chatroom | (no subject)

So far, Daithi thinks.

He knows than to voice such concerns, however, and after offering a soft smile, a thoughtful murmur, he replies, instead: "you seem to do well. Did you learn in the Circle?" (Daithi is doubtful, of course, — though polite enough not to assume aloud.)

Brigham regards the Herald with a slightly puzzled expression. He assumes, then, that Daithi meant tending to the things he cannot simply heal. After all, it is obvious that he learned to control his magic in the Circle, isn't it? To have such control otherwise is unfeasible, he thinks.

"I had no field knowledge, before leaving the Circle," he explains. "I was willing to learn, as hands were needed, and the Inquisition's surgeons were kind enough to teach."

Daithi nods, a thoughtful — if expectant — expression in place. He smiles, then.

"Lucky for me, hm." Lucky for Brigham as well, though, to meet the Herald of his faith. Though Daithi thinks more of their acquaintanceship, the growing ease in conversation, the appreciation for that, when he comments, "doubtful we'd have met otherwise."

Not particularly lucky, the Enchanter thinks, though he does not disagree aloud. Earlier they had spoken of the fact that, were Brigham not there, another would be in his place, so he does repeat himself. He cants his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement.

"Aye," he agrees to the next, "though I am grateful that we have." Even if Daithi were not Herald, he is a reasonable man, not unpleasant, and Brigham finds himself glad of his company now (strange, to think something so casually; he's not sure when that began).

"Likewise," Daithi answers. His smile is soft ... though grows impish in the next moment. Tilting his head, "I trust you won't tell anyone the Inquisitor is playing favorites."

"Of course." The reply is smooth and immediate, suggesting Brigham doesn't actually think Daithi is playing favorites. It is... nice, if a little overwhelming, to hear that Daithi might actually be glad to have met him— assuming the sentiment isn't just rote niceties. Even so, he doesn't consider himself any better than the next healer, when considering equal talents. That someone would prefer him for his person, rather than his skill, is something that doesn't cross his mind at all.

He chuckles, far from unkind, and glances elsewhere in the tent.

"You're very earnest, aren't you." The remark was another jest, of course, — ever something to guide conversation, to save others the miscomfort of silence, — though Daithi supposes his attempts are as meager as he often feels. (Perhaps for the tasteless quality of his natural humor. Perhaps for either belonging to the Inquisitor.)

"It's a good thing to be in this world," he says, a matter of reassurance. (The observation was not meant to mock.) His gaze returns to Brigham, then, soft and affectionate.

"Earnest," Brigham echoes slowly. He is not sure why the Herald might bring such a thing up suddenly. Then, "I suppose so." He lifts his gaze to meet Daithi's. He too thinks that earnestness is a good thing, "So long as it is tempered with thought, and tact."

Daithi thinks several jest in response, then, though given most of their conversation, ... he opts for something neutral, instead. "Suppose that's true," he answers, offering another soft smile.

Earnestness without thought was simply rashness, and without tact, bluntness, neither of which served to be productive. The Herald, an elf among so many humans, hardly needed a lecture about minding one's words though, Brigham understands that much. So, he changes the topic after a small nod and a moment of quiet.

"You and your companions have been making headway where the soldiers could not," he says, and pauses for the briefest moment to consider he will soon be (or rather, is now, perhaps?) one of those companions. "I imagine your confrontation with the Avvar challenger shall be soon, then."

"— ah," Daithi agrees, noise in his throat. "Perhaps even tomorrow." His smile widens. "Should be an interesting day for you," he suggests. Then, remembering Brigham's answer (or rather, a certain ambiguity —), "you are joining us, aren't you?"

An interesting day... Brigham cannot argue with that. Then again, no day since his arrival has been particularly uneventful. He nods, pauses momentarily for such a question, and then nods again. "If it please you," he adds. Daithi had left the decision to him, kindly, but the Enchanter cannot fully accept such a thing. It seems wrong to assert what he will or will not do in direct relation to the Herald, even when told the choice is his.

Daithi pauses as well, then, clicking his tongue. — glancing his gloves to conceal a sudden miscomfort. His smile returns in the next moment. "Of course." He raises his head.

"But the decision is, still, yours."

He is quiet for a moment, hazel eyes flickering from Daithi's gaze to his gloves. Such a moment might be lost on others, but the Enchanter has spent years now looking for fear between anger, loneliness between laughter in his apprentices. He is reminded in that moment that, hallowed as he sees the Herald, he was just a man before. Such new power might be unnerving, though Daithi is using it well.

Brigham's voice is softer when he answers. "I shall, then."

His smile widens once more, a seeming innocence of the gentle nature of Brigham's answer (a willful inattention, an uncertain appreciation —).

"Good," Daithi replies, continuing in hopes of forgetting the moment. "I imagine Sera will complain about another mage, ... but she's an easier companion than some might think." He pauses. "Have you met her?"

Ah, yes, Sera. "I have," the Enchanter replies, though his tone is one hard to read, underlined with perhaps faint amusement, perhaps something less pleased. The elf girl and he tended to give one another a wide berth; Brigham had no time for her games, and she found no amusement in his lackluster reactions to her pranks. He didn't mind the girl, herself, though he wonders if she feels the same.

Daithi watches Brigham, raising a brow as though to weigh such an answer, though his smile remains in place. "I take it she was up to something," he suggests. (Sera so often is, after all.)

"Aye," he replies, but seems unbothered - and unsurprised by such a thing. He adds after a moment, "I'm not sure she cares for me."

Daithi chuckles.

"I wasn't sure, myself, for a time." He is a Dalish mage, after all, and Sera is hostile of either. Daithi supposes the initial comment was ill thought, then, ... though even in purposeful avoidance of such matters, a certain amount of childishness is familiar. (— requires less pretense.) She is an easy presence for Daithi, at least.

The Enchanter realises not everyone is respectful of the Herald's status— or even believe in it at all. They have right to their beliefs, he supposes, but he is glad that Daithi's words seem to insinuate he and Sera have at least met an understanding. "I imagine we'll get along well enough," he says, as to be reassuring.

"Of course." Daithi pauses, then, chuckling for another time. "Now that I think about it: most of them, the others, are ... particular." More than one might expect of any single person.

"They mean well," he adds, his own means of reassurance. "Doubt you won't get along."

Particular. Brigham understands such sentiment, perhaps better than Daithi would expect. Being confined to a single (albeit large) building for most of his life with other people that have experienced the same, though from vastly different view points... yes, the Enchanter understands 'particular'. At least, he thinks so. The other companions all seemed surprisingly different from one another, what little he'd gotten to know of them.

"I'm sure," he replies warmly.