IC Contact Post [Hadriel]

[mismanagement]

This is Maketh Tua. State your business.

Comments

[audio]

[mismanagement]

I...not really, no. I always considered my notes to be enough.

Is something wrong?

[hotspurred]

[Stubbornly, he does not answer her question, even though he does want to talk.

Wrong is an entirely inappropriate word, because what has happened is a good thing. Dorian is free of this wretched city. Henry is glad for it. And yet, on a selfish level, he is also upset by it. He certainly cannot express that, however -- especially not when the loss of a friend helplessly reminds him of Iamarl.

Thus, these offshoot thoughts that he can speak.]

Even if they were to lie forgotten in your absence? ...I wonder if we should not consider keeping public records.

[mismanagement]

That might be a good idea. [Information should be public, Maketh thinks, or else it's not much use to the people who might one day need it. But there's something else going on here, something she can't quite place.] Henry. Something has happened. What is it?

[hotspurred]

[Henry sighs, and grimaces to himself as he reluctantly concedes.]

Dorian is gone.

[mismanagement]

[Gone and not dead. That means...]

When?

[hotspurred]

Two days ago. At least.

[mismanagement]

[Maketh doesn't ask if he's sure. She already knows.]

You've checked Hope's temple, then?

[hotspurred]

Yes. But it was unnecessary. Try his phone.

[It no longer exists. It has not existed for at least two days. But still he scoured Hadriel, and tried contacting Dorian's Thedas friends. All to no avail. The truth is undeniable.]

[mismanagement]

[She does, just to be thorough. Nothing.]

I'm sorry, Henry.

Should...do you want me to come over?

[hotspurred]

'Tis something to celebrate, not...

[Well, this. He trails off, leaving that unsaid.]

Please do.

[voice to action]

[mismanagement]

[But it is also much more than that. Maketh puts on her coat and heads over immediately. She does, however, take a bottle of whiskey with her. Just in case.

She knocks on the door gently.]

Henry?

[hotspurred]

[Henry opens the door for Maketh, then heads straight back to his sofa, where he sits down. His expression matches his tone of voice; his gaze is heavy, and the corners of his mouth tug downwards.]

Drink not for solace -- unless it be with company. [It seems that has a similar idea to Maketh, albeit an unopened bottle of gascon wine.] I shall just place this aside.

[He moves the wine out of the way. Whiskey is much more fitting, all things considered. Not that he intends to drink heavily.]

[mismanagement]

[Maketh sets the whiskey down on the table without a word, then goes to fetch glasses. She doesn't know how to do this sort of thing, not really. It's been years since she mourned the passing of a friend - though it's not like Dorian is dead, exactly. Just...gone. She lays out the glasses, then joins Henry on the couch. It feels right to lean against him, offering her presence as support if he wants it.] Itani and her brother had a toast they gave to the fallen. Would you like to hear it?

[It's not the same, of course, but it's something.]

[hotspurred]

[Henry appreciates both gestures: the physical closeness, the small piece of herself. Maketh's presence is the true comfort. He is not alone so long as she is here. He shifts minutely, a very slight angling towards her that does not dislodge her from his side.]

I would.

[mismanagement]

[Maketh closes her eyes a moment.] May the dead not be lonely. And may we not join them too soon.

[Perhaps it was a contradiction. But it had given her comfort once, hearing it murmured around a ring of pilots all in black.]

[hotspurred]

[A toast for the dead. It is actually very fitting: he will not meet Dorian again in this lifetime. The severence is complete.

He wonders if his prayers for Iamarl's soul reach her.

Henry opens up the whiskey and pours for them both. He raises his glass, and drinks to her toast.

Perhaps it is enough to still think of them after they are departed.]

Fine sentiments, both.

[mismanagement]

[Maketh leans forward to take her glass, raising it high, and then settles back against his side. She supposes this isn't very different than mourning a death - it is a passing, after all. And if Dorian is lucky, he won't come back to the madness of Hadriel.] Indeed.

[She drinks.] Did he tell you of his home?

[hotspurred]

A little. Tevinter. He called it a land of history and culture, but also one if dark magic and decadence. He lived in self- imposed exile, however, so I pressed him not. In his mirror he had returned there. For the time being, as I understood it, he belonged to that Inquisition -- as seem to all of these others from his Thedas.

[Henry looks down at his hand gripping his glass in brooding silence for a short moment, then abruptly says:]

In truth, we were newly friends. I knew Dorian not all that well. But. [He pauses, then in a low voice confesses:] I liked him. I liked him in a way that I do not usually like people. Easily, I suppose. I... wanted to know him better.

[mismanagement]

[Truthfully, Maketh doesn't know many of the people from Thedas. She had a conversation once with Cole that had left her shaken and sad in the aftermath, and once spoke with the Inquisitor herself - but those encounters had been brief. Quiet.

She drinks slowly.] It's hard for you to trust others.

[She doesn't blame Henry for that. It's simply a fact.]

He seemed a good man, from what little I knew of him. Perhaps...perhaps his mirror showed a bit of the truth.

[hotspurred]

[Henry scoffs derisively at Maketh's first comment -- though it is directed at himself rather than her. He cannot abide self-delusion. His lack of trust is a flaw of his, and one that should be fixed. It is a slow struggle.]

He was, without question. That was clear from our first meeting.

[Henry lifts his gaze and looks back to Maketh, shaking off some of his melancholy. She is right, of course.]

'Tis hardly his end.

[Just the end for them. But that, ultimately, is bearable, because he knows that Dorian is alive and has a future.]

Godspeed to him.

[mismanagement]

No. But that doesn't mean you can't miss him. [Perhaps it's better for Dorian, in the long run. He had plans for his home - ambitions and hopes of his own. That much Maketh understands. She liked Dorian, for what little they spoke. His honestly, the way he'd smiled so easily. Rare talents in any world.

Maketh finishes her glass with a sigh.] Would you go home right now, if you could?

[hotspurred]

[I will, he thinks, miss Dorian.

Henry sips his drink, weighing her question.]

I would be tempted. [He says slowly, with blunt honesty. It would be a temptation like no other. Even now, there is homesickness in his voice at the thought.] But I honour my vows. No sooner than when we have wrested control of the Door, vanquished our enemies, and hold the city undisputed shall I depart by choice.

[That is how he defines their victorious 'until the end'. A foundation set for Maketh's mirror vision. He is no knight at all if he leaves before then by his own decision.]

[mismanagement]

[Even when she posed the question, it had been more idle speculation. Maketh nearly drops her glass when she hears the answer, staring at Henry in astonishment.

Perhaps it's unwarranted. He is a knight, after all, and such folk are bond by their word. But---

Well. Maketh hardly expected him to stay, if there was a chance to return home.

But he'll stay. Because of the oath he made with her.

She sets her glass down with some finality. The weight of that decision is clear to her now.] You are truly one of a kind, Henry Percy. And I am honored to have you at my side. To whatever end.

[hotspurred]

[Henry is initially puzzled by Maketh's astonishment. Then he huffs sharply, when it occurs to him why she reacts that way. Yet his affront quickly softens into a fond exasperation -- by now he is more than aware there is a culture difference between them.

Despite his overarching mood, he gives Maketh a wry half-smile.]

The end that we determine.

[That he fully means. They should have confidence that they can achieve their goals.

...Still, Henry cannot let her outburst go without remark. After a moment to acknowledge the sincerity of her words and the mutual honour, he gives comment.]

Try not to suggest that my promises are trifling.

[There is a biting edge to his tease, but it's obviously just teasing by the way that he simultaneously nudges her.]

[mismanagement]

[Maketh gives him a little smile, leaning against his side. She likes that she can do that here, that Henry is here at all. Someone who trusts her without hesitation, who believes sincerely in their cause.] Never. Sometimes I just forget how different our worlds are. That's all.