#claudine:ic

[skyheld]

@mercysought asked:   ❝And what’s more, *you* know how we know. Which means there’s a lot of damn knowing around this table, right here.❞ from loane to claudine

The Wardens smell.

The iron of blood and armour,  the sweet and sour of weeks-old sweat,  the dry dust of the road,  the whisper of taint in their veins.   It’s duty they smell of,  Claudine thinks,  wrinkling her nose.   It’s duty and hard work;  it’s dishonour and repentance and sacrifice.   It’s pity and pitifulness.   The odour has seeped into the walls of this place,  has sunk into the floorboards,  has settled in the curtains that keep out the wind and the faded tapestries reminiscent of the noble patrons who gifted them.   Even the chairs,  even this table,  even the maps and books on top of it.   The Wardens smell and their keep smells like them.

The casteless woman is no different.   Surface-born,  Claudine guesses,  not that she actually knows;  she assumes she would recognize someone born in Orzammar,  that even if they too were casteless they’d have some sort of...  stone-ness to them.   Gorim has it,  and so has Claudine,  of course  ---  anything else is unthinkable.   The woman in front of her doesn’t.   There’s nothing to her at all.   Just that smell.

Claudine sinks back in her seat,  insolently at ease in her lavishly embroidered doublet,  her posture quite the opposite to the solemn wardens leaning over the map.   She doesn’t much like leaning against the stuffed back of the chair,  which is so old it’s impossible to tell what colour the fabric once was and has probably served as a home for several families of mice while the keep has stood empty.   But she does like showing she doesn’t care for any of this warden business.   She hopes it rattles them.   She hopes it makes them as angry as being considered one of them makes her.

Her smile is a dagger,  poison dripping from her teeth.

“ If you speak of my  ‘ ability ‘  to sense the darkspawn,  Warden---  what was it?   Sloane?   Then I’m afraid I must make you disappointed.   I heard so much about it,  and yet I never felt more than a slight tingle every now and then.   I suppose if you’re really sure the darkspawn are on the move we ought to do something about it.   But it seems an awful big risk to take because some of you feel a little under the weather. “

She eyes the wardens around the table,  not wrinkling her nose,  but almost,  so they can see she’s making an effort not to do it.   When she moves to sling a leg over ther armrest,  so her snofleur-leather boot catch the candlelight,  her own scent fills the room  ---  the opulent rose,  the arrogant lily-of-the-valley and the bold marjoram of her perfume.   Claudine smells,  but not like a Warden.   She refuses.

“ I mean,  with the state of this keep  ---  are you certain it’s not something you ate?   I did not touch the stew served yesterday,  but I’m sure all of you did.   Perhaps what you’re sensing is the cook trying to cheapen rations with rat meat. “

[skyheld]

@mercysought​ said:  The land teems with bitter ghosts. from anora to claudine!   |  SEND ME MEMES Y’ALL

Claudine bows her head under the smoke-darkened sky,  a rare,  sombre mood upon her like clouds dulling the splendour of the sun.   Denerim is still smouldering,  and will be for days yet.   Hundreds of fires dot the lands around,  stark against the tar-black fields and the abandoned villages.   On the roof of Fort Drakon the archdemon lies dead,  the act of removing it a feat of engineering that has yet to be figured out.   Morrigan has left.   Alistair has left.   She cared little for them,  and yet their absence is felt.

No,  even her brightness is dimmed today.

She looks to the Queen.   Regal and composed beside her on the battlements,  Anora is a picture of strength to the people who might be watching from below,  but her words seem to hint otherwise.   She has plenty to worry about.   For what was lost,  and what will come  ---  the long,  slow task of rebuilding which lays before her.   Perhaps that’s what she sees,  with her gaze on the horizon.   Claudine doesn’t know.   They’re strangers,  for all that they stand beside each other now as the saviours of this kingdom.

But I put all my coins on you for some reason,  so you better deliver something good.   I made you Queen.   You’d just dare to be a weak one.

“ Dwarves do not become ghosts “,  she says.   “ Real dwarves,  that is  ---  Orzammar dwarves.    We return to the Stone from which we came,  where we belong.   The only marks we leave on this world are in the things we do and  the things we make.   Those are the only shadows our lives cast behind us. “

It’s seldom that she shares anything about her former home like this.   Trivial things,  yes.   Everyone who has travelled with her this past year knows how much better the food,  the pillows,  the servants,  the jewelry in Orzammar is compared to Ferelden;  they’ve heard the complaints to death.   But what her people believe,  what she believes  ---  she has kept those things close.   Where her heart would be if she thought she had one.

But something makes her speak.

“ I suppose we’re lucky. “   Her smile is crooked;  it’s not really a smile.   “ Because if there were dwarven ghosts,  they would outnumber the living.   They would outnumber you humans.   Every corner of Thedas,  all but seas and islands  ---  there would be ghosts under the surface,  trapped with the darkspawn.   I suppose we’re lucky,  because even though we can never forget what we lost,  at least we can pretend we’re still something compared to what we were.   When truly...”

“ ...truly,  imagine Denerim was all you had left.   Everything within these walls youd had,  and nothing more.   Imagine those black fields continued to the end of the world,  and that all your people but the ones in here were dead.   This city,  your city,  and nothing else.   Not even a road leading from it.   That is Orzammar. “

She's not looking at the Queen.   She’s not sure what she’s trying to tell her.   Don’t be upset,  because we had it worse?   That’s useless.   If she believed something like that Claudine herself would never be upset,  because she was born a princess and had it better than most.   That has never stopped her from feeling sorry for herself.   Not once.

And the whole comforting others thing is tedious,  if that’s even what she’s trying to do.

“ You’ll be fine “,  she says,  turning to leave.   “ Ferelden will be fine.   Grieve,  if you like  ---  but don’t worry too much about ghosts.   They don’t matter.   Neither do Memories at the end of the day. “

It’s the living who matter.   She almost says it,  but it feels too personal.   Too intimate.   It’s us.

Even if they strike us from the memories,  or if ghosts condemn us for our failures,  it’s still us who matter.

[skyheld]

@ourdawncomes​ liked for a starter  (  for thora unfortunately  )  !

“ Why,  aren’t you DELIGHTFUL!   A duster from the Carta,  all dressed up and playing the lady  ---  one could almost be fooled.   I see why they love you so. "   Winking,  as though they share a secret,  Claudine snatches a decanter from a passing servant and refills the Herald’s glass without asking.   “ I do so love a good joke. “

[skyheld]

@illithicdreams​ liked for a starter  !

“ You’re a bard?   Why,  how DELIGHTFUL  ---  you must play,  then,  this tavern is so dreary. “   Expectant,  she half-turns towards the other woman with the goblet of wine pressed to her lips,  smiling over its gilt edge as though completely unaware she has just insulted a very fine establishment and a very proud owner.   “ Go on,  don’t be shy. “