#exnobis

The gardens of Skyhold were not the most verdant or expansive Sebastian had ever been in. In fact, most of the flora in them were quite young. No towering, ancient trees dominated any corner. He supposed that was due to the centuries of abandonment, paired with the high altitude. It was in one of the sunniest positions, of course, but Sebastian would have guessed mostly tangled vines and weeds were the only ones that had reached any kind of ripe age. Those had all been cleared away as soon as the Inquisition had enough people to spare to do it, long before Sebastian arrived.

At this point, it was a pretty space, with young trees having been brought in and planted, as well as shrubs and all sundry herbs and flowering plants. It was turning into a nice, if young and still developing, place. It made him miss the Chantry gardens of Kirkwall, where he’d spent long hours working beneath the warm sun. A soft chuckle escaped him at the memory---he hadn’t thought much about all his work in the gardens for some time now.

It shouldn’t surprise him, though, as the Chantry rooms here at Skyhold were set just off the gardens. Though, he found his feet taking him through the green grounds more often than through the stone doors toward Andraste’s statue. He felt apprehensive about kneeling before her, now that he’d stepped away from the path he once wanted to take, and it made a part of him feel... guilty.  Rationally, he knew he hadn’t turned his back on her, but he couldn’t shake the feeling anyway.

So, instead, he lingered around outside, pretending the gardens held more of his attention when he really just needed to muster the courage to face yet another thing he’d turned away from. Years away from Kirkwall, and he still heard Elthina’s words: You’re a weathervane, Sebastian. Would he ever stop being one?

Fen’Harel waits for Nox beyond an eluvian, waiting in the inbetween for his return. Sure enough, when the surface of the mirror rippled, it is Nox that emerges. He is an imposing figure, lit by the still-living eluvian, the tips of his blond hairs set aglow by magic. Others follow, rebels that file in from all corners of the empire with tasks of their own. Some pause when they see the Dread Wolf waits, and he rises from his seat, approaching unarmed and unarmoured, his only threat the weight he carries among their peers.

“Return to the sanctuary,” he says, addressing the others, “I desire to speak to Nox alone.”

They pass by, though he feels a few glance backwards at the pair of them. When the last elf vanishes through the passage to the sanctuary, he turns to Nox, hands folding behind his back. “I have received reports of your exploits, journeys taken when no orders await you. You are a free man, you are, of course, welcome to come and go as you please, but what you do has caused some concern.”

The veracity of the reports are not questioned, his information delivered by one unparalleled in the art of gathering intelligence, but not even Miraen can satisfy his every curiosity on the matter. Fen’Harel pauses, gaze lifting to watch the tree that grows over them blossom, as though spring has come in the space of a minute. In the silence, the eluvian sings.

“The people you have killed-- who are they to you?”

@exnobis | Celeste

No matter how long he walked this world, Aradin’s certain he won’t adjust to how wrong it is. The Fade’s too far, the population too sparse, the elves too lost, misremembering their past. He was a god once, and he still was simply no one knew. He would use that power to fix things when the time came. But that time was not yet.