brokendawn | In Haven

There was something inherently surreal about being in a Chantry after being in the Temple of Sacred Ashes...and especially after being through the ruins of it.

She regarded the bare walls and the single stained glass window with some mild confusion, but no real comment. Two or three Sisters lingered in the hall but their conversations were both soft and entirely their own; they saw no need to involve Evelyn in anything they were discussing. It was just as well, really, because she had little insight to offer them and had no desire to dispel the positive will that had settled tenuously around her.

Rather than impose herself in either the war room or upon any of the lingering clergy, Evelyn settled for wandering idly between the pillars that lined the nave. She moved gingerly, favoring her right side more than she should have. It had only been a few days since she was thrown back by a Pride Demon and while most of the combatants from that fight had bounced back immediately, she had never dealt with anything its like.

She was fine, she was certain of that, but she wouldn't have regretted taking a seat in a pew. Unfortunately it seemed as though all of them were stored away somewhere and she was not so eager for company that she'd have wandered blithely into any of the rooms to find a seat.

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Of course, he also benefits from not being the offered the invitation. Not only does he not have to turn it down, he doesn't have to risk raising any additional suspicions about his intentions or purpose if he were to accept. It's best if he conducts the bulk of his business with her in areas that are at least semi-public.

There is enough privacy for the place to appeal to him, however. He's always been more fond of autumn than winter, so the lack of vegetation that isn't dead or dying or dull is somewhat of a lower point, but the lack of too many others around affords a measure of peace beyond precious here in Haven.

He has not actually been here before. As he walks he takes in the sights, such as they are, and takes a few steps towards a snow covered bench. With swipes of his hand and a bit of magic he goes about clearing it off. "Strange, but I suppose everywhere does have its secrets. It makes me wonder what else might be found if we were to look hard enough."

With a pleasant teasing in his tone, he turns towards her once the stone bench is sufficiently cleaned off. He gestures with his hand for her to take a seat upon it. "After all, cultists do to tend have things they'd rather hide away from everyone else," he says, in knowing reference to the sordid, interesting history of this place.

Evelyn had heard some rumors about the temple and the town around it but, largely, only knew what everyone else did. She'd grown up in the Free Marches, far from Ferelden and its Blight, far from this place and its history, and had been locked in a tower for the majority of that time. The public story spoke of a traveling Brother who discovered the temple, through a turn of luck and the aid of the Maker, who then unveiled it to the world.

She takes the seat he has offered, but looks at him with a curious tilt of her head.

"I suppose they do," she agrees, thinking for a moment that he means Andrastians on large. There are quite a lot of secrets kept by the Chantry, she has suffered a number of them in the Circle, but she's not quite sure that's what he means.

"What do you think might be left here?"

Given the intense privacy of the people who used to populate Haven before they crossed paths with the Hero of Ferelden, it isn't surprising that this place wasn't known to her before; in fact, only recently has it been finally put on any maps. On the other hand, this place has a rather fascinatingly esoteric history with cults and odd religious practises, making it sort of intriguing to him. He has certainly had some interesting dreams here whenever he's had the opportunity to lay his head down for several hours at a time.

She knows him as the resident apostate Fade expert, so perhaps he might share some of these with her. He wouldn't mind talking about some of them. "Besides the memories left behind? Well, artefacts. There were too many tunnels left by the cultists to explore so they sealed up some of them.

"Others, which were looked into, contained some interesting things. From what I understand no-one in the Inquisition is able to read entire passages they found written on a wall."

From his tone, it's clear that he has some personal investment in seeing this arcane mystery uncoded. "Would you like to sit down, Herald? I can take a look at you as well."

The idea of tunnels, sealed and unsealed is deeply interesting and she glances at her feet on reflex. It takes her a second to recall that he'd asked her to sit and she does, a bit hurriedly, as if to compensate for her delay.

"Ah, yes, of course," she replies, eyes still drifting downward. "A whole passage? How interesting, do they have a guess what the language is?"

The bench is more comfortable than the table, by far, and Evelyn settles onto it with something near a sigh. The stiffness in her limbs and side are momentarily relieved and she settles her arms in her lap as she does her best not to slouch.

"I wonder if any of the other tunnels have a keystone that could be used to decode it."

Instinctively he reaches out a hand towards her in case she loses her balance. The rushed nature of her movements is both a bit alarming and a bit concerning. He has again the impression that she is extremely brittle, like a thin wisp of carmalised sugar; is it because she is a human, or have the Circle of Magi done this to her? It seems another reason he should be grateful for any protection from the Chantry, as well as a reminder that he needs to be careful.

"The runes are of Alamarri origin. We tried to translate them, but they are written in some sort of cipher. We're going to need additional time and resources to translate them, but I believe we will be able to."

Smiling a touch, he thinks she might find this information interesting. Andraste is known to have been a member of the Alamarri tribes. Surely she'll make the connection. While conducting this conversation, he clears out some more snow and then sits besides her on the side that seemed be giving her the most trouble. Polite as ever, he gestures towards her, obviously waiting for permission to touch her. "It's your ribs mainly, isn't it?"

"Oh the Almarri? That's interesting, but I suppose with all the Avvar about these parts, it shouldn't be too surprising," she says, almost reflexively, as she considers the very idea of the puzzle beneath the ground--but then Solas is sitting and reaching out to her in an idle, reserved way and she has to remember what they were talking about indoors.

It's almost a pity; she is far more fond of pondering puzzles and history than thinking about the Chantry and her own inability to fight, but the former is far less pressing than the latter.

"Yes, I expect I must have bruised them. I don't think anything's broken, I don't imagine one can break a rib and not realize it, but I'm not made of sturdy stuff," she explains and lifts an arm to grant him access to her side. Between her undershirt, her shirt, her jerkin, and her vest, there's hardly anything untoward about this...but all the same she's a bit glad they went somewhere private. There is nothing in this world like the disapproving stare of a Chantry Mother.

"Well, not nearly as sturdy as solid stone, at least."

He'd much rather be indulging his own intellect as well. However, he can deny himself for just a moment; sometimes he's able to get his priorities in proper order.

'An easy enough fix, in that case.' Although the culture he comes from is what it is, and surely even the most priggish of humans or modern elves would admit that direct contact in the service of healing is not prurient at its core, he doesn't actually touch her. There's no need for him to--such is just a small showing of his unknown and untold strength. He keeps his hand near her without open palm or splayed fingers coming into contact with her clothes. Magic seeps out of him, meant to make it beneath her layers and mend whatever can be encouraged mend on its own.

'No, I don't think you would be. You're not built like an Avvar. I've not had the chance to be around one of them for long, but it seems some among them can grow to be rather imposing people. It makes one wonder how some humans can end up getting so big.'

Solas is a terribly skilled healer; he doesn't even need to brush up against her to do fine work and she is in mild awe of him as the pain in her side fades and the tightness that had wracked her muscles eases. She lets out a quiet sigh of relief as her injury mends and seems more easy for it.

"I've met a few, though not many; they are all of them enormous. Almost like Qunari, but with more woad."

It's a pretty basic assessment but she is still too high on her feeling of relief to restrict her speech or feel inadequate.

"Thank you, I feel much better."

In Haven

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