faderift | Let No Soul Hunger For Justice: Nothing But The Truth

[She's gorgeous. He's never forgotten, but like this? He's reminded so fully that he can feel it in his heart.]

And? I've never made any real attempt to claim to be dignified. I'm a farmboy, my lady.

[He's teasing and happy and slowly untangles his arm from hers to rest a hand on the bottle, eyes still sparkling as he lays here next to her.]

Ridiculous is what we do. It passes the time when we're chasing the cow that somehow did the impossible and hopped the fence. Or makes an attempt at running away all the more entertaining. Did you know they caught me once because I stopped to try my hand at working puppets? One of those sorts with strings and boards. Not my most glorious moment, I assure you, but certainly ridiculous.

Puppets.

[ She stretches and strains- trying to keep the bottle out of his reach. ]

You should have stolen your Phylactry before escaping- or made an attempt to do so. That had always been my plan if I wished to leave.

[He's not tall... but he can still scoot up a little and try to follow the bottle.]

I had guards, after the first time. And the first time was blind fear and panic and confusion; I didn't speak the language and didn't know what was going on. Why they'd taken my blood was beyond me.

[He's still smiling, because this is some of the not-painful parts of his past. It doesn't hurt. It's simply what was.]

There wasn't a chance I was getting my phylactery. There is a chance I'm getting this bottle, tempered by how I'm trying to not pin you with my legs while I could. Apparently there's a tiny portion of gentleman in me afterall.

Edited 2016-05-16 08:02 (UTC)

As if that would help you-

[ She freezes, then, snorting low, warm laughter as she presses her forehead to Anders' shoulder. Don't say it. Don't say it. ]

From what I have seen Nathaniel is neither a gentleman, nor tiny.

[His eyes go wide for the briefest moment, and then he's snorting, feeling close to laughter.]

Well.

[There's so much amusement in his voice and eyes.]

His family had lands, that makes him something, right? I'm never clear on stations. But no, he is most definitely not small. He's very--I'm not talking about his anatomy. He'd be so flustered, and while I like his blush I don't want him blushing for that reas--Maker if I could find a way to deflect right now I would be doing so. Bottle. I'm taking this bottle.

[Anders scoot-lunges for it, which is far from the most graceful move he's ever made.]

No you are not!

[ She twists and her hand slips- and the bottle is his. But victory? Is hers- as he lunges she twists and drags herself on him instead, lying half across his ribs, arms propped up against his shoulders. Draped upon him like a cat, hair a long, curled mess around them. ]

If you say nothing at all I shall assume the rumors false and that he is indeed a tiny, tiny man. Despite the breadth of his shoulders, Maker's breath- they do not come half so broad or half so fine in Val Royeaux.

[He's fairly certain victory is his, with her on top of him and the bottle in his hands. Or maybe it's not, as there's a slowly growing awareness through his semi-drunken haze of the fact that he still has more feelings than just friendly ones for her. How that works when he loves Nate he doesn't know. How that works when they're talking about Nate he truly does not know at all.]

He is sized perfectly, in every way. Very, very few come shaped with nearly as much perfection as him.

[There's a definite warmth in his voice as he speaks.]

And he thinks himself unattractive, so I'm making sure to tell him the truth of the matter at every opportunity while I cannot lie so it sinks in that I'm not simply saying he's gorgeous to make him feel better. For the record, you are also gorgeous.

I had wondered.

[ She hums softly under her breath, content to linger against him for the moment, cheek pressed to his hair. Later she might look back at this in fear or mortification but for now? in this warm, drunken moment? It is fine. This is De-De.

Not Anders, not Detlef.

Someone she likes. Someone she trusts. ]

Whoever made him feel like that ought to be ashamed. As terrible as it is that he is Fereldan- he is striking. Like something out of my brother's torrid romance novels, the printings they have on the front. [ A beat, a thought, a sigh. ] You too, though you know it. You were even when we met- though it was less the skin, the hair, the robe and more how you felt. You ached so much and still gave everything you could. You still do. It helps me forget, sometimes...

I generally forgive Fereldans for being Fereldan. They can't really help it and don't know better.

[So what if he's spent most of his life in Ferelden? He's Anders.]

He appreciates my cat. That means he's not too Fereldan. And I'll leave the discussion of who up to him; it's personal, his to decide if he shares or not.

[He's also warm and comfortable, and wishing very much that things could be simple. They're not, and it's not just the tangle of emotions he's feeling. It's what he is, who he is. Anders rests his free hand, the one not holding the bottle as far away as possible, lightly on her upper back.]

I'm sorry. I know I can never say it enough. I'm sorry for lying, for accepting your word when I'd no right to it, all of it. You deserve to be treated better than that. Far better, Ade-ade.

[ For a long moment she is quiet, curled close like this and muzzily trying to pick out the right thought, the right answer- the right question. If they must speak true she must ask something honestly. He must answer or speak not at all. It hasn't occurred to her to press the advantage but he's apologizing and there is something she must know. ]

If you could have gone the rest of your life without being discovered- if no one here could reveal you as Anders, if it had never been a risk. Would you have continued to lie?

No.

[He doesn't begrudge her asking. He's put them on this topic, and of course she'd wonder.]

I knew the risk of discovery was getting higher by the day, but that was not my main motivation. I came to Skyhold to do a little more good, to repair just a little bit more of what I damaged, before I died. I have no desire to die, most days, [aaaaand that's not a detail he'd meant to let slip, thanks, telling the truth,] but there is nothing that I can do, no way I can serve enough, to actually atone. My death would have gone a little further toward healing. Or so I planned.

I wasn't supposed to be fond of you.

[ She murmurs. ]

We were sold this idea- a mad apostate beyond all reason, that wished to tear the walls down around us with no regard to who the stone crushed. Propaganda, yes, but it seemed so possible. Even then we though 'oh, look at the Fereldan Circles, look at the Marcher Circles, of course they have this chaos, they have no idea how to handle one another like civil men.' You were held up as what not to be. I used you as an example of failure for my students. 'Be careful, lest you become this'.

...it was so much easier to dismiss you when you were an idea.

And that's how power is held. Distill a cause or person into something that everyone would have to be against, and the general public will be on your side.

[If she thinks he sounds a little bitter, she'd be right.]

They shamelessly used me for their own ends despite how it was their system...

[He trails off with another exhale.]

It begs the question of how many simplifications and outright deceptions we've accepted in our history. Though I'd certainly agree that the Ferelden and Marcher Circles were cruel.

But what I've become... At least that is not so common. How often is a spirit hurled out of the Fade? It only just so happened that there was a corpse there so he didn't fall apart right away. And then it was luck for him that he wasn't a spirit who wouldn't speak to something I deeply wanted, an end to the cages.

This has become too serious. Drink.

[ Quiet and too somber, she nudges his hand that holds the bottle. ]

I want a few hours when I do not think about such things. When I can well and truly forget that you lied, that you are who you are. Where I can think 'oh, perhaps I could kiss him and it wouldn't be terrible' without remembering what you've done and the mess it has made in an already messy system.

I want to not care. It would be so much easier if I did not care.

So drink. Or pass the bottle over so I might drink.

[They need to think, they need to care, they need to work... but a few hours respite will hurt no one. Anders takes a drink straight from the bottle before offering it to her.]

I can do both, drink and pass it. I'm very skilled. And, as you noted earlier, very pretty. I'm multi-talented. Problem and attempt at solution, healer and destroyer, drinker and passer of bottle. The only contradiction I'm not is that I only love cats, not dogs and cats alike.

[He holds her, closing his eyes and wishing there was truly any way to fix any of the mess he's made as well as the system.]

I can assure you that I'm not a terrible kisser, at least.

[They've shared a kiss before, but still.]

[ Staying so close isn't helping, but she is too tired to move. For a short while she might have this. Not long. Only a moment or two more before she complains of the cold and the stone and needs to pull herself back into the Chair. But this? She has missed having something like this. Casual contact, tangling with someone to share opinions and wine and wile away the hours.

But this is not the Spire and he is Anders.

She takes the bottle with a sigh, downing another burning mouthful. ]

You share your bed with a Fereldan. That ought to be close enough.

[ Something else to mind- that he has found someone. That they are happy. A part of her feels as though she ought to resent him finding such a thing.

The rest squashes that envy. She has her work and wants nothing more. It is all she needs. ]

It's not like I thought you'd actually kiss me. The comment was safe.

[He takes the bottle back after she's had another drink, and sips again before the impact of her words hit him and he stiffens against her.]

That... That's spread beyond the camp? The Warden camp? Or is it just that you've noticed us being close on these attempts? I need, I can't... I know I can't protect him long, but I thought we'd have longer. Once the Templars--

[He cuts himself off and tries to force himself to breath. Nate's not a mage. Nate's not even a criminal in any way.]

Tell me they can't harm him, please. You can't lie. I need another mage to tell me that. He should be beyond them.

You are not exactly subtle around one another, no.

[ And why should they be? Why should anyone have to be careful about showing affection- here they are supposed to be safe enough to do so. That was the promise the Inquisition was to make. A fresh start. A better one. ]

You hurt less, around him. Compassion has noticed, that you hurt less. That he feels lighter.

He is a Warden, why would they hurt him? This is not Kinloch or Kirkwall, Anders.

Why did they come after me when all I was was a Warden? I did nothing except run time and time again, and yet they set up traps, sent Templars to join to harass me, and tried to kill me. The scar on my chest is from a Templar when I was a Warden alone, no crimes to my name save bad puppetry.

[There's a sadness to his words. Nate makes everything easier, it's true, but he and Velanna sometimes remind Anders of the life he could have had if Templars had not interfered.]

And now I'm a criminal who has killed countless Templars, who broke the Circles and challenged their order, threw their order into chaos, no less, and they can't hurt me directly because to do so would be to challenge the Wardens. But if something was to happen to someone I clearly care about a great deal...

[He takes another drink.]

[ And this is everything she'd hoped to put from her mind. Everything he'd done, everything they are working for- Adelaide untangles herself and scoots back to lean against the wall. As much as she's missed the contact, remembering who and what he is makes it difficult to enjoy.

She's still angry- or is she still hurt? Saying it out loud might help but she's too tired to bother. ]

And hurting Nathaniel would not in and of itself be a Challenge to the Wardens?

[Anders stays laying there, holding the bottle, missing the contact and knowing that the loss of it is his fault. That's all right. That's what he always does anyway. In the end it makes her a little safer too.]

If a group assaulted him in the dark and none could pin down who it was? If I'm attacked and report it, which is why I've not reported the three who have done so, the Wardens have to respond. That, and others see a weakness and an opening. If Nate is, it could be bandits. It could be refugees, it could be anyone and it doesn't have to be a Warden thing.

[He rests an arm over his eyes.]

Then he should not be wandering about alone in the dark. I thought Wardens were warriors of great skill, is that not some manner of rule?

[ Honestly. ]

It is, but I don't know how to stop being afraid.

[...Worse than singing. This is so much worse than singing.]

Why am I still not drunk enough to not care? Maker's sake, I haven't been drunk since I've been possessed, you'd think I could at least get somewhere here.

Mmm. I may have something to help.

[ She pulls a flask from her pocket- not a sizeable thing, but the smell when she unstoppers it? Potent. ]

Maraas-lok. Here.

[He trades it for the brandy and the scent of it alone is enough to make his eyes water.]

Thank you.

[Anders takes a mouthful, aware of Justice's disapproval and not caring. It would be nice to not feel for just a few minutes.]

Qunari?

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