship. It seemed to shirk the light, or absorb it instead of reflecting, no doubt a product of the Formari's enchantment.
It had been sized for him not long before he left Minrathous, or so his steward had informed him. It might need a few more adjustments for muscle mass gained since, but it would do for now. The practice set next to it was heavier and plainer, lacking the enchantment or the more purely decorative storm motifs, but designed to be worn to replicate the other, with more weight for training purposes. Leon had offered him use of the Inquisition's supplies, but for his armor at least, Cyrus felt it better to make sure he had the best available to him, and not take resources that could be necessary to another. Swords were less important; nearly anything made well enough to pass Leon's muster for purchase would do, and a pair of them rested against the wall.
He sighed. “I'm not sure I haven't chosen wrongly, Stellulam."
His sister pushed off her place against the wall behind him, taking the few necessary steps to stand beside him instead. With a hum, she reached out, tracing a cloudlike swirl in a band of them placed at the upper edge of the chestplate. Stellulam dropped her hand away and turned her head to look at him from the side. “I am," she said quietly. “Cy... I can't imagine what this is like for you. Maybe no one can." His situation was unique, after all; magic and dreams gone, but emotions intact, when once he'd had all three. “But it's not wrong to want to move on. To do something else. Even if this..." She paused, exhaling softly through her nose.
“I hope that this is temporary. That you can find a way to fix it. But this—trying to find a place in things that doesn't have anything to do with it. That's not wrong. It wasn't wrong when you had magic, and it's not wrong now." She offered him a smile, and moved her left hand up to lay at the back of his right shoulder. “I think you'll get a lot out of this. The rest of us do, and I know they won't mind if you join, too. There's a lot we can learn from you, and you from us."
A lot to be learned. He supposed that was true. Cyrus hadn't felt like he had this much to learn since he was an adolescent, locked away in his rooms until he'd mastered some important piece of magic or theory. He'd always known, of course, that there were limits to what he knew and could do, but only seldom had they ever seemed so... acute. Had his own capacities seemed so underwhelming. A lot to be learned, and a place to be found.
He supposed he could imagine worse things.
Reaching forward, he removed the practice set in pieces, collecting them all in a sack which he threw over his shoulder. “I suppose it's worth attempting, at least." He half-smiled at her, as genuinely as he felt himself capable in the moment. “Lead on then; I must go avail myself of the mercy of your... friends." The smile got a little easier.
Predictably enough, Stellulam turned a slight shade of pink, then elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Not another word, thank you very much." She passed from the workshop first, drawing even with him again as soon as there was enough room to do so.
“Oh, but why not?" Cyrus adjusted the burden over his shoulder and chuckled softly, almost under his breath. “I think it's positively adorable. The lovely Lady Inquisitor and her dashing, steadfast Champion. They'll write very sappy romantic tales about it someday, just you watch." Cyrus had never before had the opportunity to take part in the age-old sibling tradition of teasing his sister about her personal life as such; he planned to make the most of it. Of course, he knew she was the furthest thing from frivolous in such matters, and that they were sensitive, but in a way that was all the more reason.
She needed to believe it was all right, for people to care about her. He'd take all the help he could get in proving it. And that was even before considering what a spectacular distraction it was from the less-pleasant things he could be contemplating instead.
“Ugh." Stellulam looked as though she very much wanted to be anywhere else at the moment, running a hand down her face and sighing heavily. “Cy... please don't do this during practice. It's already difficult enough to look at him and not—" She shook her head emphatically, more red than pink by this point.
He laughed outright at that, almost surprised that he could do it. Reaching over, he scrubbed a hand a few times over her head, mussing her ponytail with a bright grin on his face. “Not what? Oh do finish the thought, dear Stellulam. If you don't, I will, and you know where my mind is apt to wander." He did feel a little bit bad; he was clearly much more accustomed to this particular flavor of banter than she was, and she was making it so very easy for him. It didn't stop him from making things worse, of course.
“Actually... I have a better idea." Cyrus arched both brows. “Maybe I should ask Vesryn how he thinks the rest goes, hm?" He picked up his feet a little faster, breaking into a run towards the tower door, which was now easily within sight.
“What? Cy, no!" She took off after him, catching up as soon as he'd twisted the handle. Launching herself at him, she slammed into his side, carrying both of them over the threshold and into the soft dirt on the other side. The clanking of his armor pieces accompanied the more solid thud of their impact. She gave his arm a good whack, though as usual, it wasn't nearly forceful enough to cause actual pain. “Don't you dare!"
"The rest of what now?" Vesryn asked. He and Khari had apparently paused their spar, and the larger of the two elves had his helmet off and tucked under one arm. Sweat lined his brow, and his breathing came quicker than usual with exertion. His eyes went back and forth between the two new entrants to the room, his lips threatening to break into a smirk or a grin as they often did. He planted the butt of his training axe in the dirt, leaning slightly on the head. "I could've sworn I heard my name."
“Nothing," Stellulam said quickly. “Absolutely nothing." She glared down at Cyrus, though she failed to look especially threatening when she did so. Huffing, she pushed off him and stood, offering a hand down to help him to his feet. “Though Cyrus does have a question for the both of you. Don't you, Cy?"
Khari glanced between all three of them; the expression on her face suggested she knew she'd missed something, but then she shrugged as if to herself, and it disappeared. “A question for us?" She arched her brow and tilted her head to the side.
Cyrus sighed, more from the end of a good laugh than anything approaching weariness, and took Estella's hand. He had a feeling he'd pushed about as far as she was willing to let him, for now, and so he'd turn the topic as she seemed to want. It was the point of today's excursion, after all. Pulling himself to his feet, he dusted himself off a bit and nodded slightly. “I do, yes."
For a moment, he glanced about the room. As the whole bottom floor of a large tower, it was quite spacious, and less bare than he'd expected. There seemed to be a fair amount of equipment. In addition to racks for practice weapons, there were dummies, both wooden and straw, small targets, and what looked like a series of vertical poles lashed together, most likely for assistance in balance training or something of the kind. If this was the Spymaster's setup as he'd heard, then it was clear that the fellow knew what he was about. That was reassuring, in a way.
He cleared his throat, returning his attention to the other two. “I've, ah, heard that the three of you spend a great deal of time practicing here. I find myself with the need to... shift combat roles, shall we say, and I was hoping you might consent to my joining you." Cyrus felt a bit of a grimace forming on his face, and didn't fight it. “I realize that this isn't the sort of thing you'd want to do in front of anyone and everyone. And that perhaps a certain amount of trust is requisite. I'd understand if you declined, but Stellulam thinks—and I agree—that there might be a considerable amount I could both contribute to and gain from your efforts."
“Can you teach me more about mage tactics?" Khari asked the question almost immediately, and looked quite intent on the answer, meeting his eyes unblinkingly.
Cyrus nodded. “That's... most of what I have to offer, yes, though demonstrations will have to fall to Stellulam where necessary." From her lack of surprise, he assumed the news must have filtered to her somehow. Oddly enough, he didn't mind.
She shrugged. “Seems fine to me. Ves?" Khari turned her eyes to the other elf.
"Would be a bit hypocritical of me to say no, I think." He said it with a bit of self-effacing humor, resting one elbow against the top of his axe. "Not that I'd want to. You're more than welcome."
“See?" Estella smiled at him. “Told you they wouldn't mind."
So she had. Cyrus felt himself relax a little, then nodded. “Excellent. Ah... perhaps one of you would not mind teaching me how to don armor, then? I'm not used to wearing it, but I'm going to need it, at this point." It was more than a little uncomfortable to admit not knowing something so basic to so many others, but everyone had to start at the beginning with anything new. That was simply the way of learning.
And Cyrus was not averse to learning, at least.