notyourherald | OPEN POST - Beware of Spoilers

He may not have dissolved the Inquisition, but publicly he is no longer at it's helm. After spending some time with his friends and the Divine, Cyril Lavellan retired to the Free Marches. He spent most of his time after that going between Wycome and Kirkwall.

At Wycome, he's with his Clan, aiding as much as he can to strengthening their foothold there. It's reassuring to be with them again, to be helping directly. They had faced what had to be certain death and he had only been there in letters and by spending people in his stead. At least he had saved them. Every moment with them is precious, even more because they don't treat him like he's incapable.

At Kirkwall, he lives in the estate that Varric set aside for him. At least Varric hadn't been lying about it being 'pretty nice.' He gets a massive and sturdy four poster bed and a lot of books. He hires a couple servants. People who know worry because they're elven, but if Fen'Harel wanted to infiltrate his home, he could be welcome there is person. Honestly, a part of Cyril hopes that they're his agents. He can't convince Solas to change his mind without some sort of contact.

He still works behind the scenes, both as a Red Jenny with Sera and unofficially the others. He can't give up the fight completely, not when his friend is in such a dark place. Not when he could do whatever possible to try and save the world.

His arm still hurts sometimes, others he swears he can still feel the missing hand. When he's not working he's home, building things that he can use to replace it. His pride and joy is a cross bow that had attachments that can be switched between a grapple hook and arrows.

He shows it to anyone who sits still long enough to give him time to explain how it works.

Keeper Deshanna has been in town as often as not, being too ill to travel constantly and therefore keeping a house in-town and leaving Pel to run day-to-day things at camp. Pel has done this in her own workaholic fashion, barely sitting down to rest while preparing for the winter. When Cy arrives, she is in the midst of pickling wild vegetables. No magic, just pickling. Everyone, even a First, has to lend a hand where that hand is needed, and today it is needed to pickle vegetables for their winter stores.

"Come put the stoppers on these crocks for me, will you?" she asks without preamble as he approaches.

Cyril just grins and then sets to work. He enjoys that there isn't a lot of ceremony at his appearance. He had gotten a little too used to that and the lack of it grounds him instantly.

He has a basic prosthetic on today that lets him hold things in place a bit easier but the work is still slower than he used to be.

"So," he says finally, after he's made some headway into the task. "How are things?"

She pauses long enough to direct a soft smile his way. It can be hard for the untrained and/or uninformed to know when Pel is actually happy, and she's been making efforts to combat her case of resting bitchface lately.

"Busy. At least...a good kind of busy. Just a normal late autumn. It's nice."

She raises her wind-chapped face to the woods ahead, squinting in the sun. Her silver hair is braided loosely over one shoulder, some strands catching in the breeze.

"Even the halla have been somewhat lazy. Their coats are getting so thick. It's going to be a cold winter."

Cyril watches him for a moment, because there's something so comforting about being in her presence and seeing how she has settled into this place and this life. He wants to hug her but he doesn't come any closer, still too wound up in his own emotional shields.

"I can have people bring things in, since it has to be harder to hunt for furs when you're stuck in one place."

"It is," Pel answers, cramming a few more okra into a crock before sliding it to Cy to be corked. "Most of the good game has either been hunted or frightened off. We've started some trade with the shemlen to make ends meet, but it would be good to know for sure that we're going to be warm enough during the winter. Thank you."

Edited Date: 2015-09-16 01:05 pm (UTC)

Cyril frowns a bit at that. He worries every day that the only reason they're stuck here is because of his place in the Inquisition, but at least he can also use that left over influence to prepare for them.

"Is there anything else you need, lethallan?" he asks, quietly. He feels the weight of all that he knows for a moment, things he doesn't think he can very fully talk about. He realizes he wants to tell her so badly about the gods, but he isn't sure how many details she'll believe.

The last crock is corked. Pel looks at Cyril closely now, hearing the change in his tone. He wants to be of use, so let him.

"Walk with me, lethallin?" Out of sheer habit, she reaches to hook her arm around his. His is truncated now, and a little different even with the prosthetic, but it still conveys what she needs: she is not really asking. Off they go.

He nods and lets her tug him along, knowing better than to try to debate. "Of course," he says, as he is led. He also can't help but feel comforted that she easily takes his arm without hesitation. It's nice to remember that some will always see him as whole.