Rilien rolled the parchment carefully, tapping it delicately until it fit inside the thin, lightweight metal tube. Capping it, he rolled the end in wax, coating liberally to provide an obvious seal. While he could not guarantee that any of his birds would not be intercepted, the very least he could do was provide clear evidence of it, should someone attempt to read his communications and then disguise the fact. The greater safety measure was that he wrote in ciphers, different ones with different recipients, so that none of his agents even knew how to interpret the things he wrote to Ser Lucien, for example.
This one, however, was of a more mundane natureâa letter to the Guard-Captain of Kirkwall. There were no state secrets in it, certainly. This particular piece of correspondence was merely personal in nature, inquiring after Ashton's well-being and updating him on some of the goings on of the Inquisition that were not confidential. He'd included his observations of the conditions of Sparrow and Aurora, of course, as they were friends and Rilien suspected the information may be of some comfort to him. Or at least relevance.
Sometimes he wondered if he weren't growing more remote from his emotions with each passing year. Objectively, it seemed unlikelyâhe felt more here than he had in some time. Particularly when his old friends or especially Estella was involved. But still he was occasionally given to wonder... would he ever lose even this tenuous connection with the person he had once been? Already they were distant, that point in his past and himself, and not merely due to time itself. Perhaps one day he would forget. Forget altogether what it had once been like. To be anything but tranquil.
With twine and careful, deft motions, Rilien tied the message tube to the leg of his nearest bird. Not all of them could go long distances, as it would take for the message to reach Kirkwall, but in practice, he ran them through several stopover points, so birds could be changed out if necessary. More chances for interference, but also a greater rate of success. He still needed to lay a trap for his rogue agent; perhaps he would make use of a relay such as this one to do it.
Polonius, as Estella had taken to calling him, flapped his dark wings several times, taking off from his perch and diving out the window. He knew where to go. Brushing his hands off, Rilien returned to the small desk he kept in the rookery, intent on writing his next piece of communication.
There was something unusual in Rilienâs rookeryâan object that did not quite belong there, settled against the wall nearest to the top of the winding stairwell. A ridiculously large mace, stained with red across the leather grips; perhaps, a recent rendition to the weapon itself. Someone, or rather many someones had taken to leaving it in various places. If it was not in Auroraâs study⊠it was here, leaning against the cobblestone wall for Sparrow to later procure. It would not have gone unnoticed to Rilienâs hawkish eyes, though it was clear that she had not put it there herself.
Since Nostarielâs unexpected demise, and Ashtonâs absence, Sparrowâs demeanor had shifted. Become less palpable in nature, perhaps more of whoâd sheâd been in the past. The veneer of control sheâd cultivated in front of the others had formed cracks; small slivers, sliding off to the wayside. When Ashton had left the gates, sheâd chosen to grieve alone. Further away than most of them had. To the Hills, across the shorelines, but she always returned by herself. There were no bedraggled apostates in tow. Not this time. Only bloodied knuckles, and new bruises blooming across her swarthy skin.
When she wasnât driving the mages into the ground with her backbreaking lessons, she was instilling them on herself. From Rilienâs towering windows, he'd seen her wailing on the straw-stuffed dummies, movements wild and clumsy and bristling with barely contained anger. Her sessions always ended the same: a frustrated roar, where sheâd toss her mace to the side, and stalk to whatever dark corner Skyhold had to offer. She had not been, however, anywhere near the Heraldâs Rest. Perhaps, that was what changed most of all. Her answers no longer lay at the bottom of a bottle.
Footsteps sounded up the stairwell. Heavier. Sluggish, at best. A steady rhythm of ascent. As if the person were taking their time to climb each stair. The first thing to appear at the threshold of the rookery was a mess of white hair, pulled back into an equally messy bun. There was a pinched look to her face, which slipped into exasperation when she reached the final stair, and the mace came into view. She reached forward and stopped mid-stride, hand poised over the handle. Her eyes raked up to meet Rilienâs, blinking owlishly. From the looks of it, she hadnât been sleeping well. A tempered smile wobbled its way to her lips, as she pulled back her hand back to her side and plopped down against the wall. Defeated.
âI donât know why theyââ Sparrowâs words cut off, and the smile wavered as she pushed disobedient strands of hair behind her ears. She leaned her head back against the cool stones, and closed her eyes; just for a moment, before the tension in her shoulders eased a fraction. Itâd been awhile, perhaps, since sheâd allowed herself a moment to be still.
âSit." Perhaps it was the tenor of his thoughts in the last while, but something softened the edges of Rilien's typical bluntness, letting the word sound more like an entreaty than the command most of his other declarations could read as to others. There were chairs enough in the rookery for it, and she looked very much like she needed one. He turned away from his parchments, his work, and pulled his legs up underneath him in the chair he occupied, watching her unblinkingly until she complied. She did, albeit at much slower pace, as if she wasnât quite sure if she wanted to oblige him. She rocked back to her feet and wandered closer, claiming a chair adjacent to his own. Just to the side of his desk.
A number of observations came immediately to mind. Things that he would not ordinarily have hesitated to say. He had rarely ever spared her his thoughts, not when he believed they were relevant to her in some way. In that sense he'd been almost honest. A far cry from how he lived most of his life, both before and since. But her own honesty, what once there had been, had somehow drawn out the same in him. It wasn't a foreign correlationâhe tended to match his surroundings in that way. Rilien almost had not known what to make of the mask she wore when they met again, after everything.
Not until he remembered that it was no longer his place to make anything of it in particular.
âI suspect your pupils are attempting to convey their wishes for you to rest more often." He paused, arching one brow just fractionally. âOr else they are registering a plea for your mercy. You are hard on them." He didn't necessarily disapprove. He was harder on Estella than most teachers ever were on their students. But that was because he knew she would succeed in such conditions. Even if she did not know it herself. Sparrow's hardness may have been more a reflection of her own mental state than anything else in particular.
Sparrow slumped in her chair. It appeared as if she expected the observation and didnât quite know what to do with it. As of late, or perhaps since heâd seen her again, she hadnât allowed herself to fall behind. Anything that mightâve perceived itself as a weakness was squashed out. If that meant driving herself to the edge, she gladly lept. It reflected in her lessons, as well. However, her students were given allowances she did not extend to herself. To take advantage of whatever Skyhold had to offer: frequent trips to the Heraldâs Rest included. Whatever they needed to unwind. She briefly pressed a hand to her forehead and allowed a sigh to sift past her lips, one she may have been holding in, âI am.â
There was silence. Comfortable enough. One she allowed to drag itself between them. She fidgeted in her seat. Crossed a leg over her knee, before dropping it soon after. She pushed her shoulder blades against the back of the chair she sat in. Even the mention of slowing down seemed to cause her some discomfort. The pinched look to her brows smoothed itself out. âI need them to be prepared,â she made a wild gesture, a habit sheâd yet shaken off, âFor anything, Ril. We bloody well know things donât always go to plan.â Her tone held a bite to it. A harshness that didnât seem directed at Rilien. What plans she was referring to, she didnât elaborate.
As of late, the mask sheâd chosen to wear in front of him appeared less solid. It wavered, at times. In those moments, there were glimpses. Brief moments, quick as a blink, where it may have reminded Rilien of days spent in Kirkwall. With Ashton, Nostariel, and everyone else. Her smiles, in those instances, were made of softer things. Though, gone just as quickly. She shook her head, and swallowed thickly, âThey mean well⊠they forget I can take care of myself.â
âCan you?" He tilted his head, letting his eyes linger on the signs of wear at her edges. The shadows beneath her eyes, the frenetic way she fidgeted, unable or unwilling to be still, like there was something skittering under her skin and she could not be free of it. Perhaps she could take care of herself, but she didn't seem to be using the ability. âPerhaps you have forgotten as well. It is not an unusual thing to forget, after a loss." He'd seen the same many times, always detached from it. Never quite able to understand, in the way that only those who felt in full could understand.
At the inquiry, Sparrowâs head snapped up. She appeared as if she were about to argue the point, though her mouth clamped shut just as quickly as it had fallen open. As if she were working out words on an unwilling tongue, bunching muscles along her jawline. The hands in her lap had bunched into fists, white-knuckles splotching with red. Her gaze fell away from Rilienâs face, directing the next words to the floor, âIâm fineââ
The sound of approaching footfalls startled her into silence, murky eyes widening a fraction before she managed to wrestle down the lapse of calm; smothering the crackle of emotion. At least, momentarily.
Aurora's bright red hair soon crested the stairs, followed by the rest of the woman. Upon the final step, she paused for a moment, her eyes lingering on the mace that rested beside her. She raised a brow and tilted her head curiously at the object before she shrugged. "Huh. So that's where they put it," she noted absently, before turning to face the two of them. Even now, Aurora exuded that easy confidence she'd found in Kirkwall, and the intervening years seemed to have only ingrained it further. She did not wait for permission to find a chair, crossing over the threshold into the rookery and choosing one near enough to the both of them.
In stark contrast to Sparrow, she had proven to be the soft touch to her driving taskmaster amongst the mages, but that was not necessarily a bad thing. Nor did it mean that Aurora lacked the requisite firmness. Rilien had seen her drive the mages on occasion as well when they weren't up to her standards, however she was always calm and collected, and maintained a nurturing edge to her lessons. "I'm sorry for not visiting more," she said to Rilien, "I haven't missed much, have I?"
âWe were discussing Sparrow's health." Rilien saw no point in hiding what was likely to be an obvious truth for someone as astute as Aurora. âAnd... loss." He knew the Warden had been particularly close friends with Aurora as well. Perhaps her presence would be fortuitous. She was more likely to know the right things to say or do than he was. âSparrow was about to attempt to deceive me into believing she no longer suffers any ill effects from it. I believe that is all you have missed up to this point."
Sparrow glanced over her shoulder, and the lip of the chair, to see Aurora walking past the mace, choosing to plop into a nearby chair. She had been in the midst of sinking back into her seat. At least until Rilienâs candid explanation, spoken as casually as if heâd been describing the weather.
âRilien,â seethed between grit teeth before she could stop herself. If she could have slumped down in her seat any further, she mightâve fallen to the floor. She cleared her throat and straightened up in her chair, clearly having no clue where to focus her attention. It idled on Rilienâs face for a moment longer, before sliding back towards Aurora. âAnd I was telling him how I was fine. Which I am. Fine.â
There was a toss of hands, a frustrated gesture. âWe all are, arenât we?â It was difficult to tell if the statement was spoken to anyone in particular, or to herself.
Aurora seemed to take the news easily, or at least she did not seem surprised, offering a hum in a reply. Eventually, she sighed and her head dipped to the side and she seemed likewise unconvinced by Sparrow's words, though her face had the emotion to go along with it. "I don't know Sparrow," she answered with a shrug, "I truly don't." She then leaned forward on her knees and shaking her head. In spite of her earlier ease, at Sparrow's words she deflated and even Rilien could see the lingering hurt in her face. It appeared that Aurora was dealing with the grief as well, though unlike Sparrow she was more open with it.
Her knees propped up her elbows as she leaned forward, using her fingers to cradle her chin. "It's still hard to believe that she's... gone, you know?" she stated, "It feels like she is still traveling with Stroud, and we'll find her in her clinic in Kirkwall once all of this is done," she shook her head. "It happened so fast... I didn't have time to really talk to her, you know? I... thought there would be time after."
Rilien did not believe there was much he could say in response to that. The death of someone that young was in some sense always a surprise. âLife always proceeds on the assumption that there will be more time." He sat back slightly in his chair, straightening the corner of a stack of paper on the desktop. âThere is no sense in living otherwise. But it does mean that sometimes, you will have been wrong." He'd heard adages before, about living as though there would not be a following day for oneself, or the people one cared about. But that was senseless; plans and real relationships depended upon the assumption that there would be those things. It was faithless to become too detached from past and future in such a way. And stupid.
âAnd it isn't contemptible, to feel a sense of loss when you are. It's quite natural. If you did not grieve, it would only be evidence that you were not... connected, in the right way, to the people around you." Evidence that they were like him. And they weren'tâhe knew that much very well.
There was a loud thumping noise, as Sparrow slammed her fist against the table Rilien was sitting at. Whatever lay atop jumped and settled back down. An errant quill rolled and tumbled to the ground, clattering at his feet. It appeared as if her feelings, or whatever it was that she was holding in had reached a crescendo. Her fist remained atop the table, trembling at the force of keeping it tightly closed, though sheâd hunched forward and averted her gaze towards the ground.
âIt wasnât supposed be like that,â her voice came out as a heavy rasp, cracking at the end. How sheâd imagined it going at all was anyoneâs guess. Perhaps, her sentiment regarding the Inquisitionâs mission and the involvement of those she considered her close companions⊠were in conflict. Sheâd never stated so. Not in so many words, though it was clear what she held in higher regard. âShe wasnât supposed toâwe shouldâve been there, if it werenât for...â
It seemed as if Auroraâs words had struck a chord with her, peeling away the last fragments of the mask sheâd been trying to keep in place. There was a shudder of her shoulders, and a frustrated shake of her head as she hissed, âDammit, dammit, dammit.â She retracted her fist from the table and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, hunching further towards her knees. There was another sound. An intake of air. An angry sob, as if she were furious at herself for allowing it to come out. âShe should be here.â
"She should," Aurora agreed solemnly. There was hardly any change in her body language, though the features in her face softened subtly. She did reach over and gently rub Sparrow's back, her lips pressed into a thin frown. "But... she is not," she added, the pain melting into her words as she spoke them. She was quiet afterward, letting it sink in, for the both of them, as it appeared.
Eventually, she spoke again, softly, "She wouldn't want us to let it eat away at us though, she'd want us to be strong. She was an amazing woman, she wouldn't want her loss to destroy us."
Sparrowâs breath caught in her throat and she nodded, swallowing around whatever lump was lodged in her throat. It threatened to peel out into an uglier affair. The gravity of grief, the discussion of loss, Auroraâs gentle hand and perhaps both of their presence, in one room, appeared to cause an unraveling of sorts. A release, a pardon, a window sheâd been desperately trying to stamp shutâsuddenly being pried open.
The next sob was harsher. A small, ineffective battle to breathe, to hold in, to stifle. Her fists, however, slowly relinquished into opened palms, which she used to cover her now-blotchy face. âAnd Ashton⊠he⊠how will heââ she smothered the words into her wrists. Her eyebrows drew together. Soon after her hands fell away, though she remained fixed in place. Shoulders slumped, head lowered.
âI didnât want to lose anyone.â Them. There was a childish slant to her expression. So unlike the veneer of calculated calm. A muscle along her jaw tensed, appearing as if she were clamping it shut. âI know. I know.â
Rilien turned in his chair, sitting sideways on it in a most unusual sort of incongruence. He usually did everything exactly the right way; deviance from efficiency was quite strange for him. Of course, considering the fact that his goal was to face Sparrow, it wasn't actually inefficient at all. She was always doing that in some manner or anotherâforcing him to occupy angles and crooked, uneven spaces in ways that could only make sense if he oriented himself around her. His plans, his actions. His life, at one point. He could admit that for a time he had merely been a satellite to her, willingly hemmed in by some kind of gravity. He was always one to somebody.
For a moment, he wasn't sure what else to do. His scant understanding of emotion left him precious little by way of resources for dealing with them. The same blunt honesty that served him so well when Estella needed his help was not the sort of thing Sparrow needed. What had always seemed to work for her was something he was less equipped to give. But he tried, at least. Reaching forward, Rilien touched his fingertips to the clenched muscle in her jaw, skimming them backwards to pick up a few strands of hair. Tucking them behind her ear made her face easier to see, but he didn't do it for that. He did it because he knew Sparrow, unlike himself, was habitually tactile. Habitually engaged, fully and passionately, with everything around her. Regardless of her recent attempts to demonstrate otherwise.
He let his hand fall back to his knee. âAshton will do what we all must do." He tried to soften the flatness of his tone. He was capable of vocal modulation, but he didn't want to act for them, portray something that was not real. It was a delicate balance where his almost-feelings were concerned. âHe will mourn, and then he will carry on. He willâkeep moving forward." He borrowed the phrase from someone who knew much more of loss and sympathy than he. âHowever slowly."
Everything in Sparrowâs countenance seemed to soften. Her edges, her sharp angles. The muscles bunched along her jawline smoothed out as soon as Rilienâs fingertips retracted. Her ragged rasps steadied out with a more controlled, drawn out inhale and exhale. His words, hers, seemed to have an effect. Or else, she was all cried out. Exhausted. Spilled over. She finally looked away from the floor.
âYouâre right.â A pause, a heartbeat. Acceptance, maybe. Something close to it. âLike we always do.â
This one, however, was of a more mundane natureâa letter to the Guard-Captain of Kirkwall. There were no state secrets in it, certainly. This particular piece of correspondence was merely personal in nature, inquiring after Ashton's well-being and updating him on some of the goings on of the Inquisition that were not confidential. He'd included his observations of the conditions of Sparrow and Aurora, of course, as they were friends and Rilien suspected the information may be of some comfort to him. Or at least relevance.
Sometimes he wondered if he weren't growing more remote from his emotions with each passing year. Objectively, it seemed unlikelyâhe felt more here than he had in some time. Particularly when his old friends or especially Estella was involved. But still he was occasionally given to wonder... would he ever lose even this tenuous connection with the person he had once been? Already they were distant, that point in his past and himself, and not merely due to time itself. Perhaps one day he would forget. Forget altogether what it had once been like. To be anything but tranquil.
With twine and careful, deft motions, Rilien tied the message tube to the leg of his nearest bird. Not all of them could go long distances, as it would take for the message to reach Kirkwall, but in practice, he ran them through several stopover points, so birds could be changed out if necessary. More chances for interference, but also a greater rate of success. He still needed to lay a trap for his rogue agent; perhaps he would make use of a relay such as this one to do it.
Polonius, as Estella had taken to calling him, flapped his dark wings several times, taking off from his perch and diving out the window. He knew where to go. Brushing his hands off, Rilien returned to the small desk he kept in the rookery, intent on writing his next piece of communication.
There was something unusual in Rilienâs rookeryâan object that did not quite belong there, settled against the wall nearest to the top of the winding stairwell. A ridiculously large mace, stained with red across the leather grips; perhaps, a recent rendition to the weapon itself. Someone, or rather many someones had taken to leaving it in various places. If it was not in Auroraâs study⊠it was here, leaning against the cobblestone wall for Sparrow to later procure. It would not have gone unnoticed to Rilienâs hawkish eyes, though it was clear that she had not put it there herself.
Since Nostarielâs unexpected demise, and Ashtonâs absence, Sparrowâs demeanor had shifted. Become less palpable in nature, perhaps more of whoâd sheâd been in the past. The veneer of control sheâd cultivated in front of the others had formed cracks; small slivers, sliding off to the wayside. When Ashton had left the gates, sheâd chosen to grieve alone. Further away than most of them had. To the Hills, across the shorelines, but she always returned by herself. There were no bedraggled apostates in tow. Not this time. Only bloodied knuckles, and new bruises blooming across her swarthy skin.
When she wasnât driving the mages into the ground with her backbreaking lessons, she was instilling them on herself. From Rilienâs towering windows, he'd seen her wailing on the straw-stuffed dummies, movements wild and clumsy and bristling with barely contained anger. Her sessions always ended the same: a frustrated roar, where sheâd toss her mace to the side, and stalk to whatever dark corner Skyhold had to offer. She had not been, however, anywhere near the Heraldâs Rest. Perhaps, that was what changed most of all. Her answers no longer lay at the bottom of a bottle.
Footsteps sounded up the stairwell. Heavier. Sluggish, at best. A steady rhythm of ascent. As if the person were taking their time to climb each stair. The first thing to appear at the threshold of the rookery was a mess of white hair, pulled back into an equally messy bun. There was a pinched look to her face, which slipped into exasperation when she reached the final stair, and the mace came into view. She reached forward and stopped mid-stride, hand poised over the handle. Her eyes raked up to meet Rilienâs, blinking owlishly. From the looks of it, she hadnât been sleeping well. A tempered smile wobbled its way to her lips, as she pulled back her hand back to her side and plopped down against the wall. Defeated.
âI donât know why theyââ Sparrowâs words cut off, and the smile wavered as she pushed disobedient strands of hair behind her ears. She leaned her head back against the cool stones, and closed her eyes; just for a moment, before the tension in her shoulders eased a fraction. Itâd been awhile, perhaps, since sheâd allowed herself a moment to be still.
âSit." Perhaps it was the tenor of his thoughts in the last while, but something softened the edges of Rilien's typical bluntness, letting the word sound more like an entreaty than the command most of his other declarations could read as to others. There were chairs enough in the rookery for it, and she looked very much like she needed one. He turned away from his parchments, his work, and pulled his legs up underneath him in the chair he occupied, watching her unblinkingly until she complied. She did, albeit at much slower pace, as if she wasnât quite sure if she wanted to oblige him. She rocked back to her feet and wandered closer, claiming a chair adjacent to his own. Just to the side of his desk.
A number of observations came immediately to mind. Things that he would not ordinarily have hesitated to say. He had rarely ever spared her his thoughts, not when he believed they were relevant to her in some way. In that sense he'd been almost honest. A far cry from how he lived most of his life, both before and since. But her own honesty, what once there had been, had somehow drawn out the same in him. It wasn't a foreign correlationâhe tended to match his surroundings in that way. Rilien almost had not known what to make of the mask she wore when they met again, after everything.
Not until he remembered that it was no longer his place to make anything of it in particular.
âI suspect your pupils are attempting to convey their wishes for you to rest more often." He paused, arching one brow just fractionally. âOr else they are registering a plea for your mercy. You are hard on them." He didn't necessarily disapprove. He was harder on Estella than most teachers ever were on their students. But that was because he knew she would succeed in such conditions. Even if she did not know it herself. Sparrow's hardness may have been more a reflection of her own mental state than anything else in particular.
Sparrow slumped in her chair. It appeared as if she expected the observation and didnât quite know what to do with it. As of late, or perhaps since heâd seen her again, she hadnât allowed herself to fall behind. Anything that mightâve perceived itself as a weakness was squashed out. If that meant driving herself to the edge, she gladly lept. It reflected in her lessons, as well. However, her students were given allowances she did not extend to herself. To take advantage of whatever Skyhold had to offer: frequent trips to the Heraldâs Rest included. Whatever they needed to unwind. She briefly pressed a hand to her forehead and allowed a sigh to sift past her lips, one she may have been holding in, âI am.â
There was silence. Comfortable enough. One she allowed to drag itself between them. She fidgeted in her seat. Crossed a leg over her knee, before dropping it soon after. She pushed her shoulder blades against the back of the chair she sat in. Even the mention of slowing down seemed to cause her some discomfort. The pinched look to her brows smoothed itself out. âI need them to be prepared,â she made a wild gesture, a habit sheâd yet shaken off, âFor anything, Ril. We bloody well know things donât always go to plan.â Her tone held a bite to it. A harshness that didnât seem directed at Rilien. What plans she was referring to, she didnât elaborate.
As of late, the mask sheâd chosen to wear in front of him appeared less solid. It wavered, at times. In those moments, there were glimpses. Brief moments, quick as a blink, where it may have reminded Rilien of days spent in Kirkwall. With Ashton, Nostariel, and everyone else. Her smiles, in those instances, were made of softer things. Though, gone just as quickly. She shook her head, and swallowed thickly, âThey mean well⊠they forget I can take care of myself.â
âCan you?" He tilted his head, letting his eyes linger on the signs of wear at her edges. The shadows beneath her eyes, the frenetic way she fidgeted, unable or unwilling to be still, like there was something skittering under her skin and she could not be free of it. Perhaps she could take care of herself, but she didn't seem to be using the ability. âPerhaps you have forgotten as well. It is not an unusual thing to forget, after a loss." He'd seen the same many times, always detached from it. Never quite able to understand, in the way that only those who felt in full could understand.
At the inquiry, Sparrowâs head snapped up. She appeared as if she were about to argue the point, though her mouth clamped shut just as quickly as it had fallen open. As if she were working out words on an unwilling tongue, bunching muscles along her jawline. The hands in her lap had bunched into fists, white-knuckles splotching with red. Her gaze fell away from Rilienâs face, directing the next words to the floor, âIâm fineââ
The sound of approaching footfalls startled her into silence, murky eyes widening a fraction before she managed to wrestle down the lapse of calm; smothering the crackle of emotion. At least, momentarily.
Aurora's bright red hair soon crested the stairs, followed by the rest of the woman. Upon the final step, she paused for a moment, her eyes lingering on the mace that rested beside her. She raised a brow and tilted her head curiously at the object before she shrugged. "Huh. So that's where they put it," she noted absently, before turning to face the two of them. Even now, Aurora exuded that easy confidence she'd found in Kirkwall, and the intervening years seemed to have only ingrained it further. She did not wait for permission to find a chair, crossing over the threshold into the rookery and choosing one near enough to the both of them.
In stark contrast to Sparrow, she had proven to be the soft touch to her driving taskmaster amongst the mages, but that was not necessarily a bad thing. Nor did it mean that Aurora lacked the requisite firmness. Rilien had seen her drive the mages on occasion as well when they weren't up to her standards, however she was always calm and collected, and maintained a nurturing edge to her lessons. "I'm sorry for not visiting more," she said to Rilien, "I haven't missed much, have I?"
âWe were discussing Sparrow's health." Rilien saw no point in hiding what was likely to be an obvious truth for someone as astute as Aurora. âAnd... loss." He knew the Warden had been particularly close friends with Aurora as well. Perhaps her presence would be fortuitous. She was more likely to know the right things to say or do than he was. âSparrow was about to attempt to deceive me into believing she no longer suffers any ill effects from it. I believe that is all you have missed up to this point."
Sparrow glanced over her shoulder, and the lip of the chair, to see Aurora walking past the mace, choosing to plop into a nearby chair. She had been in the midst of sinking back into her seat. At least until Rilienâs candid explanation, spoken as casually as if heâd been describing the weather.
âRilien,â seethed between grit teeth before she could stop herself. If she could have slumped down in her seat any further, she mightâve fallen to the floor. She cleared her throat and straightened up in her chair, clearly having no clue where to focus her attention. It idled on Rilienâs face for a moment longer, before sliding back towards Aurora. âAnd I was telling him how I was fine. Which I am. Fine.â
There was a toss of hands, a frustrated gesture. âWe all are, arenât we?â It was difficult to tell if the statement was spoken to anyone in particular, or to herself.
Aurora seemed to take the news easily, or at least she did not seem surprised, offering a hum in a reply. Eventually, she sighed and her head dipped to the side and she seemed likewise unconvinced by Sparrow's words, though her face had the emotion to go along with it. "I don't know Sparrow," she answered with a shrug, "I truly don't." She then leaned forward on her knees and shaking her head. In spite of her earlier ease, at Sparrow's words she deflated and even Rilien could see the lingering hurt in her face. It appeared that Aurora was dealing with the grief as well, though unlike Sparrow she was more open with it.
Her knees propped up her elbows as she leaned forward, using her fingers to cradle her chin. "It's still hard to believe that she's... gone, you know?" she stated, "It feels like she is still traveling with Stroud, and we'll find her in her clinic in Kirkwall once all of this is done," she shook her head. "It happened so fast... I didn't have time to really talk to her, you know? I... thought there would be time after."
Rilien did not believe there was much he could say in response to that. The death of someone that young was in some sense always a surprise. âLife always proceeds on the assumption that there will be more time." He sat back slightly in his chair, straightening the corner of a stack of paper on the desktop. âThere is no sense in living otherwise. But it does mean that sometimes, you will have been wrong." He'd heard adages before, about living as though there would not be a following day for oneself, or the people one cared about. But that was senseless; plans and real relationships depended upon the assumption that there would be those things. It was faithless to become too detached from past and future in such a way. And stupid.
âAnd it isn't contemptible, to feel a sense of loss when you are. It's quite natural. If you did not grieve, it would only be evidence that you were not... connected, in the right way, to the people around you." Evidence that they were like him. And they weren'tâhe knew that much very well.
There was a loud thumping noise, as Sparrow slammed her fist against the table Rilien was sitting at. Whatever lay atop jumped and settled back down. An errant quill rolled and tumbled to the ground, clattering at his feet. It appeared as if her feelings, or whatever it was that she was holding in had reached a crescendo. Her fist remained atop the table, trembling at the force of keeping it tightly closed, though sheâd hunched forward and averted her gaze towards the ground.
âIt wasnât supposed be like that,â her voice came out as a heavy rasp, cracking at the end. How sheâd imagined it going at all was anyoneâs guess. Perhaps, her sentiment regarding the Inquisitionâs mission and the involvement of those she considered her close companions⊠were in conflict. Sheâd never stated so. Not in so many words, though it was clear what she held in higher regard. âShe wasnât supposed toâwe shouldâve been there, if it werenât for...â
It seemed as if Auroraâs words had struck a chord with her, peeling away the last fragments of the mask sheâd been trying to keep in place. There was a shudder of her shoulders, and a frustrated shake of her head as she hissed, âDammit, dammit, dammit.â She retracted her fist from the table and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, hunching further towards her knees. There was another sound. An intake of air. An angry sob, as if she were furious at herself for allowing it to come out. âShe should be here.â
"She should," Aurora agreed solemnly. There was hardly any change in her body language, though the features in her face softened subtly. She did reach over and gently rub Sparrow's back, her lips pressed into a thin frown. "But... she is not," she added, the pain melting into her words as she spoke them. She was quiet afterward, letting it sink in, for the both of them, as it appeared.
Eventually, she spoke again, softly, "She wouldn't want us to let it eat away at us though, she'd want us to be strong. She was an amazing woman, she wouldn't want her loss to destroy us."
Sparrowâs breath caught in her throat and she nodded, swallowing around whatever lump was lodged in her throat. It threatened to peel out into an uglier affair. The gravity of grief, the discussion of loss, Auroraâs gentle hand and perhaps both of their presence, in one room, appeared to cause an unraveling of sorts. A release, a pardon, a window sheâd been desperately trying to stamp shutâsuddenly being pried open.
The next sob was harsher. A small, ineffective battle to breathe, to hold in, to stifle. Her fists, however, slowly relinquished into opened palms, which she used to cover her now-blotchy face. âAnd Ashton⊠he⊠how will heââ she smothered the words into her wrists. Her eyebrows drew together. Soon after her hands fell away, though she remained fixed in place. Shoulders slumped, head lowered.
âI didnât want to lose anyone.â Them. There was a childish slant to her expression. So unlike the veneer of calculated calm. A muscle along her jaw tensed, appearing as if she were clamping it shut. âI know. I know.â
Rilien turned in his chair, sitting sideways on it in a most unusual sort of incongruence. He usually did everything exactly the right way; deviance from efficiency was quite strange for him. Of course, considering the fact that his goal was to face Sparrow, it wasn't actually inefficient at all. She was always doing that in some manner or anotherâforcing him to occupy angles and crooked, uneven spaces in ways that could only make sense if he oriented himself around her. His plans, his actions. His life, at one point. He could admit that for a time he had merely been a satellite to her, willingly hemmed in by some kind of gravity. He was always one to somebody.
For a moment, he wasn't sure what else to do. His scant understanding of emotion left him precious little by way of resources for dealing with them. The same blunt honesty that served him so well when Estella needed his help was not the sort of thing Sparrow needed. What had always seemed to work for her was something he was less equipped to give. But he tried, at least. Reaching forward, Rilien touched his fingertips to the clenched muscle in her jaw, skimming them backwards to pick up a few strands of hair. Tucking them behind her ear made her face easier to see, but he didn't do it for that. He did it because he knew Sparrow, unlike himself, was habitually tactile. Habitually engaged, fully and passionately, with everything around her. Regardless of her recent attempts to demonstrate otherwise.
He let his hand fall back to his knee. âAshton will do what we all must do." He tried to soften the flatness of his tone. He was capable of vocal modulation, but he didn't want to act for them, portray something that was not real. It was a delicate balance where his almost-feelings were concerned. âHe will mourn, and then he will carry on. He willâkeep moving forward." He borrowed the phrase from someone who knew much more of loss and sympathy than he. âHowever slowly."
Everything in Sparrowâs countenance seemed to soften. Her edges, her sharp angles. The muscles bunched along her jawline smoothed out as soon as Rilienâs fingertips retracted. Her ragged rasps steadied out with a more controlled, drawn out inhale and exhale. His words, hers, seemed to have an effect. Or else, she was all cried out. Exhausted. Spilled over. She finally looked away from the floor.
âYouâre right.â A pause, a heartbeat. Acceptance, maybe. Something close to it. âLike we always do.â