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It takes a moment for Bene to answer, as he combs through his memory for the incident in question; and when he arrives, his smile to Colin turns sheepish.
"I made sure you wouldn't follow. You couldn't anyway." He pushes his hair back out of his face with a wince.
"...and then I killed Jone."
"I made sure you wouldn't follow. You couldn't anyway." He pushes his hair back out of his face with a wince.
"...and then I killed Jone."
The serious expression gives way to a smile of uncertain amusement.
"...she wants to teach me to do it better."
"...she wants to teach me to do it better."
"Seemed kind of fucked up over it, to be honest," Benedict admits with a wince, "we haven't really talked about it yet."
Though he thinks about it a moment, Bene nods eventually, giving a little sigh as he rests his cheek on his hand.
"Yeah. Yeah, let's do that."
"Yeah. Yeah, let's do that."
"See you then," Bene says, tapping his own temple and pointing at Colin in the universal 'I get you' gesture.
The trip to Denerim and back is long, by way of both travel and necessity itself: Gabranth refused to rush Jone through the shadows of her own past, as he— were Landis to exist as anything more than an unseemly speck of rubble— would refuse to rush himself through his own.
Still, in the end that means he’s not seen nor heard from Benedict Artemaeus since before their efforts in Cloudreach, and in the late hour of his return, he makes searching the man out a priority.
Regardless of what Benedict might otherwise be doing.
Still, in the end that means he’s not seen nor heard from Benedict Artemaeus since before their efforts in Cloudreach, and in the late hour of his return, he makes searching the man out a priority.
Regardless of what Benedict might otherwise be doing.
It's at a time when reasonable people are in bed (or at least people who have to work during the day), and Benedict is no exception. He's asleep, stomach to the mattress with one hand hanging down to the floor, his face turned to the side on the pillow and serene in its unconsciousness.
A pity, then, that serenity never lasts. Beside him in the dark soon kneels that ever-grim set of armor, gauntleted hand pressed fast to Benedict’s shoulder— a bid at forcing dull senses to draw back out of dreams and into the waking world once more.
“Lord Artemaeus.”
That his helmet remains in place owing to lack of privacy might make for a terrible awakening, if Benedict can find it in himself to open his eyes.
“Lord Artemaeus.”
That his helmet remains in place owing to lack of privacy might make for a terrible awakening, if Benedict can find it in himself to open his eyes.
It's never going to be that easy. Though he rouses slightly, Benedict responds to the disturbance by lightly swatting at the hand on his shoulder and mumbling something about how he's busy.
Were Benedict someone else, perhaps this would go differently. It’s a simple thing, after all, to drag someone from their slumber— prone as they are in dreams.
Instead, Gabranth simply situates himself more fully at Benedict’s side, content to wait until he wakes, however long that might be.
Instead, Gabranth simply situates himself more fully at Benedict’s side, content to wait until he wakes, however long that might be.
It's quite a while, but not too long-- he normally wakes up an hour or so after dawn, with enough time to have breakfast and train with Jone before he heads up to Byerly's office for work.
By the time it happens today, however, there have been enough people coming in and out of the dormitory to have pointedly noticed the suit of armor sitting crouched and still next to Benedict's bed. No one makes any trouble about it, but a chuckle does ripple through the room when he does finally awaken, and gives a loud of gasp of alarm.
By the time it happens today, however, there have been enough people coming in and out of the dormitory to have pointedly noticed the suit of armor sitting crouched and still next to Benedict's bed. No one makes any trouble about it, but a chuckle does ripple through the room when he does finally awaken, and gives a loud of gasp of alarm.
“You did not wake.” He explains, the emptied sockets of that heavy helm meeting Benedict’s own bleary bewilderment.
Which...really isn’t much of an explanation at all, in fact.
Which...really isn’t much of an explanation at all, in fact.
"I did now," Benedict snaps, but immediately catches himself, pursing his lips closed with a shake of his head.
"...sorry."
He glances up and down the armored form. "...welcome back."
"...sorry."
He glances up and down the armored form. "...welcome back."
There’s a soft little sound from inside that helmet, something akin to an exhale in the wake of Benedict’s quick correction: diffused tension, perhaps— or fond approval. If he notices (or even cares) about the amused whispers of laughter echoing elsewhere at his back, it doesn’t show; the whole of his attention is on Benedict, and for that he rises to stand at last, ignoring the stiffness of a night spent keeping careful watch.
“Come.” Helm shifting in dim morning light, angling itself towards the entryway. “I wish to talk.”
“Come.” Helm shifting in dim morning light, angling itself towards the entryway. “I wish to talk.”
It occurs to Benedict, as he slumps out of bed, how strange it is that he's happy to see Gabranth-- or perhaps 'happy' isn't entirely the right word, but there's a feeling of something clicking into place now that he's in Bene's presence again.
They parted on unpleasant terms, and he's been stewing in them ever since. He doesn't waste any time picking out clothes, instead simply padding out barefoot after Gabranth, still wearing the undershirt and loose linen trousers that he sleeps in.
They parted on unpleasant terms, and he's been stewing in them ever since. He doesn't waste any time picking out clothes, instead simply padding out barefoot after Gabranth, still wearing the undershirt and loose linen trousers that he sleeps in.
A single glance is cast downwards towards those bare feet, though it comes without judgment and ends the moment Gabranth turns to begin his own steady walk through winding corridors. He’d originally intended to take in air while the morning chill yet lingered. Now, he cuts a different path— one to spare a magister’s son cut heels or sore skin.
“Your efforts since Cloudreach, how do they fare?”
They’d not spoken even during their slow return, after all, and Gabranth had departed halfway through to see to the matter of Jone’s wellbeing. Necessary delays, ever translating into lengthy absences.
“Your efforts since Cloudreach, how do they fare?”
They’d not spoken even during their slow return, after all, and Gabranth had departed halfway through to see to the matter of Jone’s wellbeing. Necessary delays, ever translating into lengthy absences.
"Um... normally?"
In Jone's absence, and with everything happening like it did, it's been difficult to focus too intensely on his combat training-- at least too much more than he already was.
He shivers at the cold flagstone under his feet, regretting not at least putting on slippers, but it seemed a mistake to keep Gabranth waiting.
In Jone's absence, and with everything happening like it did, it's been difficult to focus too intensely on his combat training-- at least too much more than he already was.
He shivers at the cold flagstone under his feet, regretting not at least putting on slippers, but it seemed a mistake to keep Gabranth waiting.
It isn’t exactly a motivated answer, and it lacks any sort of definitive plans for future endeavors...but Gabranth supposes he can hardly expect the man to become Larsa overnight.
Or at all.
A few turns, an intentional course cut (one Benedict himself might recognize), and they stand outside the room where they’d first met in short order. Gabranth expects there’s some degree of comfort found inside for the mage, and at the very least, a place to warm himself.
Once inside, he shuts the door behind him.
“Jone of Denerim has seen my face.”
Or at all.
A few turns, an intentional course cut (one Benedict himself might recognize), and they stand outside the room where they’d first met in short order. Gabranth expects there’s some degree of comfort found inside for the mage, and at the very least, a place to warm himself.
Once inside, he shuts the door behind him.
“Jone of Denerim has seen my face.”
Pleased by Gabranth's choice of room, if only for its fireplace and generous assortment of pillows, Benedict wanders inside and makes himself comfortable atop several of them. The fireplace is cold, but if their discussion is to be a lengthy one, it's not like he needs anything other than wood to light it.
"Huh," he intones, crossing his legs and looking up at Gabranth, "how'd that go?"
"Huh," he intones, crossing his legs and looking up at Gabranth, "how'd that go?"
He pulls his own helmet free as Benedict seats himself, content to remain at a distance— looming beside the doorway as a cautious measure, should someone decide to wander nearby at this early hour, however unlikely.
The noise he makes is an unhappy one. A throaty little sound that only winds up as a meager mmph, his eyeline lowering by degrees.
“Not well.”
Which is putting it lightly, considering how vividly they’d argued for a short, volatile period of time. In hindsight, even after all they’ve been through since, he still does not understand it. “She seemed claimed by malcontent. Quick to provocation, though it was she who bid me remove my helm to begin with.”
Fearful, anxious— those aspects of it he keeps to himself, as he’d not dare to speak of her vulnerability to another without consent. Not even Benedict.
The noise he makes is an unhappy one. A throaty little sound that only winds up as a meager mmph, his eyeline lowering by degrees.
“Not well.”
Which is putting it lightly, considering how vividly they’d argued for a short, volatile period of time. In hindsight, even after all they’ve been through since, he still does not understand it. “She seemed claimed by malcontent. Quick to provocation, though it was she who bid me remove my helm to begin with.”
Fearful, anxious— those aspects of it he keeps to himself, as he’d not dare to speak of her vulnerability to another without consent. Not even Benedict.
"Oh."
Benedict has known Jone to have Feelings about things, but this surprises him somewhat, especially with the detail that it was she personally who requested he remove his helmet.
"...why? Did she say?"
Benedict has known Jone to have Feelings about things, but this surprises him somewhat, especially with the detail that it was she personally who requested he remove his helmet.
"...why? Did she say?"
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