Who: Signy Dagna, Imenry Barras, Open Where: Vigil's Keep, Amaranthine When: Night, 13 Molioris. Just after the Joining. Summary: To at least some people who have been waiting, answers and Wardens are made apparent. Rating: Probably fine for all?
The Joining was over; over, an odd way to think of something that had, to look at it logically, just begun. Being a Grey Warden was hardly something you did and then went home in time for supper. And yet, from the way Signy's body felt, the dull ache of exhaustion, mental and physical and perhaps magical, it really did feel like something had just ended. She hadn't tried to stand, after she'd fallen—not for a while, at least, for the world had continued to spin around her. The vertigo eased with frustrating slowness as the rest of the ceremony went on, but it was gone now. She was just a bit frightened, a bit sickened, and more than anything, tired. She did her best not to stumble as she made her way out of the chamber, and out towards the rest of the Keep. Her bed, most notably, was foremost in her mind. It was soft and warm and safe and a thousand other things.
It'd given her a bit of tunnel vision (even moreso than, say, living underground did); she wasn't aware if any of the other recruits near her, if they had come the same way or wandered and stumbled to their own rest and safety. Other Grey Wardens, she mentally corrected herself, after a moment. The thought was jarring; the title would take getting used to. Thinking about. Perhaps at a time when she had full and complete confidence in her feet not to turn traitor and refuse to carry her any further. She passed through a set of doors, and another—was it two or three, she could not, afterwards, be sure, and found she had little will enough to care—and then she was outside, under the stars, unable to see anything as her eyes acclimated to the dark. Dwarven eyes worked fast, and soon enough she could see the door, across the courtyard, through which her bed lay. There was something bright and orange (a fire, or the remnants thereof) and figures in the glow and dark, but Signy was not, at first, looking too hard.
She would not have looked at all, really, and would have continued in her too-thoughtful stumble towards her own chamber, and sleep, and towards (Ancestors willing, if Ancestors could influence such an undwarven thing) not dreaming at all. But something caught her eye—someone. The flicker of orange embers on dark hair, a tall figure by the fire, the familiar features. Imenry. Imenry was standing here, outside the hall, had she known to be here, how long had she been here?
And Signy turned, and made a beeline directly for the taller woman. Not as fast as her short legs could carry her, but about as fast as she could go with no fear of toppling over. She ducked around anyone who might have been partially in her way, eyes glued to Imenry.