Itâd taken Sparrow awhile to tear herself away from Kirkwallâs repairs. With many of its foundations in a more decrepit state than she remembered, she couldnât help feel as if sheâd taken a step back in time. Reminiscent of how it had been all those years ago, under Meredithâs heavy boot. Sheâd busied herself in Lowtown, hauling broken carts out of the streets, as well as bits and pieces of brick loosened and thrown haphazardly in the way. The giant had caused a lot of damage in its rampage, and the reds hadnât been all too concerned about how much chaos they created. A cleanup, a distraction. A means to keep herself from wondering how many casualties theyâd suffered. More injuries, heaped onto them at every turn.
When hadnât they suffered such things? In all the years sheâd been separated from those sheâd known longest in stretches of Kirkwall, that hadnât changed. She doubted it ever would. They would throw themselves on the line, again and again for this greater cause. No matter the lengths. Ithilian, Amalia, Ashton, Aurora, Lucien, Sophia, Ril. Nostariel. She repeated their names often, in her mind. Like a mantra. A prayer, of sorts. A reminder.
But theyâd come out of this victorious. It was something, at least.
The last remnants of bandage had been taken off her head. Too early, theyâd said. Stubborn as she was, she didnât want to wear it any longer. It hampered her vision, wrapped tight around the upper portion of her forehead and head, tied off near her jawline. Another scar, puckered closed with practiced stitching. A falling rock struck shy of her temple. Lucky, theyâd said. She often was. Her footsteps led her to Ashtonâs estate, where she lingered until she grew brave enough to knock at the door. Her tongue had never been trained to comfort. She never knew how to reach, or when to stop. Sheâd sent scrawled chicken-scratch letters to him after what had happened in the Fade, relentless. Random words that meant nothing. Updates. Things sheâd found. Wooden figurines, baubles, claws and feathers.
Things she mightâve sent him if sheâd been living in Kirkwall, too.
Fortunately, she was able to wrangle him from the heaps of paperwork strewn across his deskâwith little resistance. Perhaps, he needed it more than he let on. It was hard to tell nowadays⊠his smiles were slightly off. Didnât quite reach, anymore. Sheâd hugged him. Too hard. As if it would make up for lost time. She led the way towards Rilienâs shop, threading them through old alleys that still smelled the same, still looked as they always did. She didnât ask how he was doing. How heâd healed, or if he hadnât. Sheâd always felt that if it was something he wanted to bear to her, he would: without prodding. The conversation was light, almost effortless. She didnât pause at the doorway, but instead tugged the latch free, as she always had, and pulled it wide, jutting her chin out.
âLadies first.â
"Most gracious of you, milord," he said, tacking on a dainty curtsy afterward. He chuckled to himself lightly, tickled by his own joke before he finally slipped into the establishment and racked his knuckles on the door frame to announce their presence. As if their presence alone wasn't enough to do it for them. They were not a subtle bunch, not when they didn't care too much about it.
While the exterior of the shop had clearly suffered the same damage as most of the buildings surrounding itâchips missing from the doorframe, a broad slash across the suspended sign that proclaimed it to be called simply 'ENCHANTMENT,' the interior was spotless, every tool and ware in its place, the stone floor swept, the counters wiped down and polished. Chances were, that was a recent development, the result of fastidious reconstruction and cleaning since the battle, no doubt.
In fact, the very last bit of that still seemed to be in progress. It looked as though Bodahn, the aging dwarven proprietor, was counting out his funds, while his adopted son Sandal, the prodigy who actually did the enchanting, checked over the runes. Rilien was standing with his back to the door, a clipboard in one hand, taking an inventory of the stock and making precise notes in his flawless handwriting upon each successful count. Bodahn glanced up at their entrance, offering a weary smile through his braided, greying beard. Sandal seemed barely to notice them, but that was not unusual where he was concerned.
âAshton. Sparrow." It was hard to say for sure, but there may have been something the faintest bit softer, in the way Rilien pronounced her name. Perhaps it was only imaginary. In any case, he remained at his task instead of turning to face them. âIs there something you require?"
âNot particularly.â Sparrowâs attention was drawn to the nuances of Rilâs shop. The subtle changes sheâd taken note of since walking through its threshold. A box, no longer there. Everything still categorized and filed; neat, meticulously so. It was the same, but not. She bobbed a nod in Bodahn and Sandalâs direction, though the latter hardly seemed to notice. As per usual. A small smiled played on her lips, wistful. She remembered the smell of this place, just as keenly as she remembered the quaint hovel in Darktown. At times, she found herself missing both. She gave Ashton a little jostle, accompanied by a grin, in passing as she closed the distance between her and the desk stationed at the far backâa place sheâd often found Ril busying himself.
She perched herself on the corner, legs dangling at air. Hands planted at her sides. âJust thought weâd drop in, for old times' sake.â A breath sifted out, halfway between a lighthearted scoff and a sigh. Neither belied anything melancholic. It was nice⊠being there, together, without the world crashing around them. Without another calamity dredging them to the edge of something that would change them forever. âDoesnât seem like we get the chance to do it very often in our line of work.â
That much was true. They hardly had time to stop and breathe, let alone relax. It was a momentary thing. Gone as quickly as a blink. Precious, in its rarity. Funny how Rilâs version of relaxation was burying his nose in his shop, taking stock of inventory, rather than recovering from his injuries. He didnât stop. He never had. The same, she supposed, could be said of all three of them.
Rilien, she knew, wasn't really the sort of person who understood nostalgia. His emotional repertoire was sharply-constrained, not only by his tranquility, but by the range of feelings he'd experienced before that, and some of them were conspicuously missing. Considering he'd undergone his Rite at fourteen, it was perhaps understandable that the pink-tinged affection for things that used to be wasn't really on the list. He paused, turned partway to regard them flatly over his shoulder, and blinked once.
âAs long as the resemblance does not extend to the mess you often left behind, I suppose you are welcome to sit." Nostalgia or not, he clearly remembered how things had been before. The state she'd been known to leave the Darktown house inâwith broken glass and discarded clothing and something smelling several days too old.
âHow goes business at the Keep?" That was clearly directed at Ashton.
"About as hectic as you can imagine," Ashton answered with a roll of his shoulders. He'd found himself a section of the counter to lean forward against, elbows resting on its polished surface and his thumbs twiddling together. "The usual pains associated with trying to get things back to normal. Well, what we'd consider normal, I suppose," he noted, taking a moment to think about what most likely they would construe as normal. "Cataloging, reports, damage estimates, you know. All the fun stuff," he huffed at that, with the bare minimal of mirth.
He then took a moment to glance around the shop, perhaps lapsing into a sense of nostalgia himself. "How about yourself? I would've imagined that the Inquisition would've kept you buried in reports too," Ashton added, his hand reaching to scratch the scrabble at his chin. Seemed as if he hadn't quite found the time to shave in between all of the recent business just yet.
âNot as many as you." Perhaps that made sense: the Inquisition's reports would have had more to do with casualties and recoveries than anything, given that their role here had been only to break the siege, and not endure it beforehand. And all of that was most likely work he split with Leon, even before Rilien's frightening efficiency was brought into the equation.
In that sense, it was hardly a shock that he was finding alternative ways to occupy himself in the meantime.
Sparrow knuckled her nose, eyes raking across the shop. Of course, heâd worry. It brought a smile to her lips; a small, flighty thing that smoothed itself over. How sheâd been before, wrecking everything she touched⊠she supposed itâd taken a lot of patience, picking up her mess. While some things remained the same, they were different now. She no longer plucked things up in grimy hands, leaving a trail of chaos in her wakeâonly for him to right it once more, incessantly at her heels. She listened to them as she brushed the pad of her thumb across one of the wooden knots swirled across Rilâs table, staring off over Sandalâs head.
Hectic. Paperwork. There was a small, disappointed stone settling in her belly. She hadnât truly thought Ashton would come back to Skyhold. Not really. He belonged here, working alongside Sophia. Keeping the peace in Kirkwall. His home, and hers, once. Even so. She slipped off the table, and chose to lean against it instead, turning her head towards Ashton and Ril. âSuppose youâll be busy setting Kirkwall back on its feet again,â she sighed, drawing it out for dramatic effect, âYou should visit sometime. We canât keep meeting only when the worldâs ending.â
She missed him. Probably more than she was willing to admit. âRilâs awful lonely, yâknow.â A grin pulled at the scar marring her face and lip, âHe goes on and on about you.â
"Oh but Sparrow, the world is always ending," He said with a smirk. A moment passed before the smirk faded away and a thin lipped frown descended on his face. "Or it feels damn close to it anyway," he said, a bit more serious than he intended, by the way he raised a brow afterward. He tossed a glance between her and Rilien before he nodded, "I will, if I can ever find the time. Hard work trying to keep the city peaceful and in one piece," he chuckled at that.
He chuckled again, probably coming back to the idea of Rilien saying how much he missed him. "I'm sure he does. Waxing poetic about his best ol' buddy he never gets to see any more, as Bards are wont to do I'm sure," Ashton teased with a flourish of a hand, which ended with him leaning his jaw on it. "And what about you two? he continued, pointing an accusing finger toward them, "I'm not the only one who can visit, you know?" He said, "It's mighty lonesome here too. You know, Sophia aside-- but she has more Queenly duties to do than to entertain me," he added, brushing the thought off.
âI am far too busy composing odes to our friendship, it seems." Rilien lifted one of his eyebrows, just barely enough for the shift to be perceptible. âCannot spare a moment." Truthfully, he was exceedingly preoccupiedâthe position he had within the Inquisition did not lend itself to holidays, especially not ones long enough to involve transport back and forth across the Waking Sea. The number of birds that came and went from the rookery at least indicated that he kept up... a lot of correspondence. No doubt a fair amount of it was with Ashton.
Sparrow scoffed as she pushed herself away from the table, crossing the distance between she and Ashton in long strides. She only halted when she wrapped her arm around his shoulder, shifting slightly below his shoulder blades to make up for their height differences. Tall bastard. Of course, she, too, had her own work in spades. If she wasn't training the Inquisition's menagerie of apostates, drilling them into the ground, she was knocking her head together with Aurora to make sure the Templar's played got along with them. Worked as one unit. The grin weaseled itself into a smaller smile, because it was true⊠the world always seemed to be ending with either partyâs involvement. Add the Inquisition to the mix, and theyâd be meeting once more, in due time. Certainly not in the manner sheâd like, however. She drew Ashton closer, in an attempt to pull him down to her level.
âThe lonesome, unentertained nobleman,â she lamented and pursed her lips, âWell. If neither of us can make the journey without upsetting the balance of paperwork and dull activities, we should make a pledge.â A short pause, as she rummaged through her thoughts for an appropriate promise. One that theyâd be hard-pressed to keep under the circumstances, but one that sheâd still like to keep anyway. That is, if they all survived saving Thedas, being big goddamn heroes on a much larger scale. It made her want to laugh. âAfter all this is said and done; this saving business, weâll set aside some time to do nothing at all, in good company.â
She loosened her grip on Ashton, though hadnât completely let go, swinging her attention back towards Ril. Passive as ever, dealing with two fools who were growing older, tired with warring even though it was a necessity. Someday, perhaps, it would not be. âThe Heraldâs Rest. Or, the Hanged Man⊠yâknow, itâs been awhile since Iâve heard you play.â She found herself missing that, too.
"Damn she's right," Ashton added, the memories pulling his eyes upward. "The yokels Varric hires to play nowadays are serviceable, but they aren't up to Rilien's level. Just sounds-- off honestly."
Rilien paused a moment, still like something trapped in amber. Thoughtful, probably. âThe last, at least, I can perhaps manage before we depart. As to the other... very well. Should we all survive, I will clear some time for... nothing." As someone whose efficiency had never allowed for idleness, it was no doubt a strange promise to be making.
Sparrowâs smile tugged at the cornerâs of her eyes. A little less nostalgic, and certainly less wistful. This was what she missed most of all, even when she couldnât collect enough words to say them aloud. She hoped that theyâd know it without her having to wag her tongue; after all, they usually did.
Even if they couldnât keep itâthis lofty promiseâit was something sheâd fight for.
When hadnât they suffered such things? In all the years sheâd been separated from those sheâd known longest in stretches of Kirkwall, that hadnât changed. She doubted it ever would. They would throw themselves on the line, again and again for this greater cause. No matter the lengths. Ithilian, Amalia, Ashton, Aurora, Lucien, Sophia, Ril. Nostariel. She repeated their names often, in her mind. Like a mantra. A prayer, of sorts. A reminder.
But theyâd come out of this victorious. It was something, at least.
The last remnants of bandage had been taken off her head. Too early, theyâd said. Stubborn as she was, she didnât want to wear it any longer. It hampered her vision, wrapped tight around the upper portion of her forehead and head, tied off near her jawline. Another scar, puckered closed with practiced stitching. A falling rock struck shy of her temple. Lucky, theyâd said. She often was. Her footsteps led her to Ashtonâs estate, where she lingered until she grew brave enough to knock at the door. Her tongue had never been trained to comfort. She never knew how to reach, or when to stop. Sheâd sent scrawled chicken-scratch letters to him after what had happened in the Fade, relentless. Random words that meant nothing. Updates. Things sheâd found. Wooden figurines, baubles, claws and feathers.
Things she mightâve sent him if sheâd been living in Kirkwall, too.
Fortunately, she was able to wrangle him from the heaps of paperwork strewn across his deskâwith little resistance. Perhaps, he needed it more than he let on. It was hard to tell nowadays⊠his smiles were slightly off. Didnât quite reach, anymore. Sheâd hugged him. Too hard. As if it would make up for lost time. She led the way towards Rilienâs shop, threading them through old alleys that still smelled the same, still looked as they always did. She didnât ask how he was doing. How heâd healed, or if he hadnât. Sheâd always felt that if it was something he wanted to bear to her, he would: without prodding. The conversation was light, almost effortless. She didnât pause at the doorway, but instead tugged the latch free, as she always had, and pulled it wide, jutting her chin out.
âLadies first.â
"Most gracious of you, milord," he said, tacking on a dainty curtsy afterward. He chuckled to himself lightly, tickled by his own joke before he finally slipped into the establishment and racked his knuckles on the door frame to announce their presence. As if their presence alone wasn't enough to do it for them. They were not a subtle bunch, not when they didn't care too much about it.
While the exterior of the shop had clearly suffered the same damage as most of the buildings surrounding itâchips missing from the doorframe, a broad slash across the suspended sign that proclaimed it to be called simply 'ENCHANTMENT,' the interior was spotless, every tool and ware in its place, the stone floor swept, the counters wiped down and polished. Chances were, that was a recent development, the result of fastidious reconstruction and cleaning since the battle, no doubt.
In fact, the very last bit of that still seemed to be in progress. It looked as though Bodahn, the aging dwarven proprietor, was counting out his funds, while his adopted son Sandal, the prodigy who actually did the enchanting, checked over the runes. Rilien was standing with his back to the door, a clipboard in one hand, taking an inventory of the stock and making precise notes in his flawless handwriting upon each successful count. Bodahn glanced up at their entrance, offering a weary smile through his braided, greying beard. Sandal seemed barely to notice them, but that was not unusual where he was concerned.
âAshton. Sparrow." It was hard to say for sure, but there may have been something the faintest bit softer, in the way Rilien pronounced her name. Perhaps it was only imaginary. In any case, he remained at his task instead of turning to face them. âIs there something you require?"
âNot particularly.â Sparrowâs attention was drawn to the nuances of Rilâs shop. The subtle changes sheâd taken note of since walking through its threshold. A box, no longer there. Everything still categorized and filed; neat, meticulously so. It was the same, but not. She bobbed a nod in Bodahn and Sandalâs direction, though the latter hardly seemed to notice. As per usual. A small smiled played on her lips, wistful. She remembered the smell of this place, just as keenly as she remembered the quaint hovel in Darktown. At times, she found herself missing both. She gave Ashton a little jostle, accompanied by a grin, in passing as she closed the distance between her and the desk stationed at the far backâa place sheâd often found Ril busying himself.
She perched herself on the corner, legs dangling at air. Hands planted at her sides. âJust thought weâd drop in, for old times' sake.â A breath sifted out, halfway between a lighthearted scoff and a sigh. Neither belied anything melancholic. It was nice⊠being there, together, without the world crashing around them. Without another calamity dredging them to the edge of something that would change them forever. âDoesnât seem like we get the chance to do it very often in our line of work.â
That much was true. They hardly had time to stop and breathe, let alone relax. It was a momentary thing. Gone as quickly as a blink. Precious, in its rarity. Funny how Rilâs version of relaxation was burying his nose in his shop, taking stock of inventory, rather than recovering from his injuries. He didnât stop. He never had. The same, she supposed, could be said of all three of them.
Rilien, she knew, wasn't really the sort of person who understood nostalgia. His emotional repertoire was sharply-constrained, not only by his tranquility, but by the range of feelings he'd experienced before that, and some of them were conspicuously missing. Considering he'd undergone his Rite at fourteen, it was perhaps understandable that the pink-tinged affection for things that used to be wasn't really on the list. He paused, turned partway to regard them flatly over his shoulder, and blinked once.
âAs long as the resemblance does not extend to the mess you often left behind, I suppose you are welcome to sit." Nostalgia or not, he clearly remembered how things had been before. The state she'd been known to leave the Darktown house inâwith broken glass and discarded clothing and something smelling several days too old.
âHow goes business at the Keep?" That was clearly directed at Ashton.
"About as hectic as you can imagine," Ashton answered with a roll of his shoulders. He'd found himself a section of the counter to lean forward against, elbows resting on its polished surface and his thumbs twiddling together. "The usual pains associated with trying to get things back to normal. Well, what we'd consider normal, I suppose," he noted, taking a moment to think about what most likely they would construe as normal. "Cataloging, reports, damage estimates, you know. All the fun stuff," he huffed at that, with the bare minimal of mirth.
He then took a moment to glance around the shop, perhaps lapsing into a sense of nostalgia himself. "How about yourself? I would've imagined that the Inquisition would've kept you buried in reports too," Ashton added, his hand reaching to scratch the scrabble at his chin. Seemed as if he hadn't quite found the time to shave in between all of the recent business just yet.
âNot as many as you." Perhaps that made sense: the Inquisition's reports would have had more to do with casualties and recoveries than anything, given that their role here had been only to break the siege, and not endure it beforehand. And all of that was most likely work he split with Leon, even before Rilien's frightening efficiency was brought into the equation.
In that sense, it was hardly a shock that he was finding alternative ways to occupy himself in the meantime.
Sparrow knuckled her nose, eyes raking across the shop. Of course, heâd worry. It brought a smile to her lips; a small, flighty thing that smoothed itself over. How sheâd been before, wrecking everything she touched⊠she supposed itâd taken a lot of patience, picking up her mess. While some things remained the same, they were different now. She no longer plucked things up in grimy hands, leaving a trail of chaos in her wakeâonly for him to right it once more, incessantly at her heels. She listened to them as she brushed the pad of her thumb across one of the wooden knots swirled across Rilâs table, staring off over Sandalâs head.
Hectic. Paperwork. There was a small, disappointed stone settling in her belly. She hadnât truly thought Ashton would come back to Skyhold. Not really. He belonged here, working alongside Sophia. Keeping the peace in Kirkwall. His home, and hers, once. Even so. She slipped off the table, and chose to lean against it instead, turning her head towards Ashton and Ril. âSuppose youâll be busy setting Kirkwall back on its feet again,â she sighed, drawing it out for dramatic effect, âYou should visit sometime. We canât keep meeting only when the worldâs ending.â
She missed him. Probably more than she was willing to admit. âRilâs awful lonely, yâknow.â A grin pulled at the scar marring her face and lip, âHe goes on and on about you.â
"Oh but Sparrow, the world is always ending," He said with a smirk. A moment passed before the smirk faded away and a thin lipped frown descended on his face. "Or it feels damn close to it anyway," he said, a bit more serious than he intended, by the way he raised a brow afterward. He tossed a glance between her and Rilien before he nodded, "I will, if I can ever find the time. Hard work trying to keep the city peaceful and in one piece," he chuckled at that.
He chuckled again, probably coming back to the idea of Rilien saying how much he missed him. "I'm sure he does. Waxing poetic about his best ol' buddy he never gets to see any more, as Bards are wont to do I'm sure," Ashton teased with a flourish of a hand, which ended with him leaning his jaw on it. "And what about you two? he continued, pointing an accusing finger toward them, "I'm not the only one who can visit, you know?" He said, "It's mighty lonesome here too. You know, Sophia aside-- but she has more Queenly duties to do than to entertain me," he added, brushing the thought off.
âI am far too busy composing odes to our friendship, it seems." Rilien lifted one of his eyebrows, just barely enough for the shift to be perceptible. âCannot spare a moment." Truthfully, he was exceedingly preoccupiedâthe position he had within the Inquisition did not lend itself to holidays, especially not ones long enough to involve transport back and forth across the Waking Sea. The number of birds that came and went from the rookery at least indicated that he kept up... a lot of correspondence. No doubt a fair amount of it was with Ashton.
Sparrow scoffed as she pushed herself away from the table, crossing the distance between she and Ashton in long strides. She only halted when she wrapped her arm around his shoulder, shifting slightly below his shoulder blades to make up for their height differences. Tall bastard. Of course, she, too, had her own work in spades. If she wasn't training the Inquisition's menagerie of apostates, drilling them into the ground, she was knocking her head together with Aurora to make sure the Templar's played got along with them. Worked as one unit. The grin weaseled itself into a smaller smile, because it was true⊠the world always seemed to be ending with either partyâs involvement. Add the Inquisition to the mix, and theyâd be meeting once more, in due time. Certainly not in the manner sheâd like, however. She drew Ashton closer, in an attempt to pull him down to her level.
âThe lonesome, unentertained nobleman,â she lamented and pursed her lips, âWell. If neither of us can make the journey without upsetting the balance of paperwork and dull activities, we should make a pledge.â A short pause, as she rummaged through her thoughts for an appropriate promise. One that theyâd be hard-pressed to keep under the circumstances, but one that sheâd still like to keep anyway. That is, if they all survived saving Thedas, being big goddamn heroes on a much larger scale. It made her want to laugh. âAfter all this is said and done; this saving business, weâll set aside some time to do nothing at all, in good company.â
She loosened her grip on Ashton, though hadnât completely let go, swinging her attention back towards Ril. Passive as ever, dealing with two fools who were growing older, tired with warring even though it was a necessity. Someday, perhaps, it would not be. âThe Heraldâs Rest. Or, the Hanged Man⊠yâknow, itâs been awhile since Iâve heard you play.â She found herself missing that, too.
"Damn she's right," Ashton added, the memories pulling his eyes upward. "The yokels Varric hires to play nowadays are serviceable, but they aren't up to Rilien's level. Just sounds-- off honestly."
Rilien paused a moment, still like something trapped in amber. Thoughtful, probably. âThe last, at least, I can perhaps manage before we depart. As to the other... very well. Should we all survive, I will clear some time for... nothing." As someone whose efficiency had never allowed for idleness, it was no doubt a strange promise to be making.
Sparrowâs smile tugged at the cornerâs of her eyes. A little less nostalgic, and certainly less wistful. This was what she missed most of all, even when she couldnât collect enough words to say them aloud. She hoped that theyâd know it without her having to wag her tongue; after all, they usually did.
Even if they couldnât keep itâthis lofty promiseâit was something sheâd fight for.