faderift | OPEN: this will be a better year

OPEN: this will be a better year

WHO: Everyone
WHAT: First Day
WHEN: Wintermarch 1 (forward-dated)
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Scouts from both the Western Approach and Emprise du Lion are welcome (but not required) to have returned to Skyhold in time for this event.

There have been better First Day feasts, and less crowded ones, and cheerier ones. It isn't a good year for many to look back on, and this one isn't starting any better. Reports from both Eastern and Western Orlais are grim. Many in the Inquisition can't afford to take more than a few hours away from their work, if that.

But for those who can, the ambassador does her best. At lunchtime some tables, hot food, and finery are reserved for visiting nobility and wealthy pilgrims--cause for grumbling in some quarters, perhaps, but they're the people filling the Inquisition's coffers, and allowances must be made--but there's plenty of stew, bread, and ale for everyone, even with the soldiers and refugees who stay outside the fortress invited inside for the holiday. The recently repaired garden and its carefully tended plants aren't off limits, but anyone noisy and holding a drink will be stopped at the door; the battlements, with their potential for deadly falls, are blocked by Inquisition guards. But the courtyards brim with people, most of them happy despite the possibility that the world might end before another First Day arrives.

If the courtyards are too full of tipsy visitors for comfort, there's also the valley beyond the fortress, expansive, barren, and covered in snow. By the river the soldiers help the refugees make a bonfire larger than would ever be allowed inside Skyhold's walls, and some lend their shields to use as sleds down the embankments. A group of scouts start the most intense game of hide and seek Thedas has ever seen, with snowballs to the face for whoever is found first. In the camp, a refugee girl with her hand wrapped in a green scarf chases other children around the tents, shouting raaar, I'm from the rifts!

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He hangs back, for the most part. It's not that he doesn't enjoy the warmth and wine and celebration - it's that he knows how much of a risk he's at here. Firelight shows silhouettes so much better than the light of day does, and even without his hair pulled back he's got a rather distinct profile. Staying back is smart. Tactical. ...and entirely discouraging. Being at Skyhold and being treated like a person instead of having to hide that he's a mage is swiftly reminding him of better days spent with Oghren and Nathaniel and even Velanna, days when Justice instead resided within Kristoff, and it's increasingly difficult to stay detached.

Difficult enough, that when he sees Adelaide end a dance with someone, he only hesitates for a moment before joining her.

"Is the next one taken?"

"Detlef?" She had not seen him in the courtyard nor in the valley- and had suspected he perhaps chose to find his rest elsewhere. Warm with wine and dance, with none of the weight of her station, none of the concerns of a Councilor or teacher or healer- her smile blooms brighter, wider than the usual faint twists he earns with his flirtatious conversation. Shades of who she'd been before abound- all the more in how her hair is long and loose, tangling about her shoulders even as she extends her hands to him.

"It is now." As if she can deny him a dance.

"In that case, I'll come back later once you're done with them." His eyes sparkle with the teasing and, against his words, he takes her hands and draws close. The tune's simple enough, one he knows the basic moves to even if he's not followed the steps in some time. But it comes back slowly as he starts to lead, letting himself simply exist in the moment as he's rarely done in so long.

What doesn't come back so well is the small talk, the way you're supposed to converse while dancing. She's lovely, and entirely unaware of who he is, which is the only reason she's smiling at him. His smile flickers for a moment at that thought, before he manages to get it back to its fragile warmth.

"Do you dance often?"

It takes her a few steps to settle in to this particular dance; not one with which she is overly familiar but given a proper lead? She knows well how to follow. Between the two of them they muddle through the beginning until Detlef finds his stride and Adelaide let's him lead without more than pleased laughter.

This- she has not had this in what feels like an age. Even in the Spire such open attraction was frowned upon, such lively dancing quickly reigned in so that the templars might not come knocking. As much as shades of this is old and she aches for the return; much is new. That makes it all the more warming, all the more precious. "Given wine, music, and a proper partner? Not near as much as I should like."

There's a joke on his lips - one about finding her a proper partner - but it dies in face of this mood. He wants to enjoy this instead of deflecting from it.

"I've... much the same. It's been some time." His arm goes around her waist as he raises an eyebrow, hoping he's not being too forward. The steps of the dance would be easier this way, if she permits the closeness. That, and it would be warmer. And closer.

"It's nice to have an excuse for this."

There's a moment of tension- a flicker of it that is familiar to those that reach out to Adelaide without the wine and the warmth and the excuse of a celebration to familiar. Those little finches, the tense set of her shoulders when someone stands too close; something that she cannot help and fights against. Tonight? She wins the fight- the tension smooths out into nothing as she steps that much closer, hand alight on Detlef's shoulder.

"For the dancing, or the holding?" An honest question that could be flirtatious if she actually had any skill in flirtation.

He sees the tension and he's ready to let her pull away, but then the moment's gone. He won't press, and the hold on her becomes very light. There are thousands of things that could bring up rough memories of the Circle.

They go a few more steps before he answers her question, giving her time to adjust and make sure she's all right like this. Then there's the duck of his head combined with a little more mischief in his eyes.

"I'd meant the dancing, but now that you ask, both. Looking over one's shoulder all the time makes it difficult to dance. Or dance well. I've no doubt that I could spin around and step on plenty of feet while keeping an eye out everywhere. It might even make an excellent show."

He pauses, looking at her, debating on saying the next thing before he speaks. "What doesn't make an excellent anything is if I overstep. If I bother you, I'll not take offense to being told so." He's no Templar. He'll not press more or worse if she protests.

It is only a moment. Something she still works through, something that is more difficult when she is sober and frustrated- something she does not enjoy having to explain. She shouldn't have to explain it because it should not be an issue. Contact is contact and there'd been a time not long ago when she'd been almost obnoxiously tactile.

But the moment passes and Detlef? Reminds kind. Does not ask.

The mischief earns him a faint smirk. "Clearly you were never trained by an Orlesian. If you cannot avoid both your partner's toes and that of everyone in the room without looking? You have not learned properly. I learned to dance blindfolded so as to not be distracted." Which had been distracting in and of itself, to be perfectly honest.

"...Detlef- it." She dips her head, faintly, not looking him in the eye. "It is not you. You have not overstepped. It's ghosts. Echos. Things I am trying to put to rest."

A glint of armor, a vice around her throat- but no. Not here. Not now. "You have not bothered me."

"I've not known a great many Orleasians. But now that I've met one I might let blindfold me, perhaps I could learn. Dancing's something I enjoy, despite the lack of opportunities." While his voice is innocent as the driven snow, as if he's only talking about blindfolds for dancing lessons, his eyes are sparkling a fair amount by now.

There's a part of him, that, despite the teasing, doesn't want to push this too fast or too hard. He knows what he is, and if she was fully informed there's a fair chance she'd have avoided him this whole time, rather than spending time with him. It tempers his flirting, keeps it far below the levels he'd ever gone to with Isabela or Nathaniel, Hawke or Velanna. He only hurts people, in the end, and he can tell by her words on the other topic that she's been hurt already.

"I understand, and I'll say no more on it," he promises. He has his own ghosts from his time in the Circle. Many do. And yet they're supposed to suddenly be model citizens and show people that they're fine and healthy and prove they're people. Their lot is still not right, still not just. One day, maybe, it will be. It's the reason he's still here.

"I- you. You-" Words. She has them, somewhere, and once her mind winds back away from blindfolds and what they can be used with aside from dancing she'll be able to form them. She hasn't been flustered this often or this comfortably since-

Since Robert.

Distance has taken that particular ache away- the wine and the warmth and the dancing does the rest. At the moment she isn't a councilor, a healer, a teacher, or even a mage. She is simply Adelaide and simply pleased. She slips a hand from his to whap (lightly) at his shoulder for his audacity, head ducked to hide her blush and her laughter. "Keep doing that on purpose. Keep teasing me and one day, De-De, I will call your bluff. What will you do then, mm? When you get more than a blush and a smile?"

Another turn and she takes that half step closer, dancing against him as much as with him- and true to her earlier words she doesn't step on his toes nor trip into anyone else despite the closeness. "You make it easier. Every day they become less and less."

He chokes on his laughter, eyes going wide. "De-de? De-de? That's what you come up with? Should I be glad it's not Spir-He or something? Should I start calling you Addy-addy?" The nickname is absolutely ridiculous and takes him ages away from the thought of ghosts. He likes it, actually, as ludicrous as it is, just as much as he enjoys the light smack that comes from flustering her yet again.

"I don't see how someone who can come up with a nickname like that can even begin to think someone else might be bluffing. You clearly don't have the discernment for such a call. You may even be entirely drunk."

One day, he might get more from her. Anders doesn't actually know what he'll do then. What he does know is that he's glad she's close enough that he can't look her in the eyes when she says he makes it easier. It won't last. He wants it to, badly, but he knows he only has a limited time before his cover falls apart. Maybe he can at least help her heal the rest of the way before it all crashes down.

"Absolutely, completely drunk."

"It is an Orlesian means of shortening names to show affection! Do not mock longstanding cultural treasures." But she's laughing. Laughing and shaking her head, though some of the light and warmth dims at 'addy-addy'. Close- too terribly close to what Robert used to call her, to what her father called her before she was taken away. Ever after it was Adelaide- as though having magic stole his little girl from him.

But he pushes on to something else, accusing her of being drunk and that- that earns another light smack to his shoulder. She cannot worry over what was when what is should have her whole attention."I have not yet begun to drink- this is three glasses of wine and one of cider. That is nothing. When I am entirely drunk you will know- I'll start to sing terrible Orlesian love songs and mock them between each verse."

Such had many a night been spent during the duller months in the Spire. But this close, this warm, and he quite so certain of her intoxication- why not take advantage? For a moment. She leans in and it's tentative even with the boldness granted by a lovely man, a lovely night, some lovely wine, and brushes her lips against his cheek. "And I do mean to show my affection."

"I mock everything. Particularly cultural things and treasures. They're made to be mocked." He'd been torn from the Anderfels at a young age, imprisoned in Fereldan, lost the person most beloved to him in the Free Marches, and was left with no loyalty to any nation whatsoever. Any country that could imprison a whole group of people deserved no respect. But that's far too heavy a thought to maintain right now, especially when she kisses him.

His breath catches for a whole different reason then. Sorely he wants this. He's missed affection and closeness beyond words and it hurts in a good way to have them given. It also stirs up Justice and has the spirit reminding him of how distracted he'd been in Kirkwall and how many mages had died in the time it took them to act. Anders closes his eyes. They can't have anything approaching a normal life. But this he wants. This he wants more than he can say and for once he ignores Justice's warnings. It will only last for as long as Detlef lasts, and he will accept that. He must accept that. As must Justice.

Anders turns his head to kiss her cheek in return. "Now that you mention it, I love mocking terrible songs. Maybe we should dance a little while longer before seeing if we can't start some singing and additional mockery. The good news is that I know how to get you home and tucked safely into bed once you're done."

He can't get drunk. Justice won't let him, to start, and then there's the whole thing about people who know him and hate him running around. But that doesn't mean they can't have fun.

"One would think a mage with close ties to a spirit would be less irreverent." But it's refreshing. Too many of her mentors looked to the spirits as these awe inspiring, infallible things, granting them a greater weight of power and knowing than they would have on their own. To Adelaide they have ever been partners- friendly voices in the dark. A familiar, comforting song. How it is Detlef felt or heard them she doesn't know just yet, nor does she feel all that compelled to ask in this moment.

One thing to initiate, another to receive and it is-

No ghosts. No echos. It's too divorced from that terrifying moment. The joy in her too buoyant to be weighed down by the smell of crackling flesh or the sheer flat hate in another man's eyes. Not a thought to Unger nor the Spire.

That if nothing else she counts as a victory. "One more glass of wine after this dance, and if you ask sweetly? I may very well."

She makes no promises lest she be forced to keep them; but this. This she will revel in as long as she's able to hold fast.

"I find close ties give me more reason to be irreverent. Justice takes no pleasure in... anything." He knows the spirit's not a traditional one for Spirit Healers to use, but there's nothing to say they can't work with Justice or Valor or any of that group. "Therefore I should make up for that."

He'd been as irreverent with Compassion, too, before Justice's presence cut off that relationship. Sometimes he found he missed the gentler spirit. Often, really, but what had been done with him through Justice was due to friendship. Anders can't truly blame the spirit when both of them walked blindly into this.

Though he can blame the spirit for being upset at the added contact. There's precious little either of them have done for him, and it's selfish, certainly, to want something when he's the one that's in control most of the time, but they can't help what's happened. Instead they can only move forward and enjoy what moments are possible to enjoy. Like this.

"One more glass of wine it is. Though I thought you weren't nearly drunk. Now I have to wonder if you truly wished to kiss me or if it's the one-wine-short-of-drunkenness that urged it to happen. I may have to find you tomorrow and ask."

The music fades as they finish out the dance, and before the next song can start up Anders pulls away enough to nod to one of the tables, raising an eyebrow in inquiry.

"Ask out loud, I mean. Possibly with people around. I do hope you're still not flustered by anything."

"Justice? I have not known a healer to use that spirit in anything beyond the theory." And even then the theory was weak at best- her eyes spark with curiosity- she wants to ask him everything; how they came to work together, what his limitations are, how working with Justice is different from working with Compassion- But there's another turn to the dance and the thought slips. Another time. Tomorrow, when she is sober and better able to focus on what she wants to know.

For now all that's worth knowing is his arm around her waist and the curve of his smile. The way his eyes catch the light of the fire and this feels- human. Normal. Without the songs and the whispers, without the weight of expectation.

Without the weight of her name and her occupation, her vocation.

"I am not nearly drunk, I am merely of a mind to humor you should you ask sweetly." Which she can very well imagine he might do well if given cause. Perhaps this would be cause enough. "Ask what?"

Oh.

Oh Maker, no- she ducks to press her forehead to his shoulder for a moment, hiding the blush and muffling her laughter. Even with her head down she can follow him to the table, with the absence of his shoulder she covers her face with a hand until she doesn't blush quite so much."I suppose I've walked right into this. Ask. Ask and I shall answer honestly."

A beat.

"And I shall not be flustered."

Clearly he'll have a lot of questions to answer later. It's only fair, considering he's talking about asking her a question that will most definitely fluster her, going by her reaction. It's a fantastic reaction and all he wants to do is stop and hold her but he stops himself instead. She keeps reminding him of what he used to be and that makes him miss those days more than he should.

"I'll ask very sweetly, in that case, and I'll ask sweetly again on the morrow." He shouldn't do this. But he can't stop. The press of her forehead against his shoulder, as if he's protector as well as teaser, and he can pretend he's human again.

The wine glass is grabbed with a careful lean that leaves his shoulder still in reach in case she wants to reclaim it. Anders wishes she'd reclaim it.

"But there's no point in asking now when you've had something to drink and I've grabbed another glass." He offers it out. "Though if you've had enough and you'd like to use my shoulder further, I've no objections."

"So long as it is not around any of my students- though knowing the rumor mill as it is; word shall get around." Such is the way of things. A councilor and an Apostate; at least her reputation as a moderate is beyond questioning- anyone that might imply undue influence clearly hasn't spoken to her before. In the morning she may attempt to be more mindful- but tonight? She takes the wine she is given and leans casually against Detlef's side.

For warmth, of course. For contact. For stability though she is far, far from falling down drunk. Happily and contentedly tipsy is what she might call herself.

"I think I shall enjoy my wine and your shoulder; as you've offered so kind an invitation." It doesn't take much. A tip of her head, the press of her cheek. Like they've done this many times before.

"Rumors fly faster than anything else. But at least tomorrow, I will try to make certain your students aren't around. Simply... other people." He's feeling mischievous and triumphant and it's a headier mix than any alcohol would give him. Tonight he's free. He's an equal. A person, a man, with a lovely woman leaning against him and trusting him, and if Anders could live right in this moment for the rest of his days he would do it gladly. But Justice hates this, and somehow things would go wrong as they always do.

Anders isn't sure where the last part of that thought comes from, and he doesn't like his suspicions, so he turns his mind away from what he'd like and what he has.

"Enjoy away. It's nice to have someone close while it's cold." He wraps an arm around her shoulders, holding her and watching the fire dance. "While I wait for you to get in a singing mood... Which spirit do you use?"

Talking about Justice as a helper might not go too poorly, at least.

"You would think we have nothing to do in the Inquisition but gossip for how many there are, and how absurd most tend to be." Her and Cullen. Ha. The first she'd heard of that one she'd lost her ability to breathe for laughing. Roul had been so terribly concerned.

This would be more and less difficult to refute. More for the truth of it- less for it means nothing. Keeping company with a peer on a night of celebration, when nothing truly is transpiring other than a dance, some wine, and idle conversation? It's...pleasant to have it again. To not need to worry after how it might seem. More scraps of what life had been like in the Spire, tentatively reclaimed and pasted together. Perhaps she might be able keep them.

"Compassion. I've heard them for...as long as I can remember. Before I ever understood what they were attempting to say." Before her magic manifested. "Justice's song is different from what I am accustomed to hearing- I have not encountered any Spirit-Healer partnered with them before."

"Rumors are a distraction from the darker aspects of something. We've a war going on, and Corypheus prowling about, dragons threatening all sorts of areas again, and so on. People need gossip. Even the most absurd pieces." In the Circle there'd been little to do for entertainment other than gossip or sneaking off for sex, and getting laid and getting caught would mean punishment. Gossip was safe. If people want to talk about him and Adelaide it won't be an issue. In fact, it might be good to have 'Detlef' associated with something mundane like dancing and flirting, and that thought fills him with shame. He's not using her. But thinking like that... Somehow, spirits are a far safer topic.

"I used to work with Compassion. I enjoyed that, actually. Justice is..." He huffs, half-laughing, half-looking for a good description. "Justice is driven. Focused. There's not a lot of room for anything other than healing when he's involved with the process." There are times he misses Compassion's touch. It had always been warm. Justice is cold.

"He's not a poor option; he's certainly very powerful. But by his very nature he's not flexible."

"Justice is meant for the Fade. For all that it is a concept created and perpetuated by men there are...shades of nuance that are difficult for a spirit to grasp on this side of the veil. In the Fade it is simpler. What is Just is Just, what is Unjust is Unjust. Their determination, their focus? That would suit better a Battle Mage than a Healer I would think. There is more room for them to act in the full of their purpose." Most of her experience with said spirits came from Fade Dreams and meditations- working with one there was...it made more sense. Attempting to call upon one to heal? It never occurred to any of her mentors- something with a lack of patience, they had said. She had never though to look deeper into it, focusing more on that which she had.

It is a bit intellectual for drunken bonfire chats- and all the same? She finds herself charmed. Detlef is someone that understands what she means when describing such things. It is a commonality she shares with no one else in Skyhold.

"How did you come to be partnered with him? A Spirit of Justice would require trials to prove your intent rather than a contract or charming intellectual discourse." That she can say so without stumbling means she needed to talk less and drink more. Adelaide does so, idly humming along with the music under her breath- but rather than it being the music of the lute player it is the older, stranger song she hears in spirits. Specifically? Justice.

Definitely more suited to a Battle Mage than a Healer, but it's not like either of them had options. Velanna wouldn't have been suitable. In fact, that would likely have been even more of a disaster. She'd already been very inclined toward vengeance, even back then.

"Charming intellectual discourse, mm?" The question is warm and lightly teasing. It's also a bid for time to cover a little hesitation. "We... met. I... A few friends and I walked into a trap. I've a rather distressing habit of doing that. The trap flung us into the Fade, and in our effort to get out, we met with Justice and chose to work together against a demon in the area."

Plenty of the Hero of Ferelden's stories are wide-spread, but everything about Justice has been kept vague and quiet. Nobody wants to speak about how they encouraged a spirit to wander around in a Warden's corpse. This is safe enough, if he stays fairly vague. Besides, there are far more impressive stories that people focus on, like everything that happened during the Blight.

"We didn't defeat it there. The demon threw my friends and I back out of the Fade and we proceeded with what we were doing. After, I started speaking to Justice regularly. He found the treatment of mages abhorrent and wanted to help. ...Granted, he also found the practice of keeping a cat abhorrent and called it slavery, but that's due to a fundamental misunderstanding of how kittens need people and people need kittens. We've agreed to disagree on that."

He shrugs, something she'd feel more than see. "Shortly thereafter we began working together. But I'd... I'd agree that he's meant for the Fade."

"...you met a spirit of Justice when trapped in the Fade by a demon." What? That-

Well that wasn't unheard of but for any demon to have that sort of influence, that sort of power required either blood magic, a place where the veil was thin and their power great, or some manner of help. Were she more sober she'd have more to offer than pure incredulity on the matter but he'd moved on to Justice...having issues with pets.

That. That is strange enough to divert Adelaide's intention entirely. "It's a peaceful coexistence, that of cats and mages. The Spire was full of them- mousers or kittens gifted by doting nobles to the Senior Enchanters. They were also oddly skilled at finding weak points in the veil; someone attempted to do research on them but couldn't find any answers worth writing about- everyone was too distracted with playing with the cats to get any work done."

Not that she could blame them. Cats are darling. "The few Spirits of Justice I'd met didn't have a good deal of commentary on the treatment of mages. It is our life and our lot to change, they'd said. Anything more wasn't their concern. I suppose your friend is different."

He would clarify that it wasn't the demon that trapped them... but it's safer to not do so. Let the moment pass, let the misunderstanding remain, and he had more of a buffer.

"Exactly. Cats are excellent pets. We'd a mouser, Mister Wiggums, and for a time when I had a cat of my own." If she thinks he sounds wistful, she'd be right. Sure, he won't get to experience this feeling of being seen as a person, living like someone ordinary, for long, but he can still fantasize a little about having a cat again. "Justice didn't understand. And then my cat was taken away so that was the end of that."

"Not the end of his observations, though. This spirit of Justice seems to feel personally involved in a great many things." He can feel the spirit's discontent in the way that's so open, in how they're both dismissing his issues with people owning pets, and Anders worries a little. He's indulging himself greatly here in Skyhold, and beyond talking with Alayre and helping teach a couple of mages he's done basically nothing to help with mage freedom. He's getting things he wants while Justice isn't. He'll try to find a balance. Somehow.

"It's not like it's entirely bad, working with him. He's an impressive source of strength. Some of the things I've healed I wouldn't have been able to without Justice."

Bonfire

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