#blightever

Juvenile whispers and awkward shuffling could be heard amongst Kinloch Hold's shelves. It was a noise he'd grown accustomed to growing up in the Circle, but it would seem the near two years away had changed much of what the Warden-Commander had been used to. Perhaps the whispering had been much easier to ignore back then because the wide-eyed apprentice tucking himself into the dusty corners couldn't care less who the gossip had been about. One of the benefits of blending in, he supposed.

Now though, there were much less people to gossip about, and when two of Ferelden's most important figures happened to stop by on a brief errand, it was all loose lips and googly eyes.

At least, that's what was catching his attention and causing his skimming eyes to slow their pace. It hadn't been too obvious until his old companion had lifted his head in confirmation, hoping he also hadn't gleaned anything from the tomes they'd been perusing. It couldn't be helped that one of the possible topics they'd been researching on their trail had been a language book, and one neither had altogether been fluent in. Behni had cursed himself to not have considered Elven more when he'd had the chance...

"Nothing in this one either...you don't suppose Ariane has come up with something?" But if she had, she perhaps would have made it clear by now. Behni sighed, leaning back against one of the dusty old shelves. It felt so odd being back in the Circle after all this time. He had feared it would feel the same as it always had when it wasn't on fire, but perhaps it was worse that it hadn't; that he felt he no longer belonged. Such was his lot, truly.

"perhaps," anora says, a wry smile playing upon her lips. she has encountered the concept of being a lot frequently enough as queen of ferelden, and she's been told her own father had been described in the same way by lesser men. she thinks there is more nuance to it than people allow; timing, discernment, repercussion. tilting her head slightly, the look on her face is more appraising of the warden before her than it is in any way mocking. "you can't be 'a lot' too often, however, or people stop listening. you can be bold or you can be subtle, but you cannot be crude. i know stubbornness is a cousland trait, godwin, but ferelden is held together by more than that."

inbox prompt / always accepting.

There's a goofy grin returned when he says that. Morrigan has always shared good stories about his 'father', who's more of a blood donor than anything else. The ritual itself needed the blood of a warden and Morrigan knew what she was doing. And nine months later a child with an old god soul inside him was born.

It's made him an outcast, much like his mother. He finds peace in the wilderness. Especially if he shifted into an animal. But he doesn't want to scare Godwin with what he can do. Because magic does indeed run in his veins.

                "no, godwin, i don't think we shall," instantly, his suggestion is taken as challenge; hackles raising, teeth flashing. he was not safe from her ire or its venom merely because he was her brother. it, in fact, made him an easier target. "it is a waste of time — we risk more lives in chasing hypotheticals than we do in merely performing the ritual," she had railed against the decision to abandon redcliffe in pursuit of possible help from kinloch hold. merely because the blood magic ritual on offer was too unsavory, disregarding how swift & effective it would be.

The first sign of weakness the Warden-Commander had shown was to accept His Royal Majesty's request to accompany him for a stroll around Skyhold. It took away from business, from duty on both of their parts. If he hadn't posed it as needing someone at his side while he inspected the battlements, perhaps he wouldn't have agreed. But he had wanted to give his old friend the benefit of the doubt. He hadn't thought their conversation would turn into something as personal as old feelings. He had simply...wanted to know if he had been doing alright. Had Anora been faring well? Was he happy?

Perhaps it had been too much to ask. It was clear he had been absent for far too long from Denerim. He thought the distance might have gotten the other used to him not being at his side, but it was clear that it hadn't, because his flight from the conversation was still met with just as much gentle yearning as the day he'd left Denerim for Weisshaupt.

The Commander glanced down to the hand that had caught his arm upon dismissing himself, feeling the chill of the Frostbacks at his neck as his stormy eyes met the other's pleading gaze. This was not the behavior a king should have, and he knew this...it was entirely inappropriate, especially in the position he himself was in. But he was someone beyond a Warden, beyond duty...and he had missed him too, so he could not bring himself to pull away just yet.

dangerous words for a warrior, for a hero, for a king. anora grapples with the confession as she looks into her husband's eyes, cradles his face in her hands, and thinks her own metaphorical armor has come undone around godwin. and yet, is it weakness, this newfound vulnerability, this crumbling of walls? for both of them, the appearance of strength has been nothing but crucial. and yet the mask is as heavy as the crown, and there is relief, the monumental kind, to find someone with whom they can discard all of it.

"i have never known you to be weak. you've lowered your guard around me... and i wouldn't call it frailty." isn't it a kind of strength too, to be vulnerable? once upon a time, she barely had the stomach for it, but godwin makes it easy. now, when she needs to be held, she no longer hides behind her desk, burrowed under a mountain of paperwork. she no longer fumes and paces in sequestered balconies, letting the cold bite her cheeks until they are numb. instead she seeks out her husband, and presses herself against him to ease her burden.