Holden, [ Derrica says first, turning to meet him. She is still wearing heavy boots, a thicker coat. She's tired, the way anyone who's traveled a great distance might be, but she greets him with a bright smile. ]
I was in Orlais, [ she continues, by way of explanation, before considering that Holden might not have any frame of reference for it. ] I had business in Val Royeaux.
[ Which still feels strange to say, even after it's all happened. Her, having business. ]
[ he's similarly dressed against the weather — a dark coat he bought recently, in concession to the season, new gloves to replace the pair he lost in Ostwick, and so on — though clearly with no greater intention than to be out and about in the gallows, maybe kirkwall. he takes in the travel-worn look about her, just as much as the smile.
orlais, she says, and he's reminded of a stack of books sitting in his room, wysteria's suggestions. he's started working on them, but not enough to guess what derrica's business might be.
he doesn't say, though he thinks, by yourself? instead: ]
Well, I can tell you that you haven't missed much here. How'd it go?
[ The answer should be simple. But it isn't. Her phylactery was delivered into her hands, but the complicated snarl of emotion attached to it hasn't eased. She undoes the chunky fastenings of her coat, tips her head towards the stairs. ]
Do you want to come sit with me while I unpack? [ she asks instead, rather than try to think of a way to answer him just yet. ]
[ he'd been fooled by her smile, he sees now. that hadn't been a warmth from good news, just her natural ability to be kind. his hands slip into his pockets, and he nods, offers a faint smile. ]
[ The room is just any other Gallows chamber, but it carries some impression of warmth. A few pieces of jewelry are scattered across the top of the dresser, scarves and a poncho along with a sweater hanging off a chair in the corner.
Her satchel is dropped on the bed, flap open displaying a few tightly rolled articles of clothing yet to be pulled out. Her stave is leaned against the the wall beside the window, shutters nudged open in spite of the cold. ]
How's your shoulder? [ she asks, in the same motion as she shrugs off her jacket and turns to hook it on the peg beside the door. ]
[ something about the space feels very much derrica, for all that the room itself isn't too different from his own. even if she hasn't been here in a while, it's clearly her space, draped with warm fabrics he's seen her wear before. he follows her in, settles himself leaning against the wall near where she stands. ]
[ it's not like he could forget the injection port in his arm, not really, but he did forget telling derrica about it. months ago, now, with much more to worry about at the time and since. he wouldn't have even expected her to remember, truth be told.
he shrugs. ]
Nothing's changed. Which I'll take, since it's better than the alternative.
[ A quick, sharp look over the alternative, though she hesitates over whether or not to ask him exactly what that might be. It's enough to have the sense that it's likely bad, and potentially difficult to fix. ]
I'm glad. [ is the simplest answer, because she is. ] I'd worried about it.
[ Among everything else she had to worry about.
As she speaks, she dips her hand into the satchel. A few soft pieces of knitwear are dislodged as she draws out a small pouch. ]
[ he realizes it probably isn't reassuring to say something like, i wouldn't have asked you if i'd known it'd make you worry — so he doesn't say it, though the thought flits through his mind.
instead as he holds out his hand, he jokes, gently, ]
[ A flicker of a smile curves across her face in return. There's certainly people she doesn't worry about, but why say their names here?
Instead, she cups Holden's hand as she upends the pouch into his upturned palm.
Out of the pouch falls a glass phial bound up in delicately wrought gold. The liquid held inside gleams a dull red. There's a soft clink of the attached chain against glass as Derrica shakes the last links loose of the pouch into his hand. ]
[ it's — not what he would've expected. he holds his hand up higher once derrica finishes pouring the chain into it; and with his other, he grasps the phial by the chain, holding it up so it dangles at about eye level. he doesn't think derrica, for her fondness of jewelry, would travel to orlais just to find a new piece — no, she said get back, so: to retrieve, then. and for how finely made the chain and bottle are, there's clearly more to it than decoration. ]
[ And Holden is one of the few people whose hands she doesn't fear to put it into now. It gleams in the light of the lantern, deceptively pretty for what it was created to do. ]
Every mage raised in a Circle had one of their own. The one you're holding is mine.
[ slowly, carefully, he places it back in his cupped hand, chain and phial. then, he holds it out for her to take back. he doesn't have any real context for what a phylactery may be, even after months in thedas, but he's starting to get an impression. ]
Was your Circle in Val Royeaux?
[ but there's a note of doubt in his voice even as he asks. no, of course that's not it. but why would this be there? ]
No. My Circle was in Rivain. [ A pause, as she lifts the phylactery from his palm, then, quietly, ] Dairsmuid.
[ It will mean nothing to him. How could Holden know what had been done there, what she'd managed to survive by luck alone?
Her phylactery is warmed from Holden's handling. She lets the chain dangle, thumb rubbing at the glass phial. ]
After the mages rose up against the templars, the Chantry took possession of all phylacteries. There've been a few different negotiations since then, and part of them allowed for a mage to request them back. Julius and Ilias helped me with the paperwork.
[ no, he has no context for what happened to her circle. but a part of him, somewhere below conscious thought and buried in instinct, recognizes that she says dairsmuid the same way he says eros.
a phial per mage, full of — what, blood? important enough to be taken by the chantry during the rebellion, to be a bargaining chip later. ]
Circle mages each have one made when we're first brought into a Circle. It's so a templar can track us, if we try to run away.
[ And surely Holden understands the implication: this is not the sort of arrangement that ends when a child is grown. ]
First Enchanter Iria made mine.
[ For all the bad things attached to this phial in her hands, her expression still softens at the invocation of this woman, this memory. It hadn't been a bad thing, then. ]
I don't know what it means that I have it now, [ she admits, softer. And then, almost as if the thought has just caught up to her— ] Do you want to sit down? I'm sorry, I'm just...rambling, a little.
[ there's a lot of meaning underneath derrica's explanation. he knew a little of circles before now — barely anything — but there's a low-simmering anger at the injustices he's encountered in thedas that starts to burn in this direction too. and it tracks, doesn't it, with the bits and pieces he's heard about the chantry.
his reaction can be tracked in his face, if anything, the bleed out of confusion into cold understanding. no wonder derrica had wanted it back. ]
I'm fine, [ he says, and, ] don't apologize. [ he's quiet a beat longer and then offers, smiling crookedly, ] If you want to pour it out in the harbor, I can suggest a place or two.
That's the question she hadn't really considered at length. Did she want to destroy her phylactery now that she had it in her hands?
She raises a small smile to Holden before turning from him, retreating to sit on her bed. Her hand closes over the phylactery in the process, coming to rest in her lap. ]
I don't know if I want to.
[ A little abashed, knowing it must sound illogical to him. ]
Have you ever...felt like it was impossible to let go of something, even knowing it was a danger to you?
[ nothing so literal, of course, nothing so physical. the closest might be how he misses the weird, disturbing intrusions of the protomolecule beaming whatever was left of miller into his brain. but cause after cause after cause, which he holds onto with white knuckles, determined to see them through whether or not they destroy him — maybe it's not entirely different.
he pushes off from the wall, moves to sit near derrica. near enough that she could reach out, if she wanted to, but far enough for the space if she doesn't. ]
It probably doesn't surprise you that I have a hard time picking my battles. [ see, at least he's self-aware. ] The more impossible, the more likely I am to pick that fight.
[fools keep going, even when they know there's no chance of winning, prax had said. ]
I don't know what I'd do, in your shoes. But I can't blame you if you want to keep it. What you do with it is up to you.
[ It's a kindness, to give her some little piece of himself in return. Holden is a good man, stubborn and kind, but he's right: he can't tell her what to do with this thing she's recovered. ]
There's a lot of things to fight in Thedas, [ is what she answers instead, looking up at him as her grip tightens slightly over the phylactery. ] Changing things for mages might be impossible no matter what we do.
[ She's never said that to someone who wasn't a mage before, barely even to other mages.
Even clawing back her phylactery had felt like a risk. It still feels like one. ]
Thank you for listening to me. I know it's...a lot to take in.
there are a lot of peoples who deserve better than what they get; there are a lot of demons, literal and otherwise. there's not a lot that a single person, a single rifter, can do.
but that's never stopped him trying. he's quiet a long moment after she speaks, letting the words settle, appreciating the gravity of her admission. what he says is, ]
It's still worth the effort. [ maybe he's just playing into what he literally just told her, but he can't be anyone but himself. ] There's always something that can be done.
[ and he adds, after a beat, ]
The Fade is a lot to take in. This isn't a problem to listen to.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hell yea
I was in Orlais, [ she continues, by way of explanation, before considering that Holden might not have any frame of reference for it. ] I had business in Val Royeaux.
[ Which still feels strange to say, even after it's all happened. Her, having business. ]
no subject
orlais, she says, and he's reminded of a stack of books sitting in his room, wysteria's suggestions. he's started working on them, but not enough to guess what derrica's business might be.
he doesn't say, though he thinks, by yourself? instead: ]
Well, I can tell you that you haven't missed much here. How'd it go?
no subject
Do you want to come sit with me while I unpack? [ she asks instead, rather than try to think of a way to answer him just yet. ]
no subject
I'm happy to keep you company.
no subject
Her satchel is dropped on the bed, flap open displaying a few tightly rolled articles of clothing yet to be pulled out. Her stave is leaned against the the wall beside the window, shutters nudged open in spite of the cold. ]
How's your shoulder? [ she asks, in the same motion as she shrugs off her jacket and turns to hook it on the peg beside the door. ]
no subject
My what?
no subject
[ A pause to search for the word. ]
The device.
[ While she tries to think of how to explain phylacteries, the Chantry, what she'd wanted and what she hadn't found in Val Royeaux. ]
What you asked me to look at in the infirmary.
no subject
[ it's not like he could forget the injection port in his arm, not really, but he did forget telling derrica about it. months ago, now, with much more to worry about at the time and since. he wouldn't have even expected her to remember, truth be told.
he shrugs. ]
Nothing's changed. Which I'll take, since it's better than the alternative.
no subject
I'm glad. [ is the simplest answer, because she is. ] I'd worried about it.
[ Among everything else she had to worry about.
As she speaks, she dips her hand into the satchel. A few soft pieces of knitwear are dislodged as she draws out a small pouch. ]
Hold out your hand?
no subject
instead as he holds out his hand, he jokes, gently, ]
You ever meet anyone you didn't worry about?
no subject
Instead, she cups Holden's hand as she upends the pouch into his upturned palm.
Out of the pouch falls a glass phial bound up in delicately wrought gold. The liquid held inside gleams a dull red. There's a soft clink of the attached chain against glass as Derrica shakes the last links loose of the pouch into his hand. ]
This is what I went to Orlais to get back.
no subject
What is this?
no subject
[ And Holden is one of the few people whose hands she doesn't fear to put it into now. It gleams in the light of the lantern, deceptively pretty for what it was created to do. ]
Every mage raised in a Circle had one of their own. The one you're holding is mine.
no subject
Was your Circle in Val Royeaux?
[ but there's a note of doubt in his voice even as he asks. no, of course that's not it. but why would this be there? ]
no subject
[ It will mean nothing to him. How could Holden know what had been done there, what she'd managed to survive by luck alone?
Her phylactery is warmed from Holden's handling. She lets the chain dangle, thumb rubbing at the glass phial. ]
After the mages rose up against the templars, the Chantry took possession of all phylacteries. There've been a few different negotiations since then, and part of them allowed for a mage to request them back. Julius and Ilias helped me with the paperwork.
no subject
a phial per mage, full of — what, blood? important enough to be taken by the chantry during the rebellion, to be a bargaining chip later. ]
What does a phylactery do?
no subject
[ And surely Holden understands the implication: this is not the sort of arrangement that ends when a child is grown. ]
First Enchanter Iria made mine.
[ For all the bad things attached to this phial in her hands, her expression still softens at the invocation of this woman, this memory. It hadn't been a bad thing, then. ]
I don't know what it means that I have it now, [ she admits, softer. And then, almost as if the thought has just caught up to her— ] Do you want to sit down? I'm sorry, I'm just...rambling, a little.
no subject
his reaction can be tracked in his face, if anything, the bleed out of confusion into cold understanding. no wonder derrica had wanted it back. ]
I'm fine, [ he says, and, ] don't apologize. [ he's quiet a beat longer and then offers, smiling crookedly, ] If you want to pour it out in the harbor, I can suggest a place or two.
no subject
That's the question she hadn't really considered at length. Did she want to destroy her phylactery now that she had it in her hands?
She raises a small smile to Holden before turning from him, retreating to sit on her bed. Her hand closes over the phylactery in the process, coming to rest in her lap. ]
I don't know if I want to.
[ A little abashed, knowing it must sound illogical to him. ]
Have you ever...felt like it was impossible to let go of something, even knowing it was a danger to you?
no subject
Honestly? All the time.
[ nothing so literal, of course, nothing so physical. the closest might be how he misses the weird, disturbing intrusions of the protomolecule beaming whatever was left of miller into his brain. but cause after cause after cause, which he holds onto with white knuckles, determined to see them through whether or not they destroy him — maybe it's not entirely different.
he pushes off from the wall, moves to sit near derrica. near enough that she could reach out, if she wanted to, but far enough for the space if she doesn't. ]
It probably doesn't surprise you that I have a hard time picking my battles. [ see, at least he's self-aware. ] The more impossible, the more likely I am to pick that fight.
[ fools keep going, even when they know there's no chance of winning, prax had said. ]
I don't know what I'd do, in your shoes. But I can't blame you if you want to keep it. What you do with it is up to you.
no subject
There's a lot of things to fight in Thedas, [ is what she answers instead, looking up at him as her grip tightens slightly over the phylactery. ] Changing things for mages might be impossible no matter what we do.
[ She's never said that to someone who wasn't a mage before, barely even to other mages.
Even clawing back her phylactery had felt like a risk. It still feels like one. ]
Thank you for listening to me. I know it's...a lot to take in.
no subject
there are a lot of peoples who deserve better than what they get; there are a lot of demons, literal and otherwise. there's not a lot that a single person, a single rifter, can do.
but that's never stopped him trying. he's quiet a long moment after she speaks, letting the words settle, appreciating the gravity of her admission. what he says is, ]
It's still worth the effort. [ maybe he's just playing into what he literally just told her, but he can't be anyone but himself. ] There's always something that can be done.
[ and he adds, after a beat, ]
The Fade is a lot to take in. This isn't a problem to listen to.