mactears | [IC/OOC] Contact

( Rising habitually before dawn, Petrana doesn't oblige him to wait for her on the ramparts - and she brings her own breakfast, as she might as well. His shirts are...

Well. The folded bundle that she offers him, still carrying the trace scent of the lilac-water she wears habitually, is not the same as the one he handed to her a few days before. They are shirts, certainly. They are even blue, if of a slightly different shade, deeper around the seams from an inexpert but well-set dye. They will fit him as well as the previous ones did, having been sewn from their shape; they have definitely been newly sewn. It is the neat, precise stitching of a lady accustomed to making and repairing her husband's shirts, and on one of the collars she'd been unable to help herself and embroidered a design clearly alluding to the Wardens' sigil; rather less fine fabric than what she must have worked with previously.

Rather suspiciously alike to the sheets on most of the Gallows beds, actually. )

Your shirts.

( There's a glint in her eye; a hint of challenge. Go on, sass her about it. She burned the other ones. )

[It should come as no surprise to Petrana that Loghain Mac Tir is, himself, also an early riser. He stands near the ramparts with a steaming mug of tea placed on the parapet, and what looks like a piece of hardtack held in one hand. In the other he holds a small journal, reviewing its contents with slightly squinty eyes. His eyesight isn't what it used to be.]

Your shirts.

[He looks up, startled, and stares at Petrana for a moment as though he has no idea what she's doing here. ...Possibly he hadn't expected her to arrive. Then he looks to the shirts in her hands, and can tell immediately that these are not the ones he arrived in Kirkwall with.]

Well, [he starts, sets the journal and tack down, and steps forward to accept them. It's easy to tell where the shirts came from; that alone brings an appreciative sort of chuckle out of him. One finger flips back the collar once he notices the little sigil embroidered there, clearly the work of a gifted hand.

Looking up again, he catches the look in her eye. How like Anora.] 'Mending,' eh? [Then, more appreciative, sincere,] You have my thanks, madame.

A more involved project than I'd first envisioned, ( she allows, lightly, once he's safely taken them and doesn't seem to be in the mood to argue the point. Stubborn as a mule, but gracious in victory. ) But well-mended, I daresay.

( She joins him at the ramparts, warming her hands around her own tea - there's an apple in the basket, a light breakfast - and offers a small smile. ) When I first arrived, I'd an arrangement with one of the more literate serving girls. She would read to me from the books that I wished to study while I was still acquainting myself with your lettering, and I would do her share of the mending.

[He makes room for her at the ramparts and takes up his tea again; it's not an especially cold morning by southern standards, but the wind is a bit brisk.] That sounds like a fair exchange, [he replies, though his brows come together some in mild confusion over just how light reading could help her learn the language and letters so deftly, so quickly. Magic, and how it is affected by the rifts and the rifters themselves, is not something he expects he will ever fully understand.

He sips from the tea and considers his words, settling at last on,] I take it you are still quite new to Thedas.

It was very useful - I'd not have to wait so long to read the books if someone might read them to me.

( There had been other means for familiarising herself, though knowing what the words were supposed to be helped when she would study them herself later - but they're not in a position for her to take her sweet time about getting the information, and so she found ways around her limitations.

She sips her tea, )

It's been some months, now. Less than a half year. I believe I am adapting.

Some difficulties will be unavoidable, I imagine. Still, [Loghain gives his head a small inclination of agreement,] I'd be glad to assist you, should you require it in the future. [Though what assistance she could possibly require from the Traitor Teyrn is still up for debate, he acknowledges.

His eyes are drawn to the anchor mark in her palm. He frowns.] I'm told those are capable of sealing fade rifts.

In groups, ( after a slight pause, lifting her hand and turning it over to study the mark it bears. ) I confess, I've not made the attempt.

( Which can't come as a great surprise, looking at her. She's hardly a hardened warrior. )

[No, she doesn't look like a woman well accustomed to wielding a weapon of any kind--though that's presumptuous of him, he decides after a moment's consideration.]

It can be rattling, fighting the demons that pour from the rifts, [he admits.]

I certainly found tumbling from one a - a singular experience.

( One she singularly hopes never to repeat, for a start - she has no urgent desire to get near a rift, as things stand. )

It's the first time in many years, ( a moment later, ) that I've not had a contingent of guardsmen at my back always. I suspect our superiors here have thought better of sending me to any such thing since my disastrous entrance into the field at the temple Solasan.

It's the first time in many years that I've not had a contingent of guardsmen at my back always.

[That confirms for him a private suspicion he's nursed for some time, though he is careful not to voice the thought. That she's chosen to reveal this much to him is a gesture of trust, intentional or otherwise; he'll respect it.]

I suspect our superiors here have thought better of sending me to any such thing since my disastrous entrance into the field at the temple Solasan.

Forgive me for enquiring, [he begins after a pause,] but it seems to me that a lady in your current predicament could benefit from some practical experience handling a weapon of some kind.

I've thought that self-same thing, ( she admits, wry. ) Magic was taught to me for that reason, but I have seen...

( But she knows Marius's motives to have been more complicated than that. )

I fear I have so rarely applied it in such a way, practically, it is of less significance than we might have hoped.

[He would not have taken her to be a mage, at first glance, but then, his exposure to mages is largely limited to those of the Circle. And the witch, of course. He makes a mental note to enquire after her, as well, at a later date.

He takes a sip from his tea, then sets the mug down, reaches into one of the leather sheathes on his hip, and withdraws a simple-looking dagger. He inspects the blade once, then resheathes it, unfastens the scabbard from his leg, and offers it to her, leather-clad blade first.] Something for you to begin with, [he offers her. He's not sure why he does it; something of Anora in her bearing, perhaps.]

If this is an illicit attempt to pay me for my generosity--

( in a tone of slight warning, but she accepts the scabbard - turning it in her hands with enough familiarity that she must have handled weapons in the past, for all that she never did so with an eye to using them. She knows well enough their maintenance, when there were few enough hands that hers had been obliged to put themselves to new tasks.

That she isn't intimidated by a weapon in her hands is a good beginning. )

[He holds up a hand placatingly.] It is no such thing, [he assures her, with a look in his eyes that shows he means it. He marks her familiarity with the weapon, at least in how to hold it; it doesn't look like an alien thing to her, though given what else she's shared with him so far, this isn't surprising.]

I suspect it will be too large a weapon for your hand, [he admits, considering it, then motions for her to unsheathe it.] You might test the weight of it now, at least. It won't do you any good to learn to wield it if it is too heavy.

( She handles it carefully when she removes it from the scabbard - in her hand it's apparent he may well be correct, not clumsy but a little strained. )

I have a smaller dagger, ( after a moment, looking up from it. ) It is a frivolous-looking thing, but deceptive. My husband set upon it enchantments - its blade never dulls.

( And it is wickedly sharp. If Marius had been reluctant to give her the tools by which to free herself of him, he'd been equally reluctant to leave her utterly helpless in his absence. )

[He makes a sound that might be approving.] Better to have your enemies under-estimate you, rather than the reverse, [he says, his head giving the smallest of nods.

Loghain looks to the dagger he'd placed in her hands.] If you would prefer to keep it, you may. I've no shortage of weapons at my disposal. [A pause.] Forgive me if I overstep, madame, but if you would like some instruction in how to better use this, I'll gladly make time.

I would be most indebted to you if you would, Warden.

( She sheathes the blade, and makes no immediate move to return it to him. Her own is on her person - always on her person, Marius long insisted, a habit she has not felt it necessary or prudent to break - and she turns very slightly from him, adjusts her bodice, produces it.

It is, as she says, a nonsense-looking thing to a professional: Lamorre lettering etched on the blade, the hilt elaborately set with sapphire and amethyst jewels that flatter her well...but that blade has bite, and even a glance would have told him so without her assurance that it never dulls. )

A bride gift, ( she says, so carefully removing from her voice any trace of bitterness that she removes any hint of warmth, too. )

[He marks well the chill absence of warmth in her voice when she mentions her husband; this isn't the first time he's noted it, but it is certainly the first time he's truly suspected that not all was well between Petrana and her husband at the time she came through the rift into Thedas.

Loghain knows the shape of an unhappy marriage, but knows better still than to remark upon it. Instead, he examines the ornate dagger that Petrana presents to him and gives it his complete attention; the blade's mean curve is substantial, and the hilt, though largely decorative, well suited to her hand.

He looks up from it to consider the young woman before him, and offers,] I'm honoured to instruct you, madame. I'm at your disposal, whenever you have time.

[IC/OOC] Contact

breakfast.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject


sending crystal \| letters and notes \| in-person visits
To contact Loghain IC: Leave a response to this entry, specifying the means of contact (e.g., sending crystal, letters, in person visit). To contact me OOC: Discord: middlemarching#9936 Plurk: ragweed NB: I work 9-5pm EST Mon-Fri, have additional volunteer obligations, and write fiction in my free time.