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 Niamh's Personal Hell

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Niamh
The Hunter
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Posts : 17

PostSubject: Niamh's Personal Hell   26/9/2015, 02:19

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Niamh
The Hunter
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Posts : 17

PostSubject: Re: Niamh's Personal Hell   26/9/2015, 02:58


Blame it on my ADD /afterthought

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She cried silently, shoulders shaking. Even now, years after, she wouldn’t make a sound; Braeden had made sure that she would keep quiet not to disturb anyone, even when she was falling apart. There was a little stream near the clan’s encampment, she remembered going there with Faolan, skipping over stones or crossing at the more shallow edges of the water; they’d sit there for hours listening to birdsong or talking, sometimes her brother would practise his magic and she’d make traps like her mother had shown her. She called this memory into her mind always, always in her darkest moments and she’d remind herself to breathe. Soon the tears stopped and the shaking stopped and she sat very still and still very silent.

Bellen crouched in front of her, question in his eyes; he was the only one who could touch her, but he knew when to check her for permission, too. She appreciated that and gave a small nod. “Feeling better?” She felt weak for crying but again she nodded. She didn’t like him to worry. “I’m fine. I don’t want to leave.” “We can stay here as long as you like.” He had taken her outside Skyhold, down the frozen mountain and into the forest. As always he had known exactly what to do and they spent some time hunting before building a campfire and throwing over a pot for tea. She’d let feeling wash over her along with the hot mixture of calming herbs and now sat, red-eyed, staring into her cup. Bellen took it away and placed his hands over hers. “I mean the Inquisition. The hunters and you,” she said.

“The Inquisitor is not going to make you leave,” said Bellen. She looked him in the eye, visibly shaken. “She might. I attacked a soldier.” “Niv if you hadn’t shot him, I would have.” He let go of her hands, picking up their cups to pour more tea. She stared at his back and brought up a hand to wipe her face from any leftover tears. “That’s because you know. About before. I need to be able to handle these things better.” “You’re doing it again.” “What.” “Blaming yourself.”

He looked to her and she looked away. “Niamh.” “I know that,” she said. He offered her the filled cup and she took it back, sipping the tea as she thought. Finally she said, “I’m not sorry I shot him.” “You know,” Bellen said, crouching down in front of her again. “Garde wasn’t that good at hiding what a wretch he was. I’m sure the Inquisitor picked up on that too.” Niamh offered a non-committal grunt in response. Nethra had given her a shock that had not entirely worn off yet. “Besides if she did make you go, I’d go. So would Bret and Marge and Lefty. They’d be losing more than one hunter.” “You’d go with me?” She knew that if she looked at him then, she’d see the expression he sometimes gave her; she avoided it carefully. “You know I would. I’d follow you anywhere.” She took another sip of her tea; the panic that had begun to build up inside her washed over by the bitter brew. She knew already that Bell cared more for her than he should. She’d also told him that they could never be what he wanted for them. That she could never love him.

“I wish you didn’t say things like that,” Niamh shook her head. Now she did look at him and he shrugged his shoulders in response, as if to say, I can’t help it. It’s the truth. She couldn’t fight him on this front; Bell had been nothing if not a good friend to her. She did like him, just not romantically. She didn’t think she ever could love someone like that again. Not after Braeden.

“I wouldn’t let you come along.” “I wouldn’t ask.” It frightened her when he spoke like this. It frightened her that one day, when this was all over, she wouldn’t be able to say no to him. She swallowed and worried her mind away from the topic. It was pointless to talk about it and she didn’t want to argue with him. “It’s getting dark.” “Yes. We should be going back,” said Bellen. So they drank their tea and packed away the cups and the pot and let their little fire burn away. Night came early in winter; she didn’t like it at all. But Bellen took her hand and she let him, and when at last they reached Skyhold again she felt comforted at least, if not safe.

Bellen made her sleep in the tent and he kept watch outside; just in case, he said, if Garde or even Peyrat got it into their heads to cause more trouble while the Inquisitor wasn’t around. She felt exhaustion in her limbs and in her eyes, but her mind would not let her rest. She gave about an hour, tossing and turning before giving up and crawling out of the tent to join Bellen by the fire. He had his head on his arm, fighting off sleep with only stubbornness. Niamh took a blanket outside and another which she placed around Bellen’s shoulders. He spared her a glance, a whispered thank you before turning his half-closed eyes back to the fire. They sat together in silence and Bellen fell asleep, and she looked on with tired eyes until colour washed over the sky and their fire was nothing but embers.
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