No one was coming, a truth that rang out clear and loud. Orlais was a big kingdom and the Grey Wardens were stretched thin. Kellam was a lot of things, but watching his people die wasn’t something he was about to do. No, they’d have to flee Orlais before the Darkspawn completely overwhelmed them. The question remained, where did they go. Ferelden dealing with their own blight, Nevarra to their north overrun by the walking dead, and further north was the Anderfels, that had already fallen to the blight.
The decision to risk Ferelden, so they could then go north across the Waking Sea and into the Free Marches. From there Kellam hadn’t been entirely sure what he was going to do until they got there. They were already that far north, why not go a bit further and see if they could find safe haven in Arlathan. The journey wasn’t easy, or short. They had all their people to move, which included children, so once they were in the Free Marches, they slowed down some as they headed north. They were at least relatively safe now, so he wasn’t in a rush to get to Arlathan.
Kellam wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about Arlathan, on one hand it was this ancient city that he was sure held all sorts of mysteries. On the other hand, it meant he would be at someone’s else’s mercy. He didn’t like the idea of being under someone else’s thumb. At least that was what he told himself, deep down it was a lot more about him wanting power, and them having power that he didn’t like.
Upon arriving, Kellam initially had his people hold back just outside Arlathan. He didn’t want to just barge in with an entire clan without warning. What if they didn’t have places for his people. The Hearthkeeper came with him, wanting to check out the market. Everyone else waited outside the city.
Kellam was impressed with what he was seeing so far, as he entered the city. He stopped at the Eluvian and looked it up and down. He’d heard that a network had gone up, but even if there had been one near his clan in Orlais, they had had too many people and things to move. No, travelling the traditional way had made the most sense. From there he just stood and looked around. This wasn’t just some Dalish encampment, this was much bigger, and now all he could think about was how he wasn’t in charge of it all. He tried to push those thoughts out of his mind, the whisperings in his head, tried to just focus on the fact that he needed to speak to someone about protocol.
How did they handle newcomers, was there even a place for them there. Was it ok that they’d set up just outside the city. That was just the tip of the ice berg with the questions he had, but who did he talk to about such things. Did he just go up to people and ask randomly. Probably would have to, he imagined. At the moment though he was content to just look around, looking a bit like a kid in the candy shop. He didn’t want to look lost, now only weak people got lost, but with so much to look at, it was hard not to feel a bit overwhelmed, and that made him feel angry and vulnerable. Two emotions he did his best to try and hide, not wanting to get off on the wrong foot when his people had travelled so far to be here.
He remained standing by the Eluvian, not knowing where to go next, hoping he didn’t look as stupid and overwhelmed that he was beginning to feel. More emotions to try and stuff down, damn it, he should probably just talk to someone, anyone. He picked a random person.
Uh, excuse me? Do you have a minute? He suddenly had the feeling like everyone was looking at him, judging him. His jaw tensed, and he struggled to keep composed with a relatively polite smile etched on his features. He just kept reminding himself, his people had come a long way and needed help, he couldn’t just walk away now.
Megara had become more involved with the engine running Arlathan, much to Ruth’s chagrin. She’d attempted to encourage him, but he felt his talents were being put to enough use since he’d had to part with some of his books unrewarded. Damn purists.
Employing his help wasn’t difficult, though, nor had the Stoner had to twist his arm or threaten to toss him into the streets if he didn’t. She had helped him, in his moment of need, given performing surgery on oneself was wrought with difficulty. So Ruth owed a debt. Something he hated. Restrictions, expectations. Yet time and time again, she was one of the few who put up with his ridiculousness. So, he’d agreed, if only to pretend he wasn’t a complete ass all of the time.
However, he wasn’t at his post this morning and instead was fast asleep in bed. There would be no-one to greet any new arrivals, though travellers were numerous around the Eluvian.
Catching the attention of another traveller, Kellam would be given directions to Megara’s residence. Advised that she was one of those welcoming and aiding new arrivals in any way she could. It was an almost direct path to the healer’s simple dwelling from the Eluvian, and would be easily reached within a number of minutes.
From the outside it appeared modest, if in need of some repair, but it seemed cosy and looked after from the abundance of flowers and carefully tended to plants. For Ruth though, there were only two plants that really meant any worth two him, and one in particular the she-elf was talented in reaping. It was because of this plant he'd slept in, with even the breeze from his open window not enough to stir him.
At least Kellam was being directed, somewhere? His head was on a swivel as he found his way. Not that it was hard to find, the fairly direct path had been easy to follow, but Kellam wanted to see and experience everything. Not to mention the fact that he wanted to have all the paths and places memorised in his mind, just in case. Just in case of what you ask? Well, the possibilities were endless, and Kellam was always thinking ten steps ahead of where he was actually at.
Some doubts flittered through his mind as he approached the, uh, quaint little home. What if they didn’t have enough room for them all? They’d travelled so far for so long, through danger after danger to get there, if they got turned away it wouldn’t look good for him. Some of his people had wanted to stay in the Free Marches, they were tired and hadn’t wanted to continue the journey into Antiva. What would they say now, if they got turned away at the door?
With all his flaws, his mood often ping ponged between solving things with diplomacy and solving things with fear. Whispers entered his mind, the ungrateful sloths, every one of them. He was alone when it came to leading the people, a burden. No one could understand, no one could conceive of the work it went into leading them. He sighed and tried to block the thoughts from his mind, leaving a face etched with a combination of impatience and exhaustion. Maybe with a dash of ‘my time is more important than yours’ and a wee bit of ‘nothing you say will impress me much’.
He reached up and knocked firmly and loudly on the door. Fully expecting someone named Megara to answer, someone that would be total stranger to him. Someone he hoped would have the answers he needed. Was he a bit butt hurt he hadn’t been sent to the leader of the city, oh yes, in spades, but it wasn’t like he could just turn around now, nope he’d have to deal with whatever minion this was and hope she had the answers for him.
The loud knock to the door had Ruth open his eyes with some effort. He’d stare at the ceiling a moment before the cause of the sound had him suck in a breath and yell, “FUCK!” Then it was followed by a flurry of limbs, his body moving while his fogged brain tried to gather sense of what time it was, how long he’d slept, cursing his agreement to this bullshit.
The elf tripped, limbs caught themselves against furniture, doors and walls as he pulled pants on and tried to find a shirt, all while heading to the door where no doubt another series of knocks sounded. “I’m coming, damn it!”
He didn’t even stop to check himself in the mirror, but greeting the visitor would be a half-dressed, bleary eyed Ruth. He’d squint with the light as the door opened first, blinking wildly as he, momentarily blinded, addressed them. “Yes. What? Megara isn’t here right now. How can I as-..”
Words and colour faded from him. The hand shielding his gaze from the sun dropped instantly and, without another phrase uttered, Ruth slammed the door shut in shock. A moment later, it reopened. His blue eye blinked furiously as the other remained hidden by his bed-tussled hair. Abruptly, it closed again.
“... Am I still drunk?” would be heard beyond the frame. “... I must be still drunk. That’s… this…”
Kellam wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he’d been directed to this Megara’s home, but a drunk coming to the door and then slamming the it in Kellam’s face had not been something he’d even considered.
One thing that was clear in the few seconds that the door was that the drunk in question was probably not Megara. At least, it didn’t feel that way to him, but it was just a quick assumption, what did he really know.
Kellam raised his hand to knock again, but before he could the door swung back open. A clearly annoyed look on Kellam’s face, he lowered his hand back to his side and furrowed his brow. Was this some sort of raving lunatic, asking if he was still drunk. He wanted to try and be diplomatic, but this boy was standing on Kellam’s last nerve.
Is that a serious question? Are you really saying that you can’t tell if you’re drunk or not? Here’s a real easy way to tell, if you’ve been actively drinking, you’re probably fucking drunk. If it’s been hours since your last drink, you’re probably just hungover. It’s not a difficult science. He was so fucking annoyed, he wasn’t even sure why he was engaging with this uh, this. Well that was strange, why was Kellam getting a feeling of familiarity about this idiot.
Time really hadn’t made a difference. Ruth’s posture slumped, but not in fear, no indifference. He should have expected nothing to have magically changed about the man who called himself his father.
His eye rolled upwards, thinking. “Given I’m drunk or high… a large portion of the time, it’s a perfectly valid question for me.” Tension snapped his back into straightening though, knowing antagonising Kellam wouldn’t go well either. He just couldn’t help but wit back a retort of his own. He’d never claim it was clever, or entirely a wise choice.
It was then he realised his own father hadn’t recognised him at first. An uncertain chuckle bubbled out, “Well… I don’t think either of us had this in mind for today.” Ruth felt himself reverting, shrinking in confidence the more he stood on the house's threshold, staring at a man who’d made his childhood a living nightmare. The urge to slam the door again, bolt it and flee manifested in the nervous tapping of his foot while furious anger and a child's terror warred inside his chest.
High or drunk? A good portion of the time? What the fuck kind of city had he brought his people to. Surely he hoped that, this one pathetic drunk wasn’t what he could expect from all of Arlathan, that would be exceedingly disappointing.
It was then that it fully dawned on him just who he was looking at, at first there was disbelief, perhaps a brief flicker of something more, but then quickly back to a look of total and utter disappointment. Perhaps there had been times since Ruth had left the Clan, that Kellam had hoped that perhaps one day Ruth would prove him wrong about his son, and maybe make something out of himself, but now it was clear he’d turned out just as Kellam had expected.
Hello son. The word son wasn’t spoken with anything akin to love, as the voices whispered into Kellam’s mind about what a loser his son had turned into, how utterly hopeless he was, how it had all turned out for the best that Ruth had never succeeded at being Kellam’s First. If anything Kellam looked almost satisfied, simply because he believed that he had turned out to be right, that Ruth would amount to nothing.
Well, you’re clearly not Megara, who I was sent here to see, but it’s good to see that you’ve accomplished so much. Drunk and high? Living off someone else’s scraps? What a fool I was to think you would never amount to anything. His tone a combination of indifference and contempt, however was it possible that this man before him was his son, it was laughable.
Later he’d probably find it amusing that in the years walked across the continent, it was likely he was more worldly exposed than his own blood. At least that’s what Ruth would claim, if only to have some leg to stand on later. As the cogs and light came into life, though, he watched the slow glimmer of recognition followed by the look Ruth understood best. Even the tone with which his paternal figure used to address him almost caused him to laugh abruptly, shoulders shaking with the effort of not giving a reaction.
He blinked slowly as he disclosed being on the hunt for the Stoner, glancing down at himself. Now only realising that he’d only managed to scramble on a pair of pants and was currently at the door, shirtless. Well, he may not have been worthy of a vasslin in his father’s eyes but it didn’t mean he couldn't honoured their history somehow. “Clearly. I am not. She’s in Orlais and will return tomorrow.” Though at the jab to his own admission, Ruth barely held his tongue, eyes narrowing sharply. “And I see you are still the heartless, stone faced and belligerent tyrant I left behind.”
Ruth’s frown turned almost into a sneer and a hand reached back to hold on to the frame of the door. Gods, he wanted to hit him, but what good would that do?
“... Funny, because she left me in charge,” his shoulders shrugged heavily, the smallest of grins faintly appearing. “So.. I guess that means you need my help for once.” Flashing his father a shit-eating smirk, Ruth inhaled the best breath and smell of the day. However small and short it lasted.
The voices jeered in his mind, hurling insults and threats left and right. His son was nothing, less than nothing, and now he was expected to grovel to him. If he’d shown even a tenth of his true potential perhaps Kellam would have gone easier on the boy, but at every turn Ruth was just a constant reminder that he was a useless child who was the cause of Amara’s death.
He had to find a way to swallow those feelings though, because his clan needed Arlathan to work out, at least until they could regroup. By now they were well on their way to clearing Orlais from the Darkspawn, so it wasn’t like they’d have to stay in Arlathan indefinitely, if they didn’t want to. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his face as impassive as possible, while the whisperings bounced around his brain.
Is this how you usually conduct business, standing in the doorway half naked? He asked, desperately trying to cling to the higher ground, despite the fact that it was fast slipping out from under him. It did make him question the good sense of this Megara person, that she would leave someone so unprofessional in charge in her absence. I’m here on behalf of the clan, not for myself. If it had been just for himself he would have walked away already, but his clan needed this. They were tired and on their last supplies, being turned away simply wasn’t an option at the moment.
Fogged, he’d be far meaner and rebuking Kellam with further embarrassing recounts of his life void of “guiding” influence. Hungover and caught off guard with his family's appearance on the doorstep, Ruth kept some reign on himself. The look even crossed his face, barely bit back in lieu of a private smirk. Still, it was pleasing to watch the man before him squirm to keep a level head and hand in dealing with his worst creation. There were masks to maintain.
Again Ruth would shrug his shoulders, hands slid into the pockets of his pants, as if the chilled air against his bare chest meant nothing. “I conduct a variety of business, but I won't deny using that as a tactic, look at me.” Ruth's smirk flashed devilishly, but it soon sobered back into a cold stare.
“Well. In that case.” Ruth looked past his father. “I suspect you all want tea.” It wasn’t a question and he’d retreat a step into the small cottage. “... I keep the stronger stuff for myself.” Eyes deliberately lingered on his old man, but Ruth kept his expression unreadable, instead he gestured inside.
This definitely wasn’t how he imagined his day to be going when Kellam woke up. Though he had, over the years, imagined what a reunion with his son might be like, this also definitely was not one of the scenarios he’d imagined.
He'd always pictured something more dramatic, perhaps a clash of wills or a grudging acknowledgment of mutual growth. But instead, here he was, standing awkwardly on the doorstep of his wayward son, being invited in for tea. What a strange turn of events indeed.
Tea would be… acceptable. Being faced with Ruth was conflicting. It was a sharper reminder of Amara’s death, something that with Ruth’s absence had been easier to move past. Now it was all there staring at him in the face. He didn’t want to be sad, so instead he did his best to bury that emotion and focus on better emotions, like anger and spite.
I suppose you'll be the one to show us around? His tone was cool and detached, but there was a sharp edge to it that suggested he was not entirely pleased with the current situation. He stepped inside and glanced around at the lodgings where Ruth was currently calling home. Kellam was wholly unimpressed. He still hadn’t explained why he was there, but then he also imagined that considering the blight in Orlais not having been over long, one could draw a conclusion that it might have something to do with that.
While his face may mirror a youthful, thinner Kellam, Ruth’s eyes reflected the sharpness of his mothers. They’d follow his father’s back, glancing briefly to the two following in behind and offering them a nod. If he refused them, Megara would have his neck and even he knew there were limits to the stoners grace.
“I can be.” And then immediately offering them both an out if possible. “Though, Megara should return tomorrow if you would rather she do it.” There was also the possibility she would find it a fitting punishment, but he put that from his mind as it rose from the mix.
Walking deeper into the cottage, the group were greeted with a homely dwelling, despite the trail of blankets, disturbed path trailing through from one room. Ruth did pick up a few pieces, fixed the disturbed furniture that he’d bumped on his way to the door, but he maintained his shirtless defiance, the dalish scrollwork adorning sections of his back, shoulders and arms. He also closed his bedroom door for good measure, since it was none of their business what he did and why, it hadn’t been for nearly twenty years.
Gaining back to his father’s position he’d gesture to the kitchen table. At one end sat a tea set, clean and ready for use. All that was needed would be the hot water which the younger elf now moved to do. “Take a seat and you can tell me how I can immediately help you.”
Sometimes Kellam wondered, how things might be different had Amara had lived. His expectations for Ruth still would have been high, but perhaps Amara’s love might have tempered him more, it was really hard to say. She’d always been able to see the good in Kellam, despite his rough exterior, she saw a side to him he never showed anyone else in his life, not even his own son.
As their reunion continued, there was a clear tension hanging over them. Kellam of course couldn’t actually see all the wrongs he’d made while raising Ruth. In his mind he’d just been a typical father and clan leader with typical expectations. Life wasn’t easy and it especially wasn’t easy for the elves. That was how Kellam had rationalised years of abuse. None of that mattered now though, because the clan needed Arlathan, and apparently that meant going through his son.
Well, it’s not a vast priority at the moment. I have everyone set up waiting outside the city. He didn’t really say he didn’t want Ruth to do it, but he didn’t say that he did either. Instead he was vague, because the more he talked to Ruth, the more a curiosity began to seep in. What had his son been doing all this time. He didn’t want to care, but at the same time he found his mind wandering there nonetheless. He sat down when indicated, trying not to look around too obviously much.
I would appreciate it if you could direct us to a suitable location where my people can set up camp. Despite the tension between them, Kellam managed to keep his tone civil. His primary concern was the well-being of his clan, and he wouldn't let his personal feelings towards Ruth interfere with that. I didn’t want to presume they could set up within the city, so right now they are just waiting on word from me. They’re tired, some sick, a few injured. It’s taken us a lot to get here, with losses along the way.
Of course everyone preferred the Stoner’s cheer filled explanation and tour of the City and it’s amenities. Megara was all to willing to entertain the stupid, answering their remedial questions without a hint of sarcasm. He tried it and got a smack for it. Ruth would never understand why she put up with his antics, his drinking, the verbal abuse he’d hurl her way as he raged at the world.
Weakness was not permitted when dealing with his father, yet Kellam would always find something in his son to gripe about, punish him for. Not once could the younger man recall a time where his father had offered him a kind word. And now here he was, with some of the other elders perched around one end of a kitchen table having tea, with him, the pariah of their clan.
Kettle filled, Ruth’s palm rested against the ceramic to bring the water to temperature. In the few moments he’d relax a little as Kellam agreed the Stoner was preferable company. “I will tell her on her return… but I’m going to stick my neck out and bet you’ll likely deem her unworthy.” He’d place the kettle back into the centre, meeting his father’s stare to make his point. “She’s far better at it than either of us would be. You need to be a people person, and we have… varying degrees of success when it comes to that skill.” Not that Ruth believed his father had that ability at all, but he’d take the jabs when he could.
Yes, the clan, it was always someone else, never the family. The healer's lips pursed, arms folded over his chest while he mulled over their needs. “Mmm, Outside is fine, we have a dormitory, but I doubt they would be ready for you all at such short notice.” Then, at hearing of some being sick and injured, Ruth’s shoulders rolled awkwardly. “That’s an easier thing to remedy. I can tend to them. There with the clan, or here. There are a number of clinic’s set up if they don’t want the hands of the clans ‘disappointment’ up in their business.”
Shaking his head, Ruth picked up a cup and went to find something on the counter.
Perhaps another father would see Ruth’s current situation as impressive. While he was only filling in for this Megara, they clearly trusted Ruth enough to allow them to take their place when it came to greeting new people. However, Kellam wasn’t most fathers, Ruth could be the leader of Arlathan and Kellam would still find reasons to be disappointed in his only son.
What Kellam was seeing though, was a son who was a drunk, who was high, who was living in another person’s home. He didn’t see a son who had a job, who was trusted to fill in for someone important. Instead he saw the disappointment he’d always seen. His expectations for Ruth had always been high, and Ruth had never met them. He’d left the clan because he couldn’t meet them, and now he was still not living up to Kellam’s expectations. The voices in his mind didn’t help, they only reaffirmed his own thoughts about his son.
I would… appreciate the help. He tried not to choke on the words, but he was wore the fuck out and some of the injured and sick were the clan’s healers, leaving them short on healer’s. He hated feeling inadequate, and going to his son of all people for assistance just made it taste that much more bitter in his mouth.
Some of those effected have been the healers which has stretched us a bit thin. He explained, he didn’t like feeling inadequate, especially around his son. It pained him, and it probably showed on his face. He fidgeted in his seat, there was a small voice, very small, in him that said he should ask Ruth some personal questions, probably was the voice of his dead wife that sometimes made it through the crowd of voices that plagued his mind. He wasn’t really sure what to ask though, but as the image of Amara flashed through his mind, he, very awkwardly, came up with a question and as the words left his mouth, he immediately wished he could take them back.
