GOOD / DAMNED

     ‘ Endless worry and endless work? That won’t change anytime soon, I’m afraid. ’ Maker preserve those poor fools who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. If the Maker even cared anymore. Balfour had his doubts. ‘ If ever. You’ll probably have a couple more titles by the end of all this, though. A few Heroes, maybe. Makes people feel better, I think. ’ 

@godforge​. one liner sc. 

     ‘ Lofty new title you’ve got, ’ he said, casually as anything. ‘ Feeling alright? ’ 

    mustang’s shoulders dropped as the last foe dropped,  heart sunk along with the falling corpse    [  so much avoidable death,  though it was either kill or be killed in these parts;  hopefully for not much longer,  but  …  ]    and knew that those around them were far from the last to die.  the moment was taken to breathe before 

    “  good idea  we  -  i stick out in the forest,  ”    his old templar armor still glistened in the winter sunlight,  the metal made each typically careful movements awkward in the natural setting    [  the damn mud and rocks were so different from simple cobblestone roads  ].    “  how far till we get where we’re headed?  ”

every man in the selfsame armor he wears makes her feel vaguely ILL. not because of the war, or the way that it seems any person passing through these parts is at risk of attack - - - but because it is all too easy to imagine it is, for a moment, CADOC. it is the same with mage robes and owain ; every man bears the face of a dead brother until she is close enough to see the difference. esyllt slips her bow back into place and takes a breath of the sharp-cold air as she looks away through the trees and takes a perfectly - too perfect to be NATURAL - even breath.

the trek up to the inquisitor’s chambers is a long and arduous one. there are unfinished hallways that still gape, mouth-like, out upon the freezing mountain air. there are wooden stairs that creak beneath even the slightest of weight - - - and a great many of them, too, rickety and uneven. there are a multitude heavy doors that must be heaved open and which creak on their rusted hinges when you do so. ALL OF THIS TO SAY - ESYLLT HAD KNOWN SOMEONE WAS COMING. most are not allowed to pass by the guards who stand at the very first door off of the grand hall and should those ones be felled there would likely be a great clamor from below, so esyllt had not stopped in her diligent task of sitting at her desk and staring exhausted at the several neat stacks of PAPERWORK upon it.

a request for more ELFROOT SEEDS is in her hands when that final door CREAKS open, but whoever it is must climb a final set of stairs up into her chambers proper for her to see who it is. there is no use in looking up from the paper - now back on the desk and quill in hand instead to write an approval for the funds to send for more seeds, or if that cannot be done to let her know so she might collect more next she leaves skyhold. when she looks back up it is the face of THE WARDEN hawke had brought here.

WELL - - - he is more than that. a figure of LORE in ferelden. she had heard his name murmured in ostwick as well, but it is spoken far more often here, etched in the stone bases of statues dedicated to the clutch who had stopped the last blight ; LELIANA’S FRIEND, most importantly, for anyone the spymaster trusts, esyllt does as well. 

“warden,” she greets without standing as the page is shuffled to the side beside a stack of papers she has already looked over and written responses to and are ready to be sent back out to wherever they must go. the next paper in her TO DO stack is a list of names in cullen’s hand and esyllt does not want to know if it is a list of the DEAD or a list of those she must KILL. it remains in place and esyllt looks instead at alastair with a shade of a smile, “please pardon the mess, i was not expecting company.”

“I do hate to be brutally honest, my Lady, but that’s what pawns are. People. Willing to fight for you, your cause, and what they believe in is right. They are here for you to place them where YOU see fit in this battle. Soldiers and commoners alike.” The Corpse blood has seen his fair share of war. He’s fought in plenty too. But perhaps he spoke to coldly and crude. “And it need not be a foul thing. I for one have a head full of busy thoughts and opinions.”

“As do many of the people here. I’m sure you’ve heard them..” There was a pause. Shinning hues of fire and ash peering at the woman. “Anything. I hunt beasts and demons, and I’ve a skill for keeping in the shadows.”

her head THROBS. unfortunately, that is a near constant truth these days. esyllt cannot recall the last time there was not a persistent, percussive noise in residence in the space just behind her eyes ; the stony set of her jaw and the way her gaze skips away from him to stare out across the courtyard at the very people they speak of may betray her and show her discomfort at the conversation despite her attempt to appear unmoved. “i do not ask them to fight for ME.” THE HERALD, THE INQUISITOR, THE HOLY MARTYR. the huge titles make her feel impossibly small. “rather for the world they live in.”