... yeah all right listen. I've got no problem with Anders, but I really hope you don't go that route, love.
[He pauses himself, before he lets out a quiet sigh, and gently strokes Sorrel's hand once more.] You're right. I'm just being a worrying pisher, because I've had a worrying kind of day.
[Fingers stroked down Sorrel's cheek.] Hey, tell me one of your legends, then. I love to listen to you talk about the Dalish.
Well, I could explode a chantry. [This said in tones of I could go for a sandwich, with teasing evident. He's not a big fan of chantries, it is a fact known.] ...But, it's probably not worth the trouble.
[To put it mildly.]
...Well... Alright, let me think. What kind of legend?
[Wait wait, he has a good one.]
Long ago, when the world was new, Dirth'amen wished to keep his secrets apart from the People, because they were all yet as young as babes in arms, and he knew none he could trust. So he went into the forest and told his secrets in parts to the animals there, like burying a treasure where no one could find it. He whispered small secrets to the birds, told larger ones to the hares, still larger to the foxes, and the biggest secrets he gave to the bears, and then he went away again.
But while Dirth'amen was away, the birds traded all their secrets to the dwarves in exchange for gold and gems, and the hares shouted their secrets to the treetops, so that they were spoilt. The Foxes were more cunning, and went to Andruil to trade what they knew for wings that they might fly. Only the bears kept their secrets, and slept with them held close in the caverns all through the winter.
When Dirt'amen returned, he saw what had been done and was very angry. He snatched the wings from all the foxes, silenced the voices of every hare, and made every bird a pauper. But the bears he honored, because they had been steadfast, and gave them the gift of great strength to match their great size. If you kill a bear, you must pray to Dirth'amen, because its strength is holy, and it still knows those old secrets, kept safe in the dark.
I'd rather you Not, thanks. [Adasse's tone is dry, and a little flat. He was raised in Kirkwall, after all. That Chantry exploding was pretty much one of the most horrific things he survived through.]
[He did listen to the story aptly though, and let out a quiet huff.] Considering how many bears the Inquisition has killed out in the Hinterlands, I have the feeling we ought to start praying right now.
I think it's a bit too late for those bears. [Sorrel chokes on his laugh.] But there's this whole prayer you're supposed to say, and you have to skin it in this specific order and all. I'd bet anything Cyril still does it whenever he takes meat out in the field, even only in his head.
They're stories, but... they're our stories. Even if they never happened that way, or never happened at all, we make them real by treating them as real.
Those poor old bears. [Adasse sighed dramatically, before he shook his head slightly.] Proper respect is a lot of work, isn't it? However, I understand the power of good stories. That's what made me want to read, when I was little.
[He's grinning, in the dark, but Sorrel cedes the field with a sigh of his own as he settles in more fully against Adasse's chest. It's so peaceful, like this, with his heartbeat and the sound of breath under one ear, and warm practically everywhere else.]
A nice one? [He's had enough of terrible, bloody things, for today.] I'll trade you for a kiss...
What kind of story do you want to hear? A Fereldan story? Those tend to come with much nicer endings than Kirkwall ones. [He hummed softly.] And is the kind of kiss I get defined by how good of a story it actually is?
Wouldn't mind a Ferelden story. I've really come to appreciate Ferelden things, lately.
[Such as, they have produced some pretty alright elves, for example.]
Hmmm....Yes. That's how this trade works, exactly. And! And, if it's a terrible story, instead of receiving any at all, you'll have to give them. Pay off your debt, like.
Then I'll tell you a story from the Avvar that I heard on my mother's knee.
[He slipped his hands through Sorrel's hair, his voice soft.]
Even mountains had a heart, once. When the world was young, Korth the Mountain-Father kept his throne at the peak of Belenas, the mountain that lies at the center of the world, from which he could see all the corners of earth and sky. And he saw strong men become weak, brave men grow cowardly, and wise men turn foolish for love.
Korth devised a plan that he might never be betrayed by his own heart, by taking it out and hiding it where no soul would ever dare search for it. He sealed it inside a golden cask, buried it in the earth, and raised around it the fiercest mountains the world had ever seen, the Frostbacks, to guard it.
But without his heart, the Mountain-Father grew cruel. His chest was filled with bitter mountain winds that shrieked and howled like lost souls. Food lost its flavor, music had no sweetness, and he lost all joy in deeds of valor. He sent avalanches and earthquakes to torment the tribes of men. Gods and men rose against him, calling him a tyrant, but with no heart, Korth could not be slain. Soon there were no heroes left, either among men or gods, who would dare challenge Korth.
The Lady of the Skies sent the best of her children—the swiftest, the cleverest, and strongest fliers—to scour the mountains for the missing heart, and for a year and a day they searched. But sparrow and raven, vulture and eagle, swift and albatross returned to her with nothing.
Then the ptarmigan spoke up, and offered to find the god-chief's heart. The other birds laughed, for the ptarmigan is a tiny bird, too humble to soar, which spends half its time hopping along the ground. The Lady would not give the little creature her blessing, for the mountains were too fierce even for eagles, but the ptarmigan set out anyway.
The little bird traveled deep into the Frostbacks. When she could not fly, she crawled. She hugged the ground and weathered the worst mountain winds, and so made her lonely way to the valley where the heart beat. With all the god's terrible deeds, the heart was far too heavy for the tiny bird to carry, so she rolled it, little by little, out of the valley and down a cliff, and when the golden cask struck the earth, it shattered. The heart was full almost to bursting, and the pain of it roused the mountain god to come see what had happened.
When Korth neared his heart, it leapt back into his chest and he was whole again. Then Hakkon Wintersbreath bound Korth's chest with three bands of iron and three bands of ice, so it could never again escape. And all the remaining gods named the ptarmigan honored above even the loftiest eagles.
[Sorrel lies quiet under Adasse's hands, listening. Eventually he closes his eyes, not thinking beyond the sound of Adasse's voice and the gentle, pleasurable pressure of fingertips against his scalp. As Adasse winds towards the end of his story, Sorrel sits up a little, slides up on knees and elbow and kisses the last word right off Adasse's lips.]
Are the Avaar from Ferelden, now?
[He doubts the veracity of your story, sir. Still.]
If you believe the Avvar, the Fereldans took all the land from them in the first place.
[Adasse smiled at that kiss, before he rolled his eyes.]
I thought you really wouldn't want to hear about the shem. Although I did hear a really good story about the Hero of Fereldan and the Dalish living in the Breccilin forest.
Well, as soon as we get the Dales back from Orlais, we'll have to look into that.
[So, depressingly enough: never.]
I know that story! [He's delighted, grinning widely. Adasse knows a Dalish story!] Keeper Lanaya was at Arlathvhen, when you were, and she was Zathrien's First back then. According to them, it all happened, werewolves and all, and Zathrian was Keeper for all that long time they weren't heard from. There's talk of putting the lot of it into the annals, you know.
...but then some think it's too dangerous to risk encouraging that kind of thing. That forest is full of Sylvans.
Well it's more, not to antagonize the spirits there. Those Sylvans all used to be Dalish elves, the stories say. So, maybe it's time we all gave the Brecellian a rest?
[He's still smiling, despite Adasse's disquiet, and shifts higher again in his arms. There's an unaccustomed hesitation there, yet again, leaning in as if to ask for permission, and depositing only a small and gentle kiss when it's granted. But, kiss finished, Sorrel doesn't pull away. Instead he presses in again across that small distance, kissing him again and leaning his weight on his elbows so that repetition turns that simple, chaste touch into something more intimate, and much warmer. It's another kind of story, like a seed growing into a sprout, putting down roots, and opening to the nourishing heat of the sun. Sorrel sighs, pure satisfaction, and eventually draws back enough to acknowledge the futility.
They're both too tired to take this anywhere, pure physical weariness and the traumatic ghost of the day combining to kill any such physical reaction. Even if his affection for Adasse is still a hot little flame in his gut, it's just not meant to be.]
You're boring today. [It's an obvious lie. Sorrel is, in this moment, completely absorbed in gazing at Adasse, as if to get him down by memory.] No werewolves, no abominations, no chantry explosions. What else?
Oh I suppose so ... I mean, if we have to give a haunted forest a break, Brecllian probably earned it. At least they closed off the spooky shit in the Black Marshes.
[Adasse drawled out, and he feels something in his chest ease a little more, with Sorrel curling into him. It always makes him feel like he's both protector and protected, when Sorrel holds him like this. Then there's those kisses, and each one of those kisses draws Adasse further and further from his wordless fears and into the intimate glow of Sorrel's affection and care.]
If you want me to be more interesting, tell me to steal something, darlin'. [He drawled, cracking open one eye with a smirk, before his brown eyes lit up.] Oi, forgot to tell you. I made one of my old jumps today. Clean, didn't fall at all.
You really must be recovering, if you're that far. [Sorrel lights up at the idea. No more pain, no more soothing unnecessary bruises every evening, and... and Adasse could be happy and free as he ought to be, climbing around like the bloody stupid squirrel he is.] That's so good, vhenan. And here's me, still getting out of breath on the stairs sometimes. I ought to learn to work as hard, so I can be as well-fit as you.
[Sorrel did not smirk. He meant to, but wickedness turned the expression, very decidedly, into a grin.]
...Steal something, then.
[Let it never be said he doesn't know better. Not that it ever stops him.]
Well, most of it was adrenaline, but after that ... honestly I've been better today physically than I've been in weeks. Thinking maybe I just needed a push. [He smiled warmly up at Sorrel, rubbing his cheek.] Hey, we could go for more runs, you and I.
[Sorrel blinks widely. Relaxed as he'd been, he hadn't quite been expecting that, and forgetting his question at first... he giggles, and blushes like an elf half his age.]
You're a menace [said in the same fond terms he uses to insult Cyril] I ah...
[Creators, give him a moment here. He needs to catch his balance. Right.]
Back at home, with the clan, we slept together always, Beleth and I. When you're little, it's everyone in a pile, like a bunch of puppies, but then you get older and it's more... I don't know. People pair off, and find their families, not even pairs of lovers, most times, though it does happen. When Beleth left, I was alone...And... that was hard. [More than merely hard, the way he lingers over the moment.] I always wondered if it was different for city elves. Or, maybe if you just... only slept with your lovers? Was that how it was, for you?
I am ... a thief and a menace, troublemaker and all around rogue.
[Adasse smirked, and leaned up to whisper in Sorrel's ear.]
And you love it.
[They might both be too tired to do anything -- but Adasse would be rested sooner or later.
He did pull back to consider the questions - and the past.]
Well ... it really depended how poor you were. Some of the better off city elves - they have their own beds, or beds they only have to share with one or two. For those like me - I remember cuddling up in piles of at least ten other orphans. Trying to stay warm in the bitter months.
When I got older - Harlan and I had our own place. We'd sleep together for warmth and comfort, but nothing else. I ... didn't sleep with my lovers until I joined the Inquisition. Didn't trust anyone I slept enough for that.
[Sorrel smiled, in that soft, beatific way of his, and uncurled so that he could reach and lay one blanket-warmed hand on Adasse's cheek.]
Good. You weren't alone. That's.... It's kind of messed up, isn't it? I feel like I ought to be jealous. [He laughs, a little bitter, but in relief as much as the obvious self-deprication] But I'm just happy... That you weren't all alone.
[The way Sorrel had been, separated from Adasse and Beleth both, when he had returned to the clan. All alone, with his sorrow and his demons, in the dark.]
[Adasse felt his heart thump harder at the sight of that smile. That smile got him every single time. He rubbed his cheek against Sorrel's hand like a cat, even as he shook his head a little.]
The only time I was ever alone was when I was abandoned on the side of the road to die by two human servants, back during the Fifth Blight. Even then, that was only for a few days until I was found, and brought to Kirkwall.
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[He pauses himself, before he lets out a quiet sigh, and gently strokes Sorrel's hand once more.] You're right. I'm just being a worrying pisher, because I've had a worrying kind of day.
[Fingers stroked down Sorrel's cheek.] Hey, tell me one of your legends, then. I love to listen to you talk about the Dalish.
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[To put it mildly.]
...Well... Alright, let me think. What kind of legend?
[Wait wait, he has a good one.]
Long ago, when the world was new, Dirth'amen wished to keep his secrets apart from the People, because they were all yet as young as babes in arms, and he knew none he could trust. So he went into the forest and told his secrets in parts to the animals there, like burying a treasure where no one could find it. He whispered small secrets to the birds, told larger ones to the hares, still larger to the foxes, and the biggest secrets he gave to the bears, and then he went away again.
But while Dirth'amen was away, the birds traded all their secrets to the dwarves in exchange for gold and gems, and the hares shouted their secrets to the treetops, so that they were spoilt. The Foxes were more cunning, and went to Andruil to trade what they knew for wings that they might fly. Only the bears kept their secrets, and slept with them held close in the caverns all through the winter.
When Dirt'amen returned, he saw what had been done and was very angry. He snatched the wings from all the foxes, silenced the voices of every hare, and made every bird a pauper. But the bears he honored, because they had been steadfast, and gave them the gift of great strength to match their great size. If you kill a bear, you must pray to Dirth'amen, because its strength is holy, and it still knows those old secrets, kept safe in the dark.
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[He did listen to the story aptly though, and let out a quiet huff.] Considering how many bears the Inquisition has killed out in the Hinterlands, I have the feeling we ought to start praying right now.
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They're stories, but... they're our stories. Even if they never happened that way, or never happened at all, we make them real by treating them as real.
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[He's grinning, in the dark, but Sorrel cedes the field with a sigh of his own as he settles in more fully against Adasse's chest. It's so peaceful, like this, with his heartbeat and the sound of breath under one ear, and warm practically everywhere else.]
A nice one? [He's had enough of terrible, bloody things, for today.] I'll trade you for a kiss...
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[Such as, they have produced some pretty alright elves, for example.]
Hmmm....Yes. That's how this trade works, exactly. And! And, if it's a terrible story, instead of receiving any at all, you'll have to give them. Pay off your debt, like.
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[He slipped his hands through Sorrel's hair, his voice soft.]
Even mountains had a heart, once. When the world was young, Korth the Mountain-Father kept his throne at the peak of Belenas, the mountain that lies at the center of the world, from which he could see all the corners of earth and sky. And he saw strong men become weak, brave men grow cowardly, and wise men turn foolish for love.
Korth devised a plan that he might never be betrayed by his own heart, by taking it out and hiding it where no soul would ever dare search for it. He sealed it inside a golden cask, buried it in the earth, and raised around it the fiercest mountains the world had ever seen, the Frostbacks, to guard it.
But without his heart, the Mountain-Father grew cruel. His chest was filled with bitter mountain winds that shrieked and howled like lost souls. Food lost its flavor, music had no sweetness, and he lost all joy in deeds of valor. He sent avalanches and earthquakes to torment the tribes of men. Gods and men rose against him, calling him a tyrant, but with no heart, Korth could not be slain. Soon there were no heroes left, either among men or gods, who would dare challenge Korth.
The Lady of the Skies sent the best of her children—the swiftest, the cleverest, and strongest fliers—to scour the mountains for the missing heart, and for a year and a day they searched. But sparrow and raven, vulture and eagle, swift and albatross returned to her with nothing.
Then the ptarmigan spoke up, and offered to find the god-chief's heart. The other birds laughed, for the ptarmigan is a tiny bird, too humble to soar, which spends half its time hopping along the ground. The Lady would not give the little creature her blessing, for the mountains were too fierce even for eagles, but the ptarmigan set out anyway.
The little bird traveled deep into the Frostbacks. When she could not fly, she crawled. She hugged the ground and weathered the worst mountain winds, and so made her lonely way to the valley where the heart beat. With all the god's terrible deeds, the heart was far too heavy for the tiny bird to carry, so she rolled it, little by little, out of the valley and down a cliff, and when the golden cask struck the earth, it shattered. The heart was full almost to bursting, and the pain of it roused the mountain god to come see what had happened.
When Korth neared his heart, it leapt back into his chest and he was whole again. Then Hakkon Wintersbreath bound Korth's chest with three bands of iron and three bands of ice, so it could never again escape. And all the remaining gods named the ptarmigan honored above even the loftiest eagles.
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Are the Avaar from Ferelden, now?
[He doubts the veracity of your story, sir. Still.]
I never knew.
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[Adasse smiled at that kiss, before he rolled his eyes.]
I thought you really wouldn't want to hear about the shem. Although I did hear a really good story about the Hero of Fereldan and the Dalish living in the Breccilin forest.
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[So, depressingly enough: never.]
I know that story! [He's delighted, grinning widely. Adasse knows a Dalish story!] Keeper Lanaya was at Arlathvhen, when you were, and she was Zathrien's First back then. According to them, it all happened, werewolves and all, and Zathrian was Keeper for all that long time they weren't heard from. There's talk of putting the lot of it into the annals, you know.
...but then some think it's too dangerous to risk encouraging that kind of thing. That forest is full of Sylvans.
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[Cheery thought, that.]
Really? [He brightened at that, before he sobered.] ... yeah let's not encourage making more werewolves. Seems like a poor idea.
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[He's still smiling, despite Adasse's disquiet, and shifts higher again in his arms. There's an unaccustomed hesitation there, yet again, leaning in as if to ask for permission, and depositing only a small and gentle kiss when it's granted. But, kiss finished, Sorrel doesn't pull away. Instead he presses in again across that small distance, kissing him again and leaning his weight on his elbows so that repetition turns that simple, chaste touch into something more intimate, and much warmer. It's another kind of story, like a seed growing into a sprout, putting down roots, and opening to the nourishing heat of the sun. Sorrel sighs, pure satisfaction, and eventually draws back enough to acknowledge the futility.
They're both too tired to take this anywhere, pure physical weariness and the traumatic ghost of the day combining to kill any such physical reaction. Even if his affection for Adasse is still a hot little flame in his gut, it's just not meant to be.]
You're boring today. [It's an obvious lie. Sorrel is, in this moment, completely absorbed in gazing at Adasse, as if to get him down by memory.] No werewolves, no abominations, no chantry explosions. What else?
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[Adasse drawled out, and he feels something in his chest ease a little more, with Sorrel curling into him. It always makes him feel like he's both protector and protected, when Sorrel holds him like this. Then there's those kisses, and each one of those kisses draws Adasse further and further from his wordless fears and into the intimate glow of Sorrel's affection and care.]
If you want me to be more interesting, tell me to steal something, darlin'. [He drawled, cracking open one eye with a smirk, before his brown eyes lit up.] Oi, forgot to tell you. I made one of my old jumps today. Clean, didn't fall at all.
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[Sorrel did not smirk. He meant to, but wickedness turned the expression, very decidedly, into a grin.]
...Steal something, then.
[Let it never be said he doesn't know better. Not that it ever stops him.]
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[He paused, then he smiled wickedly.]
Yeah? What should I steal for you?
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[He laughs, and turns his face into Adasse's touch like an affectionate cat.]
Remember the first time you asked me that? Not in so many words, of course. I thought you were joking.
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[He grinned broadly, stroking his fingers along his jaw.]
You should know better. I'll steal you whatever you want, you know.
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[And he suits deed to word by settling in more securely, closing his eyes in obvious pleasure.]
Can I ask you something odd?
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[Adasse leaned up and stole a kiss, smiling warmly.]
Ask me anything at all.
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You're a menace [said in the same fond terms he uses to insult Cyril] I ah...
[Creators, give him a moment here. He needs to catch his balance. Right.]
Back at home, with the clan, we slept together always, Beleth and I. When you're little, it's everyone in a pile, like a bunch of puppies, but then you get older and it's more... I don't know. People pair off, and find their families, not even pairs of lovers, most times, though it does happen. When Beleth left, I was alone...And... that was hard. [More than merely hard, the way he lingers over the moment.] I always wondered if it was different for city elves. Or, maybe if you just... only slept with your lovers? Was that how it was, for you?
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[Adasse smirked, and leaned up to whisper in Sorrel's ear.]
And you love it.
[They might both be too tired to do anything -- but Adasse would be rested sooner or later.
He did pull back to consider the questions - and the past.]
Well ... it really depended how poor you were. Some of the better off city elves - they have their own beds, or beds they only have to share with one or two. For those like me - I remember cuddling up in piles of at least ten other orphans. Trying to stay warm in the bitter months.
When I got older - Harlan and I had our own place. We'd sleep together for warmth and comfort, but nothing else. I ... didn't sleep with my lovers until I joined the Inquisition. Didn't trust anyone I slept enough for that.
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Good. You weren't alone. That's.... It's kind of messed up, isn't it? I feel like I ought to be jealous. [He laughs, a little bitter, but in relief as much as the obvious self-deprication] But I'm just happy... That you weren't all alone.
[The way Sorrel had been, separated from Adasse and Beleth both, when he had returned to the clan. All alone, with his sorrow and his demons, in the dark.]
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The only time I was ever alone was when I was abandoned on the side of the road to die by two human servants, back during the Fifth Blight. Even then, that was only for a few days until I was found, and brought to Kirkwall.
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