faderift | [Open] No boom today. Boom tomorrow.

Entry tags:

[Open] No boom today. Boom tomorrow.

WHO: Anders and anyone! Or, well, almost anyone. Sorry, Fenris and Cullen...
WHAT: Anders arrives at Skyhold, takes a new fake name, and tries to get a measure of the Inquisition while keeping a low profile. Starting in prose, but will switch to brackets to match if that's preferred!
WHEN: Mid-haring
WHERE: All over Skyhold, choose your location?
NOTES: Warning for Anders? I can't think of any real ones atm, I'll update if that changes.

He's tired, but that's nothing new. The road's been long. It shows in the way he leans a little on his staff, a fairly generic-looking thing that's far from his old appreciation of things flashy, just as it shows in the state of his rather ragged-looking robes and the scruff of a beard that he doesn't exactly like. At least he's not dead on his feet - the company of a few refugees more than willing to bear the brunt of conversation on the way up had made the last couple of days more bearable than usual.

Now he's here, and the strain is back on his shoulders. Skyhold holds more than the usual level of danger but there's no getting around the fact that he has to at least visit this place. The Inquisition is likely to be a player in the future of mages, and Anders will not see the little bit of progress made be undone out of fear, or laziness, or naivete, or any other number of things that could cut down freedom for his people.

But that doesn't mean he knows how to go about working toward that, just yet. And that means he's slowly going around the fortress, gathering information by listening and asking simple, short questions. They have to be short. The second-to-last thing he can afford is to slip up and let Justice get too accusatory, which could lead to the last thing he can afford - to be recognized by someone who would turn him over to the 'authorities,' such as they are.

"Have you been with the inquisition long?" is one of the most frequent questions, along with a follow up if the answer is yes: "Do you think they treat mages well here?" It's not like he's hiding the staff, after all. But there are more simple questions mixed in as well, questions about the need for herbalists or healers, about where one might find a warm enough corner to sleep in, or where one can lose what few coppers they have over a game of cards. They're general. Careful. They have to be. He's no longer ready to die.

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"Of the Inquisitions fledgling Council of Magi. Nominated by my peers for reasons I still cannot quite comprehend." They haven't been terribly forthcoming when she had mind enough to ask- so she has stopped asking. Soon enough she's ushering him into her tent, warmed by the brazier in the corner, kettle of tea waiting, the savory wafting of stew filling the rather haphazardly organized tent.

To anyone that wasn't a healer attempting to keep everything easily within arm's reach? It probably makes little sense. For her it works, even if she must clear away some of the poultices and salves to make room for bowls of stew and mugs of tea. "We are...attempting to act as a voice for the Inquisition's mages, Circle, Apostate, Dalish, Vashoth- sit."

Less an offer and more a command as she releases his elbow, fetching a tin mug to press into his hands. "On a scale of 'I probably walked an extra mile than usual' to 'I have been up for a week straight with nothing but tea and spite fueling me', how tired are you at the moment?"

Councilor, and not First Enchanter. They've ditched traditional terms. Anders finds that promising, though he selfishly finds the warm tent even more so. He sits quickly and holds his hands out toward the brazier until they're filled and warmed by a mug instead. Next time he ran, he needed to acquire a tent. Somehow. But that was a concern for another time because she was asking him a question.

The Councilor gets a weak half-smile. She's so much closer to the truth than she knows, with the spite comment, but he can't exactly say that. "I caught a rabbit a few days back, at least. So water, spite, and rabbit. It's not exactly safe to get sleep out there. And where it is, there are injured people."

She can feel what he is, or some of it. And with the way she'd so quickly ushered him here without even asking after name or background, he has a hunch she's made plenty of detours of her own when it comes to helping those who are hurt.

"But now I can add tea to that." He holds up the mug in a sort of thanks and toast before taking a sip. It's heavenly, being warmed outside and in and not having to worry about a campfire drawing Templars to a lone mage out in the wilderness. Again the all-too-dangerous threat of hope rears its head, but at least he can't put any stock into it this time. He won't be welcome here long. He can't get used to being warm again, especially when he doesn't deserve it.

"Rabbit, water, and spite. The refugee's traveling companion of choice." She snorts a soft sigh, no small wonder Compassion had been so insistent on offering their aid.

"After you eat and I make certain you are not about to collapse, I will walk you to the aforementioned quarters. No injured there. Camille is likely keeping watch at this time, she will ensure you are not bothered." Tea first, the magic pooling in her palm- blue and bright and soothing- second. Compassion's power spun with the intent to sooth, to ease the ache of travel and offer a wash of warmth to an otherwise chilled person. She's been making use of this particular variation on rejuvenation quite a bit as of late. More and more as travelers from the road return.

Adelaide offers her hand, the mist of power swirling about her fingertips, and a small vial of a potion that will do much the same with the other. "Which would you prefer?"

A choice most don't get- she makes use of her magic and moves along. But for a peer she can make a token attempt to be personable. Not all Spirit Healers liked having another mage's spells on them. Whether or not she might include him in their number, she'll see soon enough.

He murmurs thanks between sips of tea, but the question draws his attention as well as worrying him. He's not been near a Spirit Healer since joining with Justice. Would one feel what he's become? What would her reaction be if she figures it out? But can he justify taking a potion when it's something that could instead be more useful in an emergency? He can't. He has to focus on the fact that he's already lived past when he thought he would, and that he should be helping rather than taking away.

"If you don't mind, I'll take the healing. I know how precious those can get in a crisis." He'll take the healing, and wonder if he's been changed by Justice even more than he knows. It's not completely likely, but if anyone will notice, it's a Spirit Healer. Conversely, if she doesn't, he's safe. Or, at least, safe from this particular threat. Not safe from thousands of others.

"As you wish." Unaware of his internal conflict- Adelaide simply sets the potion aside and extends her hand- the blue light lifting like so much smoke in wisps and curls as it moves to circle his wrist. A simple point of contact, a rush of warmth not entirely unlike a soothing hand, before the spell spread and the bulk of the work is done. She feels...nothing outside of what she would expect in another Spirit Healer.

A weary mage with ache in his bones- a connection to a being of the fade. As the entirety of her skills has been narrowed to the mending of wounds and the soothing of hurts; anything other than that takes a greater deal of focus- an awareness of what it would be to look for in the first place. Having never run into anyone quite like Anders and too familiar with the terror and pain of the Abomination of not a few weeks before and the vast difference between?

She thinks nothing of it.

In an instant he feels better than he has in years, and all without her recoiling or showing fear. She hadn't noticed. She hadn't noticed, and for a few moments, he's safe and warm and not sore anywhere. Anders bows his head, fighting a mess of emotions mixed with weariness. He hasn't sought out kindness, hasn't been offered it in months upon months if not longer, and yet here it's been given freely. It's enough to make him feel almost human again despite the lines he's crossed.

His throat is a little tight when he looks up again and takes a breath. "Thank you." Hoarseness is audible in his words and Anders glances away for a moment to make sure he has complete control. He needs to seem like just an apostate, nothing more. Tears, weakness, they're too dangerous.

"You've been healing for the Inquisition long?" That's safer. Much safer.

There's usually some manner of relief that comes along with these spells. The easing of an ache, a slow surge of warmth, of comfort after so long on the road and long without? It's easy enough to understand and, more often than not, Adelaide ignores it in favor of finishing the job neatly. She hasn't expected quite such a visceral surge of it from this man, tight enough to catch in her throat.

Whatever the cause beyond isolation and travel, paranoia and caution held tight in the place of a companion or true means of warmth- it tugs at something in Adelaide's chest. A memory of her initial arrival; weary and afraid.

Words seem- there were words, things her mentors told her were appropriate to offer. Pithy comments about comfort and security. Kind things. Gentle things. She's never been terribly good with gentle things but does reach out to curl her actual fingers around her patient's hand. To squeeze it, a physical counterpoint to the magic she's weaving. "You are welcome. Truly."

Moving along in the conversation seems the most sensible option. "A few months, now. I came with my students from Andoral's Reach after I heard that mages were offered sanctuary here."

He's been taught the same words, though he'd been an impatient student whenever he'd been in the Circle. The offered touch means more than any of those would have, and even takes him a little by surprise before he realizes why she's reacting as she is.

Suffering is the story of so many mages. He has no monopoly on it. But they've endured so much, and been so beaten down, even to the point where some weren't even aware of it. Some welcomed the imprisonment because they'd been brainwashed to the point they were afraid of what to do without it. For all their lives they'd faced this, struggled with this, simply due to the very nature of their birth, and it was wrong.

This is why he's done what he has. And this is why he's here. The cycle has to end, and he's already crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed. Mages will have a future, and it will be free.

"I'm impressed that you managed to bring them with you. Hiding from Templars while alone is challenging enough. I can't imagine protecting younger mages as well." His voice may be weary, tone a little dull, but the words are sincere. She'd taken care of them at risk to her own life, and she's here offering him sympathy. Commonality, too, Spirit Healer to Spirit Healer.

There is hope in Skyhold, as hard as it is to feel.

"When I... After I'd been on the run for a time, I tried to get one other person out." It's not a story he's seen in the pages of Tale of the Champion. It's a poor offering of truth because there will be an exchange of names shortly here, and he'll lie. He'll like like he's lied so much, despite her kindness, and as much as he knows he must do so it weighs on him. "I didn't... It didn't work. He died. The fact that you managed to get students out and to the Reach, or even simply managed to shepherd them to safety here, and that you're on this Council... It's good news. The best I've had in some time."

"Pretending not to be a mage did much of the work for me. 'Oh no, Ser templar, no mages in this caravan, only a surgeon and poor orphaned children seeking shelter from the cold. Why your Knight Captain has the gout? Of course I'll tend to it-' Offer the proper incentive and keep your head down long enough, it is a simple matter to hide. Not that it made dealing with them any less terrifying." She can admit that fear to him- he knew. She can feel it in the twist of his voice, the ache in his bones. He knew that fear well.

The rather pithy comment earlier about being beaten for daring so much as to flirt tells her more than enough what manner of Circle he might have endured.

"Wear pants and hide the staves and we're no different from any other caravan of refugees." Frustrating to hide their magic? Yes. But the alternative had been far too great a risk to take. "We came from the Spire before the Reach. They are the ones I was able to get out before..."

She shakes her head, focuses on the spell. It's easier there. He does not need her story, even as he offers her a piece of his own. "My condolences. It is terribly little, I know, but- you have them. As well as my word that you will be safe from Templar meddling while in Skyhold, you may work and flirt as much as you like. No beatings."

He bows his head. Maybe if he'd been less proud, not showed off as much as he used to... but it's not as if he'd had much of a chance, with Templars using his phylactery in the pursuit, and then Rolan later watching his every move. When she'd left, by the sound of it, she'd left during the chaos he's heard muddled stories about. Chaos spurred on by his own actions, which is both comfort and not. Her freedom, which should have been hers by right, is partly due to him. But so, likely, are deaths in that Circle, people she's lost, whatever she broke off from telling.

It's better than them all dying as prisoners and slaves, but that's not always the easiest thing to come to terms with.

"From one mage to another, condolences mean a great deal." Not everyone's struggled the same amount, but they've all been held. There's a commonality there, in being prisoners when they'd done nothing wrong, in being treated like they were less than human, in the glares and fears and disdain and cruelties.

"Though you might want to be careful who you promise not have beaten for flirting." Anders' voice is a little lighter, now, and there's a little smile in his eyes. "You fluster rather prettily, and now it sounds like I've got your word you won't slap me."

It's not like he'd push that far, to the point where he'd really deserve a slap for flirting, or that Justice would be willing to allow Anders to get distracted by things going much further than flirting, but sometimes he needs to joke as much as he needs to breathe.

"Then I am glad to have not wasted them." It isn't a level of naked emotional sincerity she offers anyone anymore. The world too dark, too harsh, too dangerous. Strong emotions call demons- stir up spirits in fear. There is more than enough roiling about without her adding to it.

A low pulse of light, another wash of warmth and she lets her hands drop away from his, the blue glow dimming from her fingertips. That should hold him over for awhile- and what good it cannot do the tea and soup and heat should manage. "I- what?"

Speaking of flustering. No longer facing away the pink in her ears returns and even extends onto her cheeks. One did not flirt in the Spire. They sniped, they argued, they debated.

And once the debate was over, stirred to passion by intellectual prowess or pretty eyes, they found an alcove and made do.

"LeBlancs do not fluster." Yet another reason why she is a terrible LeBlanc.

He's feeling better physically than he has in ages. Soreness and aches added up subtly, unnoticed, until they were all piled on and far too much for him to address while on the run. And then by the time he had breaks, there'd been the people injured that he was partly responsible for. Would they have ever taken the side of a mage? Likely not. But that didn't change what one of the triggers for this war had been his hand.

His gaze goes from her hands dropping away to the clear blush on LeBlanc's face, and there's a little sparkle in his eyes.

"So I should take it that is not your name, then?" The dusting of pink is rather lovely, and he's a little surprised to find an adult who still can blush. "Seeing as you're decidedly flustered, and after such mild words."

This isn't a time to push his luck. She's just healed him and the last thing he wants to do is make her regret or feel uncomfortable about offering a bed in her rooms.

"But if you'd like, I'll tell no one about it. I could even stop. I've been known to have self-control on rare occasions." Every moment he's not glowing he has some, at least.

"I am not flustered. I am-" There's a word for confused or confounded or baffled or something to that effect that isn't flustered, there must be. "Flattered."

There they were.

Wait, no, that isn't entirely right either- even if she IS and he's. Teasing. She can normally take teasing in stride but not when there are flirtatious comments thrown her way, with her the focus of said comments. It isn't- she's the healer, the teacher, the mentor that paced the halls at night to nudge wayward apprentices to bed. Not. Someone people flirted with. But she's committed to a word and must keep to it. Merde.

"This is me, flattered. Not flustered. Therefore, still a LeBlanc- Adelaide in fact." Youngest daughter of that noble house, so on, so forth, not much of it matters as she's a mage. "Please don't- my students will never let me live it down. They'd probably encourage you, were I honest. Something about my needing to get out more which is absurd- I am out and about often enough."

She is decidedly not muttering. At all. "Flirt if you must. I shall not keep you from exercising your hard earned freedom to do so."

Flattered and not flustered. Even through his weariness there's amusement showing on Anders' face. She's utterly flustered... but he'll accept flattered.

"Flattered, then, Adelaide." Every now and then he has a reminder of who he used to be, before Justice. This is one of those moments, when a lovely woman is flustering and even giving him permission to flirt more.

"And as I believe that Spirit Healers can never get enough flattery, I'll make sure to flirt often." Mischief shines in his eyes as he allows himself to not focus on guilt for just a few moments. "But certainly you deserve some time out and about."

Hypocrisy should really be his middle name.

Oh how wonderful, there will be more of this in the future.

...

Actually that is wonderful in it's own way and once she has gotten over the loss of her composure, she'll likely recognize it for the kindness it is. "I am out and about often enough. I was recently out and about at the mire though that is less 'out' and more 'in' as is the way with most bogs."

She shudders in memory, the undead and the red lyrium and the plague and the spirits- the whole mess of it had been thoroughly unpleasant but it had been out. Isn't that enough?

"Bogs don't count. Bogs decidedly do not count. There was one time I tried to take a shortcut through one. I was--" Running away. He really can't talk about that with a Spirit Healer, because she has to know how closely they're watched. Maybe her mind won't go to an infamous runaway, but he needs to make it sound more recent and not like his fourth (or was it fifth?) escape attempt.

"Right. I was running. I'd come over a ridge and startled some nugs which startled a bunch of Templars I'd not seen, and Templar armor has a way of weighing its wearers down, thank the Maker. I thought cutting through the bog would be faster for me and I'd get away safely."

He shrugs.

"On the bright side, I did escape from that group of Templars." He hadn't escaped the others, the ones with his phylactery. "On the darker side, I ruined my only pair of boots, and if I never see creatures spilling out of swampland again it will be too soon."

There's a beat and he gives her a calm smile as if he hasn't just had to alter his story mid-telling to protect himself.

"My point is that bogs don't count. Dinner counts. A peaceful walk just outside of Skyhold would count, where everything is quiet but still alive, still wild. There's little as satisfying as being just outside large walls that you're not forced to stay in."

She can't fault him for the running- honestly she couldn't fault any Circle Mage that ran before the war. Think them foolish for the attempt and potential violence? Of course. But fault them? Not at all. But the hitch in his breath registers as a change in pace, in tone- but she does not ask after it. Those that run, that ran, the stories of those weathering the war aren't hers to know if they are not willing to give them.

Demanding anything of the sort is the worst sort of arrogance.

"I walk outside the walls- mostly to find herbs for the garden; and I eat when I remember to do so while researching-" In the library, up to her elbows in texts and conflicting opinions of long dead academics. "...I am not helping my case in the slightest, am I?"

She doesn't pry, and it's a kindness. Many mages have stories they don't want to tell, and while he'll share some of his, coated in jokes and sarcasm, there are some things that are far too dangerous for him to talk about.

Unlike this.

Anders leans forward, elbow on knee as he sips his tea, starting to actually smile in earnest. He's with another mage, another spirit healer, they're not locked up, there aren't Templars coming in, he's feeling better physically than he has in months, and she's easy on the eyes as well as easy to tease. He feels... human again.

"Not in the least. Though I'm no stranger to forgetting to eat. Perhaps we should help each other with that. A meal together, from time to time. And getting you out. Out of books, away from patients and students, far, far away from bogs. We've a freedom, Adelaide. We should make the most of it."

Most being more like working on writing a new manifesto, for him, between what patients he'll be seeing here, also forgetting to eat, hiding from some of the people here, trying not to glow blue... There's a lot of work to do to survive, but for the future of mages it's worth it.

"I do not have time- there are patients and I am training two mages that wish to be spirit healers, I've the council and the templars poking about council business to mind, the nonmage masses to educate on what is and isn't possession- poultices and potions to brew to keep the Inquisition stocked-" She cuts herself off mid gesture, sinking back into her chair. Truly all she is doing is proving his point for him- that he continues to smile so at her doesn't help.

Her composure is regained but she's still pink. One day she will be better able to hide when she is flustered or flattered or whatever it is she calls it to save face.

"We are sharing a meal now. That must count for something, yes? Even if I do not know your name- I feel as though if I am to be flirted at- with- if you are to flirt and get me out, I should know your name." So smooth, Adelaide- she is terrible at this. Has always been terrible at this- give her an academic seduction and she can manage with half a mind, but this? Teasing? She's never learned it or learned how to work around it.

A little bit of his good mood fades away at her request. It's fair. But it also means he'll be lying yet again, and yet again to someone he doesn't want to lie to. This is the bed he's made, though.

"Call me Detlef, Adelaide. And I full intend to flirt with you and get you out. I'd even not object to being flirted with in return, though for now your.... flattered... pink cheeks are enough of a return." The pause is utterly deliberate, calling far more attention to the choice of word than it would otherwise have.

"And I can help out with some of what you're doing, as well. Poultices and potions, patients. I could presumably assist with students, though I've never had any before. A burden shared is a burden... I can't remember how the saying goes. But I've come to help, if you'll have it."

"Detlef." It's softer than how he says it, rounder at the beginning, brighter at the end, the hard cut of the 't' almost smoothed over entirely by her accent. A strange name, an Anders name, but he does not sound as though he is from the Anderfels. Curiosity tugs at her a moment more before she lets it be.

If it is worth telling, one day he might tell her.

Her lips press thin to fight the smile she feels blooming- a fight she fails. Fine. She is flustered, flattered, and relatively pleased by both.

"Le partage de charge est réduit de moitié la charge. Halved. It is a burden halved. I will be glad for your assistance, Detlef, and would be happy to have you." Wait- that sounded- oh Maker she should better mind what she says around him.

This... This is a part of him he'd thought lost, these last few years - the ability to tease, to be interested, to actually have anyone interested in him in return even if it's just for flirtation's sake. In Justice's opinion, this is dangerous. It's distracting. It's not work, and it's not necessary. But Anders welcomes it as one would a sip of water after a long day fighting Tal Vashoth on the Wounded Coast.

"You certainly move fast, don't you? But I'll never say no to a beautiful woman who wants to have me."

It can't last. It won't last. Something will go wrong because it always does, but this is the best moment he's had in quite some time and Anders will enjoy it fully.

"Perhaps, though, it should wait until I've had a chance to get a little rest. I wouldn't want to disappoint you." He can't describe the ways in which this makes him feel whole. Maybe, for a short time here, he'll be able to know what it's like to be what he's never had a chance at - a normal person.

"That is not- that- I did not mean it that way and know it-" No, no recourse. Composure? What composure? Adelaide buries her face in her hands, gone from pink to full blown red, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter at her own foolishness. Maker, how long has it been since she's felt this light? Since she's been teased? Since she's wanted to try (and fail, never forget failing) to tease back? Not since the Spire fell at the very least and some time before.

She should know better than to speak again. Does, in fact. And yet the habitual response to 'disappointment' slips out all the same.

"I am often disappointed as I have impossible standards." She scrubs her face once before reaching for the bowls. Stew. They have stew. She's being a horrible hostess. In for a copper, in for a sovereign. It is easier to make the attempt at banter if she is not looking him in the eye "So it would not matter if I am disappointed by you- it'd be remarkable if I wasn't."

Edited (wrong red) 2015-12-30 09:31 (UTC)

"Well then. If you're already set up for disappointment, why wait?" He's always been good at disappointing people, after all. He got there too late for Karl, he lied to Hawke, ditched the Wardens, frustrated Irving to no end... Maybe he should have gone with a name meaning disappointment. If anyone needed a surname, he'd go with that. He'd be Detlef Enttausch. Then no one could even protest, because it's right there, for all to see.

"I'll never meet impossible standards, but I can make you blush and I can make you laugh before you wind up furious with me. And then, when you set me on fire, I can heal myself. Less messy cleanup for you. Who said seeing a Spirit Healer doesn't have perks?"

Granted, there would be more perks if he was any other Spirit Healer. Bad enough that he's possessed, but as soon as he's identified, he's likely dead and he knows it.

"I said I would give you somewhere to rest. Intercourse-" She doesn't know him well enough to be quite so casually vulgar just yet. Key word there being yet. "Is hardly restful. Eat your stew and stop smirking like that."

He keeps smirking and it keeps being pleasant and her face keeps burning despite all attempts to reign it in. He's charming. She's supposed to be accustomed to charming- but not quite something that's charming and this personal. Her sisters would laugh at her if they knew; LeBlancs are supposed to handle such things with wit and grace. Perhaps he'd been right- she is a terrible LeBlanc.

"My trade is in Ice, not fire. You will likely know my fury is in the making when the temperature drops twenty degrees." She still doesn't quite have a handle on that, but she is getting better. "And I cannot use my magic to do harm. It is part of my Agreement with compassion. And I've promised not to slap you for flirting. I suppose I shall simply have to endure it."

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