Oh starry night, come and chart a course

[freedom_is_grey]

Ysalwen can feel the red lyrium singing just beyond what her ears can hear. Sarai and her company are on their way to Isabela's ship, and now that she's managed to gather her Wardens -- and Zevran -- from the surrounding crowd, it's doubtless time for them to be on their way as well.

Hopefully Isabela's ship has enough room.

(These are the details she's thinking about to keep from seeing Orsino's corpse-armor, or Meredith's mad eyes, or all the poor trampled souls that couldn't get out of the way of panicking crowds. It -- isn't really helping. But she can pretend.)

"Nathaniel, Idanna, come away. We're more a hindrance than a help, now. And I'm too well known."

She can already feel the stares. And the whispers.

Comments

[howtoactfereldan]

Well known, yes. A fixed point, in all of this -- madness. Utter madness. (Knight-Captain) Cullen can hardly encompass what's happened today. Doesn't know what comes next.

They'll look to him, in the chain of command. The mages that are left, the ones horrified by First Enchanter Orsino turning himself into an abomination grown bloated by corpses, need to be protected from -- not from the templars, no. He has command, for the moment. He's sure of that. The city of Kirkwall, where the Chantry still stands but the Grand Cleric is dead... that's another story.

Make a statement, something in the back of his brain whispers, something that matters, going forward. They'll look to him.

It's not the first time she was there, helping to make the horror end.

"Warden-Commander Surana!" Cullen calls. His sword is in its scabbard. It will stay there. He's striding toward her anyhow.

[freedom_is_grey]

Ysalwen holds back a flinch by dint of much effort.

Zevran slipping into the shadows to stand at her shoulder helps, as well.

"C -- Knight-Captain Cullen."

She nods as she turns to him, shoulders back, chin just slightly tilted, gaze level.

(This, too, takes effort. But -- what else is there to do?)

Her staff remains strapped to her back, as does her sword. It's -- better, that way. Though her hand does drop to rest on Liranan's head, just because.

[howtoactfereldan]

...now what?

What should he say? What can he? It won't take long -- it can't, since she's got to get her people out.

He extends a hand (his sword hand), and says, a little stilted (and something pleading in his eyes):

"Thank you for your assistance, Warden-Commander. We -- needed you. Thank you."

[freedom_is_grey]

She swallows once, hard, glad for a moment that the hand she's resting on Liranan is her left hand. (Cullen may be Fereldan, but a significant fraction of the bystanders are not, and -- well.)

Ysalwen bypasses his hand to clasp his wrist instead, holding firm.

"Who would do any less? I'm only sorry we couldn't all save more of those lost."

She shifts closer, minutely, and makes her voice just a shade less carrying.

"I'll send alchemists and healers -- I have no doubt a few will want to lend their aid. Alistair will likely send some, too -- and I'll talk with him about resettlement. If there's anything else that would help, just send word to Amaranthine."

And quieter still --

"I -- I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

[howtoactfereldan]

Matching her tone, as he matches her grasp:

"So am I." He's in there still, that terrified, awkward, well-meaning young man, buried under heavy sedimented layers of fear and exhaustion and duty. "If -- if your Wardens know anything about this red stuff -- please. If it did that to Mere-- the Knight-Commander," he corrects himself hastily, "I fear what it might do to the city. And we've... enough to be going on with."

Beat.

"You mean King Alistair?" Cullen blinks. "I -- only what can be spared. Please. Same goes for you. This city -- "

Poisons everything it touches, he doesn't say. Maker, he's so weary. And it's only beginning.

[freedom_is_grey]

"I've Warden records back at the Vigil. Rest assured I'll see what I can dig up."

Perhaps a judicious meeting with the Architect will simply be another form of that digging.

"We're a Blighted land, I know. But in the wake of all that -- we do have other friends. I'll -- I'll do my best to see that Kirkwall does not stand alone. I swear."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Thank you." He rubs at his brow with his other hand; it's an unguarded gesture. "I wish -- if we can ever be in a position to provide aid -- "

And color heightens his cheeks for a moment, as he remembers their previous meeting.

"Rest assured that as long as I have any say in the matter, the Grey Wardens will have safe passage and welcome through the city."

[freedom_is_grey]

"I believe you," she says earnestly, because --

Well.

She does.

"And thank you. I'll -- we'll be in touch as soon as possible after we reach Amaranthine. I -- hope to send more than letters straight off, but I can't guarantee that. Soon, though. I -- "

At her side Liranan shifts, likely in response to a nudge from Zevran.

"Yes. We should -- I -- It's probably best if we go. The tide -- "

[howtoactfereldan]

"Yes."

Cullen tightens his grip, just for a moment -- and lets go.

"Safe travels, Warden-Commander."

It's better than the last parting. One very, very small bright spot.

[freedom_is_grey]

She watches him a moment as he disengages, then sweeps her gaze over the courtyard, blood and broken statues and all.

It's horrible in its familiarity, and he has to stay.

Sweet Andraste.

Her gaze meets his, then, just for a moment.

"Be well. Cullen."

With a sweep of her hand she pulls the hood of her cloak up, shielding her white hair from view, and follows the shadowy figures of Zevran, Nathaniel, and Sigrun into the crowd.

They really do have to leave with the tide.

And this is not a place to let anyone see her cry.