#ferdinand support

@exemplaris

It is suggested one night before sleep claims them. The words are lost somewhere among tired jokes and half-hearted prods, but the intent is genuine all the same. It would be smart. She had insisted. To attempt sparring while things were still calm enough. Where they had the space and freedom to measure how the other fared.

The suggestion had been made a time ago, but there had been a delay until the execution. It was important to keep moving, to stay ahead of any threats, whatever they may be. They were often too tired after travelling and setting up camp to attempt it, and there was not enough time in the morning before they needed to move again.

Finally, an opportunity had come one morning when Maisie had announced they would be taking a pause to hunt and restock some food supplies. Everyone had been eager for a break, for some extra time to stretch out before cramming once more into the caravan, and groups had quickly gone off for various hobbies.

Mitama and Ferdinand had nothing pressing that required their attention at the time. So Mitama asked and Ferdinand agreed.

No audience watched this time as they found a spacious enough area for them to spar in proper. Mitama’s staff was a comfortable weight in hand as she stood across from Ferdinand, waiting patiently for him to prepare. It was necessary, for both of them. Mitama was still unexperienced in fighting, however well she had taken to it in the past, and Ferdinand needed to...adjust to his newfound limitations. It would not do for his to overreach and falter in battle due to unfamiliarity.

(He was not in full gear, but there was still something that prickled in the back of her mind at the thought of what he could wield, what he would wield against her. She trusted him, of course, without question, but no one enjoyed a knife to their throat and doubly so not one that was crafted to fell them specifically.)

“Uh, how should I know? Aren’t you the one who runs around yelling his own name everywhere?” Charlotte wasn’t about to waste precious time trying to figure out what thoughts rattled around in this guy’s head, all she knew was she needed him to not go blurting out how strong she was or how much of a good fighter she could be. Especially with this many people who didn’t know her around.

And it only got worse when he got that stupid uppity noble look on his face, the one Lord Xander used to get before scolding her for her behavior. And while she would sit there and take that from her prince, like hell she was gunna listen to some brat from another land do the same shit.

“Well excuse me, Mr. Silver Spoon, but some of us have their future to look out for instead of having one handed to us.” Charlotte scoffed and tossed some hair over her shoulder. Whatever. She was wasting time on him. She had impressions to make on the others. 

The shawl wrapped around his shoulders wasn’t his. Ferdinand couldn’t say to whom it had even belonged as he snagged it from the coat check, promising the startled attendant that he would return it before long and exiting the great hall, but given the dark red of the wool and charcoal embellishments, he might have guessed it had been another Eagle.

Still, even though the snow had ceased to drift, the winter night was dark and cold, raising goosebumps across his back and shoulders as he came to a stop before the Goddess Tower. No one else had been around. Shocking. For all the boisterous talk of bringing a partner out to swear an oath, it seemed that very few managed to make it that far, and Ferdinand found standing alone, forehead pressed to the tall, foreboding doors and exhaling slowly. Deeply.

In. Out. His thoughts began to untangle, like pulling a half-hitch knot free.

Someone shuffled up behind him, and the idle apology was already on his lips when he turned, only to find, not a pair, but just Bernadetta. She too was alone. Lost? Ferdinand shook his head and smiled. “I am exactly where I want to be.”

“But if you were looking for a place of quiet solace and contemplation, I am afraid that the path here would hardly be the best place to begin one’s search.” He gestured behind him, the ends of the shawl dancing in the wind. “The Tower is quite another story, as you can see.”

At her observation, Ferdinand ran a hand down a gilded panel of the gown, smoothing it back to something presentable and smiled. He laughed. “… I sought a moment of calm as well. It became… hard to think. You are not disturbing anything, I promise.”

Bernadetta hoves awkwardly at the end of his response. This is...not the Ferdinand she is used to seeing, not the loud, brash, aggressively helpful Ferdinand who she can hear passing her room, declaring his name loud and proudly. 

She has always been somewhat...envious of him, in all honesty. To be able to claim a place in his family so proudly, to think of his name and the future as a privilege and not a noose tightening slowly.

A fine potential match she can remember her father rambling to himself angrily one evening when he decided to stay for one of her lessons. Or it would be if you were not such a failure to ruin even that.

She was never sure what he had meant by that...

Ferdinand in front of her looks decidedly different from the Ferdinand who had sent her screaming to her room though. It doesn’t sit right with Bernadetta.

She hesitated for a moment, picking at one of the fingers of her glove absently as she tried to think up something, anything, that might be even appropriate to say in this situation. She wish she had more experience talking to people.

“Um...” She cleared her throat. “I-I know I’m not the best person to talk to, and you probably have a bunch of other people who you’d rather go to first, but if you want to, um. Talk. About something. Or even anything! Bernie can maybe listen to you, if you want?”

That sounded so sad, even to her own years.

“I-I just mean...well!” She looked away from him nervously, focusing instead on the Goddess Tower. “You seem...sad? Not Ferdinand like at least and um. I don’t think you should be sad?” She cringed. Oh this was going awful.

@exemplaris

Orzammar is the stuff of legends, even in Circles. The dwarves make great displays of architecture and engineering in a city that stands with a unique grandeur, unrivaled by anything else in the world. With their resistance to Lyrium, dwarves could study into feats otherwise thought to be impossible, and the legends of golems was something that had piqued Mitama’s interest from the moment she had heard of them. Mitama’s excitement at the prospect of stopping by Orzammar after leaving Jader was matched only by Emil’s wide eyed awe at every sight they came across.

She did not know why she did not stop to think about the fact the city was underground and did not accept visitors.

Mitama leaned heavy on her staff as she sulked. Maisie let out a good-natured sigh and ruffled her hair as they passed. “Come on now, Enchanter. We have a job to do, don’t waste time pouting because the dwarves won’t let you study their city.”

“I am not pouting.” Mitama grumbled. All the same, she picked up her staff and refastened it to her back before following after them. “I simply think it is a shame that there are so many marvels of dwarven craft and advancements quite literally beneath our feet, and I cannot even get a glance at them.”

“All the better.” Rachelle sneered as she passed Mitama a bundle of supplies to attach to Dorian’s saddle. Mitama didn’t spy any more alcohol hidden between what the dwarf merchant had promised was a tent. “We’d never get you back out. And then we’d have to deal with your templar moping the whole way back when we finally picked up and left you behind.”

“Or we could leave you behind and save me a lot of exhaustion.” Mitama grumbled, but completed her task of safely securing the supplies. She gave Dorian a light pat, encouragement for a job well done, before looking over their little group. They would not be stopping for much, just a few things to keep them going a bit longer as they continued their push towards Redcliffe. She could not help thinking, however, that it really was such a shame.

@exemplaris

Maker.​ I am no fool to delude myself into thinking we are on good terms. I am not even fool enough to think we are on terms at all. I know myself to be one of your forsaken, those who wield magic against your will and form the miracles that should be your alone. I acknowledge this, and all I ask in return is a small, tiny miracle.

Five minutes without a blasted question.

“I know.” Her voice snaps through the air and though Rachelle’s face wrinkles disapprovingly, it is not without understanding. “I know that we require supplies and I know that we have to consider the children and the weaker mages and I know, really, that there exist other options that we could waste time considering. But we are near already at this one, we will have it in motion soon, and if I am asked one more request in the next hour I am going to get out and walk behind the horses for a Maker granted moment of solitude.”

She moves before the chance to bear down on the argument is given. It was nothing serious, a small bickering about necessary supplies versus wanted ones that escalated, in the way arguments between prideful mages tended to, into a debate about whether or not this plan was viable at all. And while Mitama understood and acknowledged their frustrations, that did not mean she had the patience for them.

She almost felt pity for their previous Enchanter. And then she remembered the pyre and no, she did not truly feel that at all.

The front flap of the caravan is pushed aside and she taps Javier’s shoulder. He jumps, fumbling with the reins for a moment. She allows him to recover before holding a hand out and nodding towards the caravan. “Go and rest.”

The switch is simple enough, barely slowing the horses down before Mitama settles into the seat and sighs, head angled towards the sky.

Enchanter. Her newly earned title still sits uncomfortably. She frowns. It really should not be her. Under normal circumstances, it would have never been her. She would have lived her life out as a discontented mage on the templar’s peripheral if she was lucky. Or dead, if she was luckier. And instead, she had been named Enchanter. “The Maker has a funny sense of humor...”

@exemplaris

Two cups of tea are pressed into her hands. The third, she hooks her fingers through the handle for. Thankfully, it is not full enough to spill over the rim as she lifts them. Javier had been getting more adept at cooking and preparing meals for the group. Mitama had not drank enough to be able to identify the tea on smell alone (though Ferdinand seemed determined to get her to that point at times), but it did not appear to be burnt, so she saw no reason for him to complain.

“And ask them if they’ve stopped to eat anything, will you?” Javier asks over his shoulder as he passes Noaelle (tiny thing of an elf, still so nervous about everything) her own lunch before shooing her off to eat. “They’ve been out at it for a while. Eager as Emil is, they should still be eating.”

It is a short walk away from the camp. None of them would allow anything further, in case. It was enough though that the two had their privacy while they “trained”. As such, she heard them before she saw them, emerging from the tree line into their makeshift training grounds.

The view was beautiful. For all of Fereldan’s drab history and troubles with Darkspawn, it was still gorgeous. It even lacked the scent of dog in the air that Orlesians insisted pervaded the area. Kinolch Hold sat a beacon in the distance, but this far it was easier to think of it as part of the scenery more than the grim reminder of what had transpired within its walls.

@exemplaris

“Will you stop squirming?” Mitama’s voice cuts through the conversation, hushed as it is around their morning fire. She frowns at the templar’s back as she stands behind him. It is bad enough she has to try to heal wounds after a restless night, but he keeps moving. Magic needs not to the precision of tending a wound with her bare hands, but she would like to not waste excess energy on him squirming so a spell grazes instead of hits.

She taps his back with the bottom of her staff before starting up her next spell. “Did the templar not train you to be able to take a spell without fuss? Some mage keeper you would have been, cannot even sit still for a healing spell.” She continues grumbling to herself as she works.

The group is half-awake, half-asleep, but most are gathered around the small fire they had dared to make to prepare breakfast with. Pasquier glares at her over the templar’s head. For the interruption, or her words, she does not know, but she ignores them all the same. They are not the first Enchanter whose council she has brushed off.

“As I was saying...” The glare lingers a moment more before Pasquier looks to the templar. It is almost impressive, how quickly they return to the docile, simpering, Chantry worthy mage they were in the Circle. “While we are of course delighted that you spared us from the Right, ser Templar,” Mitama snorts and ignores another glare. “Hiding out in the woods like common apostate is not a viable solution. Most mages in our group have spent a majority of their lives in the Circle. And some mages have not been tested by the Harrowing yet. It is far too dangerous to wander with a group this size and only one templar. Perhaps, then, we should find a nearby Circle with more sense, or a chantry where we may be-”

@exemplaris 

“Mitama!” Emil’s voice pitches to a whine and Mitama has to stop and close her eyes for a moment to retain what fragile bit of calm she has. “Please? Just one spell! You’re so good at those blizzard ones, I want to learn them too!”

“Ask Ser Templar for permission for me to tutor you, if you wish to learn.” She replies and it achieves the intended result. Emil falters, expression dropping as he glances nervously over at the other end of camp. Young, and having started at a particularly rough Circle, Emil still has an obvious reluctance to approach Ferdinand except for when absolutely necessary.

And though it does give her the chance to get a moment's peace, the guilt that follows on its heels is enough to make her sigh and pat his head. “I will speak to him about it when we have a moment. For now, you need to save your strength for the upcoming journey, alright?” Emil still does not look pleased, but nods and slinks off to go speak with someone else.

They are still a fair way away from arriving at Cumberland to attempt their crossing. The pace has been as fast as they are able to manage without exhausting themselves, while simultaneously avoiding any roads too busy and putting themselves at risk. They were making good time, and had avoided any conflicts until now, but there was still a tension that followed the group when they stopped to rest.

Most took to it productively. A routine for most had started in regards to setting up, preparing for the night, and taking things down in the following morning. Others had a more...difficult time, but everyone seemed to be adjusting slowly.

Well. Mostly everyone.

Mitama’s eyes scanned there little crowd. She frowned. Pasquier was no where to be seen, again. She huffed and shook her head. The elder’s disappearances had become more frequent as of late. They had been excusable at first; moments of privacy were difficult to find, and no one begrudged anyone a moment so long as they were careful and did not stray too far. But Pasquier had been slipping off more and more, and for longer periods of time.

It would be concerning, if Mitama thought the mage capable of anything magic or smart enough to find another way to send out messages without them knowing.