justice_is_blond | Inbox for Fade Rift

"And here I'm such a great devotee of the Chant," he says dryly. This is nice. Not being able to drape over Nate has left him feeling a bit hollow, but apparently having a friend drape over him helps. He'll take it.

"We've got Isaac the Second here, somewhere, though he's probably napping. I've the Hero of Purrelden and Lord Pawdric in my room, one's likely awake. Then there are the cats that like to wander around the gallows courtyard, or the stables in the city. I'm fond of one with only one eye who lives near the docks; he's fast, darting out to get the fish guts and vanishing back into the shadows. I call him Eyevan."

"I will tear your hair out if you even whisper a verse, Anders," and she looks so genuinely serious about it that, for a moment, it seems that she might actually do it. At least his lap is comfortable, and Sidony hums as she looks around, as if the cats might leap out at her at any moment.

"Oh, don't bore me with more of Isaac," she's fond enough of him, but she's less fond of the cat then she is the man. Lifting her head, she raises her eyebrow, giving him a soft, judgemental look. "You have the most ridiculous names for cats I have ever heard in my entire life, darling."

He snorts at the threat. He may know the whole Chant by heart thanks to having a year full of too much nothing in his past, but there's no fondness in his heart for it. There is fondness, however, for his cat names.

Anders presses his free hand to his chest and gives her a wounded look. "I beg your pardon? My cat names are magnificent. They're fitting and funny, and cats need names that are fitting and funny. Who really wants another dog running around with the stuffy name of some long-dead warrior? Especially in this day and age, when everything likes to go wrong. We need the ridiculous." He needs the ridiculous.

Sidony has no love for the Chant or any of the religion linked to it, clearly, and the frustration she feels prickles at her as she forces herself to live in a world that tries to press that religion down her throat. Perhaps if they were more accepting of things...

"Do we?" Sidony raises her eyebrow but says nothing, smothing her smile with pursed lips. "I don't think I'd like to walk around here shouting out names like Hero of Purrelden and Pawdric. I get enough looks as it is."

"And here I'd greatly prefer to be stared at for calling out those names over stares at That Anders walking around. Or a clear, apparent mage." His voice is back to dry. "I wonder how many complaints they receive a day about me still drawing breath. It was fairly regular in Skyhold, but there were more of us there and the whole place knew."

There's still a smile on his lips and even in his voice, as if it's not a topic that stresses him sometimes. And that stresses him all the more when his greatest protector is days away even by griffon.

"There's a lot worse than being known as the person with clever cat names." Like going back to marry a noble man she doesn't love just to pop out children, he thinks but doesn't say, doing his best to meet her gaze.

"I think there are more important things to worry about than makes having access to patients that might die, but my voice isn't one likely to be heard in the realm of command here." Sidony might not like mages much, but it comes from a place of deep, resentful envy, not because she thinks that they ought to be punished or hurt.

She's clearly happy enough to lounge on one, wrapping herself into Anders and making herself comfortable. She wants comfort and he is going to give it to her; his opinion on the matter doesn't matter quite that much.

"I imagine there is." She deliberately avoids his eye, as if knowing. "But I will not tolerate being the one to screech it out to summon them for dinner, that's all."

"Call a cat to dinner? Maker, you've been around dogs for far too long." They're both starting to touch on sensitive ground, and she's looking for a distraction. "Cats know when you're within the vicinity of food whether it's meant for them or not. They're right at your feet, ready. Or already climbing up your robes. Besides. I don't screech. Passable tenor, remember?"

There's no immediate pressing matter. He can relax and tease and see if they can get to whatever's bothering her.

"I think I know what you need. You need a cat with a good name."

"Do cats not do that? I didn't know." Sidony just hums, looking pensive and thoughtful, a deliberate ploy to keep her mind off all the other things rushing around and distracting her. This, at least, as silly and pointless as it is, is enough to keep her busy, even if it is silly things like the names of cats.

She snorts, though, lifting a hand to pat his face.

"I don't need a cat. My handmaiden has enough trouble keeping me clean and well dressed, let alone dealing with cat hair."

"Handmaiden?" Rich people. This one is patting his face in a nice way, at least, though. He thinks. It doesn't feel patronizing.

"The cat is for you, Sidony. And there's nothing wrong with a little cat hair. Sometimes there's blood on our clothing, surely the cat hair doesn't compare. Unless there's a special reason you're wanting to keep looking extra tidy?"

"Only the one. She came with me from Nevarra and helped me take my things." Sidony raises her eyebrow, daring him to comment. Of course she has a handmaiden; she's a noble. Her mother would have some kind of a fit if she thought Sidony was doing everything alone.

"I don't wear my good clothes in the infirmary, Anders, please," but there is something of a smile on her face. "But, no, there's no particular reason. I just like taking care of my appearance as any young lady might."

"A handmaid and good clothes," he says, shaking his head. "I can only barely imagine that, and I believe this means all the more you need something tiny and affectionate with sharp edges to prowl around your room and get hair on everything."

She doesn't act spoiled, thank everything. Not like some nobles always do, Sebastian coming quickly to mind. But clearly she doesn't really have her feet in the world. She could still leave it all behind to stay in the rich bubble of a life that's empty.

"Have you considered letting your handmaid work for the Inquisition while you learn to take care of your household?"

"Oh, how dare I have parents that bought me clothes." She might roll her eyes if she wasn't so settle in his arms and unwilling to be removed. If someone were to walk in she might rise and pretend nothing was happening, but until then she was quite comfortable where she was. "I don't want hair on anything of mine, thank you. I get enough of it here."

Is he really telling her to get rid of her handmaiden? There's a flare of panic, something that sinks into her stomach as she considers it. She doesn't want to lose her last connection to Nevarra, even if she is well aware that she ought to be strong enough to take care of her own life now. She is twenty three, for goodness sake.

"I have not, no. I'm not sure she'd know what to do with herself if she wasn't fretting over me like a mother hen."

There's a tension in her now. Is she insulted? Scared? He's hit on something, but it seems to be something raw. Anders exhales and rests a hand on her shoulder. For now he can drop this. Those accustomed to a nicer life didn't like it being challenged.

"Well. We could always see if she wanted to come down and learn to do a little around the Infirmary, to help you out when you wind up in the field again."

It's not that she cares about her position as someone with a nicer life - she lives in the Gallows, for goodness sake, has a handful of dresses and no money to commission more, staring longingly at the rooms in Hightown. It's the idea of being completely alone that scares her, just a little, and the hand on her shoulder brings her out of her thoughts.

"Perhaps." Leaning back, she makes herself comfortable again. "I can ask and see if she is interested."

"It never hurts to ask." That seems settled, at least. Though he still has no idea what she's actually worked up about.

"So what is it I'm distracting you from, again? I seem to have lost track." Speaking of not hurting to ask...

"It might hurt her heart if she imagines I'm to make a surgeon out of her." It's said as a dry joke, but he keeps talking and suddenly Sidony doesn't quite know what to say, looking up at him sharply.

"I didn't mention it and for good reason. Keep telling me about your silly cats, if you please."

"I'd say running from things didn't solve anything, but I am out of a Circle so..." He shrugs after he trails off.

"I don't have a favorite of my cats, that would hardly be fair, but I've had Hero of Purrelden the longest. Nate gave her to me, shortly after we ran into each other again. Justice didn't like having a cat, but she was so tiny and needed someone."

His voice is on the quiet side now. He'd needed her just as much, honestly.

“I’m not running. I’m just avoiding it until I’m in a better mind to consider it all.” The Circles don’t feel like something she ought to make too much comment on she thinks, so she lets that one go.

It’s easier to listen to Anders, to breathe out and rest against him, to let herself feel the ease of familiarity. She’s not entirely sure what happened with Anders and this Justice, but she doesn’t think it’s time for her to ask all these questions either. Hesitating for a moment, Sidony cuddles just that little bit closer.

“Your husband, yes?”

"Yes." There's a short beat. She's leaned against him more and he welcomes it, considering the topic.

"I knew him a lifetime ago, and neither of us expected to find each other in Skyhold, of all places. I don't know if you got the chance to meet him; he's stationed elsewhere for a time now." Anders frowns despite his company. Nate is his rock, his anchor, his strength, and he'd foolishly not hidden that. Nate might not get stationed with him again for as long as the Inquisition has authority over it. This could be a very long parting.

"He, he found that a cat near the kitchens had given birth, and Purrelden was the littlest one. When he put her on my lap, she made the smallest, cutest sound. And then I fell in love with her."

This is a much easier topic for her, but she’s not sure that it’s a better conversation for her host.

“You are painting it a little like a romance novel, you know. No one in my circle has ever done something as silly as gotten married for love.” Not that she’s aware of, at least. It had all been matches for politics, for advancement, just as her own will be. She cannot picture herself anxiously waiting for her husband to come back to her after some kind of change in placement. She can only imagine herself being happy to have some peace.

“Is that all it takes to fall in love?” It’s said wryly, but there’s a softness to her as she settles against him. “How old is that cat now?” She’s not entirely sure how long the two have been together, after all, and how do you age a cat?

"No one in my Circle was even permitted to fall in love. That doesn't actually stop anyone."

He's quiet for a few moments after that, letting the questions rest. "It took far more for him to fall in love than for me, which I suppose is fitting. He's far easier to love, kind, always caring, rarely angry, patient, with fantastic... arms." Arms, among other things. "Years ago I fell for him, when we fought alongside each other to protect a city from Darkspawn. Then things came up, then he saw me at my worst, then more things happened, and then we reunited at Skyhold. Purrelden is, Maker. She has to be three years and... two months, now? Something very close to... oh."

Anders breaks off and blinks. "You mean... Yes. That's all it takes to fall in love with a cat, of course it is. Sorry. She was small and needed me. Sometimes it's nice to be needed." To not be someone who others can leave behind.

“I imagine the whole point is you can’t control it, or something silly like that.”

The more Anders speaks, though, the more Sidony feels a painful sense of longing. She might be young still but years of being second best has coloured her view of the world. She wants someone to be devoted to her, to be there, to take care of her. She has never had someone she had been sure would choose to love her over Octavian, and it feels a little like there’s a void inside of her, waiting. Obviously she will never have what these two shared, not with her marriage future, but.

She sniffs and keeps herself settled.

“That is what I meant, yes.” She frowns. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been needed before.”

Anders looks over at her before gesturing to the infirmary around them.

"Here, at least, is one place you're needed. You've had patients who needed you as well, and will for as long as you practice. If you mean on a more personal level..." He trails off before straightening a little. This might not go over that well, but at least they're alone.

"It's not going to happen while you're not open to it. When you're actively shutting that possibility down. You're seeking duty, and obligation, and things can't come in when you've shut all the windows and doors. Love can try. It can probe at the cracks and openings, seeking a way, but you have to accept it happening and you are deliberately not wanting it. You've made a choice. It's one you can hold to, or undo, and it's up to you."

Sidony's nose wrinkles, just a little. It would be so easy to dismiss this, to angle it as some replaceable need people have - there are many healers, after all, and some with magical talent she could never hope to achieve. She doesn't think Anders would take that well, however.

Biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself spouting something she might regret, she breathes out instead, looking all parts like a rather petulant child.

"I did try," and it comes out scathing, frustrated. "And it didn't work, so there it is. I made a choice, changed my mind, and was given nothing but failures as a result. I think it's much better for me to focus on hiding from my mother and writing books than it is to think about something as silly and mindness as love. I'm not in one of those childish stories."

"Of course. After all, you tried medicine and that first time it worked perfectly and you knew everything. And you've written things and the first draft was perfect every time."

He can hear her voice. She's not happy about the way the conversation is going... but she did ask about love. It's entirely her fault.

"Or perhaps things don't work the first time every time. Perhaps sometimes you burn bread, or you get caught after you escape, or you lose a patient. Perhaps the first person you love doesn't love you back, or it falls apart, or they're hauled to another Circle and then murdered." The last might be a little too specific. Moving on. "Things worth it take work, and love isn't silly and mindless and childish. It's noble, and loving people is as grown up as you can get."

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