[ someday, in the days following their encounter at the baths and ness' crystal address and all she's working on to become accustomed to thedas—someday in the aftermath of all that, cedric will return to his tent and find a small folded scrap of fabric pinned, along with a note, to the tent flap. the scrap of fabric, a match to the shift he so unceremoniously caught ness in that night if he looked closely at either, unfolds into a handkerchief. it may have been perfectly square when the fabric was cut, but the stitches around the edges aren't quite even, warping it somewhat, and the blue monogrammed c. c. in the lower left edge isn't the smoothest—these are the stitches of someone familiar with first principles of sewing and embroidery, but little practice in their finer applications. the note, by contrast, is written in a practiced, beautiful hand: ]
Mssr. Carsus,
I wanted to thank you for the kindness you showed me that night at the baths. It would have been all too easy for you to shower me with recriminations, to treat me with fear and distrust, and if you had it would have been deserved: It was irresponsible of me not to have said anything to anyone about my magic when I first became aware of it, I know that now and I knew that then. I was afraid and alone in a new world, and could not think of what else to do but hide, but that doesn't excuse my actions.
You did not treat me with the distrust I was due, though. You were kind, and you sat with me, and because of you I now begin to understand what I am capable of, and most importantly, how to keep the people around me safe from it. I cannot thank you enough for that. This token doesn't begin to approach the magnitude of that gift you gave me, but I offer it all the same, with my most sincere gratitude.
I hadn't met a templar before you, at least not one that I knew was a templar. If they're all like you, I'm glad they're here, just as I am glad you were there for me that night.
[ he turns the cloth overhand, examines the seams. stitches inexpert as his own mended elbows. there is a well of,
something, there, ill-named. easier to consider the sense of it: a dozen textures of memory, rough and soft and steady and thin. the picked gold wire of vestments. the thick stains of dye. the sweat-drenched pad between gauntlet, palm; gambeson, heart.
it's a few days before the letter is returned. his own doesn't flow so pretty, blocks of clear, efficient print: ]
Miss Tavane,
Thank you for the letter, and the kind words. Told you I was grateful for your trust, and I meant it; takes guts to face that.
Back when they taught us on spirits, it was like this: Spirits are one thing, simple. People are different – you can’t hold half a feeling. Can't be peaceful unless you've been angry, can't be sad unless you've seen joy. So it follows, right, that you can't be brave unless you've been scared.
You've been plenty brave.
Had an old lieutenant kept a marble, the kind kids play for. Used to roll it in her hand before battle. After. We were on a hill one day, when I caught her holding it to sky, squinting through the glass. She let me try, and it sent everything bubbling strange; blue. Said it gave her a different perspective. New way to see.
[ the other half. wrapped within page: a small thing, irregular; some fraction of green bottle salvaged from rocky shore. the sea glass frosts, semi-translucent. smooth under thumb. ]
Reckon you’ve had no shortage of new. Maybe, some day, that'll look more like home.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action-ish.
[ someday, in the days following their encounter at the baths and ness' crystal address and all she's working on to become accustomed to thedas—someday in the aftermath of all that, cedric will return to his tent and find a small folded scrap of fabric pinned, along with a note, to the tent flap. the scrap of fabric, a match to the shift he so unceremoniously caught ness in that night if he looked closely at either, unfolds into a handkerchief. it may have been perfectly square when the fabric was cut, but the stitches around the edges aren't quite even, warping it somewhat, and the blue monogrammed c. c. in the lower left edge isn't the smoothest—these are the stitches of someone familiar with first principles of sewing and embroidery, but little practice in their finer applications. the note, by contrast, is written in a practiced, beautiful hand: ]
Mssr. Carsus,
I wanted to thank you for the kindness you showed me that night at the baths. It would have been all too easy for you to shower me with recriminations, to treat me with fear and distrust, and if you had it would have been deserved: It was irresponsible of me not to have said anything to anyone about my magic when I first became aware of it, I know that now and I knew that then. I was afraid and alone in a new world, and could not think of what else to do but hide, but that doesn't excuse my actions.
You did not treat me with the distrust I was due, though. You were kind, and you sat with me, and because of you I now begin to understand what I am capable of, and most importantly, how to keep the people around me safe from it. I cannot thank you enough for that. This token doesn't begin to approach the magnitude of that gift you gave me, but I offer it all the same, with my most sincere gratitude.
I hadn't met a templar before you, at least not one that I knew was a templar. If they're all like you, I'm glad they're here, just as I am glad you were there for me that night.
With deepest thanks,
Ennaris Tavane
no subject
[ he turns the cloth overhand, examines the seams. stitches inexpert as his own mended elbows. there is a well of,
something, there, ill-named. easier to consider the sense of it: a dozen textures of memory, rough and soft and steady and thin. the picked gold wire of vestments. the thick stains of dye. the sweat-drenched pad between gauntlet, palm; gambeson, heart.
it's a few days before the letter is returned. his own doesn't flow so pretty, blocks of clear, efficient print: ]
Miss Tavane,
Thank you for the letter, and the kind words. Told you I was grateful for your trust, and I meant it; takes guts to face that.
Back when they taught us on spirits, it was like this: Spirits are one thing, simple. People are different – you can’t hold half a feeling. Can't be peaceful unless you've been angry, can't be sad unless you've seen joy. So it follows, right, that you can't be brave unless you've been scared.
You've been plenty brave.
Had an old lieutenant kept a marble, the kind kids play for. Used to roll it in her hand before battle. After. We were on a hill one day, when I caught her holding it to sky, squinting through the glass. She let me try, and it sent everything bubbling strange; blue. Said it gave her a different perspective. New way to see.
[ the other half. wrapped within page: a small thing, irregular; some fraction of green bottle salvaged from rocky shore. the sea glass frosts, semi-translucent. smooth under thumb. ]
Reckon you’ve had no shortage of new. Maybe, some day, that'll look more like home.
— Cedric