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Society galas in Minrathous are almost always thrown for the express purpose of political maneuvering and shady double-dealing. Atticus has managed to remain on the periphery of Tevinter's Great Game, which has required a certain amount of political maneuvering of his own; it takes work to remain so purposefully neutral and respectable amongst all quarters--though he does find that having all of one's colleagues suspect him of his father's murder helps.
Tonight he is accompanied by his wife, Ophelia, and their teenage son, Octavius. Ophelia is as poised and elegant as the wife of a magister ought to be; Octavius can't quite wrest his eyes away from the canapés, but that's to be expected of a boy his age.
Atticus pays him little attention. He's here to bear witness to some exquisite bit of political subterfuge executed by the Artemaeus family, and to provide a bit of subtle back-up if required.
Tonight he is accompanied by his wife, Ophelia, and their teenage son, Octavius. Ophelia is as poised and elegant as the wife of a magister ought to be; Octavius can't quite wrest his eyes away from the canapés, but that's to be expected of a boy his age.
Atticus pays him little attention. He's here to bear witness to some exquisite bit of political subterfuge executed by the Artemaeus family, and to provide a bit of subtle back-up if required.
As can be generally assumed, Benedict is bored out of his mind. Even being fawned over endlessly by his many potential matches gets tedious, and he has rather unceremoniously broken away from one such conversation, turning around and waving her off mid-sentence so he can go acquire more wine.
It's now that he catches sight of his soon-to-be mentor, and strolls over to him, languidly swishing the wine in his goblet and offering a lazy smile. He's tipsy and not especially concerned about showing it.
"Evening," he greets, his eyes flitting over the magister's family, "have you come to watch the slaughter?" By this of course he means his parents' constant posturing, asserting themselves as the region's dominant family, not that anyone really doubts it.
It's now that he catches sight of his soon-to-be mentor, and strolls over to him, languidly swishing the wine in his goblet and offering a lazy smile. He's tipsy and not especially concerned about showing it.
"Evening," he greets, his eyes flitting over the magister's family, "have you come to watch the slaughter?" By this of course he means his parents' constant posturing, asserting themselves as the region's dominant family, not that anyone really doubts it.
[ Beleth does not particularly want to meet with Benedict in his gross cell, so he gets to have a field trip to the garden, accompanied by some Templar or another. I don't know which one. Maybe it's Ser Gareth, who's been a bit grumpy since he found out there is now two mages with his name running around here.
In any case, there are two chairs and a little side table with a tea set awaiting him, with Beleth sitting in one of the chairs. She gestures to the chair, a polite smile on her face. ]
Benedict Artemaeus, correct? Would you like some tea?
In any case, there are two chairs and a little side table with a tea set awaiting him, with Beleth sitting in one of the chairs. She gestures to the chair, a polite smile on her face. ]
Benedict Artemaeus, correct? Would you like some tea?
[Ser Gareth is a grumpy gus. He's been getting disrespected all over lately, and today is no exception, because Benedict is about as respectful as a wet cat. At least he's learned not to talk much as he's herded from the dungeon to the garden, a place he's really come to dread now that it seems to represent being given brief and unpleasant doses of freedom just long enough to remind him that he can't have it.
He slumps into the chair across from her, the Templar's hand on his shoulder to keep him there. It's not a secret that he's rude to elves, and nobody needs this going south.]
Correct, [he says drearily, and gives a slumping shrug to her question. Tea. What a stupid thing to want, nowadays.]
He slumps into the chair across from her, the Templar's hand on his shoulder to keep him there. It's not a secret that he's rude to elves, and nobody needs this going south.]
Correct, [he says drearily, and gives a slumping shrug to her question. Tea. What a stupid thing to want, nowadays.]
I joined the Northern Powers project. Just so that you're aware.
[A brief message in a spidery but well-practiced hand has found its way into the hands of everyone in the newly-rechristened Hostile Powers project. None of this newfangled magical book business.]
In light of recent events abroad, their ongoing implications, and the necessary narrowing of our focus as a project, your input is requested at a project-wide conference that will be held via crystal at eight o'clock Tuesday evening.
Please let me know if you are unable to listen in. Minutes will be made available to those who cannot.
--Enchanter Vandelin, Assistant Project Leader
In light of recent events abroad, their ongoing implications, and the necessary narrowing of our focus as a project, your input is requested at a project-wide conference that will be held via crystal at eight o'clock Tuesday evening.
Please let me know if you are unable to listen in. Minutes will be made available to those who cannot.
--Enchanter Vandelin, Assistant Project Leader
Whatever sort of life it is that Atticus Vedici enjoys at remote Skyhold, it's doubtful news of it has journeyed back to Kirkwall. The specifics of it hardly matter, in any case; he has been provided a looser leash, but a cage is still a cage, and it is not freedom. The chains of policy and procedure still bind him, and not for the first time since he was subjected to the base indignity of a phylactery, Atticus has come to view his gamble with bitterness.
Thus, in dreams, he subverts his imprisonment, and spins nightmares for his jailers like silk.
But that dark impulse is not what brings him to the outskirts of Benedict's sleeping mind. As he lingers amid nebulous shape and shadow and observes the boy in his dreams, he devotes only some passing thought to his motivations. Is it curiosity alone? Boredom? Sentimentality?
(With Atticus? Who fucking knows.)
Thus, in dreams, he subverts his imprisonment, and spins nightmares for his jailers like silk.
But that dark impulse is not what brings him to the outskirts of Benedict's sleeping mind. As he lingers amid nebulous shape and shadow and observes the boy in his dreams, he devotes only some passing thought to his motivations. Is it curiosity alone? Boredom? Sentimentality?
(With Atticus? Who fucking knows.)
He picked a good time to visit, or possibly the worst time, depending. The setting is Benedict's childhood bedroom, with a gentle storm rolling outside and a very un-childlike scene transpiring on the bed: Benedict's hands are tied together and to the bedpost with colorful ribbons while someone lies between his legs, administering cheerfully to his nether region with their mouth.
Their face changes intermittently, sometimes an elf, sometimes not, but always a man, and Benedict moans softly and writhes with all the unabashed enjoyment of someone who is likely feeling the results on more than just the imaginary plane.
Their face changes intermittently, sometimes an elf, sometimes not, but always a man, and Benedict moans softly and writhes with all the unabashed enjoyment of someone who is likely feeling the results on more than just the imaginary plane.
[ When Benedict — at some point, presumably — wakes, he'll find that he's received a terribly mysterious written invitation to meet with the dwarven owner of an extensive private library. A stranger (terrible, mysterious) may already be waiting.
Benedict doesn't have to actually accept the invitation. Not intentionally. Should he ignore or otherwise attempt to circumvent its summons, a chain of coincidences (terrible, mysterious, you get it by now) and suspiciously well-timed accidents will load the dice to get him there roughly on time.
The invitation is beautifully calligraphed, and requests that Benedict’s inestimable expertise be lent to reviewing the accuracy of translated diary pages, said to have been written by a Tevene scholar known for his studies of dragons. This is true: The diary pages are almost certainly authentic. They are also almost certainly lewd fanfiction about dragon furries.
It’s quite a nice library, though the collection is focused exclusively upon bizarre erotica. Their host will "accidentally" lock them in for an hour, but not before providing wine and cheese.
OOC Note: Val is played by Cee. Feel free to play out a thread, handwave things, or ignore it entirely, but check with each other first! ❤ ]
Benedict doesn't have to actually accept the invitation. Not intentionally. Should he ignore or otherwise attempt to circumvent its summons, a chain of coincidences (terrible, mysterious, you get it by now) and suspiciously well-timed accidents will load the dice to get him there roughly on time.
The invitation is beautifully calligraphed, and requests that Benedict’s inestimable expertise be lent to reviewing the accuracy of translated diary pages, said to have been written by a Tevene scholar known for his studies of dragons. This is true: The diary pages are almost certainly authentic. They are also almost certainly lewd fanfiction about dragon furries.
It’s quite a nice library, though the collection is focused exclusively upon bizarre erotica. Their host will "accidentally" lock them in for an hour, but not before providing wine and cheese.
OOC Note: Val is played by Cee. Feel free to play out a thread, handwave things, or ignore it entirely, but check with each other first! ❤ ]
[ Hours after Benedict had come to him Hanzo has him still, but the time has been spent idly. The other man had been weak from the dragons, broken from the ache, and all Hanzo could do was pick him up and lift him into his bed, waiting. Over time his eyes had slipped closed, Kenji and Tomo hovering as a kind of guard as he dozed.
Waking now is slow and uneasy and Hanzo has to stop himself moving too much. Benedict is in his arms how, his own wrapped around him as he keeps him right against his chest, fingers brushing idly where they lay. He’d be embarrassed if he cared enough, but he’s had his share of drunken nights and. Well. Benedict might be more embarrassed.
Huffing a soft noise against his neck, Hanzo waits. ]
Waking now is slow and uneasy and Hanzo has to stop himself moving too much. Benedict is in his arms how, his own wrapped around him as he keeps him right against his chest, fingers brushing idly where they lay. He’d be embarrassed if he cared enough, but he’s had his share of drunken nights and. Well. Benedict might be more embarrassed.
Huffing a soft noise against his neck, Hanzo waits. ]
[It's been the sleep of the exhausted and miserable, longer than a nap has any right to be, yet something direly needed. The sun is nearly down when his eyes finally open again, an ache in the core of his body causing him to curl inward-- and then he notices the arm around him.
It's nothing to panic over, not yet; he rolls onto his back with a sleepy sigh and is only a little perplexed to see Hanzo there.]
It's nothing to panic over, not yet; he rolls onto his back with a sleepy sigh and is only a little perplexed to see Hanzo there.]
Hardly looking much better himself, Benedict opens the door. He's clothed in a fancy robe, his own eyes red, but whether it's from weeping or the scented smoke wafting out of the room is anyone's guess.
He doesn't say anything yet, just staring at Colin knowingly.
He doesn't say anything yet, just staring at Colin knowingly.
[ Benedict isn't going to Nevarra. Oviously. He isn't going anywhere for some time. And the days everyone is away from the Gallows, leaving the courtyards and dining halls quiet and empty for the few people staying behind, probably won't feel more or less lonely to Benedict than any other day. And he might not even know what day it is or when the holiday is occurring.
But in case Bastien, like, dies, or something, and never comes back to Kirkwall, and leaves him giftless forever, he's doing it before they leave. So. ]
Hello.
[ There's a book under his arm. It isn't wrapped or anything. ]
But in case Bastien, like, dies, or something, and never comes back to Kirkwall, and leaves him giftless forever, he's doing it before they leave. So. ]
Hello.
[ There's a book under his arm. It isn't wrapped or anything. ]
[Benedict is lying on the floor when Bastien arrives, staring at the ceiling, though he angles his head to observe the visitor. He looks a little out of it, like he’s been focusing hard and was interrupted.]
Hello.
[He’s still cautiously interested, at least.]
Hello.
[He’s still cautiously interested, at least.]
Benedict,
I've been forbidden, in no uncertain terms, from seeing you. This letter is goodbye, since Flint won't let me say goodbye in person.
If you keep resting and do everything the healers tell you to do, you shouldn't be long recovering. When you go back to your cell, make sure you stay close to your brazier and take deep breaths of warm air. I'm sorry this is our lot now. I hope you make another friend soon so that you can still have a visitor, but I think you'll be fine. You're capable of everything you need to be. This might even be good for you, having me out of the way.
I know I promised I would tell you when you would see me next, but that's not possible right now. I'm sorry.
Be strong and don't give up.
Colin
I've been forbidden, in no uncertain terms, from seeing you. This letter is goodbye, since Flint won't let me say goodbye in person.
If you keep resting and do everything the healers tell you to do, you shouldn't be long recovering. When you go back to your cell, make sure you stay close to your brazier and take deep breaths of warm air. I'm sorry this is our lot now. I hope you make another friend soon so that you can still have a visitor, but I think you'll be fine. You're capable of everything you need to be. This might even be good for you, having me out of the way.
I know I promised I would tell you when you would see me next, but that's not possible right now. I'm sorry.
Be strong and don't give up.
Colin
The staff is a limb, and an afterthought.
It was a precious liability to bring it along their flight North. Too near a sign of what they are. Abandoned back in camp, it might have slowed pursuit — at least a little. Can imagine: She'd never leave without it,
And she didn't, did she? Only that it was all a lot of work for what's been sitting wrapped in the rags from the haycart for going on weeks. There's been no reason to remove them. No one really needs a staff in peace.
The summer sun pools into lines of earth and hedge, swallowed up save for the sudden gleam of something sharper. Planted criss-cross in a row of the garden, Alais carefully strips the stave of its wrapping, reveals the hard geometry of onyx-polished lines.
Unmistakably expensive work, and all the more unmistakably Tevene.
It was a precious liability to bring it along their flight North. Too near a sign of what they are. Abandoned back in camp, it might have slowed pursuit — at least a little. Can imagine: She'd never leave without it,
And she didn't, did she? Only that it was all a lot of work for what's been sitting wrapped in the rags from the haycart for going on weeks. There's been no reason to remove them. No one really needs a staff in peace.
The summer sun pools into lines of earth and hedge, swallowed up save for the sudden gleam of something sharper. Planted criss-cross in a row of the garden, Alais carefully strips the stave of its wrapping, reveals the hard geometry of onyx-polished lines.
Unmistakably expensive work, and all the more unmistakably Tevene.
Edited (too many adjectives) 2020-07-11 06:28 (UTC)
She'll feel eyes on her before she hears anything, because Benedict goes stock-still when he sees it. He's behind Alais, wheelbarrow full of mulch in front of him, it's squeaking wheel falling silent when he connects the dots.
The question in his mind: what is a Tevene staff-- and mage?-- doing in the garden where he works, and should he run before she notices him.
The question in his mind: what is a Tevene staff-- and mage?-- doing in the garden where he works, and should he run before she notices him.
It's late evening, the time when normal folk would be bedding down for the night (and thus not a time that most of Riftwatch is actually sleeping because they're a bunch of nocturnal weirdos). Wherever Benedict happens upon her, he'll find that Athessa is rather intently staring at one particular stone in the wall, turning her head as if...listening.
Benedict is, like a normal well-adjusted person, actually heading to bed, but he nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees Athessa just standing there and facing the wall where he wasn't expecting her.
"What are you doing!" he hisses, clasping a hand to his chest, "you scared the shit out of me, Athessa!"
"What are you doing!" he hisses, clasping a hand to his chest, "you scared the shit out of me, Athessa!"
Benedict could be anywhere, so long as it’s somewhere settled, sitting or working, with the air of someone who intends not to move right away.
And while he’s there, Bastien appears briefly in his line of sight, points at him with a simultaneous finger-snap, ah-ha, and walks away.
Several minutes later, though he’s back with an armful of paper, neatly stacked and separated by blank broadsheets. “I keep forgetting,” he says without preamble, “because of—you know. The war.”
And while he’s there, Bastien appears briefly in his line of sight, points at him with a simultaneous finger-snap, ah-ha, and walks away.
Several minutes later, though he’s back with an armful of paper, neatly stacked and separated by blank broadsheets. “I keep forgetting,” he says without preamble, “because of—you know. The war.”
Bastien's initial greeting-- if that's what it was-- does nothing but puzzle Benedict, but it's quickly out of his mind when he goes back to his book; thus the much greater shock when Bastien returns with something he thought he'd never see again.
With a quiet intake of breath, Bene takes the paper, looking it over to find that it is, in fact, what he thinks it is.
"...you saved them," he breathes.
With a quiet intake of breath, Bene takes the paper, looking it over to find that it is, in fact, what he thinks it is.
"...you saved them," he breathes.
They're having lunch together and Colin has been distracted the entire time. Usually a good listener (at least in one-on-one conversation), he finds himself zoning out while Benedict is talking at one point until there's a lull and he realizes he's expected to reply to someone. He blinks owlishly.
"Um. Sorry?" he asks with a wince. "Sorry," he adds in apology for the out-zoning.
"Um. Sorry?" he asks with a wince. "Sorry," he adds in apology for the out-zoning.
"...and I don't know... how to navigate that?" Benedict repeats, realizing in the moment that he may have to go back a little farther, depending on how long Colin hasn't been paying attention.
Taking a deep breath and sighing it out through his nose, Bene looks a little frustrated, but not angry. "What's the matter?" He was speaking.
Taking a deep breath and sighing it out through his nose, Bene looks a little frustrated, but not angry. "What's the matter?" He was speaking.
He's lucky Bene is the one to answer it, though he's quick on the draw to make sure nobody else gets there first.
Rather than letting Colin in, Benedict slips out with him with a sheepish grin.
"No need to bother anyone."
Rather than letting Colin in, Benedict slips out with him with a sheepish grin.
"No need to bother anyone."
Edited 2020-08-29 02:48 (UTC)
[The day after this thread.]
There's a knock on Benedict's door after work is done for the day. Colin's there with an earthenware pitcher beaded with condensation. He gives a faint smile.
"Want to sit in the garden a bit?"
There's a knock on Benedict's door after work is done for the day. Colin's there with an earthenware pitcher beaded with condensation. He gives a faint smile.
"Want to sit in the garden a bit?"
The door is already partially ajar, but Benedict is on his bed inside, relaxing and reading something in the small amount of time he has after work and before dinner.
He angles his head to see Colin, nods in the midst of a yawning stretch, and unfolds himself from the mattress to follow after him.
"Nice day?" he murmurs, a bit sleepily-- he obviously hasn't even been outside yet.
He angles his head to see Colin, nods in the midst of a yawning stretch, and unfolds himself from the mattress to follow after him.
"Nice day?" he murmurs, a bit sleepily-- he obviously hasn't even been outside yet.
Might as well use the hookah room, what with it being all decked out with pillows and something of a haven already.
Benedict looks over his shoulder at the door, then back at Colin, clearly a bit nervous as he fiddles with the hem of his tunic.
"Do I like... lay across?" he asks, possibly just stalling.
Benedict looks over his shoulder at the door, then back at Colin, clearly a bit nervous as he fiddles with the hem of his tunic.
"Do I like... lay across?" he asks, possibly just stalling.
[Shortly after this hooliganism— maybe Benedict is running an errand for the Diplomacy office; maybe he's working in the dining hall on his mural project; maybe he's minding his own damn business. Regardless, a moment ago there was no stormy presence in his atmosphere and now there is.]
A moment if you please, Artemaeus.
A moment if you please, Artemaeus.
[Pausing midstep, with a folio tucked in his arms, Benedict reminds himself to keep breathing as he turns to look at Flint.]
Ser?
Ser?
For the record, if Athessa were trying to attack Benedict (but not kill him), she would wait until they were smoking together and just tap his junk or something. Or she'd find him while he's working for Byerly and get him in a headlock, or kick his legs out from under him or, or, or.
But Ben doesn't know that.
"Hey, hang on a sec!" Is what she hollers across the courtyard, jogging towards him.
But Ben doesn't know that.
"Hey, hang on a sec!" Is what she hollers across the courtyard, jogging towards him.
Still waiting for such an attack to occur, Benedict freezes when Athessa calls out to him, watching her approach in trepidation. She doesn't seem too aggressive, at least, but... it's not always easy to tell, with her.
Looking a little surprised to see him, Benedict saunters over and angles his head to peer better at Colin's face.
"Hullo," he greets carefully.
"Hullo," he greets carefully.
Looking up from over a cup of coffee, Benedict looks a little surprised to see him, and shrugs a shoulder.
"Could be worse," he muses, "could've betrayed everyone again."
"Could be worse," he muses, "could've betrayed everyone again."
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.
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