ruinations | adsom: reunions

The first thing to notice was the scent, and the feel of the air.

Every breath was a warm, rich rush of flowers, without the stink of a city -- and what was more, the magic itself tingled across her skin. This was not a dying world. This was one that practically had a pulse, healthy and strong.

From the ends of the brick alleyway came the din of a healthy, vibrant city, the indistinct murmuring of foot traffic, voices blending into a hum of humanity. The buzz of activity mirrored the more populous parts of Thedas. Children dashed by underfoot, men and women in groups or alone, talking to each other as they wended their way through the twisting streets. Storefronts were in abundance, mixed with inns and taverns, as well as what looked like tidy residential buildings tucked wherever there was room.

Flowers bloomed, artfully twisted in vines, in boxes, despite the late-winter chill that still lingered in the air.

Nearby, a pair of children crouched by a puddle, taking turns freezing it, then tapping with their boots to break the ice.

In the distance, soaring over the surrounding architecture, was a gleaming palace. It glittered faintly, refracting ruby-colored light.

The language that wrapped around her was not her own. Instead it was rolling, musical, softly accented -- and somehow, faintly familiar.

The dark was hers now and so she stretched her senses out into it. Voices assailed her immediately, all in a language she did not rightfully know. It did, indeed, sound familiar...but she couldn't place it. Not Thedosian, not Sheatrian. Nothing of worlds she'd been to.

The shadows took her out into a different alley, where she paused to listen again. Children were nearby and speaking. She could hear the gruffer tones of workers, still speaking in tones she could not quite hear. There was the distinct sound of bartering. She followed that and finally came out in yet another street, where her form coalesced into something human-like again. And here, hair unbound, she began walking.

It was not unlike Emorr here. It was busy and loud, and kept her suitably distracted as she wound her way around the market. She looked a bit lost, wide-eyed, wondering if she was dreaming rather than elsewhere. Nothing looked familiar.

A woman offered her a few flowers. Again, not in any language she knew. She ducked her head and held up a hand and kept moving. "Sorry," she whispered, quickly moving.

In the distance, she could see the palace, and moved in that direction to use it as a beacon. If she could get atop a roof, she could get a better grasp of how big the city was. Perhaps she was simply elsewhere in Asora. Cassian's disconcerted whispers, however, said they were not.

The single word widened the woman's eyes in shock, as sort of recognition, and she quickly bowed her head as if she'd offered some sort of offense, a gesture of deference. Seeing the reaction, a few other people turned to watch as Neria passed, but none approached her.

As she moved the small ripple died away, and overall she hadn't caused much of a stir. Where eyes did meet hers it was often with a friendly nod of a head, though many of the citizens were wrapped up in their own business.

The people were smaller than the humans that populated Emorr, with almost uniformly dark hair, some done in elaborate designs with woven braids. Their skin ranged from olive to much darker, though light eyes in shades of blue, hazel and green weren't uncommon. Their clothing ranged from simple to fine, trending to jewel-toned.

As she neared the city center, she encountered more people who were taller, broader, far more fair of skin and hair, who spoke in a harsher tongue -- and yet others with coal-black skin, dotted with brightly colored gemstones that seemed to have no visible anchor. These groups stayed in small knots of their own, and were few and far between.

The castle rose tall as Neria made her way through the streets, but as the buildings opened up abruptly, the source of the light made itself very clear.

A river cut through the city, enormous and broad and running as any natural thing -- but this one pulsed with living magic. The water looked red as blood, and gave off a shiny light as if the whole of it were made of millions of cascading rubies.

The enormous castle was built across the river itself like a living island, with large sweeping gates and high walls, guards in crimson livery posted with watchful, calm eyes.

... but above the river, three great leviathans floated in place, levitating with the force of magic over the water. They were stadiums, clearly meant to hold thousands, and each was a work of art.

They did not seem to be accessible, but plenty of people had gathered by the river's edge to marvel at them, and here was where she would hear the first snatches of the familiar.

"The prince's work, they are saying-"

The voice of the young, well-dressed woman was accented but understandable. "Hundreds of magicians worked for weeks."

The sight of the river was what drew her eye. A beautiful, luminous red, it was at once both disconcerting and immensely beautiful. She could see and feel magic around her, and it was here that she realized Murphy's binding had...somehow fallen away, or perhaps broken, during her passage through the fissure of realities or worlds or wherever she had ended up. She could sense so much more magic, all of it in abundance, glittering like diamonds to her senses. Living, breathing magic, and none of it tethered to a Veil like in Thedas. The world was thrumming with it.

Her eyes were wide at the draw of the stadiums, awed at the use of magic in such an overtly beautiful fashion.

And that was when she realized, distantly, she heard people talking...and in a language she recognized. Neria turned just slightly to listen. A prince, magicians... Not mages, not sorcerers. Strange. Hadn't she heard that term used before--?

(Hundreds. Maker's breath.)

Neria stayed where she was, trying to listen for more information. The name of the city, perhaps, or the names of people.

Plenty of other passers-by were marveling at the stadiums, so Neria’s reaction didn’t go amiss in the least. Children especially seemed entranced, climbing up railings as if the few feet would give them a better look at the works of floating power.

“It is… very expense. Expensive.” The woman’s companion said, her accent heavier, but still understandable. She paused between words, conscious of her intonation and word choice. Clearly it was not her first language. They must be practicing.

A third companion, this one a young man in a dark blue velvet coat lined with silver scrollwork, scoffed and said something in the rolling, melodious language Neria had heard most used in the streets. The first woman gave him a sharp look, while the second giggled.

“Do not be foolish.” She lifted her chin. “This is our… opportunity to show Faro and Vesk the wealth and power of Arnes. The Prince is a diplomatic man-“

The other girl said something aside to the young man, and they both giggled to themselves, while the woman flushed darkly, crossing her arms over her chest and staring haughtily at them. They only giggled harder.

“Viris. At least I do not-“ and here, snappish, she moved smoothly into their native tongue to reprimand her friends, but one word stood out in stark relief.

Antari.

The accent was heavier, harder to hear. She liked it, though. Neria had always liked other languages, liked listening to them. And while the conversation veered off, she heard a single word among them that was unmistakable.

Antari.

Her eyes went wide.

Kell.

It took decided effort not to simply disappear right then and there just to go looking. Her heart was racing as she slowly peeled herself away from the sight, her legs stiff as she began a slow walk in the opposite direction. Where would he be? Where did he live? He'd told her about the palace-- Her boots came to a halt as she started in the other direction and then stopped again, lost. What was she going to do, storm the palace searching for him? Use her magic to find him somewhere in the palace, hunt him down? Surely, in a world where magic was rampant, such a thing would be easy to detect. She'd be seen as an intruder. And, looking around, she realized all of these people were human. At best, she'd be a non-human strangeling, a menace. At worst, a monster.

What if he's forgotten me, in returning home?

Her eyes found the palace, gleaming in the light. Neria's eyes, bright, alighted upon it.

You wouldn't be staying there, would you, Kell. Only if you needed to be at Rhy's side. But if I know you...you'd spend every minute you could elsewhere.

The question was...where?

Neria started towards the palace anyway. She wouldn't go too close but... If she could get close enough, hear anything about Rhy or Kell, she was certain to at least gleam some sort of idea as to where they were. If they remembered her, things could go sideways quickly. But if there was just a moment, though...perhaps she would at least get time to say she was sorry. To say goodbye better. To at least see that he was all right. Happy, even.

She moved at a brisk walk, purposeful but not swift. She didn't want to attract attention, after all.

In another place, Neria might have blended in well, and for a time, she would here. But the people here were sensitive to magic, and some of them, some scattered few, could feel that something was different, even if they couldn't pinpoint it.

As Neria drew closer to the palace, she'd see that the immaculate, crimson-clad guards were all beautifully armored and carried swords at their sides, shining blades whose steel was chased with what initially seemed to be decorative engraving, but quickly resolved into a string of runic magic -- specifically designed to break and dampen it.

The castle gates were well-watched, and as Neria approached, she caught the assessing eyes of one of the armored guardsmen. With a friendly and open expression, he approached her with what sounded like a greeting.

"Avan," he said pleasantly. "As esher tan ves."

So noted: this was very much not like Ferelden. Not many people milled about near the palace; no other nobles passed by, people to garner information. Instead, there were guards, and one approached her as she wandered near. He did not seem threatening but, well-- It hadn't been so long since Aallotar. And she could not simply say, I'm a friend of Kell Maresh's.

As he approached, she stopped and waited, not wanting to cause more trouble than she might already be in. He spoke in a language she did not understand, but now she could pinpoint the accent. Kell said similar words.

Neria dipped in a half-bow, attempting to be reverent. When she straightened, her eyes fell to the blade at the guard's side for a moment. "I'm sorry, I-- I don't understand. I am not from here. I was...only looking for information. Can you help me?"

The man's steady eyes widened at the bow, but more at the words she spoke. He opened his mouth, seemed to search a moment, caught off guard.

"My Lady," he started, accented but clear, the edges of his words and how he shaped the vowels giving him a voice close to Kell's. His expression had turned careful but concerned, not about her but for her.

"Of course, I will do my best. There are many visitors in the city now, and we Arnesians strive to be good hosts."

Recovering himself, he smiled politely. "Do you need directions?"

Her posture relaxed somewhat, but still she seemed on edge, eyes sharp on the man's face, on his hand, as if waiting for him to go for his blade. "I am... I'm afraid I don't know much of Arnes. I came to visit a friend but it seems they never showed. But they promised they'd show me where everything is and--" She feigned great concern and a little bit of wide-eyed uncertainty. It wasn't so difficult considering the circumstances.

"If you could simply...point me in the way of an inn, sir? Or-- Or anything else that would be of use." She rubbed absently at an arm, as if nervous. In truth, she needed none of that. What she needed was Kell. But how to get to him...

"Why are there so many visitors right now?"

Though his expression did not change, the man followed the movements of Neria's eyes, and did not reach for his sword. He listened, nodding, though a furrow appeared between his brows as she mentioned a friend.

"You are truly from far away, My Lady," he answered. "The visitors are here for the Essen Tasch. The Element Games."

He paused, seemed to consider, watching her nervousness, weighing a few things in his mind. He did not step closer, but he lowered his voice, just a touch.

"Your friend. It is someone in the castle, yes?"

The Element Games. That's what the stadiums were for, she realized. What all of that meant, she hadn't much of a clue, but it sounded like something worthy of celebration. Perhaps she could catch Kell outside if he went to watch, or if he was meandering elsewhere. Surely he wouldn't remain in the castle during such a time.

Or if she could get to Rhy-- But that would be even more unlikely. He was the prince. They would watch him like a hawk.

Neria's gaze met the guard's. She disliked giving up so much information. If she guessed wrongly and he suspected she was only trying to get into the palace, he could have her arrested and imprisoned. But if honesty would sway him--

You're a god now. Act like one. You can get away faster than he can draw his sword.

"It is."

For a long moment, he stared into her eyes, weighing what she said with them as well as her voice, steady as steel. Finally, he seemed to come to a conclusion, nodding to himself.

"I cannot let you into the palace on your word," he said carefully, but not unkindly, "but if you will consent to wait in the London Sanctuary, I will send for your friend."

With a hand, he gestured behind him, through the gates, toward the Isle with the glimmering red river.

She tried to remember everything Kell said about home. Tried to remember if he told her they were unkind or if they were just as likely to shackle people. Nothing came. But she felt as if she was staring at the mouth of Aallotar again, playing games with her own safety.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze to the gates. She considered what he offered. Softly, she said, "I would not ask for you to take me into the palace, sir. That wouldn't be right."

Once, she asked for Kell to be sent for. She had been mocked and sneered at, told that she was not worth his time. That was in another world. She hoped this guard would at least understand she wasn't trying to cause trouble. "Tell him that I gave him a bead and a necklace once. I did not ask for them back. He will know who I am." At length, she lifted her head, tried to hold it high. "I will wait wherever you ask me to, even if only to be told to leave and not to come back. I will comply."

Again, what she said seemed to surprise him, and this time, instead of asking more questions, he dipped his head forward.

Gesturing that she come with him, he approached another of the guards, had a few words, and the other man produced a small scroll tied with a red silk ribbon. He turned to present it to her, unrolled it to show the contents.

Inside, there was a map of the city -- clearly made up to assist visitors. Many destinations were marked and labeled, especially inns, markets, various amenities, and local tourist destinations. As she looked at the map, the lettering swirled magically, arranging themselves into letters and language familiar with her eyes.

With one strong finger, the guard pointed out a location nearby.

"The London Sanctuary is a safe place, My Lady- warded only against harm. So long as you mean none of your own, it will keep you. It is open to visitors."

He paused then, watching her eyes, committing her words to memory.

"Who should I get your message to?"

She took the unrolled scroll gingerly, her eyes scanning the contents of the map. The letters changed for her and there was a faint smile that worked its way onto her lips. The marvels magic could give when it was allowed to kindle in a world. Her thumbs brushed the corner of the parchment and then she rolled it back up. Her gaze lifted to the guard, past him, to where he was pointing.

Warded only against harm.

Slowly, she exhaled. She nodded. "I have no intention of causing trouble or harm, sir."

Neria watched him another moment, hesitating. Then, softly, her voice pitched low for him alone, she said, "Kell Maresh."

Though the guard's expression did not change, did not crack his professional mask of calm, his cheeks paled. He gave a slow nod.

"So I thought."

Though he did not sound particularly happy with this, he took it as a soldier would an order, and his lips moved soundlessly, something like a soft prayer.

"I will get your message to Master Kell quickly, Mas Aven," he promised. "Go."

A cold weight settled in her stomach. Kell had implied how his status as an Antari meant things...but this ran deeper. He looked at her almost in fear. Neria was still for a long moment, as if waiting for the tide to turn. For him to suddenly change his mind. But he instructed her to go and promised to take her message. It was all she could ask for.

"Thank you." With another bow, she left the guard and made her way to the sanctuary, the map clutched in her hands like a lifeline to stave off the uncertainty. Cassian whispered softly, attempting to reassure her, but it did not shake off the feeling that she'd disrupted a tenuous peace.

Neria took care when she went into the sanctuary, looking around for others, and allowing the dark to soften her steps as she went.

The London Sanctuary reflected its name, and she would be able to feel the wards as she stepped onto the grounds.

They were peaceful, covered in greenery and flowers, and white-robed scholars passed her in groups, chatting lightly to each other. Others herded gaggles of children in varying ages, some of which watched her with the brazen curiosity only the young could have.

Still others tended the plants, harvesting or encouraging others to grow, whispers of magic twining through the air like vines. It tickled gently against her skin. Simple, clean.

The main building of the ancient complex looked something like an echo of a Chantry, with many hallways branching off into wings that held classrooms, libraries, and workplaces.

Kell did not come immediately.

As she crossed the wards, she dismissed the dark. Godhood was not inherently the same as magic; still, she did not want to show disrespect to the place that had been offered to her in good faith. She roamed the grounds for a time, admiring the flowers and the scholars who worked there. In the dark, it was a beautiful place, and it was strangely comforting in ways she had not felt in many years, since she had been a young girl in the Circle's small chapel.

Magic was a rampant part of the world, the same as breathing. She took it in, idly sensed it, and let it brush against her skin. She did not respond to it, afraid how it would appear to the wards.

At length, she made her way into the main building but did not roam too far, knowing she stuck out among others. It was a place of safety and peace but she was still an outsider. Once more, she was an outworlder, and felt it keenly.

She took up residence in a corner, watching as light from the moon trickled in through the windows. Her eyes watched the children and she faintly smiled to see them. It steadied her, allowed her to let go of her caution in increments.

As the moon rose, the Sanctuary quieted, and though no one approached her, those children she smiled at smiled shyly back, some giggling to each other. Their sort thinned out dramatically as the night took up watch.

As a priest walked by, lowering the mage-lights, he gave her a searching look. When their eyes met he gave her a nod and moved on.

A few others sat at the benches, reading or studying, enjoying the quiet --

Until the moment it was broken by a brisk step, a shadow in front of her, and the scent of lilies. His breath caught, but it was the only sound he made.

As the evening progressed, she contemplated more than once the idea of standing and going to one of the libraries, seeking a book. She contented herself with studying the map of the city instead, learning the paths she'd taken and where she might need to go. She could give Kell until morning - he was probably out, she reasoned, though there was a nagging sense that perhaps he would not be ready to see her - before she moved on to an inn with the intent of gathering herself.

The number of people around dwindled. Some studied and read. The children eventually left. The mage lights dimmed. She settled back on the bench, allowing the dark to soothe her.

And then everything shifted. She saw the shadow fall across her, smelled lilies. Neria looked up, eyes wide as she caught sight of Kell, standing before her.

She did not move for several moments. Her heart thundered. There was a faint sound, an exhale. The world was still.

When she'd last reunited with Kell, the entire exchange had been difficult. Every movement had hurt, had made her feel small and weak and afraid. The fear had eroded away. Now, there was only relief. It was what coaxed her to her feet, the gesture fluid. "Kell," she whispered, and barely held herself back from grabbing him up.

"Neria."

His voice cracked at the edges, with relief and something more, something deeper, and like her, he only barely held himself back. The others in the quiet room had looked up, had spotted them and Kell's telltale red hair, so different from everyone Neria had seen in the city.

He wore the black coat she knew so well.

"Come with me? Please?" he asked, as if he thought for a moment that she wouldn't -- and held out both of his hands. His fingertips were smeared with ash-pale blood from a cut she could not see, likely up his sleeve.

Neria breathed in. Out. Blinked rapidly three times as if to ward off the burning in her eyes, despite knowing she would not cry. Could not. But the sudden clench around her heart was unmistakable, too much pressure, too much pain. And yet, she did not shy from it this time. Didn't buckle beneath the weight.

He remembered. And he came to her.

That was all she needed.

When Kell offered his hands, there was no hesitation. She reached out and took them. Her thumbs pressed into his fingers, even with the smear of blood, which she noted with a briefly concerned glance. "Yes," she whispered and nodded. "Of course."

Kell's fingers closed tightly over hers, squeezing as if he was making sure she wasn't an apparition, come to haunt him. He drew her a touch closer, holding on for a few more seconds before he took a breath, let one of her hands go to hold her by the other.

With quick steps, he led her to the back of the sanctuary, through a doorway. As they passed the priest bowed his head with a soft murmur.

"Mas Aven."

Kell did not pause, did not acknowledge it, and kept them moving. They twisted through hallways, leaving behind the more beautifully appointed rooms and many libraries, the public areas, to enter smaller chambers with unfinished wooden doors. Many were closed, but some opened to small, dorm-like rooms drawn with meditation circles on the floor, candles burning with soft, flickering light.

He drew her into one that looked like all the others, deep within the complex. It held a small, narrow cot, a meditation circle, a simple basin and cloth, and a single candle that showed no signs of melting wax.

"This room is mine," he explained, his voice low and not quite steady. "From the time I was a child. It stays open for me always. A sanctuary."

Kell shut the door behind them, lingering on the latch, and finally looked up.

This time, he did not hold himself back from reaching for her.

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