Summary: Stopping to visit Helisma brings up some buried worries for the inquisitor.
a/n: Written for day 01 of #Fictober: There they were, pursuing wisdom.
Pursuing Tranquility
Wide dark eyes that display a strange emptiness move over a carefully written page in a massive tome. Her shoulders always carry a slight slouch, whether it's from fatigue or her state of mind, Rhys cannot be certain. Whenever she speaks with someone, Helisma Derington always drops her chin into an almost demure dip. She can seem otherworldly at a glance, at least until she is inspired to speak of her research. Then her keen mind takes over—all reason and logic. Despite the monotonous tone of her voice, the inquisitor has at times witnessed a spark in her gaze when he's brought her some trinket or token from a particularly interesting kill.
Typically, any bit or scrap from a fade creature can earn that touch of brightness. And even though there is little other sign of emotion in the woman, every time he sees that flash he cannot help but wonder if that might not be a sign of joy or excitement, or at least as some trace of emotion.
He knows as well as any what the symbol of the Chantry branded into her forehead means—she has been cut off from the Fade, and from the emotional center of her being. The sight of it still distresses him and questions flood unbidden into his mind.
Why? Why is this the way? Must so much be stolen from them?
He knew the letter of the law, but the stories he heard … his heart ached for them, for all mages, for Cael, his twin. It always brought his mind around to the same musings he'd shared with Cassandra. Is there a cure? A reversal?
Rhys couldn't bring himself to view a life cut off from emotion as a happy one. How could it be? They lacked the capacity to feel any emotion; a way to make them invisible and uninteresting to demons who sought to taste life and all its splendors. But was there still pain, worry, fear inside the woman behind those empty eyes? If so, then that twinkle Helisma got, the soft smile which curved her thin lips—what did it mean? Could there be some contentment in her state?
Rhys shook his head and finally approached the table the tranquil mage sat at, scribbling away in that massive tome of hers.
"Inquisitor," she said in way of greeting as she laid down her quill. She turned and bent at the waist, her dark hair covering her face like a silky curtain that shone in the candlelit.
When she straightened again, that placid smile spread across her face, and she stared at him with those dark, emotionless eyes.
Rhys bowed with a flourish and a wide grin. "Researcher Derington," he said, greeting her quite formally and with the respect a woman of her wisdom and knowledge deserved, at least in his less than humble opinion. "How are you this fine day?"
She looked toward the window then back at him. "It seems unseasonable cold for this time of year," she replied deadpan as always.
"Yes, but we are high in the mountains."
"Indeed. Perhaps I should seek out a record for comparison." Her words came to him with an air of complete and utter seriousness, but then they always did.
Rhys breathed out a quick chuckle. He had no doubt that next time they discussed the weather she would be armed with numbers and charts. He decided to move on from the topic, dropping a leather sack on the corner of the table. "I have some things for your studies."
She blinked up at him twice.
"And I have wrapped them, as you requested," he explained, the corner of his mouth quirking upward a bit more.
"Excellent, Inquisitor. I have something for you as well." She handed him a leather scroll case. They exchanged containers and stared at one another. "I should get back to my records," Helisma noted with a genteel nod.
"Indeed," Rhys agreed. He tapped the scroll case against his palm, then bowed to her once more. "Enjoy your day, Helisma," he told her. A wave of uncertainty hit him at the realization that it may not be possible.
The prospect loomed large in his mind as his feet carried him around the rim of the rotunda. He couldn't imagine it, her life, any tranquil's life. Even less so when Dorian glanced up from the book he'd been reading and met Rhys' glance.
The way his heart pounded against his rib cage, the feel of his own pulse thrumming through his veins, all at just a glance. Dorian's crooked smile widened Rhys', made his heart sing as his feet beat out a steady staccato rhythm against the stone floor. As if dragged by an otherworldly force, the inquisitor found himself drawn to Dorian's alcove in the library. Rhys leaned against the arm of the chair and pressed his lips against Dorian's. There was more than greeting, or simple desire in the kiss—there was desperation, contentment, fear, joy, worry, and most of all love.
When the kiss broke Dorian blinked up at him, in part confused but also amused. "What brought this on? Not that I mind in the least," he added to assure Rhys there was no chastisement in his meaning.
"I just saw you and needed to taste your lips." He pressed another quick peck to his lover's mouth.
"Well, by all means, taste away."
Dorian moved his feet from the short stool in front of his chair. Rhys took the gesture as an unspoken invitation and sat down. If he wished it, he could just rest his cheek upon Dorian's thigh without the least bit of strain or discomfort. In fact, his hand reached out and brushed across the soft, wine-colored cotton of Dorian's trousers, while his mind muddied again with thoughts that stole the grin from his lips and the light from his sparkling green eye.
He stared at his thumb, rubbing against the pattern of the material, until a warm hand brushed his cheek. With that Rhys' eyes closed and he tipped his cheek into that touch.
"Rhys, what has you so," Dorian's pause came, clearly, because he sought the perfect word, "morose?"
"Too much thought," he stated quietly, ensuring only Dorian would hear his words. He opened his eye and looked at Dorian, whose brows were pulled tight together, creating a rather noticeable line in the center of his forehead. "Do not worry."
"That is my prerogative, my dear inquisitor." Dorian's thumb brushed against Rhys' cheekbone. "Will you truly not confide in me?"
Rhys took a deep breath through his nose and sighed. He turned and kissed the palm of the hand on his cheek. "I have yet to hear any word on my brother."
"I thought you'd received letters from Ostwick months ago."
A nod. "Yes, but there has been no word from Cael."
Dorian's brow furrowed once more, this time it was more a look of puzzlement rather than worry.
"My twin," Rhys explained.
"I didn't realize—"
"Few do. We were twelve last time I saw him."
Perhaps it was the age, or Rhys' tone, but Dorian's dark thick brows rose in realization. "He would have been at the Ostwick Circle then?"
The inquisitor merely nodded.
"Have you spoken to—?"
His question cut off with another nod.
"Could Leiliana not—?"
Rhys shook his head. "This is not Inquisition business, I cannot justify pulling our forces away from necessary duties. Perhaps I should simply write Mother once more. Beseech her to visit the Circle, or send someone in her stead."
"You're worried about him?"
Rhys inched closer to Dorian, staring up into his eyes. "I'm worried about everyone, but yes, he's been in my thoughts quite a bit of late."
"Then perhaps we should—"
His countenance must have halted Dorian's tongue. It was rare, but it had been known to happen once and a while. He lifted the scroll case Helisma had given him. "Perhaps you'll help me get through these tonight, before I set out again."
Dorian smiled and nodded. "Of course, I'll get the wine. You nick something delectable from the kitchens."
"I will," Rhys replied, pressing a lingering kiss to Dorian's temple. In his current mood, spending the night alone in his room, even with Helisma's research notes might be a poor choice. And Dorian's company was always tantamount to every other option.