Fireflies Dim in Daylight

They catch it without looking up.

It sounded ridiculous that someone like her would be dragged to a job such as that one. The general was far from being another one of the guards that aided the dreamers with their duties to Falon’din, she was far from the type that should be dragged to protect priests to high priests into events. It was not because that was a job beneath her but because it was not something that she was good at. There were people within the Faithful that were trained for such things, the priestess herself had been trained but she was the first to admit that when it came to social events she was not the best and should never be the first option. But some priests just had this notion that because she was the highest in position that she should be the one accompanying them wherever they walked. While it was true that she was the best in what she did, fighting nobles and separating intrigues was not something that she looked forward to. She was, first and foremost, a teacher, the one that mobilized the armies guided by the voice of Falon’din himself.

‘Think of it as an opportunity to have the best and most expensive food around, Nas’taron’. The voice of the Dirthamen general came to her mind gently, a small smile forming on her lips. They always knew what to say, even if they knew that being able to eat the same food that they presented for the guests would never actually happen. ‘Aren’t you funny, as if they would ever let me even come close to the food’. she can hear a chuckle coming from them before the silence is taken over by the music when they entered the hall. The general’s head tilts when the high priest dismisses her. Well, it wasn’t quite a dismissal, she would still be around like every other guard that had come to accompany their respective nobles. ‘There is so much work to do Nas’taron, and here I am, I don’t understand why they keep asking me to do this.’ there’s an inaudible sigh when the general turns to give orders to the rest of the soldiers and moves to the sidelines of the court, hands behind her heavy armour hidden only by a formal robe that was required in such situations.

starter for @ancientimpudence

These occasions seemed to grow more circular with every passing formality. Even attending only the bare minimum required to keep face, the effort expended to watch the moving pieces was gaining in sum. The pieces often moved in patterns, the same dance with the same steps, but to disregard one would be to risk losing track of the pattern, and they cannot afford that. 

The Thief drifted in and out of the dance, joining the revelry in one group and then another, assuring that their presence was felt by those with whom it mattered, and those with whom it did not. Those with whom it did not were the ones that mattered more, those whose casual observations and instances built in significance when the political shifts gained momentum--or else collapsed. They gambled only one way: with assurance, with safety. It was too long a play to risk failure. The only option was to come out a winner. 

#can i just say: ‘in hand’  #ffs mio

They turn their head only enough to steal a glance at…not Josephine, or worse, Leliana (which was certainly a relief), but a stranger. Perhaps it should have been obvious, but who pays enough attention to differentiate between shod feet and bare, especially when trying to nap? Certainly not Alanari, not here. 

The newcomer doesn’t so much glance in their direction, opting instead to devote attention to the lifeless, imposing figures upon the wall. Some part of them doesn’t like being ignored. They could have quashed it, turned their back, slipped into sleep - would have, were they not so helpless against their own whims. It’s not what it was, once; they’re far from a child, and in the now they manifest only in small ways such as this. What harm could there be in greeting a stranger? Still, they don’t act immediately, but shift upwards and closer, tucking their chin atop the curve of the couch, waiting, watching, speaking only when the focus of their attention reaches out to the wall.

“Ugly, isn’t he?”

Now they approach, one flitting step before another carrying them to the stranger’s side, and see what they had not before: elvhen, not human. Any lingering tension melts from their shoulders, and Alanari casts a small smile at them. “Much uglier than Solas apparently thinks - though he didn’t have the chance for a pleasant chat with him before he tried to kill me, so I can’t REALLY blame him for that.”

“I’m Alanari, despite what everyone else here will tell you. Especially when I’ve annoyed them.”

Their ears twitch and cant, tickling through loose curls to perk in acknowledgement of the approaching steps, though they do not turn their face. Their hand remains against the plaster, fingers trailing the furthest edges of the painting.

“Perhaps Solas would portray him as he should be seen, rather than a foe worthy of your fear, Inquisitor.”

Their eyes travel to their corners, studying, waiting until the Inquisitor draws close to turn the rest of their face. The lofty title weighs across narrow shoulders, burdening their posture and tightening an already small smile. Miraen pretends they do not notice, tossing hair from their eyes as they allow their own smile to grow, their expression carefully crafted into one of innocence and ignorance.

“They tell many stories of you, excellency, but I had not yet heard that you possessed an inclination to critique works of art. I suppose that comes in hand with being their subject.”

@ancientimpudence

     This was not how they’d wanted to spend the day. What did Chantry squabbling have to do with some old darkspawn, and why did every single cleric absolutely need to complain directly to them? One letter after another are tossed aside to be forgotten or turned over to Josephine: left for burning, center for Josie, right for anything they don’t understand. It’s been long enough that they’re restless, quickly approaching bored to tears, when they remember having another subject to bother Solas over, and what better time than now? 

       They take the steps three at a time, leaving the first door to swing as it wanted, and Alana’s free from the mountains of paper…until Josephine comes looking for them, as she always does, but even an hour of—- oh. Alanari rounds the corner to find the room empty. He’s probably off with Ian then, and they’re not about to go interrupting that. Instead, they claim the couch for their own, and are feeling drowsiness creep up on them when quiet steps announce another presence.

He isn’t here, but they already knew that. The world may be muted--muted, in a screaming, relentless quiet that leaves their ears ringing--but he is still recognizable amongst the din. No, he isn’t here, but he’s nearby, and they’re certain he’ll recognize the proper opportunity to reunite. That much, at least, they had understood. 

They stride through the keep as though they belong, drawing little attention. It’s too easy. This is the fortress from which the Inquisition intends to defend the world? There is hardly a pause at the gate, no one checks their entry as they enter the castle. They angle their path to a room full of echoes, thin smile arcing their cheeks as they inhale fresh ink and plaster walls--a powerful scent, even competing with the reek of ravens and dust.