faderift | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

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.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

"For kindling or the shelves?"

--would summarise, neatly, much of Dorian's opinion of the books they've been sorting through thus far. It's impressive, of course it's impressive, the sheer amount of literary weight hauled up the Frostbacks in tribute to the Inquisition. But the reading and academic taste of southerners is apparently something to be desired, for all that Dorian has not actually made yet good on any threats to set anything on fire, even if he'd been seen to toss at least one or two over his shoulder in abject distaste.

But he's taken a knee on the library floor, sorting through them personally. Religious tripe, terrible poetry that he couldn't help but fan through occasionally and read some aloud to Felix, his captive audience, and some repetitive herbology indices that seemed like they'd even bore a Dalish.

It's better, this. Felix, out of that room they'd stationed him in. Both of them, out of that room. He could tell, too, that Felix was distracting himself, and had every intention of joining him in the activity.

"Alternatively, an entire collection could probably plug up that damnable draft I can't find the source of."

Felix chuckles a bit, amused by the idea of them shoving books through all of the cracks and holes in the walls. It would scandalize a few of the professors he knew from university.

He didn't have the same discerning taste that Dorian had, in part because he had spend so much time in south. He had a different level of appreciation for what they considered worth writing down. Even if it hadn't come from the long history of Tevinter's past.

"If you could find that draft I might consider arranging things to make you Archon." It's a joke, of course, because its not as if Felix has the will to arrange that many assassinations. He is serious about wanting to get rid of that daft though. He has on several layers and still sometimes feels chilled, in between the fevers any way.

Felix's chuckle is rewarded with a subtle touch of a smirk in glance over, breaking affect of haughty resignation, before Dorian is once again poring his attention back into the volumes of books. He's going to have to go through their work with pen and parchment -- because if you want something done right... -- before long, but for now, sifting around for decent research material is a good enough filter.

OF WHICH THERE IS BLESsed little, but, beggars and choosers and so on.

"Ha! If you arranged things and made me Archon, I'd have a decent library, to say the least." Dorian sets aside the book he had in hand last and raises his hand, allowing a flicker of flame to dance off the tips of his fingers. They tug along with the light, mountain-cold breeze coming through, and he sends an accusing look back towards the apparent direction.

Which also means he sees the furtive glances of others within the library, the few who noticed and see fit to doubletake at open displays of even minor magic. The flames disappear, Dorian wiggles his fingers in a wave, don't worry about it worry about yourselves, and looks back to Felix. "More blankets, I suppose. And I have a good story about the Herald on that topic, but perhaps I ought to save it for the wake."

Felix looks towards them as well and thinks for a moment how odd that is. One would think he'd be used to that sort of thing when he studied in Orlais, but then it wasn't as if he could rely heavily on those sorts of displays. They probably thought him something harmless, like a tiny kitten who just happened to come from a family of carnivorous monsters.

Felix frowned a bit at the mention of the Herald. He was not stranger to death and loss, but it still felt so weird to lose someone like that.

"Maker, that makes me worry about what stories you're saving up for my time," he replied instead. He had accepted his own demise after his father's defeat, before that even, but talking about it openly was a surprisingly good step for him. Denying it just made him feel like he couldn't face it head on.

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."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only