[h3]Birdwatching[/h3][sub]with [@Stormflyx][/sub]

[i]21st of First Seed
Hall of the Adventurer’s Guild
Bruma, Cyrodiil[/i]

Upon arriving at the guildhall, Rhillian had been informed that his sleeping quarters were to be in the basement of the building. He had marveled at the warm interior design and the plentiful shafts of light that illuminated the ground floor -- it was clear that a woman’s touch had been at work there. Descending into the basement, however, prompted the priest to chuckle and sigh. There was still dust and cobwebs in the corner and the lack of natural light was almost suffocating in comparison to the floor above. That said, there was an undeniable peace to be found in the silence of the earth pressing in on all sides, and even the basement was well-furnished. He took a deep breath and basked in it for a moment, relishing the serene solitude. “I can work with this,” he said softly to himself. 

Rhillian stowed his belongings away in the chest at the foot of the bed he claimed as his, placed in the far corner of the cellar’s bedroom, and knelt down by a small alcove set low into the stone walls. He placed his silver chalice there and surrounded it with small wooden effigies of some of the Divines: Arkay, Stendarr, Kynareth and Akatosh. Words of prayer and blessing were mumbled under his breath while he worked, his hands moving slowly and deliberately in well-practiced motions. It wasn’t the first impromptu shrine he had erected. When he was done, he lit a candle next to the chalice and sank back on his knees, content to watch the flickering flame and give silent thanks for his acceptance into the guild. 

Silent also were the steps of a certain woman as she moved quietly though the basement to find the underground men’s bedroom. If it had been up to her, she would have simply found more space upstairs for some of their members but that has been one time when Dro’Sintaba had truly put his foot down. It was all dark, and there was still a slight scent of mildew in the air, Ivy realised as she stuck her pointed chin into the air to sniff at it. A slight frown harshened her features for a flicker of a moment. She’d find whatever that smell was soon enough, and rub it down with oil to remove it. 

In any case, she floated over the stone floor, the loose hem of a teal and gold velvet dress swishing with her graceful steps as she came upon the doorway of the men’s room. She gave as polite a knock as she could — while all of the members were certainly interesting in their own way, she was expected to show a more formal introduction to their house healer, that was just manners, after all. “Mr Off-Drakelowe?” She spoke against the closed door with a relaxed expression and a relaxed stance. “If you’re in there, of course,” she added as a clarifier. “I’m to give you a tour before our welcome dinner.” 

Rhillian’s head turned sideways as soon as Ivy knocked on the door and his body tensed up. He was a priest but he had served in war too, and some wartime habits never went away. He relaxed when he realized it was one of his employers and he rose to his feet, removing the sheath of his claymore from his torso and placing it by his bedside. This was no time for weapons. 

The Imperial opened the door and smiled at the sight of the alarmly red-haired Dunmer. “Rhillian, please,” he said and held out a hand for the woman to shake. “You must be Ivy. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

She was evidently light on her feet, for he had not heard her approach, and even her sense of dress spoke volumes about her disposition. She embodied air as much as Rhillian embodied water and the breezy warmth in her eyes was infectious. Rhillian’s smile widened slightly. “A tour would be most welcome.”

Upon taking his hand, she offered him something of a Breton’s curtsy, bending her legs just enough to lower herself politely in his presence. “It is a pleasure to meet you too,” Ivy replied warmly. “I am indeed, Ivy.”

The Dunmer wasn’t surprised at Rhillian’s appearance, and in fact found him to be exactly what she had expected from reading his letter of application. It was good that her instinct still served her well. There was a non-threatening aura about him, but that did not mean it was not touched with history and with a rich story — he appeared to her like an old, precious tome might. Simply wisdom, folded in leather and bound elegantly. 

“Less of a tour, more to be an informal mosey around the walls, Ser,” she said lightly. There was an accent on her tongue, and smoke in her voice that did nothing to deter from any notion of her being exotic — Ivy did little to hide that she was a gypsy of Tamriel. “I wish to show you the space we set aside for your work, in particular, Rhillian,” she smiled. “Small, but you should find to be enough. Come,” Ivy said with a beckoning wave of her hand as several bangles jingled around her slender, dark wrist. “It is back upstairs, follow me.”

He thought about the shrine for a moment before he remembered that he had been hired as a healer first and foremost. “Of course,” he said and inclined his head, unfailingly polite as ever. Rhillian followed her back upstairs. 

“Am I not mistaken in assuming that it is your hand I see in the furnishings of this hall?” he asked as they crested the top of the stairs that had led them out of the basement, and he gestured around him with one hand to indicate the place in general. “It feels like a home already.”

The Dunmer stopped at the top of the stairs and glanced around at the furnishings in question, before giving a shrug of her shoulders. “I just received a budget and so we made a list and I did what I could to make it happen… That the things make this place feel Iike a home for you is pleasant to my ears,” she breathed happily. 

Without thinking on it for a moment longer, she stepped out across the hallway - directly across the hallway to another door, this one was locked unlike the others. The only other room with it’s own lock belonged to Dro’Sintaba and that was for good reason, it was for good reason that this room was off limits to most too. 

From a chain around her neck, Ivy pulled a key free and opened the door — what greeted the two was just as she had described, a small room. There was a single cot in the corner - the sheets neat, taut, and crisp white. Shelves lined the walls and carried vials of various tonics, poultices, rolls and wads of cloth, and bottles of rubbing alcohol. Leaning against the door, Ivy tucked a closed fist under her chin. “I think this should suit, I believe you should have most of what you require but feel free to do as you wish with the place.” 

As she toyed with the key in her other hand, she eventually pulled the chain over her head - careful that the silver links didn’t snag at her hair. Ivy handed the little brass key to Rhillian. 

Rhillian’s eyes widened in appreciation. They had clearly put a lot of thought into procuring all of the supplies he would need. It was more than he’d frequently had access to during the Civil War in Skyrim. He took the key and, much like Ivy had done, wore the chain around his neck, stuffing the key beneath his furs and robes where it rested against his chest, side by side with his amulet of Arkay. 

“Thank you,” he said in earnest and placed a hand on Ivy’s arm. “I didn’t expect this, truth be told. I’m used to people underestimating or being thoughtless about what’s needed to properly practice the healer’s craft.” His golden eyes softened and he chuckled. “Looks like I underestimated how prepared you would be. I am glad to be proven wrong.”

“We take our health, and the health and wellbeing of others very seriously here,” Ivy replied with a warm smile and a friendly wink. “You are welcome.” She too, placed a hand on his arm, encouragingly so in fact. 

“We are lucky to have you in our service, I shall hope you shan’t have need of this room at all,” she giggled before stepping in, making her way to take a seat on the patient’s bed. “It must be a strange change for you to join us,” she said, watching him closely.

“Let’s hope the gods will it,” Rhillian agreed. “The most fortunate healer is one who has to do nothing at all.” He watched her as she made her way to the bed, observing the way she moved, and he wondered just how lithe and agile she could be if she wanted to. When she had made herself comfortable and looked back up at him, he smiled and did not shy away from her gaze. 

“A little. These past few years have been very quiet. But…” He paused, formulating the rest of the sentence, and realized that he was going to be honest with her already. She invited that kind of openness with her demeanor and her eyes. He was [i]fairly[/i] sure that it was a good thing. “I am ready for a change. It feels good to be among people of action once more. It’s been too long.”

“And people of action we are,” Ivy commented with a playful smirk. “I heard about the ball you rescued today,” she giggled, placing a hand over her mouth. The dunmer did not shy away from the obvious humour in the situation. “Maybe next time, some higher stakes.” 

Rhillian laughed along with her. “Unfortunately, the ball was long past rescuing.” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “And Lifts-Many-Boulders had to rescue me from a goblin that tried to drag me underwater. The boy ended up not having any coin either, so it was a big to-do for no reward,” he admitted freely. “I already fear what might happen to me if the stakes should be any higher than a missing ball.” The priest chuckled. “And what of you? Are you going into the field as well, or is your role more… administrative?”

“Administrator?” Ivy gasped in response, bringing a hand quickly and dramatically to her chest before creating a comedic [i]blech[/i] of a sound. Soon after, she was brought back round to laughter — the thought alone of having to sit and do paperwork bored her to tears. “Oh no my dear. Not quite not quite…

I decided to take a well deserved break from my life and take up a new hobby you see,” Ivy said, looking directly in Rhillian’s unusually bright eyes, there was a happy twinkle in hers. “I thought how nice it would be to take a break from the world and teach myself how to garden, to plant seeds in the ground and watch them grow. To nurture them, tend to them, keep them safe from the various elements. Just to see,” she added in a long breath before staring off into the middle distance. “To see what they become.” 

It seemed to him like she was speaking metaphorically and Rhillian surmised that the seeds she mentioned were the new members of the guild. But he had seen an actual garden out front as well when he came in. So maybe a bit of both? “An admirable profession,” he said and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “How does the proverb go again? Society grows great when we plant trees in whose shade we’ll never sit? Something like that.” 

He, too, looked wistfully into thin air. “I tried to do the same for my flock in the war. The soldiers. But it’s hard to shelter them when… well, you know.” Rhillian cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, looking down at them as he did so. “Let’s assume that the guild will face less dire circumstances.”

“Hard to shelter everyone indeed, but we do the best we can for those we can help. Always better to save one soul than lose yourself trying to save too many…” Ivy sighed, raising her shoulders with her breath before placing her hands onto her knees. “Not that I fought in any wars,” she chuckled. 

After a moment's pause, her idle hands found their way to a pillow on the bed and she picked it up, feeling the pleasantly light spring of the goose down inside as she patted it with her hands before cuddling it to her chest. “Sooner or later everyone will find themselves friends here, maybe later after that we’ll be family. Nothing is ever too dire when you’re with family now, hmm?” 

“Family,” Rhillian repeated. He thought of the mother that had left him on the steps of the chapel in Drakelowe. He used to dream about her, a faceless figure humming a heartbroken lullaby, but it had been years since she had visited him at night. Decades, even. 

The priest nodded. “Family is whatever you make it, wherever you find it. As long as we stood shoulder to shoulder in the war, we could face anything.” He sighed and rubbed his temples. “And we did, and we won. I’m just….” he said, trailing off. Instead of finishing his sentence, he smiled and looked back at Ivy. “Instead of fighting in wars, what did you do?”

The Dunmer thought about what he said, ruminating on his choice of words by closing her eyes and breathing them in. Slow, one by one. “I travelled the provinces,” she began, opening her wide scarlet eyes, smiling ever so. “I danced in every town, in every city, every village. Sang songs of peace and harmony…” Her voice turned into a hum then, her words came melodic and soft and she released her hold on the pillow to let her arms move gracefully in a lazy wave at her side. 

“I believe that in war… There is only loss, the price for victory is… Too much,” she admitted only slightly sombrely. It was as if she could picture all of those who had fallen. “So I danced to bring joy and smiles... And happiness.” 

“Yes,” the Imperial agreed. “Too much.” He fingered the amulet of Arkay around his neck and breathed in and out slowly. “They don’t tell you about that in the histories and the songs. I mean, they do… how many died, how many were wounded… but it’s not the same,” Rhillian said softly. “I’ve buried too many boys. Lost too many of them on the operating table. And when it’s all over, you can’t help but wonder… is this what it was for?” 

He cleared his throat and smiled. “But it’s alright. Life goes on. You have the right idea, you know. Happiness is what it was all for. We owe it to everyone that can’t be with us anymore to enjoy our time here. To be kind to one another.” Rhillian chuckled and, in spite of the conversation’s subject matter, a boyish gleam appeared in his eyes. “I look forward to seeing you dance some time.”

“Life goes on,” she sighed wistfully in response. “Your boys live on too, you know? In the good feelings that you have, the instincts that guide you through your life now. The warmth you feel when you’re content.” Ivy smiled, hugging the pillow again.

She found it in herself to narrow her eyes in his direction at his last comment, “I feel too old for that now. Too responsible… But we’ll see just what can be coaxed out of me this evening…” 

“A challenge I shall leave to the others,” Rhillian said wisely as the weight of his years crept back into his gaze. He wasn’t a young man anymore either. “I assume you haven’t forgotten how, hm? Spreading smiles and joy comes so naturally to you, I doubt your limbs would ever forget how to work their magic.” He laughed again. “You’ll be fine.”

Ivy responded with a slight frown, and scrunching of her brow that harshened her sharp features. “Sometimes I’d be glad for this body to forget some of that magic, believe me,” she said with a quiet chuckle. “Gives me more grief than I can handle sometimes… But, only sometimes,” she added, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “There’s been a lot of good things that have transpired from that magic.”

“Good things are meant to be shared,” Rhillian said with a cocked eyebrow. He pulled up the bedside chair and sat down, hands folded together in his lap. He was intrigued by the Dunmer woman and her life’s story -- how different it must be from his own. “I’m curious what they might be, if you don’t mind me asking.”

At that request, Ivy smirked. “Oh I don’t know Rhillian, I think you’d be bored to tears with my stories,” she said - but there was no blush on her cheeks that might suggest embarrassment of any kind. “Let’s just say that joy and happiness can be found in [i]many ways[/i],” she giggled. 

Unperturbed, Rhillian nodded. “So Dibella teaches us,” he said sagely. “She’s no Mephala, but there are [i]many ways[/i] of joy and happiness that fall under her domain all the same.” She had hinted at enough to satisfy his curiosity -- Rhillian was not the type to pry any further when such details were not volunteered -- and he smiled. “It is good that you have lived life to the fullest. The gods would approve.” 

“That they would, that they would,” Ivy breathed out in response. “I spent many of my years barely living at all, it made sense to be indulgent after that. But tell me, Rhillian—“ she stopped, and pursed her lips, as if she was sensing the way his name felt to say. Such a long word it was. “Do you have a nickname? I like nicknames,” she said. “I can’t call you Rhilly, it rhymes with silly and I also already gave Dro’Sintaba such a name… I shall have to think about it some more.” 

As if that had simply been nothing more than an intrusive thought she had to work through, she jumped back into whatever she had been trying to say before. “Ah yes, for fun and for happiness — what is it that you do?” 

"After all that I have seen, every moment of peace and prosperity is a happy one," the priest said and clasped his hands together. "I like to help people experience the same thing, help them find satisfaction and tranquility in the simple pleasures of good living." He fell silent for a moment and pondered the other half of her question. "I think birdwatching is fun," he said at length and then smiled sheepishly. "That probably sounds very dull." 

“Birdwatching?” Ivy asked, tilting her head curiously while her eyes narrowed in thought. “Not dull, just different. Can’t say I’ve tried it. I find it hard to stay still… That would be a problem, wouldn’t it?” she asked, her toes wriggling, as if in a subconscious demonstration. “I’d frighten the birds away.”

That made Rhillian laugh. It was easy to imagine the Dunmer acrobat growing fidgety and restless. "Yes, you would," he said, still chuckling. "Birdwatching is all about melding into the background. Become one with the grass and the bark through stillness." He sank to the floor and sat down on his knees, his hands laid to rest gently on his thighs, palms facing the ceiling. 

"Breathe," he whispered, "and become wind." He inhaled slowly, almost imperceptibly so, eyes half-closed but still alert. "Wait and observe. Clear your mind from all but birdsong." He smiled at a memory. "A lark tried to make a nest in my hair once. I didn't move until dark." 

In response, Ivy too slipped off the bed and brought herself to the ground -- mirroring Rhillian’s own movement. “I can be still,” she whispered. “Breathe, eyes on the target,” the Dunmer continued, resting her hands palms down onto her lap. In the light of the medicine room, she could see that Rhillian’s eyes had a pleasant glow to their unusual colour. “I think if a lark tried to make a nest in my hair it might never get back out,” she giggled.

His eyelids fluttered wide open and he laughed again as he looked at the voluminous fullness of Ivy's hair. "Who knows what else you're keeping in there?" the Imperial mused. "You know, that would be a good character for a children's story. The Dunmer acrobat who keeps mysterious and enchanted objects in her seemingly endless and labyrinthine scarlet hair… and it's up to our youthful protagonists to get you to bestow them with the artifacts they need for their quest." Rhillian cocked his head. "But that is a harder task than it seems, for she is wilful and mercurial, despite having a heart of gold. It writes itself, don't you think? We could even feature the lark, accidentally rescued by our brave heroes as they untangle the web of strands and locks, who's been in there for [I]years!"[/I]

Bringing a hand to her mouth to chuckle into, Ivy’s head fell to the side again, her shoulders jittering. “And what of you? The kindly, wisened Priest who gives the would be heroes the will to continue on,” she said with a sigh, relaxing her body, unable to continue to be so straight backed and stiff like Rhillian. She kicked a leg out to her side, and rested her weight on her arm happily. A hand placed on the freshly cleaned floors. 

“That poor lark would be happy to fly again, having been whirled and twirled for all those years. I bet it would come out a dizzy little thing. Perhaps the kindly Priest takes care of such a tired lark and nurses it back to health, hmm?”

He smiled and golden light, perfect and flawless in its angelic luminescence, flickered into existence in the upturned palms of his hands. Rhillian looked down into the lights and they reflected even more brightly in his eyes. "Some say healing magic looks like this because it's the purity of Aetherius shining through into our world, like the sun and the stars but channeled with purpose -- which is why it brings life. What do you think?" 

“It’s beautiful,” Ivy said, moving forward to lean towards Rhillian’s hands, and all of a sudden she was resting on her front, gazing at the glowing. She held out a hand of her own, and as the Imperial’s hands had filled with it, so did her own — just a small, tiny pool that paled in comparison to his. It didn’t hum like his spell, but it was there. “It’s special, perhaps it is the gift of the sun and stars but I think it comes from somewhere much closer, from inside of ourselves. Little pieces of our own hopes and dreams and wishes for others.” 

That was an interesting perspective. “Destruction can be fueled by anger,” he said. “You say that Restoration is fueled by love? Hm. I like that. It’s a beautiful way of looking at it.” The priest reduced the flow of magicka to his palms and the lights dimmed, swirling slowly like a lighthouse fire out at sea, casting long and uncertain shadows through the basement. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said and suddenly looked up to meet Ivy’s vermilion gaze. “You give me hope for this guild.”

That gave her pause for thought. [i]Fueled by anger?[/i] She asked herself, the question evident in her expression too. “Perhaps,” Ivy answered quietly, letting her own magic disappear too. She thought of the flames that she could conjure in her hands, as strong as the magic that sat in Rhillian’s own -- hers was just that, destruction. She’d never considered just where the well for that magic sat, it had never felt like anger. To Ivy, her fire was her peaceful place. 

Snapping out of it, she blinked the thoughts away, and smiled, her eyes wide as she met his too. “Hmm, I’m glad you’re here too,” she admitted with a nod, and as sincere a smile as she could - her dimples prominent in her cheeks again. “Ah!” she exclaimed, bringing her hands together, inspired by the shades of glowing yellow in the Priests eyes. “I know, I’m going to call you Dandelion,” she smiled, a giggle finishing it up.

"That… isn't any shorter than Rhillian," the Imperial said, confusion in his voice. But dandelions were beautiful flowers, so he didn't feel offended by her choice of moniker. 

“Eh,” the Dunmer offered with a nonchalant wave of her hand, a bone in her wrist clicked with the movement. “Shorter wasn’t going to work for you anyway.”