[Distracted first by her twisting, and the speed at which she turns the tables on him--but that's not a surprise, precisely, is it, as many battles as he's been in and as tricky as he fancies himself, Yseult is worth ten of him, and that's something well known--it takes Darras a moment to catch up with what she's said.
He laughs.]
What, here? Am I meant to go and find everything where you've secreted them about and find a new room, then? Didn't know we were at such a premium for space here.
[ She tucks her face against the bare nape of his neck. ]
You were dead, [ she reminds him, lightly enough but softer ] I didn't want anyone else to go through your things. [ she pushes a joke into her tone as she gives him a shove down onto the bed, slipping free and to her feet: ] My inheritance.
[It wouldn't be right, to say Darras lets her go, because if she's going, she's going. He doesn't hold to her, is what he doesn't do. Falls back when she shoves him, watches her move across the room to collect her shift, or find new clothes, or just walk around to torment him as she is, whatever she chooses to do. His neck feels warm from the press of her, still, little prickles where her lips had been, mumbling those words.
Oh, right. There were words. Darras raises himself up onto one elbow, looking about.]
Your inheritance is very far away from here. So you've really got my things in here? Where do I take 'em now?
[ She doesn't answer right away, having padded into the bath room to wash up. It buys her a minute or two, before she comes back and takes a seat at her dressing table to start trying to corral her hair into a braid. ]
You could stay [ she says, flicking a glance at him in the mirror. ] But if you prefer your own space, I've the key. You can have your same room back.
[He's rescued his trousers from off the floor, and he's pulled them on when she comes back into the room. Moved on to pulling on his boots when she makes that suggestion. Or is it an offer? Or a question.
Darras meets her eyes in the mirror. Sees Yseult, reflected, and himself over her shoulder. The tangle of bedsheets and the curtains at the window. She's every version of her that he's known, in the mirror. Right back to the day that he came in from the rain and saw her down the bar. And he's every version of himself as well. Used to see mirrors only in shops. Used to be a stupid child, charmed by stories, pretending life wasn't shit.
He looks back down at his boot so he can pull it on, breaking their gaze a moment.]
I asked. [ Yseult watches his reflection for another beat, a faint furrow dug between her brows, and then finishes up her braid. It's a thick simple plait, not the neatest she's ever managed, but it settles over one shoulder as she rises to pull on a clean shift and a simple dress, undyed fabric nearly white, belted at the waist and the neck left open, lapels pulled wide.
She turns from her wardrobe to set a hand on his side, the bare skin above his trousers. She looks down at him, every familiar inch of muscle and tattoo and scar. ]
[He catches her hand before she's had a chance to lift it away. The warm press of her palm against his side lingers, a handprint that lasts. Darras lifts her hand so he can kiss it--once, on the back, and then again when he flips it over and kisses the flats of her fingers, just above the palm. Even with him newly shaved, it will still tickle.]
If I'm staying, are you absolutely certain you can't stay as well? Seems only right.
[ She smiles as she curves her hand to cup his jaw before drawing away. ]
It's an important meeting, and they'll be here any moment. Nap for an hour and you won't even miss me.
[ She's kissed him on the cheek, stepped into shoes, and is shutting the office door behind her almost before he has a chance to respond. The meeting can be overheard if he cares to press his ear to the door, and it won't be hard to tell she gets drawn into two more immediately after, division members come knocking on her door unscheduled. But a couple hours later she finally sticks her head in. ]
Sorry. I've some urgent reports still to read but you don't need to hide any longer.
[He'd listened, idly, for awhile. Not much to hear and he probably wouldn't be all that interested in it even if there were. Perhaps that's a false assumption. Yseult is the spymaster now, or whatever the title. Stands to reason that she'd come across a few interesting secrets here and there, but Darras can guess that he wouldn't care.
Her personal possessions are nothing new to him, so he'd not bothered snooping. And now that he knows to look, there are his meager possessions, too, mixed in with hers. Satisfied, Darras had gotten back into the bed and done as she'd suggested--sleep a little longer, waking every now and then when the creak of the door in the next room announced a new visitor, or heralded a departure. The murmur of voices, far away.
He's dozing when at last she puts her head around the door--jumps all the way awake, and stretches his arms over his head.
I didn't lie! [ She calls back with a laugh ] The other meetings were unscheduled. Anyway, I've locked the door now. Unless it's a true emergency they'll come back tomorrow.
[ If/when he emerges, she is seated on the couch by the window rather than at the desk, the near corner of it out of the direct sunlight. She's kicked off her shoes and folded legs on the seat, a report in hand and a stack of others beside her. ]
I had them bring up food if you're hungry [ she adds. It's on the sideboard, a light lunch laid out beneath cloth napkins to keep the flies away. There are jugs of water and lemonade, too, and one pitcher that's just frozen solid, some chunks seemingly chipped away out of the top already. ]
Will they come back tomorrow, or will they just continue to knock? You're very important, y'know.
[He'd left his trousers on when he'd gone back to sleep, and slipped on a shirt if only to stop gooseflesh from standing on his skin. The tower is cool. Must be all the stone. At the sideboard, he inspects everything on offer. The frozen pitcher is the most interest, in that he can't tell what it is. Darras lifts it, trying to tip it so that he can catch the light.
Hm.]
Read me one of those.
[The reports. He nods to them, before he tips the pitcher in the other direction, trying to see inside.]
[ It's warmer in the main room, sun allowed to stream in through the windows as it's risen, but not as oppressively hot as it has been lately or will be again soon. A brief respite, but one Yseult remains prepared for--the jug is just water, the ice pick nearby a hint at its use.
On the couch, Yseult flips over the page she's reading. ] On Justinian 2, the subject was seen meeting with two men in an alley behind the Golden Boar tavern. Lighting was poor, but one of these men appeared to match the description of Venatori agent 137 previously circulated. The two unknown men and the subject spoke for several minutes and then exchanged envelopes. [ Yseult looks up, lifting a brow in question. ] Shall I go on?
[Water. Darras pours out, once he's confirmed it--not quite as good as rum, maybe, but better than Kirkwall ale. He leaves out the ice and crosses over to the couch. By the time she looks up, he's come around to stand behind her, looking at the letters over her shoulder. Thin grayish writing, as obscure as runes.
He meets her eye as she looks around at him, and gestures with the cup.]
Oh, aye. Fascinating, this. The agent's name is 'One Thirty-Seven'? Didn't know Tevinter was so ruthless to their children.
[He comes around whether or not she picks up reading again, puts himself on the couch beside her, and slips his feet into her lap. Probably crushes some reports while he's at it, unless she rescues them in time.]
Yes, and "The Subject" was a very popular name for boys in Starkhaven one year. [ Yseult's reply is dry, as is the flat look she shoots him as she snatches reports out of the way of his foot, smoothing out a few of them on the arm of the sofa. ]
Minor suspected agents that don't yet have names or identifying characteristics get numbered, [ she explains] Otherwise we'd run out of code names for everyone that needs them.
[ She turns back to her reading, but does not continue aloud. ]
[Darras settles back on the arm of the couch, taking great care and pride in settling himself in comfortably. He balances the cup of water on his chest, keeping one hand at its side, to keep it upright. Takes a moment to stare up at the ceiling. After letting her read--]
Thought my name was boy for a short while. D'you think my aunt thought I was a minor suspected agent?
[He tips the cup, carefully, so he can take a sip of water.]
I'm sure she suspected you were a minor something. Pain in the arse, most likely. [ She flicks the sole of his foot, but doesn't actually shove them out of her lap, instead just lifting the reports up above them to keep reading. ]
I'll need to go to Wycome at the end of the week, [ she tells him, glancing over and then turning a page ] And Antiva after for a few days. If you wanted, I could meet you at the cottage on my way back. Check in on it.
[Darras grins, without looking around at her, and leaves his feet where they are. If anything, he settles in more, though her travel plans catch his attention, and at least get him to slide his gaze to her instead of the ceiling.]
A community of Tevinter merchants. I'm trying to find someone we could turn or work. [ A pause as she turns a page. ] It could probably do with a good airing, don't you think? Unless you've been back recently.
[He tips the cup again, but doesn't take a drink--just watches the way the water sloshes around inside of it, swelling up toward the rim as he leans it one way, receding back into the depths when he leans it the other.]
Sounds like a good distraction. Something different than Kirkwall. The Gallows. I'm for it. Need any help, with your merchants?
No. [ An immediate answer, and then the pause for thought that maybe should have come first, faintly apologetic. ] Likely not. But I'll think about it.
[Darras snorts quietly, and tips his head back to settle against the arm of the sofa again.]
I don't want to be some pity invite. I'll meet you at the cottage. Get supplies, cook you dinner... give you something t' look forward to after Tevinter.
That sounds good. [ Yseult sets a hand on his ankle and rubs her thumb around the joint, watching him for a sign that she's hurt his feelings enough to require explanation. ] I've missed that.
Yeah. [--Darras says, and it isn't a question. He knows she has. And,] I've missed it too.
[He lets silence fall between them, turns the moment over it over in his mind. Comfortable, in the sunlight that falls in the window, with Yseult just there, just within reach.]
So who's going to be along with you, if not me?
[It's not a sulk or a challenge. A question, only.]
I'm meeting an Inquisition agent. They had someone there already who could do the initial surveillance.
[ She turns back to her reports, but her attention doesn't stick, and after a moment she sets the papers on the table at her elbow. It takes a twist and a push off the near arm to rearrange, but she turns onto her side and fits herself into the narrow space between Darras and the couch back, head on his chest.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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You don't have a room, [ she tells him, laughing. ] I have all of your things here. So you had best be nice to me if you'd like to see them again.
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He laughs.]
What, here? Am I meant to go and find everything where you've secreted them about and find a new room, then? Didn't know we were at such a premium for space here.
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You were dead, [ she reminds him, lightly enough but softer ] I didn't want anyone else to go through your things. [ she pushes a joke into her tone as she gives him a shove down onto the bed, slipping free and to her feet: ] My inheritance.
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Oh, right. There were words. Darras raises himself up onto one elbow, looking about.]
Your inheritance is very far away from here. So you've really got my things in here? Where do I take 'em now?
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You could stay [ she says, flicking a glance at him in the mirror. ] But if you prefer your own space, I've the key. You can have your same room back.
no subject
Darras meets her eyes in the mirror. Sees Yseult, reflected, and himself over her shoulder. The tangle of bedsheets and the curtains at the window. She's every version of her that he's known, in the mirror. Right back to the day that he came in from the rain and saw her down the bar. And he's every version of himself as well. Used to see mirrors only in shops. Used to be a stupid child, charmed by stories, pretending life wasn't shit.
He looks back down at his boot so he can pull it on, breaking their gaze a moment.]
Who says I'm interested in space?
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She turns from her wardrobe to set a hand on his side, the bare skin above his trousers. She looks down at him, every familiar inch of muscle and tattoo and scar. ]
Then stay. Just be quiet until I'm done.
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If I'm staying, are you absolutely certain you can't stay as well? Seems only right.
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It's an important meeting, and they'll be here any moment. Nap for an hour and you won't even miss me.
[ She's kissed him on the cheek, stepped into shoes, and is shutting the office door behind her almost before he has a chance to respond. The meeting can be overheard if he cares to press his ear to the door, and it won't be hard to tell she gets drawn into two more immediately after, division members come knocking on her door unscheduled. But a couple hours later she finally sticks her head in. ]
Sorry. I've some urgent reports still to read but you don't need to hide any longer.
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Her personal possessions are nothing new to him, so he'd not bothered snooping. And now that he knows to look, there are his meager possessions, too, mixed in with hers. Satisfied, Darras had gotten back into the bed and done as she'd suggested--sleep a little longer, waking every now and then when the creak of the door in the next room announced a new visitor, or heralded a departure. The murmur of voices, far away.
He's dozing when at last she puts her head around the door--jumps all the way awake, and stretches his arms over his head.
He calls to her, already back in the next room--]
You lied, y'know!
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[ If/when he emerges, she is seated on the couch by the window rather than at the desk, the near corner of it out of the direct sunlight. She's kicked off her shoes and folded legs on the seat, a report in hand and a stack of others beside her. ]
I had them bring up food if you're hungry [ she adds. It's on the sideboard, a light lunch laid out beneath cloth napkins to keep the flies away. There are jugs of water and lemonade, too, and one pitcher that's just frozen solid, some chunks seemingly chipped away out of the top already. ]
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[He'd left his trousers on when he'd gone back to sleep, and slipped on a shirt if only to stop gooseflesh from standing on his skin. The tower is cool. Must be all the stone. At the sideboard, he inspects everything on offer. The frozen pitcher is the most interest, in that he can't tell what it is. Darras lifts it, trying to tip it so that he can catch the light.
Hm.]
Read me one of those.
[The reports. He nods to them, before he tips the pitcher in the other direction, trying to see inside.]
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On the couch, Yseult flips over the page she's reading. ] On Justinian 2, the subject was seen meeting with two men in an alley behind the Golden Boar tavern. Lighting was poor, but one of these men appeared to match the description of Venatori agent 137 previously circulated. The two unknown men and the subject spoke for several minutes and then exchanged envelopes. [ Yseult looks up, lifting a brow in question. ] Shall I go on?
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He meets her eye as she looks around at him, and gestures with the cup.]
Oh, aye. Fascinating, this. The agent's name is 'One Thirty-Seven'? Didn't know Tevinter was so ruthless to their children.
[He comes around whether or not she picks up reading again, puts himself on the couch beside her, and slips his feet into her lap. Probably crushes some reports while he's at it, unless she rescues them in time.]
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Minor suspected agents that don't yet have names or identifying characteristics get numbered, [ she explains] Otherwise we'd run out of code names for everyone that needs them.
[ She turns back to her reading, but does not continue aloud. ]
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[Darras settles back on the arm of the couch, taking great care and pride in settling himself in comfortably. He balances the cup of water on his chest, keeping one hand at its side, to keep it upright. Takes a moment to stare up at the ceiling. After letting her read--]
Thought my name was boy for a short while. D'you think my aunt thought I was a minor suspected agent?
[He tips the cup, carefully, so he can take a sip of water.]
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I'll need to go to Wycome at the end of the week, [ she tells him, glancing over and then turning a page ] And Antiva after for a few days. If you wanted, I could meet you at the cottage on my way back. Check in on it.
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What's in Wycome?
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[He tips the cup again, but doesn't take a drink--just watches the way the water sloshes around inside of it, swelling up toward the rim as he leans it one way, receding back into the depths when he leans it the other.]
Sounds like a good distraction. Something different than Kirkwall. The Gallows. I'm for it. Need any help, with your merchants?
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I don't want to be some pity invite. I'll meet you at the cottage. Get supplies, cook you dinner... give you something t' look forward to after Tevinter.
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[He lets silence fall between them, turns the moment over it over in his mind. Comfortable, in the sunlight that falls in the window, with Yseult just there, just within reach.]
So who's going to be along with you, if not me?
[It's not a sulk or a challenge. A question, only.]
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[ She turns back to her reports, but her attention doesn't stick, and after a moment she sets the papers on the table at her elbow. It takes a twist and a push off the near arm to rearrange, but she turns onto her side and fits herself into the narrow space between Darras and the couch back, head on his chest.
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