Closed Three if by Sea of Grass

[Ronan]

Ronan laughed at Sam's retort. Efficiency was one way of putting it... He listened and nodded to Sama'el, brightening a little at the mention of Kavala. He was looking forward to seeing her again, even if he had no idea what it would bring. "Don't be silly Mealla. It wasn't long ago Sama'el taught me Webbing. My father never had the chance to teach me. It's nothing to be ashamed of." He felt like he needed to dig into her a little harder. She was so brash, and then up and down again, always changing. He never quite knew how she'd react. What was it? Did she like Sama'el more than she was prepared to let on? It was disconcerting, nonetheless. He looked to Sam, agreeably. The Origin. That was key, keeping the lines clear and stable between Endrykas and Riverfall. Ronan remembered making an Origin with Sam'el. It had been a very different experience, a stage above simply entering the Web and following the strands. He turned to Mealla again, watching her reactions. He was intrigued by her, and couldn't help wanting to understand where her volatility came from. After all, it wasn't many seasons ago that Ronan had been a rather... unstable person. "Mealla," he broached, unsure if he should even be saying anything, "is there something you want to get out in the open. It can be apprentice to apprentice if you like, and Sam doesn't have to hear. You seem... distracted by something."

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Whatever Sama'el might have said to Mealla, Ronan beat him to the punch, and he was almost glad of it. He had wondered if perhaps she might open up to her fellow apprentice, even though he was a sworn blood-brother to her most-hated-mentor. Sama'el liked to think he was easygoing. Of course, there were more shadows to him of late since the curse of the bear goddess took his young wife. He looked down at the bits of preserved food he had pulled from his bag and began to chew on a piece of jerky; that would keep his mouth busy for a while. His eyes were on the ground. Let them go apart from him and talk if they wished. It would be better for all of them. He could answer her question then.

[Mealla Stormsong]

Mealla was swiftly beginning to wish that she had never opened her mouth as she stared in unconcealed horror at Ronan. Talking openly was the last thing on her mind, the very last thing she wanted to do, especially since she had a tendency to let things slip. She wasn’t ready to admit – she couldn’t even acknowledge it herself, for the love of the gods! - that she might, just might be more than a little attracted to the person she wanted so desperately to hate, and that she only really wanted to hate him because she was petrified of failing, and of her judging him, and so self-loathing was projected on him. Who had ever heard of a Watch apprentice who had never even touched the Web? But her attention had been on learning, on trying to better understand the gift that Zulrav had granted her. It was, after all, what people had cared about more. She was Stormwarden. Able to tame the winds. Or supposed to. Her hands found her hair again as she avoided their gaze, her entire posture awkward and ready for flight. Oh, she could pretend that there was some other matter bothering her, but she’d never been good at lying and thinking on the spot. She would slip, let it out, and then she wouldn’t be able to live with it. It was better for Sama’el to think that the only feelings she had towards him were hatred. She could deal with that, because they weren’t feelings that could be seen as weak. And yet... Yet a part of her did want him to know just so that she could stop having to keep it a secret, and so that he could maybe look at her with something other than dislike, but it was wrong to want, because she didn’t want it, not really. Either way, she was convinced he hated her, because who wouldn’t hate someone like her? She’d hate herself, if she had to deal with her. “There’s nothing wrong,” she finally said, her words sounding too much like a denial even to her own ears: unconvincing. “But thank you for asking. I’m just nervous. About what’s coming up ahead. But... I’m... I’ll be sure to come to you if ever I need to talk about something.” Her gaze unconsciously drifted to Sama’el, lingering on him, and she bit her lip. “Or someone.” And for once there was no defensiveness, no snapping comment to finish it. Just nerves. Fear.

[Ronan]

Even when he spoke so openly, inviting him to talk to her in private, she continued to look flustered and refused to meet his eyes. He knew that though... he recognised it from Kavala, and even from himself. She was fighting something inside, but for the time being, it seemed it would be a personal battle - and she was unwilling to share. He nodded softly to her, and spoke more carefully this time. He understood now, that he shouldn't push her any further. She would speak in her own time he could see. "Okay." Was that a "someone" he had caught at the end? This battle was personal indeed, but who was it regarding? Family? Someone from the past? One of them? Nevertheless, he left it to her to decide when to reveal whatever was eating away at her. "Sama'el or I can introduce you to Webbing. I only learnt it recently, and I promise it's not too difficult to get the hang of... not when you're Drykas at least."

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"Not every member of the Watch can Web," he said quietly, having finished his snack. He rarely lingered over a meal unless at a safe camp. "There's danger in all magic, and some just don't take to it. But the Watch aren't a bunch of cookie-cutter copies of each other. There are some basic, necessary skills, yes. But everyone follows where their natural talents lay, too." He waited for a snide, cutting remark, but, when none was made, he continued. It was time for some storytelling, to get to know one another a bit better. "I was only initiated because the man thought I might be worthy of his daughter, and it certainly helped me get into the Watch, but it wasn't necessary. An Ankal must be able to be a link between his Pavilion and the Web. But the Web is a mess right now; it might not be the best time." On top of that, she ought to be focusing on those skills that were important to her becoming a full-fledged member of the Watch: riding, swordplay, horsemanship. But he wasn't going to tell her that, because she would just find some way to take offense.

[Mealla Stormsong]

“But I want to,” Mealla said, again before she could stop herself. Her gaze was, for once, earnest as she continued to look at Sama’el, having not glanced away for even a moment. There was a brightness to her cheeks, a flustered flush, still not fully recovered from Ronan’s offer to confide in him, but she forced herself to ignore it. If she paid it no attention then neither would they, or so she hoped. It was something her father had always said worked. “I want to be able to Web. I am Drykas,” as if that explained everything. She’d be able to prove herself if she could Web, and, not just that, but she wouldn’t have to depend on others; she could stand alone, and people would respect her; not put her down. “And I thank you, Ronan,” she said, turning to quickly glance at him, still feeling too awkward, too afraid of being caught out to get defensive. Sometimes it was better to act meek to try and get rid of any and all suspicion. If she could act pleasant, then nothing was wrong, right? Everything was perfectly fine... Everything. There needed to be no prying or discovering, though her gaze once again involuntary found its way to Sama’el even as she continued to speak to Ronan. “For the offer. That would be wonderful. If you could. “And isn’t now,” and this was to Sama’el, “the best time to learn because of exactly that, because it is a mess? Sometimes it’s better to be thrown in at the deep end. I-I can do it. Please don’t doubt me. I’ve had enough people dou-” She stopped herself short, eyes flashing, angry with herself, and clenched her fists, taking a breath, trying to hide the blush that came with revealing too much. “I-I can do it," she hurried on, still managing to keep her tempt under control and not snap. "Trust me. I want to. Please. If you won’t help me, then I’ll get Ronan to, but I will do it. I am Drykas. Let me. Please. Please, Sama'el.” It was one of the only times she'd used his name.

[Ronan]

Ronan nodded to accept Mealla's thanks, but he remained quiet again, listening to her plea. He could see it in her face. He could hear it in the high strung vocals. She truly wanted to learn. He could see no reason why Sam wouldn't teach her - he wasn't even entirely sure what his brother had meant. The Web was a Drykas Mystery. The vast field of connections and threads that bound them all. Surely ever Drykas should have the opportunity to become a part of it? Her cheeks were still flushed red, and though it was from embarrassment, Ronan didn't realise that. He figured it was in anticipation as she fought her corner. She wanted this. The red of need struck her visage. He turned to his brother, wondering - hoping - that Sama'el would agree to her request. Because if he didn't, he was unsure what he'd say to her when she came to him for lessons. He couldn't really go against his blood brother, could he?

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Of course, it would be like this. He considered her thoughtfully, what she said and what she almost said, her excitement and her sudden shift into what could only be calculated tractability. She had fire; he would give her that. In fact, he admired her passion and tenacity, perhaps too much. He got a queer sort of feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever they locked horns. There were competing desires to please her and to do what he knew he ought to do, which always infuriated her. And everything hurtful she said found its way under his armor, barbed words that dug through him slowly, poisonously, searching for his heart. He wondered then if the Sayaph had put them together to knock him out of his misery for having lost Issima, the misery he tried to hide, at least when working. His pavilion knew his quiet grief. How not? This really shouldn't be said in front of Ronan, who was her fellow apprentice, but she always pressed things at awkward times, and perhaps Ronan's presence would calm her, or at least her own desire not to look a fool would rein in her tongue when she didn't get the exact answer exactly how she wanted to get it. And exactly when. "I will initiate you, if that is your wish," he said agreeably, but not now. "Initiating you now would not help at all with the effort. It will take you long weeks to learn to do much more than spin little webs off of yourself, or to make small journeys on a Web that is no longer as safe as it once was. Also, I cannot in good conscience initiate you now, when I can't get you to spend an hour with me in training you in the skills that are absolutely necessary to joining the Watch, of which Webbing is not. "I do not doubt that you can learn to Web, nor do I doubt that you could be a greater rider and swordswoman. I fully believe you can be, but I need to see your commitment to those necessary skills before it would be wise to add another." He paused, waiting for an outburst, but only for a moment. It was a Drykas mystery, but one practiced by Ankals and Elders, and some members of the Watch, but certainly not all. "Even Ronan will not be able to do much good now," he said, not unkindly but aware of his brother's level of skill. "He can help identify weaves perhaps, if the damage is not great, but he cannot create Origins or manipulate larger webs. Just now, you are both more valuable as guardians. I know it is not what you want to hear, but I do believe it is the wisest course. "But I say again, if you can devote yourself to protecting the Watch's weavers during this crisis, working at those skills that I have tried to help you with, then I promise I will initiate you and oversee your training with the Web. Much as I continue to help Ronan." After all, his brother had stood at his shoulder, astrally and physically, as Sama'el wove webs into origins all along their route to Avanthal. It had been helpful to let Ronan hold this thread or that thread, handing them over when Sama'el was ready. He had an extra set of hands, and they worked well together, but Ronan too ought to know how difficult the simplest things were when he was first initiated, and how it would be time consuming to hold Mealla's hand for the weeks or months it would take her to learn the basics of the craft, time that ought be spent repairing the Web for the safety of their people. And who knew how long it would take her to learn if she was as obstinate in that as she was with every other skill Sama'el attempted to impart upon her.

[Mealla Stormsong]

Mealla had to bite down on her stab of disappoint, but bite down she did as she simply nodded, although her hand tightened almost imperceptibly as she continued her patting of Andraste’s neck. She wanted to learn now, because Webbing was a key skill, and it was what made Drykas Drykas, or at least in her mind. No other people had such a thing as the Web, and if she couldn’t even engage with it - touch it - then was she really a true Drykas? She wanted so desperately to be a warrior, and wanted so desperately to prove herself worthy. Another hindrance then, which was not fair, and for a moment she felt a whisper of resentment, before she stamped down on that too. She supposed he had a point, although she didn’t want to admit it. If all she could do was spin little threads, what was the point? But it was a start, and sometimes just making a start made things so much better, because it was actually doing something, no matter how small. But, “That’s all I ask,” she said, somehow managing to keep her voice even and devoid of the disappointment. She was sure her face was still a little too red, her eyes a little too heated, but she was sure that she could explain those away. “That you will teach me. So I thank you for just thinking about it and accepting.” And that was all she could really think to say, and she once again turned away from him, focusing her attention entirely on Andraste, making an act of fiddling with the straps of the yvas.

[Ronan]

Ronan listened carefully to his brother. Sometimes it was best not to speak beyond the words he had already let out. Sama'el was an Ankal, and had a whole cadre of skills to match. Ronan did not doubt his wisdom, not even for a moment, even if it was sometimes initially unclear. It was not a simple exchange, and Sama'el had the truth of it when spoke of Mealla's problems as an apprentice. Those issues were ever present, and neither of them could fathom it out. When he spoke of Ronan, he spoke the truth too. Sama'el was more adept in the Web. He could craft Origins, and tether parts of the Web Ronan had no hope of dealing with yet. He nodded, blinking heavily, not shamed, but reserved. Mealla reacted well to Sama'el's final promise. It seemed she would be able to bide her time if it meant learning such a valuable skill. Ronan brightened a little, smiling at his brother's wisdom and reasoning. He was a leader after all. "That sounds fair," he added quietly after they had both finished talking, "there are other things to learn in the mean time anyhow."