faderift | OPEN: Halamshiral

OPEN: Halamshiral

WHO: Everyone
WHAT: The Inquisition Does Orlais, Pt. 1: Masks, Charity, and Tension
WHEN: Solace 15 onward
WHERE: Halamshiral
NOTES: Please note that your character's conduct and actions in this log or in other private logs set in Orlais, if observable by the public, may influence local opinion of the Inquisition and/or the balance of power among Celene, Gaspard, and the elves.

It is a smaller force that the Inquisition sends to Halamshiral than has been sent in the past; not yet able to interfere directly in the civil war, and still attempting to determine what is happening in the Anderfels, the organization is moving in not as a military force but as a stabilizing one, with cautious cooperation from the Chantry and endorsements from several among the nobility who were suitably impressed by Madame de Fer's soiree in Skyhold, to assist with the local unrest while better assessing the political situation. What is known is that a leaderless and unstable Orlais is part of Corypheus' grand scheme. What is not known is… everything else.

I. THE ESTATE

Duc Hugues Pelletier is not himself in residence when the Inquisition arrives. He was here only yesterday, they will be told, but left on urgent business, leaving behind his welcome and best wishes for helping restore the Maker's peace to Orlais. (He fled on news of their approach, gossipy staff members will later reveal, overcome with nerves at the notion of residing under the same roof as the incomparable Seeker Pentaghast.)

The Inquisition has free use of the mansion--under the watchful eyes of the duke's house staff, who will step in to politely prevent any destruction of his property or excessive raiding of his wine cellar--with his library available as a work space for those who require desks, books, and quiet, and his study serving as a makeshift office for the Inquisition's highest ranking officers. The cook does his best to feed everyone. That still means porridge and stew for most (something he offers his apologies for, as well as his personal disdain, but with this number of mouths to feed it's a matter of practicality, surely you understand) but those who seem important or are particularly good at sucking up to him might be given something special.

Day use aside, there's not room in the building to house everyone. Only the high-ranking (which the duke's housekeeper interprets to mean leaders of the Inquisition, Orlesian nobles, and non-Fereldan nobles, in that order, and absolutely no non-humans) will be allowed guest rooms in the chateau itself, while the majority will still need to pitch tents on the expansive and well-manicured grounds to sleep in. But all are welcome in the chapel, the largest and most ornate wing of the house.

II. HIGH QUARTER

Dear Inquisition, imagine music--alive and market placey--and violins taking a break up in the air with non-threatening amblings and a wreath of tambourine just lightly jangled… Imagine the shuffle of slippers on well-kept cobblestones and the pleasant murmur of voices as servants negotiate prices for their masters, who stare opulent and bored stares over the wares spread out for their perusal and consideration. Deals are struck, coins exchange hands, wares are wrapped in crisp paper or bleach-white linen for transport, and taken away to their new homes.

Have you the coin to spend in this place? Then by all means: select a souvenir. Make sure you can actually pay, for the shopkeeps and stallhands do not take kindly to a deal broken, once it has been made. And do not even think about stealing. Looking is free, but hang around too long and someone might begin to get suspicious.

The polite thing to do is to wear a mask. A supply of simple ones is made available to the Inquisition, carved over one eye with the symbol--not enough for everyone to have one to keep as a souvenir, but plenty enough for anyone to borrow before venturing into the High Quarter.

It is inadvisable for elves or Qunari to wander the High Quarter alone, period, but particularly inadvisable for them to do so out of Inquisition armor or without human company, and orders to this effect will have been passed through the ranks. The Inquisition is not here to start any riots or revolutions, and prefers its agents intact and un-arrested. Should any venture there alone and in plainclothes despite this warning, they will find themselves at the very best the subject of points and stares and rude remarks, and denied service by any local merchants or taverns.

III. ELVEN DISTRICTS

Orlesian cities do not easily come by their reputation for opulence. At some point, streets must be cleaned, bricks must be brushed, marble must be buffed, and flowers must be tended. In fact, Comte Pierre has hinted that the Inquisition's generous offer of assistance might be of use in the elven district. Unique among major cities in Thedas, Halamshiral doesn't have an alienage--or, rather, most of the city is the alienage, populated by elves and elf-blooded humans who are kept out of the High Quarter rather than kept in their shabbier streets. There are taverns and shops and a market here, too--one with fewer silks and more bruises on the apples, but cheaper and kinder to those without rounded ears--and in many ways, in most places, it looks to provide a better and freer life for its inhabitants, who are not packed in quite so tightly or watched quite so constantly.

During the day, at least. There's still a curfew--one inapplicable to members of the Inquisition, if they're wearing their armor, but at night the streets empty save for the occasional dart of someone trying to make it home undetected by guards or Chevaliers. And at all hours there's an odd tension in the air, a combination of simmering resentment and pervasive defeat, the kind of feeling best encapsulated by quick, sullen glances up from an obediently bowed head.

If one needs evidence of the root of that tension, it isn't difficult to find. A large, unmissable area of the city, once the center of life there, has been burned down.

This is the area where the Inquisition's help is needed, according to Comte Pierre, who loves Halamshiral itself more than he cares for Celene, Gaspard, or the feelings of the local elves. It isn’t anything a lot of elbow grease can’t fix, but the state of these city streets is sorry indeed. Everything is streaked with ash that's been blown about and rained on but never cleaned. The few trees in the streets have been burnt black, and their bare limbs twist up toward the sky like desperate claws. The houses, the little market stall tucked into the corner of the main square--even the grass growing up between the cobblestones--everything has been burned. The bodies were collected, but you may still find a fingerbone or teeth knocked loose in the battle among the cobblestones or old rust-brown blood stains on wood. Gaunt windows stare down at you, watching your every move.

There are supplies waiting. But the work is mostly conducted alone. The elves, what little are still hanging around, keep to themselves as they pass by. Some may even look to resent the progress being made there, though they know better than to say why. The upstanding citizens of Halamshiral don’t seem inclined to come down this way, or even make casual use of the nearby alleyways.

A woman, selling worn steel scrap some streets over, is happy to tell you why, whether or not you ask her. The elves deserve what they got. They should have kept their heads down, just like everyone else. Even before the fire, she says, no one much wanted to hang around down there, on account of the crime. A notorious band of thieves were hidden among the elves of the alienage, a group of rough elves known for stealing anything from anybody. She’ll warn you to keep any valuables close while you’re working down there: “Poor souls need the help, but you can’t let yourself be robbed while you’re fixing their problems.”

It’s hard, perhaps, to imagine what she means. The destroyed blocks, as you work them, will be largely deserted. An eerie calm hangs over the place, almost as if the secluded wreck has become unmoored from the city proper and drifted away across a still and dead river.

IV. THE COUNTRYSIDE

All the wealth of Orlais can’t save them from some of the more common problems around these days. Even in the country, the tension of the city is palpable, like a current that runs through the air.

Of these tensions and worries, first and foremost are the rifts, a threat that plagues the outskirts of Hamalamadingdong far worse than the central spaces. Demons of varying strength can be found wandering and unless they are stopped, they will become a worse threat.

Whatever your political leanings, you have been asked to protect the people of Orlais. One small cluster of homes in particular has been complaining most bitterly about this threat. Worried and harried by demons, they have finally made themselves heard enough, and the Inquisition has dispatched aid. But as you arrive, you and your party will find the homes to be quiet. A little… too quiet.

The roar of a demon soon puts an end to that, and a chorus of screams follows.

Elsewhere, you may notice part of Orlais’ defensive problem: there are no brave young men to step in and fight off demons. In the High Quarter, a few callow young noblemen lounge around sipping from goblets of wine and laughing at their own jokes, but every able-bodied soldier who's not found some way out (or publicly refused to care, at their own risk) is presently occupied with the War of the Lions. Of those who remain, the young are very young and the old are very old.

Even among the gentle country gentlemen and their ladies, elves and Qunari will find themselves to be points of interest. No attacks are likely, but expect to weather gossip, whispered comments, and frank open stares. No one is foolish enough to turn down aid, but they can still be wary of these… others among them.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Finding something entirely unbiased is impossible. The best you can manage is to find an author that has collected letters and references from both sides of each petty conflict as paid by a third party. Most publications from the University of Orlais make a token attempt at impartiality." It helps. Not all that much, but-

It helps.

Adelaide pulls another volume from the shelves, peering at the publication information on the front. In the original Orlesian, less useful to Anders bu perhaps of use for her own current branch of research. "The Grand Game is not near as unpredictable as most nobles would claim. Certain families have specific patterns to how they react to insult or commendation, with some variation depending upon the generation. I know this, I know how to work around them when they become obstinate."

A beat.

"Three. Mine, my grandmothers, my surname."

University of Orlais. Patterns due to families. He notes it down mentally, stopping on how she knows how to work with them already. If she knows all of it... that's a question for five minutes from now, really. First is another, while he cracks open the book she'd handed him.

"Is your grandmother's name something more personal?" There's a lot about Orlais he just doesn't know. Anders considers her, and considers how he trusts her. Her judgement, too. They already have someone skilled in the Game, in that case, and while he doesn't know her end goal, he doesn't think it involves everyone forced back into Circles.

What if he didn't need to master everything, do everything, worry over everything? This isn't anything like previous times when he's been alone. Mages have a chance. Between her and Leliana, maybe there's hope.

"And I'd make a mess of it, wouldn't I. Trying the Game out when I can't keep the families straight?" Can they even afford to have him try and fail, considering who he is? "I'm known, and I'd..."

He exhales and closes the book, looking down at the cover. "What I do reflects on the group. You, you said that, something close to that, some months back. It's not fair, but it's true. I can't not try to help, but there might be areas where I should... step back and trust knowledgeable hands."

"I only ever heard it when I was in trouble. It is a matter of legality more than anything connected to sentiment, for Leblancs. Something done to be precise as to which Adelaide they speak or write." A point of differentiation, nothing more. Other families had their rules, of course, and she is attempting to recall them.

It is taking longer than she would like, hence the pot of coffee resting on her end of the table, steaming away. She knows already that it shall be a long night of research if she is to find what she's looking for.

"You're Fereldan, of course you'd make a mess of it." Wry and dry with half a smile. "Say you are Ander as much as you like, you are Fereldan enough to earn the label from most Orlesians here."

It is easier to tease than it is to point out, yet again, how great a political liability he is for the Inquisition. For the very mages he hopes to help, for the Wardens. "I hope you have been going by a false name since you arrived for your own sake. Wishing to help- it is admirable. But perhaps your work is best done from backstage while those not likely to be lynched simply for breathing weather the scrutiny of the audience."

If that's all it is to her then he'd like to know, but it isn't particularly relevant to the conversation. Later. He has a great many 'laters' on his slate. The fact that he believes he'll have a later to ask, however, is a treasure in and of itself.

Just as much of one as the way she lets him off the hook easily. She could easily have pressed the point and been right to. Fair to, even, because she'd told him about the issue of his identity before. Once she'd accused him of conflating her with her spirit, but she is kindness and there's a reason why his smile is soft.

"I'm Ander where it counts, in my cat-loving heart that has no affection for mabari." The joke is more throwaway than anything, not needing a response, simply being there. Making things more comfortable. "I've gone the smarter route of a Fereldan name this time, Aedan. And you've a point."

It hurts his pride a little. Not that she has a point; he prefers when people he keeps company with are smart and see things he doesn't. But that he needs to step back a little, and he especially needs to here. The Inquisition does not lead here. The Wardens do not hold enough authority to protect him, really. Being at the forefront of things would, at best, simply cause problems. And at worse, it would cost lives.

Anders takes a breath. "May I work backstage for you, Adelaide?" Taking a backseat is unfamiliar when it comes to mage future, but that's simply because there hadn't been anyone else trying to help make sure there was even a wagon. This is a good thing.

"You are not Orlesian enough for it to count." One more book from the shelf before she settles at the table, pouring out a cup of coffee for herself. A cube of sugar and a moment's hesitation before she pours a second mug and offers it to Anders. They are both to be up late tonight, it seems.

It would be impolite not to offer.

The question is, for a moment, surprising. They'd worked together well enough before, of course, but- it is sometimes a startling reminder of what it is she is attempting to do. The scope of it. What may come, what it will take. She cannot handle this on her own, she knows, but she does not delegate near as much as she should. "...Of course."

Giving him something to work toward with the understanding that it will be safer for him and those he would help? Is worth while. "Cream, sugar?"

He takes the mug, murmuring thanks before being a little surprised at how relieved he feels when she accepts his offer. It wouldn't have made sense to reject it, that's not it, rather he's surprised at how much he simply wanted to work with her more. Likely he shouldn't be. He knows he cares greatly enough that he had to tell Nate. The need to be near her, though, borders on what he'd felt around Hawke. It's not like it is with Nate - there's certainty with Nate. Security, a knowledge that everything was returned. Hawke had never known, or if she had, never let on. Anders sometimes regrets not telling her but considering what happened it was for the best.

Now? He's not possessed. He's desperate to kill as little as possible in the future. To make a positive mark. Which means now he doesn't know.

"A little of each, please," he says despite how his thoughts are a little hung up on what he's feeling, "while I ignore the glaring absence of honey and ask you how I can help." His notes get stacked and folded neatly before he places them off to the side; there's no need to waste them, but there's a fair chance they won't be needed at all for her. That's all right. He can still re-read what familial details later.

"I've been to the alienage and seen some of the countryside, if that aids you at all. ...I've also done that if it doesn't."

"Of course." A little sugar, a little cream that lightens the black brew to a warm tan rather than black pitch. She slides the mug over before settling back and sipping her own, oblivious to Anders' turmoil. There are reactions to blackmail (and perhaps blackmail of a fashion) to study. Not that she means to use such steps in this overly complex dance, the LeBlancs were above such things after all, but to be aware, to prompt, to nudge.

To be precise in their dealings. To do that, one must know where to look. It is no body in need of repair, no illness that needs curing ,but she can and does turn her study to the history of these families and their dealings.

She can twist it to their advantage, somehow. "Most of my dealings are with the nobles and merchants proper in the High Quarter. Attempting to garner an invitation to a salon without outwardly asking or looking desperate for it is...difficult. I have to be patient and pass their fiddly little tests. It is arbitrary and pointless and I hate it."

"Letting them fill their heads with their own importance while hoping they decide you've abased yourself enough? I don't know, that sounds like a perfectly marvelous afternoon."

Obviously it doesn't, and he can see why she'd hate it. Anyone would. He stirs his coffee while looking into it, trying to find a way he can help there. Any attempt on his part to spread a rumor that they should let her in would go awry; subtle is not his strong point.

"You're a noble mage. That's unheard of outside Tevinter. Could some sort of... talk, maybe, about the novelty of it get people interested? And then they'd lose sight of the novelty once they catch a glimpse of who you are. You're magnificent, and anyone should want to have you at their get-togethers. It should be their honor. Though I suggest this being not Orlesian enough to be differentiated from Fereldans, so it could be a very poor idea."

"There are those with noble backing through connections in the court as Vivienne has managed in her career- but with the Circles gone and the Chantry in upheaval, my family has acted with swift certainty to allow me this benefit. I need to be certain I do not waste it- nor that I prove their fears of mages to be true." A delicate balance to keep, but- she will manage. She must. Failure at this juncture is, as ever, not an option.

There is a thought, though. Turning the rumor mill in her favor. It is well known, her family, the reason she was sent away. Her return is obvious and she has been seen and behaved as one of her family's name.

Making it more obvious certainly cannot hurt. "I will speak to Benevenuta to see her opinion. She will know if that will be of use better than I- my experience in the game is, at the moment, theoretical. But it is not so poor an idea."

A beat, a slow sip of coffee. "You needn't flatter me, Anders. You know I hate smalltalk and gossip- tha is the bulk of what these meetings are. Smalltalk and gossip."

Anders realizes he has no idea what Vivienne's pre-Circle background is, if she's got family behind her the way Adelaide does. It doesn't really matter at this moment, though it may in the future. He can try looking her up.

"If you find the smalltalk and gossip useful, then the aim is to get you more of the useful things you hate. And fact is not flattery. You have to know that the esteem I hold you in, the respect I have for you, is nearly unmatched. And it's not outmatched."

He takes a breath and then a sip of his own coffee, looking into the mug as he continues. "I have worked alone on nearly everything, and lead when I'd a network. The amount of trust it takes to follow, when I do not trust easily... But I trust you, Adelaide. You are trustworthy, and not simply because of your family's words."

The coffee hadn't helped a whole lot as his mouth feels dry. His hands also feel a little shaky, which is why he sets down the mug rather than continue to sip from it. He's going to say this after all. He hadn't been sure he would until his mouth started to run away with him. "I find you remarkable, something that's only grown since our first meeting. All of my feelings have only grown, since that first meeting. And I know I shattered things, that I wronged you, and that a spar does not fix the hurt of betrayal. A spar does not actually fix anything. But someone recently told me that while there's life there's hope, and so I want you to know that I am here, wanting to be alongside you as little or as much as you'd like me to be because I find you absolutely breathtaking. And knowing that right now, you don't want me around a great deal."

Now he looks up, fingers playing on the handle, expression a little guarded. Being open carries a high risk, even when he knows she doesn't want anything to start anytime soon. He'd felt the bit of uncertainty earlier. But she could still reject his offer to help her now, turn him away entirely, and turn that 'little' into practically never. It would hurt like few things ever have. How much more would he regret not saying anything, though, and forever wondering? He can't do that. He doesn't know how deep his feelings went for Karl, but he never spoke them. He knows how he felt for Hawke, and never said. Skyhold is about doing things differently. Doing them better. Not failing or faltering, not again.

"Tell me how to help and you have it. Not because I think it will get me something or somewhere, but because I trust you, I care deeply for you, and I want to see you succeed. If I can assist with any of that, I owe it to you."

If that is not a cautionary tale against doing all the heavy lifting on her own- Adelaide does not know what is. Without other perspectives, without other voices, without a moment to set down the burden and be something, anything else? She might drive herself to zealotry. It is likely not the intended meaning in what Anders says but it is the greater part of what she takes from this.

That and the trust. The respect. It is gratifying to know her works have not gone unnoticed, that someone with so little reason to trust anyone that came from the Circles and thrived would put their faith in what she means to do and how she means to see it done.

Were it to be only that, perhaps she would not have choked on her next sip of coffee. A cold breath, ice from her lungs, soothes the burn as he continues. This is not what she expected- though it felt as though they were coming to a head of...some manner or another. She does miss the friend she'd allowed herself in Detlef. That understanding, that support. It is a comfort she has not taken in Anders' company, too tightly bound to the lie and all he had done for her to accept such things easily. But for her it had been but two men she'd known with the weight of all Anders had done in the past shattering the image of the weary Spirit Healer, a ragged, raw break that took time to yet mend and still has not quite scarred over. She has only ever been herself. Friendship, perhaps, she could grow to expect and might have called for Anders has Nathaniel and they are content with one another. How can he have what he has with the archer and sit here to profess something similar to her? It is all-

Terribly much, is what it is. Adelaide sets her cup back in the saucer with a soft click of fine porcelain, eyes on the black of her brew rather than Anders proper. What does one say to such things, even from a man unattached? Mages do not, mages cannot, it is irresponsible. That is the line she has drawn for herself for ages. Uncertainty and discomfit leave her silent, leave her uneasy as she sits, still as a statue, mind racing.

She ought to say something. That much is painfully clear when he looks to her, wary and waiting and as though her answer would mend a wound or shatter him and this is-

She is terrible at this. He knows she is terrible at this, putting words to something so abstract it cannot be accurately categorized and marked down. She locks away these softer parts of herself even before complications. She is a Councilor, a Healer, a Teacher far before she is ever a Woman. Perhaps months ago when it had been Detlef she might have-

Words. He needs an answer and she has none. Voice quiet, she murmurs. "I do not know what it is you hope to hear, Anders."

That she would forgive him all his sins and accept him with all the warmth and affection she had given Detlef? He says he expects nothing and...almost anyone else? She would call bullshit. That is a pretty phrase to make oneself sound better while placing the demand but Anders knows he is in no position to ask anything of her save her patience. He would not mean it in such a way. She could ignore it. The declaration, the intent, and move forward academically. It is cowardice of a sort to not wish to discuss such things so publicly or at all and yes, call her a coward. "...at the moment, assistance in memorizing these family trees."

She can name no grand gestures, no solid gifts that would earn greater approval- for that is not how she lives. Day by day, compartment by compartment. Moment to moment. A bridge might be rebuilt and perhaps one day she might look at him and see a friend. Baby steps-

But that does not sit right, that does not sit well and- now she looks up, eyes wary and pale and more than a little puzzled. "What of Nathaniel?"

There is instant relief in his eyes, in his expression, in his heart, when she doesn't tell him to leave. When she still accepts his help despite what he's just told her, and her question shows that she's not ignoring the rest no matter how he knows she's not interested at this time.

"I love him. He knows it, and he knows what I feel for you. I've told him directly, because I'll not hide things from him. I'm happy with Nathaniel, happier than I've ever been in my life." He takes a breath, pulling over the book with the family trees and opening it if just to have something in his hands that isn't fragile like the mug.

"The best I could hope for from this, in this moment, is what you've just given. That I can still help you." A little smile plays on his lips for a moment. "I could also have hoped it didn't involve people with twenty family names, but I find I don't mind."

He pauses and his hands still and smile fades as he meets her eyes. "As far as the future goes, I think there's still some road to go before you'd even consider letting me back into your heart. But if you come to that point, considering, we talk, all three of us. I've a friend with two people he cares for deeply. It works for them. Would it for us, I don't know. What I know is what I feel for one of you doesn't diminish what I feel for the other, and vice-versa."

Beyond that, he knows he can be intense. If Nathaniel and Adelaide have each other as well as him, it feels like it could be more balanced. More equal.

"But again." Anders gestures at the book. "This is everything I could have hoped for. This is all I'm asking right now, and for as long as it's all you want me to ask. I want to work with you and help you, and not be a log in the road to our people's future."

It is one thing to allude to a depth of emotional intensity with vagaries like 'feel strongly for' and 'deeply care' and that has allowed her to ignore the enormity of what he says. It is another to slot her neatly beside Nathaniel so explicitly.

But there are no expectations in this for her (for once). Nothing more than what she has already agreed to and that helps to loosen the sudden tension in her shoulders. It is terribly delicate, this thing they are rebuilding, and she knows for herself that academic interest and determination to craft a better future are something they have in common, even if their methods differ. To use that to close the gap is safe. Certain. Steady.

To throw a depth of affection into it is-

She cannot for so many reasons.

All is well and she focuses upon the names, the histories she must memorize, and considers the matter shut. He expects nothing- and she has nothing to give. And then he continues and it is not the future of mages he discusses, but their relationship such as it is and that-

"That is somewhat presumptuous of you, isn't it?" More than a little, but she is too thrown to be anything but baffled. Give her a puzzle, an injury, a potion and that she knows well how to navigate. Give her emotional intimacy and she flounders even in discussing the abstract nuances of the same.

A breath, and a nod.

"Yes. You asked after Nathaniel and I thought I'd put all the cards on the table, here, when there's no pressure. That's them."

He's definitely presuming. He'd presumed when he seduced Karl, when he'd agreed to Nate being the target of his challenge with Zevran, when he'd gone to Herc with his identity, and down even to running away seven times. But it's been a poor choice at other times. His thumbs rub against his palms as he remembers to breathe. If he hadn't said as much, if he hadn't made clear that he wasn't leaving Nate, he's pretty sure that wouldn't have been fair to either Nate or Adelaide. It's better to have it out there.

He hopes.

"I've never done this before. I've no idea what I'm really doing here. With Nathaniel it was simple, but I never lied to him."

He's never stopped and tried to repair things before either. Varric, Isabela, Bethany, Velanna, Nate, even Merrill hadn't required it.

"I don't want to say too little, but if I've said too much and crossed a line I apologize."

"You give your regard too quickly to those that show you kindness." It is not, as it could be, a reprimand. Merely an observation. "It has never been my way."

Respect, perhaps, but her affection is something most often tightly guarded for fear of another round of Robert. She has endured it the once and cares little, lost her peers in the Spire and slowly rebuilds a life even now. Perhaps with Detlef there might have been- but Anders is and is not Detlef. Enough to leave her uncertain, to leave her wary. She has the right to be cautious with her regard.

She has told Nathaniel that much. She meant it then, she means it now.

"...I am not in the habit of speaking to those that lie to me after the fact." That he has been forgiven this much? Is uncharacteristic- but then so too has most of her life been since the Spire's fall. "Be content with your Nathaniel, Anders. Whatever more may come of our association- I do not expect it to turn down that road. Mages with mages- it is not for me."

He turns over the words, not sure if she has the right of it... but also not certain she has it wrong. He doesn't have enough history with people who have shown him kindness to say.

"If it does not then it does not." But life is not always what one expects it to be, and she's been interested in a mage before. She's speaking to him when he's lied, after all, and they're both alive. Maybe it won't happen, but that doesn't mean there isn't still a chance. And it's not like he can simply stop caring.

"For now, there's a great many names to memorize, and some of them are ridiculous."

Edited 2016-08-13 02:06 (UTC)

"Most of them are ridiculous." It's easier to move on from this moment and focus on the work they have yet to do. Friendship and affection will be slow to sprout- but the ground here is not entirely barren.

There is potential.

But it is not one she would put much faith in flowering. Not when there is all the world to change through sheer force of will. "If they are not, they've nicknames or titles that are ridiculous."

"Of course they are. We got the better nicknames. There's no good ones left."

He's not good at faith. But he's good at not giving up. They have a world to change and choices to gain for their people - why not take everything on at once? Well. Perhaps there are reasons not to, but it's nothing that applies here.

"Where shall we start? Are there particular families that are most important to focus on? And reasons for how long their names get? Because this one right here..." Anders taps it.

"With the family that has named all their sons Jean-Pierre." And given them increasingly odd middle names to differentiate them. "We focus on the families that have not thrown in with Gaspard or Celene overtly just yet, my Mother has supplied a list of those that are waiting for a more opportune moment, a more certain sign of the victor. We convince them of the Inquisition's cause and take their support for ourselves- it will make working around the Civil War easier. In theory."

This tree gets an exceptionally judging look once he's found it.

"I know I've little room to talk when it comes to names. But at least I mixed it up. Either their sons will self-destruct trying to be the best Jean-Pierre, or self-destruct deciding it doesn't matter." All the same, that's where they're starting.

It takes a moment for him to find the right name, but then he looks over at her. "So it looks like the current patriarch is, surprise, Jean-Piere, but fully Jean-Pierre Fabian Uloi." The family name gets left out; that one's the easy part. He looks up with a little amusement in his eyes. "So his middle name is F U, or, if you're crude, Fuck You."

If that's not easy to remember, nothing is.

"Or be driven to ambition and earn unique titles to set themselves apart. Jean-Pierre the Just, Jean-Pierre the Dragon Slayer, etc." It doesn't always work, this tactic, for there is no way to know how one's children will react to their naming. How it is her mother had a ready list with intent on how to dole them out long before they were a glimmer in her father's eye, Adelaide will never know.

"And he is quite of that opinion. If you are of the family or of equal standing? All is well and you are a friend. Otherwise? F U." She sips her coffee, shaking her head as they pick through to the current layout of sons. "I think he may be on his third wife."

If he knew his name, would that change anything? If he hadn't been simply 'anders,' would he have done better? He doesn't know. He has no way to know. The thought is worthless and discarded as quickly as it came.

"And this is our hope for alliance. Are any of the Jean Pierres the nice sorts? The ones who don't apparently go through women as if they're... disposable, or something?" That gets particular ire from him. Spouses haven't been allowed to mages for how long, and this man simply discards them? Anders does not approve.

"Childbirth is a risky business, Anders. You ought to know that." Yet another reason to never do so herself, honestly. Even with magic and surgery and potions and poultices- it is a dangerous thing for a body to endure. While she is in no place to argue for the nobility of Orlesian houses outside of a legal standpoint-

Tapping the date of death under each wife's name ought to serve just as well.

"Mm. I take it you know for a fact that's how they went. I feel more sorry for them... and a little less scorn for him. A little. You did imply that he's the sort to wait for others to take the risks and then profit off that."

Some selfishness he can understand. But selfishness that puts lives at risk, he can't.

"Is his wife more amenable to taking a stand?"

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