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WHO: Dorian and Felix
WHAT: Dorian and Felix sort through some of the books in the library.
WHEN: Recent
WHERE: The library.
NOTES: Probably going have a ton of angst!

When they had first arrived at Skyhold the library had been a mess. In the couple weeks since they had fled Haven it was coming together under the care of people like Dorian. It seemed that almost daily they had some allies that sent new books that had to be sorted and cataloged.

Dorian probably could manage the boxes that has arrived earlier that day himself but Felix was tired of being cooped up with nothing to do. It was nice to have something to do with his hands, something that could distract him from how terrible he felt today.

They were just finishing opening of the crates. The spines of the volumes inside of it were exposed to view. "Looks like we have an entire collection here," he said to his friend.

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In perfect fairness to onlookers, it might be prudent to glance again at people lighting fires in the library.

But Dorian is under no illusion about where he is and what he is, but it's hard to imagine that it bothers him. He tumbles a book back into the box -- A Complete Illustrated Works of the Legend of Calenhad -- and manages not to pause over much over the direction of conversation that he so inelegantly steered it towards. But there is a shade cast behind bright eyes. Convincing Magister Alexius that his son was dying was one thing.

Having it weigh heavy between he and Felix is another.

"There we were, closing in on a cave purported to be the abandoned hide away of a known group of rebel mages in the depths of the Hinterlands," he says, instead of anything else, fingers splaying illustratively. His voice textures and glosses his words with appropriately dramatic highlights and lowlights. "Which, as luck would have it, was just recently repurposed by a band of lyrium smugglers, catching each other off guard. Fighting tooth and nail, Trevelyan flipping about like a grasshopper with those knives of hers, barely avoiding my own gesticulations, which is about when the bear happened and we all had to stop trying to murder each other and deal with that problem. It was over soon after, and there, we gazed upon the rewards we had reaped.

"Blankets. Dozens and dozens of homely woolspun blankets, which had a certain ridiculous charm for the fact these mages had left the place as a perpetual ice cave. Needless to say, Recruit Whittle was thrilled by our spoils, even though I am almost positive you could have gotten the same and better at the Crossroads for a sovereign. But there's no telling the Herald, who was wholly, unironically, only too pleased to have helped."

He picks up another book, flicking it open.

"Didn't you miss my prattling on these past two years."

Edited (whups edit typos) 2015-10-17 09:59 (UTC)

Felix settles in to listen. He enjoys this story not just because it reminds him of how the Herald had always looked out for others, but also because of the way that Dorian tells it. He's always enjoyed the sound of his friends voice and it's soothing, something to focus on.

"I am not certain," he responded to Dorian's question about missing him these past years. In truth, Dorian's lack of presence had been painful. He had missed having Dorian's brand of reality checking and had felt helpless without him as his father descended further and further into madness.

"You'll have to come up with another tale to tell for me to make up my mind." There was a slight smirk there, as he encouraged Dorian as much as he could.

"I'm certain I missed the prattling. The effort I need go through to find a worthy listener otherwise -- you'd weep."

He's shifted now to settle for the moment, back against the half-empty shelves, an arm perched on raised knee. One could accuse Dorian of posing, but one would be here a while to check him every other moment of respite. "But that's the thing with those stories. They rise up in the absence of more being formed. And what better tale is this, doing administrative busywork for the Inquisition? Whatever will happen next?"

There's a thud, as a recruit sets down a fresh crate at the top of the stairwell.

Dorian only extends a finger towards it from lax hand. "I might have known."

Felix chuckled despite himself and then coughed to cover it up. Dorian had a way of doing things like that himself. It was almost as if the universe enjoyed one-upping him.

He got up from where he had been relaxing and started to work to open the new case. "Administrative work is a better alternative to having things be too exciting, I'd say."

After watching his father fall so far, dealing with a cult, and watching what happened to Haven, he was happy for the small busy work of getting things in order. They could even do it without having to skirt around blood magic.

Dorian scoffs at that, and doesn't move from where he is reclined, until he realises that it's Felix getting to his feet when it probably ought to be him. Lazy regard sharpens into something more watchful, which is absurd, because Felix isn't about to shatter into pieces anymore than Dorian might suddenly become an Abomination.

But.

He gets to his feet, but manages to refrain from ordering Felix back to his chair or anything. Quicker to help than he is most others.

"Excitement did last flatten an entire town," Dorian concedes. "They don't do things half-arsed, these southerners. Save for their libraries. How's all this thin, frigid mountain air treating you, anyway?"

Felix is enjoying being useful, even if he's really more just reading titles and cataloging than actually doing any heavy work. Really the most useful thing he's doing is giving Dorian someone to talk to.

"When I'm in the midst of a fever it's wonderful," he said with a slight smile. "Otherwise I'm worried my fingers might freeze off. It makes me miss the University. Imagine how that must feel, missing Orlais."

He's really teasing more than anything, playing into letting Dorian complain about the cold if he wants to.

"I missed all kinds of places when we were struggling up the mountainside." Chatter is accompanied by Dorian gathering a stack of books into his hands to bring with him, getting a little ambitious with how much he can wedge between hands and chin. "That one sliver of beach in Carastes, provided there isn't a siege on that week. Sands hot enough to burn through your boots. Fantastic stuff."

A small tower of texts balanced against his chest and tucked under his chin, Dorian carries it back to their designated alcove. "Where else? The Sky Gardens, back in Miranthous, with all that wilderness tamed in boxes and hanging off chains twenty feet overhead, as nature intended. Perhaps the stripweed fields south of Val Dorma. I couldn't stop crying for a week after that, you know. Oh, Kirkwall, that one little Darktown alleyway used as a sort of informal latrine behind that tavern I don't care to remember the name of.

"It's not very fair to play 'anywhere but here' when you're surrounded exclusively by ice and rock, I suppose."

The books thump down on wooden floor, not quite dropped, but sort of deposited in controlled tumble.

"The reading material is certainly better than the Kirkwall alleyway, I'll give it that, even accounting for that one charming limerick etched into the limestone. Do let me know if your fingers are about to freeze off, however. We could retire somewhere warmer."

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