faderift | (no subject)

WHO: Cole and Hermione (and Dandelion the nug)
WHAT: Secret birthday fun times
WHEN: 19th of Kingsway
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: n/a

There are dozens of little sadnesses all over Skyhold. People who are concerned with the still-drafty corridors, who miss the families and friends who are far from the Inquisition, who fear those who ought to be their colleagues. To Cole, it's the everyday noise of life, the same as the rush of the waterfall or the wind through the mountains.

Often, however, one or two will bubble up above the rest on a given day. Worries and sorrows that normally would have been nothing of special note start to hurt a little bit more. That's when Cole has no choice but to listen.

And that's how Hermione will find herself being followed around, on the 19th of Kingsway, by a particular nug in little red boots, with a red bow around her neck.

The nug's focus on her may appear to be a mystery, until she checks her pockets and finds bits of fresh turnip. Which she definitely did not gather herself.

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"Not like that."

Not in the way she means. Not in the way a number of others have meant it. By now, he knows how to explain the difference.

"She's mine, but she's not my nug. She's my friend." He climbs down off the wall. "Her name is Dandelion. It is now. She couldn't tell me what it was before."

Dandelion gives a little squeak, while she keeps munching on the turnip pieces.

"She liked how you were patting her on the head. There's an itch, behind her right ear."

Hermione isn't sure what to make of this man or his nug - his friend, apparently - but she manages not to frown down at the small creature as she squeaks against her hand. "Hello there, Dandelion. I'm Hermione."

Before she realizes it, she's reaching to gently pat at Dandelion, carefully scratching behind her ear. Though she's still looking at the nug, her question is directed at Cole as she asks, "You can talk to nugs? I didn't know anyone could do that."

"Anyone can talk," he says, mildly confused. She just said hello, after all. "I can understand. Sometimes."

He moves to Dandelion's side, still leaving Hermione plenty of room to offer scratches, but also trailing his fingers along the wrinkly, pink skin of Dandelion's back.

"Nugs are simple. They're always kind, when others are kind to them. They're afraid a lot of the time, but only when there's danger."

As opposed to people, who don't always accept kindness. Or are afraid for no reason.

"I mean-..." she starts, but he seems to know what she'd meant, even if his clarification doesn't really clarify much of anything at all.

When he comes near her, Hermione once again feels a tiny spark of familiarity, but she just can't place, and she looks at him carefully as she tries to pin down his face in her mind's eye.

"So she isn't afraid of me because she doesn't sense danger?" Well, at least the nug wouldn't be wrong. It has nothing to fear from Hermione herself, even if danger has a way of following her around. "And here I thought it was just because she smelled food on me. Though I must confess, I have no idea how or when it got in my pockets; I hope she doesn't get sick."

He gives a little nod at the question about danger. Although the turnips certainly helped.

"They were cut fresh this morning," he assures her. He had sensed that little ripple of sorrow from her very early in the morning, and had crept into the kitchens to take the handful of vegetable from the cutting board.

"You have a fondness for small things. I thought she might make you smile."

Hermione looks up at him when he claims that the turnips were fresh, wanting to ask how he would know. But then he seems to have knowledge of other things, and her brow furrows in confusion as she tries to figure out how. Now she's sure she's seen him, and given how many people she's met at Skyhold in the six months she'd been here, it wouldn't be unheard of for her to have trouble placing a particular face.

"Why would you care about whether or not I smile?"