faderift | [Open]

WHO: Anders and You*! (*unless you are someone who will turn him in. ONE DAY THERE WILL BE CR. /reaches sadly)
WHAT: Detlef going about his days, helping out, being argumentative, everything
WHEN: Mid-Wintermarch
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Probably nothing? I'll edit if that changes

Healing tents

Anders is found in these most often during the day. Everything's easier when he works, really, when he and Justice can both be on the same page. They're doing good. They're furthering the cause of mage freedom. And more importantly, no one is being hurt. Are you a patient? He's probably checking you over before getting to work. Co-worker? Hand him the elfroot salve, please? Or just drop by and find him where he's most willing to be chatty as he works.

Garden

There's nothing like seeing a mage seemingly talking to a tree. Considering previous events, it's probably a little worrying. But upon closer approach one can see that there's a terrified cat clinging to a very small branch that's just barely supporting its weight, and they can hear the mage trying to talk the cat down as if the cat can understand anything that's being said.

"You can do it. Just step... Come on. A little lower. Please?"

Just outside Skyhold

There's a garden inside the walls. It has plenty of things growing in it, including basically everything Anders is looking for. It's hard for him to stay inside the walls for too long, though. He needs to be outside, to wander some, to remind himself that the walls aren't keeping him in. While it isn't the healthiest method of coping, there are certainly worse ways to go about it.

Anyone running into him out here gets a look that's a mix of surprised and bashful - the latter due to him not really having any way to explain why he's out here with a handful of easy-to-get herbs in hand.

Library

He's seated in the Library, head buried in a book the way it never was when he was at the Circle, with a pair of large tomes next to him. They're probably not that surprising for a spirit healer, treatises on spirits and their nature, but he doesn't look pleased. And he isn't. He's not finding anything that will help with his situation, and Anders is aware that he might not have a lot of time left for the looking.

Approaches from strangers get a glance up and a nod, before he'll ask if they need to get to something past him. Known people get asked a little absently how their day is going before he turns another page.

[Or] Alternately, he's curled up off to the side, on the ground, paging through a book on obscure magic that talks about various rumored spells that the author doubts really exist. His attention is primarily on the shapeshifting portion, and he looks a little wistful. Anyone approaching who glances at the book get a half-smile and asked if it wouldn't be fun, being able to transform into animals.

Wildcard

[Hit him up wherever? He grabs food in the kitchens on the go, sometimes is at the tavern in a corner near the back, sits on the walls and looks out sometimes, surreptitiously feeds the stray cats around skyhold (and scolds any dogs that try to take the food,) and may, every now and then, see if he can zap armor in just the right way so straw and fabric and all sorts of things stick to it.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There's a reason he's not saying his name is Detlef, only to call him that. He also is certain she knows that's not his name. ...There's even a chance she knows Anders isn't, but he doesn't know how far her sensing can go.

"River. I'm glad to meet you." She's not entirely stable, but he is glad to meet her. He spends so much time fearing that people will discover who he is that being around someone who already knows is a great relief.

"Do you like helping in the tents?"

Which was a reminder of the herbs they were neglecting. Nodding, River started to grind once more, the rasping sound returning to a more rhythmic pace.

"Sometimes. Sometimes they're too loud. They hurt, regret things they didn't do. Sometimes they don't get up."

Not as often, now. The casualties had been far greater when they first arrived, but now and then one slips through the cracks and she feels that pull, the snap before they fade away. It pulls at her skin. She wants them to get back up again.

For a moment he's utterly confused. They're working with herbs. Does grinding them hurt? And then seconds later he clues in. The patients. She feels their pain, their regret. Maker. That's a burden he'd not put on anyone.

"I'm sorry." He can't change it, isn't at fault, but he can express the sympathy anyway. Seeing the damage, delving into it, is painful as it is.

"Does anything help? Is there something I can do?"

"Simon's been trying. The potions make things slow and itch, murky like swamp water. But tastes worse." Her nose wrinkles at the memory. She's gotten better at slinking out of view whenever he's got a new batch ready.

Does anything help? She glances up, towards the flap of the tent, her hands going still again. "...one of the templars made it quiet, for a little while. But it hurts. Feels gray and empty and lost."

Gray and empty and lost. There's a tightness in his chest as he recalls familiar words about all of the colors in the world taken away.

"There's got to be a way to live with it, to make it bearable, rather than taking away everything." Silence is brutal and it's no solution. "That's not a way to live, merely one to survive, which means it is no option."

Survival might not be an option. It all depended on what came, how long she kept her defenses up, repelled the demons and hid from those who hunted. If any of those things conspired against the people here in the keep, she couldn't stay. If anything threatened Simon...

"Necessary measures."

She'd said it out loud, without quite meaning to, and her eyes go a little wider as they lift to fix on Anders once more. "...that's why it was dark and lonely and deep. In case things went hollow. The vase breaks and the water goes out, but something else could slip inside." Her fingers twitch and curl tighter.

"You were different. You were friends. The ones that visit aren't friends, fiends, false. I don't want them."

It's still disconcerting, hearing Justice be spoken about by someone he's not met before today. Cole had only prepared him in part. It's also worrying as well as fascinating. She can see who he is. She can see through anyone. Nobody would enjoy that being used on them, many would enjoy it being used on others. She is, honestly, in more danger than he is. It triggers a protective instinct only helped with how quiet and nice her brother seems. No wonder he's trying to help River; so many people could want to hurt her or use her or both.

"You shouldn't want them. You should close them out. Is there a way to... strengthen the vase?" He's not exactly sure what she means by that comparison. Her mind? Her body? Either way, this might be an avenue worth pursuing.

Her expression suddenly becomes much more withdrawn, haunted almost.

"They tried," she murmurs. "Hallowed halls echoing in the dark, smell of blood. Forging means fire, a weapon no one could see coming, knives at night that leave no trace. But it was wrong. There was too much..."

Her voice is becoming strained, rising in pitch with each word.

"Easy."

The herbs are set aside and he holds out a hand toward her, palm down and empty.

"It's all right. I'm sorry I asked. You don't have to think about that."

There's so much damage here. He'd like to help, but he doesn't even know where to start, which means he probably needs to speak with Simon. And Adelaide, after, if she's already trying to assist.

"Is there anything simple that makes things easier for a time? A favored dish or drink, a book, a song...?"

Her hands tremble as she tries to think, focus past the memories to the here. Now. The tent, the healer who is more but one, and his hand. Steady.

She takes a breath. Remember the training. Focus. Steady. Waves on a ship, back and forth. Rougher hands, but gentle. Little bug, he called her.

"...take me out to the black, tell them I'm not coming back."

On the positive side, she's breathing and it's a song. On the other hand, that does not sound cheerful. It sounds like some sort of Circle song, honestly, a mage being hauled down to the blackness and not returning.

"Right. Right." And he needs to disrupt the memories that thought brings up before they're reaching her and causing more problems. Anders steps to the side and fills a glass of water from the pitcher, bringing it over and holding it out. His focus is on the water itself. Cool. Clear. Refreshing. It's the best way to not think about other things.

"Have some water, let it help."

"Burn the land and boil the sea, you can't take the sky from me..."

The words do help, actually. She remembers the ship she first heard them on, the strum of a lute, and the hope those words had brought. It's not a Circle song at all. It's a song for the lost.

But her hands close around the water, and with a shaky nod she drinks. The song falls silent.

Can't take the sky. That's better, at least.

"The sky is a good thing to hold onto." Some days it had been hard. He knows this. And this, this, is why he'd had to do what he did. Equality is the only way this world can move forward, and that means no living in extreme fear, no one trying to avoid being broken. Freedom means they can support and embrace their weakest members rather than trying to keep heads down and hoping that the weakest get taken instead of them.

"If there winds up being a way that I can help you, let me know. And even if there's not, you're welcome to hang around the tents and assist."

[Open]

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