"Roul was going to name him Bonbon." Which is ridiculous. That is not what one names a cat. "The others had similarly foolish ideas, none of them could agree and there was a great deal of arguing. I stepped in to save the peace."
Nevermind that she's gently petting his ears, lips curled in a soft smile. "He sleeps on my bed with me more often than not. Climbs there if he is with one of the others at night."
"So you named him. He plays with your braid. He sleeps in your bed most of the time, leaving others behind. You're the one that took him in." The tea is set to steep as he lines up his points.
"Are you still saying that he's not your cat? That you don't need a special belt pouch just for your... bonbon?"
"He is not my cat." She arches a brow at Anders. "I am minding him. He spends most of the day with Roul on his shoulder."
Or that had been the plan. Now more and more Remi finds his way to her lap while she is working, her desk while she is taking notes, her bed when she is reading. But he is not he cat. That is a foolish idea.
"Surely he's not big enough to carry Roul on his shoulder yet."
He pours the tea now, and fixes it with care before bringing both cups over and setting them down and taking a seat. It's been... months. Actual months since they've had tea, and while he'd known he missed it, he hadn't realized quite how much he'd missed it until now.
"Every time I see him, I see him with you. Does Remi know that he's Roul's cat?"
"Anders." She snorts, wry and faintly fond, not moving so far forward as to hit him for that for fear of waking Remi. The tea is- made how she likes it. He's remembered and for a few moments it is as it was before. Two spirit healers and a pot of tea, despairing at the world.
She's missed it more than she'd like to admit.
"...I think so? Yes. He does. He's only ever with me for half the day."
Things to remember for the future: a cat in Adelaide's lap means he's less likely to get playfully smacked. It might even be something to use against her when he thinks he might soon run risk of hitting. Another thing to remember? How good it sounds to hear her say 'Anders' like that.
"And most of the night. Your poor cat may be due a talk about boundaries." Speaking of boundaries, Anders opens his largest belt pouch to peek inside and see if its occupant was still cozy or wanted out. As soon as his finger's claimed he smiles and sets down his cup so he can bring Purrelden up and onto the table. "This one doesn't have any. But that's all right. Would you like to meet Remi? The cat that will be Adelaide's in, oh, I'll give it two weeks?"
"He is a cat, he goes where he pleases- ah." Remi wakes with a soft yawn, uncurling from where he'd tangled himself up with the end of her braid. "Is that not so, chatton? You go where you wish."
There is no lilting or upward swing of her voice when she speaks to the cat- not in the slightest. She speaks to him in much the same way she speaks to Anders. Exasperated, fond, and with all due consideration. Remi responds by rolling over and crawling out of her lap to stretch on the table.
"And for the last time, he is not mine. He is his." No bell'ed collar on this kitten, just fluff and blue eyes and an imperious mew.
"That's why I said two weeks. We can revisit the pronouns then."
Purrelden watches Remi, watched by Anders, and slowly stretches out a paw to touch Remi's before she jumps back. Anders nearly has to grab her to keep her from knocking into his cup, but at least she manages to land short of that.
"I'm wondering if male cats are easier to train than female, or if it's just that my first cat was simply more willing to be trained than she is. She does behave rather well, though." Most of the time. Now, though, she's eyeing Adelaide's spoon and inching toward it.
Remi twitches at the touch with a soft 'prrt?', ears flicking forward, eyes wide to track every motion of the older cat. Adelaide- rubs the back of his head. No starting from her- the- this boy. Not at all.
"One does not train a cat, they offer incentive for good behavior." Which is training by another name, but shush. Right now she is busy offering some of that incentive with gentle scritching behind Remi's ears- making his eyes go half lidded as he leans with all of his little body into the touch.
Purrelden, well. She will find herself butting up against an invisible barrier soon enough. A casual expenditure of magic- but with kittens? A wise enough one. "Non, chatton- this is not for you."
He raises an eyebrow at her statement, looking very amused. That's exactly what training is. But at least he doesn't have to scoop Purrelden up and bring her back, what with the barrier in place. The kitten finds it and bumps it gently before starting to rub against it and purring. Because of course she's purring. Cats. The day this one makes sense...
"At least she likes magic. That's another point in her favor." He reaches over to rub her cheek, winding up with her rubbing one cheek on the barrier and the other on his finger. There's a smile on his face that is entirely un-self-conscious as she enjoys herself. "Yes, there you go, little mischief-maker. I'm trying to lure her into a life of cat ownership, and here you are trying to get into things."
"She takes after her owner in that way." One that makes mischief. How terrible it is for a man and his cat to be so similar, where Adelaide and Remi are somewhat calmer.
Somewhat, she thinks, as Remi inches his way over to bat at Purrelden's tail.
He's still young and there is much to learn, truly.
"A week, two weeks, a month- he is not my cat. He is a cat that I mind on occasion."
The open smile gets directed at Adelaide. Purrelden does, and he's proud of his kitten. She's perfect. And then Remi's headed for Purrelden's tail and just like that his kitten is turning and twisting and trying to play with the smaller cat. Anders keeps his hand close just in case he needs to rescue Remi.
"Ownership topic aside, you're going to fall in love with him. That's what cats do." He reaches in with his other hand to give Remi a chin-rub. "And then I'm going to see him with you all the time, and before Roul knows what's happened, before you even know what's happened, Remi will have chosen who he belongs with." As if that's not already happened.
"I am not." She says as she props her cheek on her hand, warmth coloring her eyes and her voice, a gentle finger crooking under Purrelden's chin. Even as she pulls a bit of dried salmon from her belt pouch (a frequent, favored treat) and sets out scraps for both kittens. She is not in love with Remi, not at all.
He doesn't really have to say a thing, not as the kittens crowd her for fish and Purrelden lays on her back so her stomach is on display as she snacks. Even Remi is adorable, even if he's not as adorable as Purrelden. No cats are.
"They will. What matters is that they come back. She will eat your fish, and greedily take every bit of attention you'll give her, but when I stand up to head out, she'll scamper over here. Right now Remi may not notice if you leave... but in time he may. And that's when you know a cat has chosen their owner, when someone leaving actually affects them."
Purrelden licks her paws and the fish, making a noise as if she's been starving for forever and can only survive with more.
"I think you are, perhaps, projecting a little." Not that it stops her from sharing fresh scraps of salmon. Not that it stops her from tickling that exposed belly and scratching Remi under the chin. These are the smaller things, the simple things. She can do this when she needs to; feed a kitten, keep it warm, keep it safe. One thing she knows she can get right in the middle of so many ideological and political quagmires she must wade through day in, day out.
A nice, mindless moment between cramped pages of academic texts and grat requests. "Such a little actress, isn't she?"
"Projecting? What, I'd notice if I head out? I'd certainly hope so." He beams at her, holding his hands back so that Adelaide can feel free to play with both kittens. There's no need to make things awkward and risk brushing of hands, and he will have plenty of time to pet cats ahead of him.
"And yes, she is. Far better at it than I am. You'd think I starved her, that I never rubbed her stomach, or any of it. And yet I let her tangle her little claws in my hairband and steal my pillow and anything she'd like. All I ask is that she try to take down the small pests that get into the tent, and be content in her pouch when we're out and about."
Adelaide does not roll her eyes, but it is a very near thing. There is an air, a weight to the cant of her head and arch of her brow that implies should she be the sort of woman that rolled her eyes, at that moment? She would have. But she is not. There fore the implication must hang in the air between them, hovering over the two playing kittens, before her attention returns to feeding them scraps of dried salmon.
It ought to be a familiar air and weight. One with which Detlef was graced many a time in the earliest stages of their association. "What are you going to do when she is grown? Get a bigger pouch?"
It's a very familiar and very welcome air and weight. There's complications... but they can be overcome, clearly, because if this isn't something friendly then he isn't a mage.
"Of course. When I was given Ser Pounce-A-Lot he was larger than she is now, and he traveled by pouch in the Deep Roads. Granted, he was also not scared of insects. We'll have to see how she settles or doesn't as she gets a little older."
Now he reaches out to scratch the back of Purrelden's neck, smile going back down to fond. "If she stays a little skittish, I won't take her down. I don't want to risk her getting hurt because she gets startled. Pounce went with me because he could assist."
"..." That airy fondness flattens out the moment Anders says 'Deep Roads'. Something of a firm reminder of what he is more than mage and abomination, of her own unanswered questions regarding Wardens. Of the Calling that is or isn't any longer an issue, if it ever was. Somewhere she has never been, somewhere she hopes to never go simply from the legends and rumors of their horrors-
He can feel the change, and he looks up to give her a confused look.
"It wasn't, I mean, there was no one to leave him with, and he was given to me after he'd made it through a Darkspawn attack on the Keep, so he'd proven that he was resourceful. I was careful with him, and I'd be careful with her too." He's not a cruel cat owner.
"Simple answer first - he survived by being present at Vigil's Keep when it's overrun, scratching up a genlock, somehow dodging shrieks, and finding his own corner to stay safe. And I'm glad I took him into the Deep Roads, as he helped with excellent bat-and-dodge moves more than once. And now for the long one."
He sits back and picks his cup back up, sipping his tea before he starts in. "Seventh escape attempt. I got captured. It was most definitely to be my last; everyone knew what was coming if I tried it again and failed. As they hauled me back, we stopped at Vigil's Keep where they had a few handy cells. That night, while I was still wearing those lovely cuffs that mean no magic, the Keep was, as mentioned a moment ago, overrun. The Templars died right up against the bars of my cell, and I stayed in the corner because what else was I supposed to do? No magic, darkspawn everywhere... After a lovely little stalemate, the darkpawn moved on."
Another sip. He doesn't like remembering any part of being in a cell or held, and tea helps.
"I took my chance, fished in one's pockets for the keys, got out of shackles and cell, and ran. I got perhaps fifteen feet before I saw someone screaming for help, so I started setting Darkspawn on fire. I was setting more on fire when the Hero of Ferelden," Purrelden's ears perk up and she comes to his hands to headbutt them. With a smile, Anders resumes petting her, "showed up with a little entourage, and I wound up helping liberate the Keep. When that was done, I was about ready to run again. Instead, another Templar turned up. And accused me of murdering my guards. The ones covered in Darkspawn wounds, like teeth and claw marks. I got called a few names, everyone got informed of how I was to be taken back and killed... and then Jonas stepped in and offered me conscription."
Anders shrugs. "Given my options, the choice seemed easy. And that's the short version of how I became a Grey Warden."
She nudges Remi with her fingertips, allowing the kitten to bat and gnaw upon them gently as Anders tells his tale. Some of what Detlef had told her makes more sense filtered through the light of Anders' identity, his experiences. Running for seven times- a few attempted to flee the spire, she knew. What became of them remained a mystery. Murmurs abound, of course but-
No one ever learned the truth. No one thought to ask.
There's something admirable in that futile determination, really. Not much of something but something none the less.
"And...what would the long version be?" They have time, and tea. Why not hear it?
He's quiet for a few moments, sipping his tea again.
"It's got more details, like hearing the fantasies of my captors when it came to my upcoming execution. There'd been mounting frustration since my second escape; knowing that I was already skilled with healing didn't help win anyone over. When the first screams reached our ears, they didn't budge at right away. They were too pleased with themselves.
"There's the technicality that Jonas actually offered me a chance to run before the confrontation and I made it to the wall before realizing that there was still fighting going on and I couldn't just run, so I went back rather than seizing the best chance I would ever have. The Templars probably had my phylactery with them, I could have been presumed dead and they probably wouldn't have been searched before being burned, but no."
He exhales. It's not like he could have lived with himself if he'd kept running.
"Fighting through the Keep itself was brutal. I couldn't focus on healing alone, not even when Oghren joined us. There were so many of them, and that was my first day even seeing Darkspawn. You read about them, but seeing the ruin they can make is... It's something you can't wrap your mind around until you see it. I didn't want to join the Wardens, but at least it was a group I could find a common cause with, a cause I believed in. Mm. There's things that come after in that first week, like us coming across a would-be assassin in the cells and then him getting conscripted, but generally the longer version is just more details. Blood and fear and plenty of yelling about how I'm a maleficar because of the dead Templars I clearly hadn't killed."
"Is this a common occurrence- the random conscripting of those that happen to be about in times of crisis?" Felix's indoctrination- for she cannot view it as anything but that- seemed less a thing done out of need and more out of pity. That they held off for so long- that they might not have at all due to the fact that he wasn't a skilled mage or good at much of anything-
It burns, still. A small wound that has not yet healed, that may never heal. Whatever the Wardens truly are more than the tales, whatever they are good for? She has yet to see more than the trouble they make for those around them.
That her primary points of contact are Alistair, Anders, and Nathaniel likely does not help matters much in this regard. One mostly useless, two politically complicated for very different reasons, though one is more universal in his complication and one is more rooted in Fereldan politics that she never truly bothered to mind. "Did they not check your palms or arms for wounds? That is the most common step in clarifying such an accusation."
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Nevermind that she's gently petting his ears, lips curled in a soft smile. "He sleeps on my bed with me more often than not. Climbs there if he is with one of the others at night."
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"Are you still saying that he's not your cat? That you don't need a special belt pouch just for your... bonbon?"
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Or that had been the plan. Now more and more Remi finds his way to her lap while she is working, her desk while she is taking notes, her bed when she is reading. But he is not he cat. That is a foolish idea.
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He pours the tea now, and fixes it with care before bringing both cups over and setting them down and taking a seat. It's been... months. Actual months since they've had tea, and while he'd known he missed it, he hadn't realized quite how much he'd missed it until now.
"Every time I see him, I see him with you. Does Remi know that he's Roul's cat?"
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She's missed it more than she'd like to admit.
"...I think so? Yes. He does. He's only ever with me for half the day."
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"And most of the night. Your poor cat may be due a talk about boundaries." Speaking of boundaries, Anders opens his largest belt pouch to peek inside and see if its occupant was still cozy or wanted out. As soon as his finger's claimed he smiles and sets down his cup so he can bring Purrelden up and onto the table. "This one doesn't have any. But that's all right. Would you like to meet Remi? The cat that will be Adelaide's in, oh, I'll give it two weeks?"
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There is no lilting or upward swing of her voice when she speaks to the cat- not in the slightest. She speaks to him in much the same way she speaks to Anders. Exasperated, fond, and with all due consideration. Remi responds by rolling over and crawling out of her lap to stretch on the table.
"And for the last time, he is not mine. He is his." No bell'ed collar on this kitten, just fluff and blue eyes and an imperious mew.
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Purrelden watches Remi, watched by Anders, and slowly stretches out a paw to touch Remi's before she jumps back. Anders nearly has to grab her to keep her from knocking into his cup, but at least she manages to land short of that.
"I'm wondering if male cats are easier to train than female, or if it's just that my first cat was simply more willing to be trained than she is. She does behave rather well, though." Most of the time. Now, though, she's eyeing Adelaide's spoon and inching toward it.
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"One does not train a cat, they offer incentive for good behavior." Which is training by another name, but shush. Right now she is busy offering some of that incentive with gentle scritching behind Remi's ears- making his eyes go half lidded as he leans with all of his little body into the touch.
Purrelden, well. She will find herself butting up against an invisible barrier soon enough. A casual expenditure of magic- but with kittens? A wise enough one. "Non, chatton- this is not for you."
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"At least she likes magic. That's another point in her favor." He reaches over to rub her cheek, winding up with her rubbing one cheek on the barrier and the other on his finger. There's a smile on his face that is entirely un-self-conscious as she enjoys herself. "Yes, there you go, little mischief-maker. I'm trying to lure her into a life of cat ownership, and here you are trying to get into things."
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Somewhat, she thinks, as Remi inches his way over to bat at Purrelden's tail.
He's still young and there is much to learn, truly.
"A week, two weeks, a month- he is not my cat. He is a cat that I mind on occasion."
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"Ownership topic aside, you're going to fall in love with him. That's what cats do." He reaches in with his other hand to give Remi a chin-rub. "And then I'm going to see him with you all the time, and before Roul knows what's happened, before you even know what's happened, Remi will have chosen who he belongs with." As if that's not already happened.
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She is fond.
She is responsible.
But little more.
"He goes to whoever gives him fish."
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"They will. What matters is that they come back. She will eat your fish, and greedily take every bit of attention you'll give her, but when I stand up to head out, she'll scamper over here. Right now Remi may not notice if you leave... but in time he may. And that's when you know a cat has chosen their owner, when someone leaving actually affects them."
Purrelden licks her paws and the fish, making a noise as if she's been starving for forever and can only survive with more.
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A nice, mindless moment between cramped pages of academic texts and grat requests. "Such a little actress, isn't she?"
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"And yes, she is. Far better at it than I am. You'd think I starved her, that I never rubbed her stomach, or any of it. And yet I let her tangle her little claws in my hairband and steal my pillow and anything she'd like. All I ask is that she try to take down the small pests that get into the tent, and be content in her pouch when we're out and about."
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It ought to be a familiar air and weight. One with which Detlef was graced many a time in the earliest stages of their association. "What are you going to do when she is grown? Get a bigger pouch?"
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"Of course. When I was given Ser Pounce-A-Lot he was larger than she is now, and he traveled by pouch in the Deep Roads. Granted, he was also not scared of insects. We'll have to see how she settles or doesn't as she gets a little older."
Now he reaches out to scratch the back of Purrelden's neck, smile going back down to fond. "If she stays a little skittish, I won't take her down. I don't want to risk her getting hurt because she gets startled. Pounce went with me because he could assist."
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And somewhere Anders has taken a cat.
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"It wasn't, I mean, there was no one to leave him with, and he was given to me after he'd made it through a Darkspawn attack on the Keep, so he'd proven that he was resourceful. I was careful with him, and I'd be careful with her too." He's not a cruel cat owner.
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"...How does a cat survive a Darkspawn attack?" That is the greater question. "...How is it you became a Warden in the first place?"
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He sits back and picks his cup back up, sipping his tea before he starts in. "Seventh escape attempt. I got captured. It was most definitely to be my last; everyone knew what was coming if I tried it again and failed. As they hauled me back, we stopped at Vigil's Keep where they had a few handy cells. That night, while I was still wearing those lovely cuffs that mean no magic, the Keep was, as mentioned a moment ago, overrun. The Templars died right up against the bars of my cell, and I stayed in the corner because what else was I supposed to do? No magic, darkspawn everywhere... After a lovely little stalemate, the darkpawn moved on."
Another sip. He doesn't like remembering any part of being in a cell or held, and tea helps.
"I took my chance, fished in one's pockets for the keys, got out of shackles and cell, and ran. I got perhaps fifteen feet before I saw someone screaming for help, so I started setting Darkspawn on fire. I was setting more on fire when the Hero of Ferelden," Purrelden's ears perk up and she comes to his hands to headbutt them. With a smile, Anders resumes petting her, "showed up with a little entourage, and I wound up helping liberate the Keep. When that was done, I was about ready to run again. Instead, another Templar turned up. And accused me of murdering my guards. The ones covered in Darkspawn wounds, like teeth and claw marks. I got called a few names, everyone got informed of how I was to be taken back and killed... and then Jonas stepped in and offered me conscription."
Anders shrugs. "Given my options, the choice seemed easy. And that's the short version of how I became a Grey Warden."
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No one ever learned the truth. No one thought to ask.
There's something admirable in that futile determination, really. Not much of something but something none the less.
"And...what would the long version be?" They have time, and tea. Why not hear it?
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"It's got more details, like hearing the fantasies of my captors when it came to my upcoming execution. There'd been mounting frustration since my second escape; knowing that I was already skilled with healing didn't help win anyone over. When the first screams reached our ears, they didn't budge at right away. They were too pleased with themselves.
"There's the technicality that Jonas actually offered me a chance to run before the confrontation and I made it to the wall before realizing that there was still fighting going on and I couldn't just run, so I went back rather than seizing the best chance I would ever have. The Templars probably had my phylactery with them, I could have been presumed dead and they probably wouldn't have been searched before being burned, but no."
He exhales. It's not like he could have lived with himself if he'd kept running.
"Fighting through the Keep itself was brutal. I couldn't focus on healing alone, not even when Oghren joined us. There were so many of them, and that was my first day even seeing Darkspawn. You read about them, but seeing the ruin they can make is... It's something you can't wrap your mind around until you see it. I didn't want to join the Wardens, but at least it was a group I could find a common cause with, a cause I believed in. Mm. There's things that come after in that first week, like us coming across a would-be assassin in the cells and then him getting conscripted, but generally the longer version is just more details. Blood and fear and plenty of yelling about how I'm a maleficar because of the dead Templars I clearly hadn't killed."
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It burns, still. A small wound that has not yet healed, that may never heal. Whatever the Wardens truly are more than the tales, whatever they are good for? She has yet to see more than the trouble they make for those around them.
That her primary points of contact are Alistair, Anders, and Nathaniel likely does not help matters much in this regard. One mostly useless, two politically complicated for very different reasons, though one is more universal in his complication and one is more rooted in Fereldan politics that she never truly bothered to mind. "Did they not check your palms or arms for wounds? That is the most common step in clarifying such an accusation."
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