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He shakes his head with a smile. "The blooms shall be a pleasant change from the usual bird-droppings they scrub off the ground," he says, hand tucked into his pocket. "But if you wish to do a good deed, I shan't stop you. - Do you like wine?"

"I do."

Tiffany gets to her feet as she empties the flowers from her hand and onto her sister's letter. She folds the parchment more securely around them and tucks it all away.

"Especially if we can somehow count drinking wine as a good deed. The bottle is open, it's going to go bad, it would be wasteful to leave it..."

He presses a hand to his heart, and widens his eyes, and says in a hushed voice - "There is a particular wine I know - it's so tragic - it's trapped in a terrible place. The brutal prison of a glass bottle. 'Help,' it cries out, 'help me, I'm so cold and alone - the only place I will be happy is once I'm inside a nice warm belly.'

"My dear Mademoiselle Hart, will you perhaps join me in freeing this poor sad drink from its cage?"

She had laughed, first--but, quick to cotton on, she'd widened her eyes, too, put a hand to her cheek with a demure gasp--oh, my!--covered her mouth at this sad plight--with all the appropriate drama. So now she is ready, and presses one hand to her breast, while the other is held out expectantly, waiting with a lady's grace and fainting spirit for her escort.

"My dear mysterious monsieur, I can do no less. Now that I know of the wine's cruel imprisonment, I must act. This is my duty. Please, lead on. We must, must free the drink."

"Has there ever been a heroine your equal?" he asks, voice hushed. "Have I ever seen such goodness before? No." He closes his eyes, and shakes his head - and then drops all the drama, grinning easily as he tips his head towards the stairs, then begins walking that way.

"It's a decent red, if memory serves. Nevarran. Nothing remarkable. I'll confess, I always assumed that Seekers would be teetotalers."

Edited 2021-03-09 23:13 (UTC)

"Some of us, maybe. The Lady Seeker who oversaw most of my training was from Starkhaven. If she cut her finger she bled equal parts blood and whiskey. It was quite the feat."

She follows after him, catching up easily as they start down the stairs.

"'The Maker wouldn't have given us the drink if He didn't want us drinking it' was her very endearing philosophy. I'd do her memory a dishonor if I didn't at least sample your Nevarran red."

"I should get to know more Starkhavenites," he muses as he descends. "They sound like they know how to have a good time."

He casts a look over at her. "You're Fereldan?" he asks, like he doesn't know perfectly well already.

"Near the Ruswold," Tiffany says with a nod. "The land of mead and ale. I left when I was young, for training, but I came back often to visit. I still do, actually. And there's always the letters from home."

She pats her belt, where Rose's letter is tucked away.

"What about you?"

"Dragonmount." He smiles a bit. "Not too far from your own home. Northeast of the Brecilian Forest, near the sea."

And he wonders if that will be enough to allow the lady to figure out who he is, for Byerly is not just from Dragonmount, he is Dragonmount. Or at least part of the family that is of the bannorn. The Lady Seeker is not, of course, a mere freewoman, but from what he knows of the Harts, she's not too far off from it. So: noble enough to have been educated about the holdings of those more socially prominent than she, or no?

"Poor mead, there, and poor ale. But decent trade. And, of course, the best-looking people in all of Ferelden."

"Clearly. It's kind that they let you out so you could share with the rest of the world, instead of hoarding you for Ferelden."

Dragonmount. Tiffany absorbs this piece of information without any outward reaction. There are coincidences in life, but if you think that you recognize something, you probably do. And while it's not in her nature to be withholding, or deceptive, she doesn't say anything just yet, or ask the question she has in her mind.

"Do you miss it? Kirkwall isn't terrible, of course--I'm finding it doesn't fully merit its reputation, at least so far--but it isn't home for most of us."

"I miss Denerim," he answers easily and honestly. "Not that it wasn't provincial, squalid, closed-minded and foul there, of course. And not that I don't have rather dreadful memories of ducking under a bar table to hide from darkspawn." A slight exaggeration, but only slight. "But it was my favorite little pond to loll in. Far too much competition here."

He quirks a little smile towards the wall, in the direction where the city would lie were the tower made of glass.

"But I'm rather fond of Kirkwall, to tell you the truth. I like any place this stubborn. Any place this rebellious."

"I wouldn't have said rebelliousness was a quality that I liked, but now that you've said it--I think you're right. That spirit does make up part of my admiration."

At the bottom of the tower stairs, she lets him keep that slight lead. After all, he's the one that knows where he's going.

"I love Denerim, too. I still remember the first time I saw it--for a long time, it was the largest city I'd ever seen. I think it has something of that same spirit--that stubbornness to survive, despite all that it's seen, all its threats. Not quite as pronounced as Kirkwall's. I imagine that's part of why Riftwatch has chosen to settle here."

"That and the advantage of a fortress so cursed that no one wanted it," he says. Then he casts a glance over at the good Lady Seeker.

"Do you know why Kirkwall has a viscount? Why the leader of this city has that title?"

She nods at the first part, makes a little gesture of concession. Yes. If they want to be very negative about it all--and in fairness, negativity and the harshness of reality isn't always something that readily comes to Tiffany--that's an excellent point.

"No, I don't think I know that piece of Kirkwall's history."

By grins fondly. "The Orlesians had come into Kirkwall after a Qunari invasion," he says, "in theory simply to help drive the creatures back. But, in Orlesian fashion, they decided that while they were there, they might as well kick up their feet and stay a while, eh? And they named one of theirs the viscount of the city.

"Well, some years later, the people of Kirkwall decided they'd had enough of Orlais, and they rose up and kicked the invaders out but kept the title while they were at it."

He presses a hand to his heart. "If Ferelden ever goes to war with Kirkwall," he says, "I think I will die of grief. I love these people so much."

"No!" Tiffany laughs--at the story, at the statement. She has a nice laugh, even when she's caught off-guard. "I thought you were going to tell me some terribly serious story. That's much better. And, credit where credit is due--it is a good title. Even if I'm backwardsly complimenting Orlais and an invading force by saying it. There's something wonderful about reclaiming it anyways, and saying it with a Free Marcher accent out of spite besides. You're still loyal to Ferelden, then?"

"Eh." In contrast to the sentiment of his prior bit of waxing rhapsodic about dying of grief, the noise he makes now is perfectly indifferent. "It's fine. It's where I'm from."

Hardly an answer with any substance. He follows a moment after with a question of his own - "What of yourself? Are Seekers above any hometown loyalty?"

No substance indeed. Tiffany again marks that without comment. She doesn't mind being the one who talks more. Given the patter of earlier conversation, she hadn't thought she would need to be that one.

"We're preferred to be. I think that's a nearly impossible task. Better if you acknowledge the chance for bias so you can work against it. If you ignore it, it will only get the better of you. And," she smiles a little, thinking of the Ruswold, "we wouldn't be who we are if we didn't come from somewhere--for better, or for worse."

Room for indifference is also left there.

"Dreadfully wise," he says, with a little quirk of his lip. "Both parts. So what parts of you are Fereldan, do you think? Do you prefer a quick execution to letting someone sit in jail? I know that's one of the things I don't understand up here. So much time and energy spent feeding prisoners."

Tiffany maintains her composure. Inwardly, she's blinking rapidly. Sorry? Where is this going?

"A quick execution," she answers, measured, "if I'm asked to choose. And then only after a fair consideration of the situation and a fair and thorough investigation. Is there some situation I should know about?"

"Hm," he says, lifting an eyebrow. "You're rather new around here. Seeker or not, I'm not sure we'd put a decision regarding execution in your hands."

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a month and a half later, sure

who cares, not me

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