elfhame | Please Remember Me | PSL with justice_is

Please Remember Me | PSL with justice_is_blond

When Nathaniel was a little boy, he started to dream about a long, vast tunnel. Its ceiling was higher than his house, its walls nearly as wide, and the light was eerily dim. He would walk, taking great strides, and hear this strange song, beautiful and timeless. Then, he would be faced with some monstrous creature, and wake thrashing and shouting as the light went black. His parents took him to doctor after doctor, then in desperation to a mage healer. None could give any answers or advice. Eventually he grew to a point where the dreams were no longer shocking or frightening--he knew the outcome, and could face it feeling somewhat more jaded. But he never got used to it. He still hasn't.

The wealthy district of Denerim has become spectacular, compared to what it was in previous ages. Before, it had a reputation for being brown, full of mud and dog shit--which spoke poorly for the less wealthy districts. It is no longer the time of the so-called dog lords. Now there is color and light, some of it gas and some electric. He walks away from it, feeling stifled and restless, into the old market district. One of the public houses has been in service since the Dragon Age, and Nathaniel has always felt comfortable there, as if whatever he is wandering for, he will eventually find there.

Music plays in the Gnawed Noble Tavern, no longer the haunt of nobility as the name implies, but far more diverse, reclaimed by the people of the market district. The food is decent, the drink gets you drunk, but the most important thing is that the environment is friendly. People here don't judge or look down on you. Artists, artisans, philosophers, and simply passionate people are here. Some writers' groups meet, as do any number of peaceful protest organizations. Nathaniel sits and orders peat whisky before catching golden hair out of the corner of his eye.

He doesn't know why he has always been drawn to blonds. Does anyone know why their type is their type? But it almost goes beyond having a type. He has felt like he is looking to recognize a face, though he hasn't been open to studying himself as to why. He isn't the sort to believe in mysticism. But this man he sees is...how does someone describe it? Beautiful, otherworldly, out of time. And oddly familiar. Like a celebrity might, like someone he ought to recognize. But he knows he has never seen this man before. He also knows he must see him more than once.

"Excuse me?" He stands by the stranger now, peering into his face with a tentative smile. "Can I buy you a drink?"

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He's been restless the last few days, the press of rules and regulations getting under his skin and making him itch, making him want to run again. Somehow he'd managed to not bolt out the gates this afternoon and wound up here, sipping a decent mead that the bartender claimed was local and eyeing up people to see if there was any fun to be had. He'd nearly settled on approaching a stern-faced redhead and teasing her when the man approaches him and speaks, and it sounds... odd. Like an echo.

Anders blinks at the man for a moment. Handsome, worried, fit, definitely not a mage unless Anders is losing his touch at spotting them.

"Sure, I'll take another," he says lightly, pretending there isn't something disquieting about his new company. No. Not disquieting. It was gnawing at him a little, but not in a bad way. "If you're sure you want to be noticed drinking with a mage. Ser Bartram likes to come through around this time and takes note of what all of us are up to before getting glared back out of here." Some more than others, too. Anders gets a watchfulness and scrutiny that's not solely due to his name because he hates the restrictions, hates the limits, and hates being still for too long. There's a lot of world out there. Why should he be limited to one small corner of it?

"The name's Anders, take that as warning or invitation as you will." He gestures at the chair next to him, blatantly giving the man a good looking-over. He could have some fun here. And maybe he can figure out what's catching his mind about the guy.

"I can be one of the glarers," Nathaniel says lightly, sitting beside the mage. At the name, he gives a bit of a squint.

"I've known other mages named that, though you look more the part than they did." The drink is brought, and Nathaniel sips his whisky. "Nathaniel Bryland."

A wealthy family, but not a noble one any longer.

"So I've heard," he says dryly, leaning back in his chair after he has the new drink and tipping the glass in Nathaniel's direction for a brief moment before taking a sip. "And here's a Nathaniel offering me a drink. You don't look far off the part either, tall, dark, mysteriously handsome."

There's a smile in his eyes. The story of Nathaniel and Anders isn't the happiest one, or even the most agreed-upon one, as opposite the story of Aveline and Donnic as one could get in that particular set of Age-old stories, but his life hasn't exactly been happy.

"My mother has always been a fan of everything Tale of the Champion, contradictory or not. My watchers have always been the opposite of fans of everything magic that was in those stories, unfortunately. Or maybe they're peeved because there are times I live up to the name in small ways." Like coming to this pub in particular, hanging with this crowd, protesting the curfew and the checks and the watching and the travel restrictions... and also violating those travel restrictions and the curfew. But that's more than Nathaniel needs to know just yet. "I can at least promise I only blow things in very private settings, and I do it very well."

Nathaniel was just about the relationship between a Nathaniel and the Anders of legend in a tale he is only casually acquainted with, when suddenly he gets something well more than a signal--it is an offer. He grins and blushes immediately, gaze turning to the side before returning to the handsome face.

"Well. You're allowed to be a little dangerous," he says lowly, with a gleam in his eye. "But I think I prefer the Anders in front of me right now. With or without access to a private setting--which I do have, by the by. My house isn't far."

He snickers. A man who can still blush is already offering up place to go? It's tempting, very tempting, but then the aforementioned Templar wanders in and Anders feels some of chase joy fade. There's a curfew tonight, as there is every night, and the Brylands aren't entirely unknown even if he'd not commented on the family name. The last thing Anders wants is to be hauled out of bed and dragged half-naked to check in with whomever the lead Templar on duty is, and Bartram would know just where to find him.

There's also the fact that running off for fun with a noble isn't the smartest move for a mage, but it doesn't feel like as much of a worry as it could be. Nathaniel's not giving off any sort of warning flags even though he'd agreed rather quickly to sneaking off with a potentially dangerous mage.

"Maybe let's spend a little more time talking, to start. The watchdogs are more watchful than usual right now." A touch of sheepishness enters his expression. "Someone may have made it onto a ship and it was actually pulling out of dock before they noticed. They don't like any unscheduled departures."

Dark eyebrows rise a little.

"Really?" Nathaniel has to ask, settling in for a story. "This sounds like a good one. How did you get on in the first place?" With identification and all required before boarding, it seems like a feat.

"Who says it was me?" His innocent look isn't perfect, but it's a near thing... until he drops it to grin.

"I'm rather good at clearing up infections that people get in, let's say, personal areas. There's a forger of papers who has issues fairly regularly, so I got him to agree to help. Of course, I had to get someone to take the type of picture they require too, which had me running errands all over Denerim. The photographer wanted to try one of the new fruits that are being imported, mangoes, the importer wanted a certain sort of cheese, the cheesemonger wanted embroidery on his boots, it was quite the task. And that was just the start of matters."

He takes another drink, smile leaving his face as Bartram gets close enough that he might be able to hear anything else. The dark-haired, very tall, very bulky Templar looked like he'd never smiled in his life, and Anders hadn't seen anything to disprove that.

"Anders," he says in a voice that sounds like he gargles with gravel. Anders hasn't seen anything to disprove that either. "I hope you're not bothering this man."

Anders rolls his eyes in a display of insubordination that he doesn't quite feel. He doesn't think Nathaniel will turn around and sell him out, but he's been wrong before and a citizen complaining about a mage bothering them, especially a wealthy citizen, could earn him five lashes yet again. He's very tired of being lashed. Not tired enough to start being a perfectly obedient mage, though.

"Please, ser," Nathaniel says, suddenly feeling quite testy and giving the templar a scathing look, "I am having a private conversation."

It's not that he gets immediately irate every time he is interrupted when in lovely company, it's that this one is strangely different. Anders is...something. Vulnerable, at the very least, which brings out something desperately protective in him. He thinks it would be true whether he was attracted to the man or not. He turns back to Anders and lifts his glass.

"Sorry about that. Do continue."

He's not used to someone actually protecting him. The look on Bartram's face says much the same thing as the man stiffly nods and walks away, going to talk to another mage briefly before making his exit. Anders watches him go, amber gaze contemplative. How'd the story gone again? Nathaniel Howe had tried to protect Anders but just didn't get there in time, if what he'd read was true. This Nathaniel at least seemed a little more decent with the timing.

Anders takes another drink before giving Nathaniel a quiet smile. "Right. I was at... I was at the papers. I'd gotten them, but then you have to find a captain willing to have you on their ship, and one who doesn't need to go check any names with the local Knight-Captain. Most don't fit any of those requirements, but I've happened to, ahem, meet with one who is vehemently anti-slavery and I'd a small hope she'd help. Once I had the papers and she could cover her own ass and the ass of her crew, she was in. I was going to heal on their ship for a time until I or them tired of the arrangement. It would have been lovely."

And not just the freedom. Naishe was always good company.

"Unfortunately, they'd a surprise check-in that day for all of us to make sure we were where we said. I got checked up on first because of my reputation, and you know the rest."

He probably didn't, not the full of it. Most people didn't pay attention to how many things could get mages punished, and how severely, because at least they had freedom, right? They weren't all locked up in those old fortresses. They were supposed to be grateful. And he was... but he also wanted more.

A look of awe, wide and genuinely disturbed.

"You like to make it easy for the templars," he says facetiously, the wording coming to him without a thought. "What a thing to have, in this day and age. I'm...woefully under-educated, it appears."

All thought of sex put aside, Nathaniel is now concerned. He glances away briefly.

"I...suppose I came on a bit strong, earlier," he says self-consciously. Sheepishly, even. His privilege must have been showing very obviously, as was his ignorance. "I apologize."

He studies Nathaniel for a few moments before shrugging. He's not so relaxed just yet that he's ready to unload entirely on a stranger.

"People are still afraid of us. It's not as bad as it was in Ages past, but I can't say we've exactly reached a good point just yet. I appreciate being able to study what I'd like, when I'd like, being able to come out to a pub, being able to have company, but unlike as is expected, I don't feel like it's enough. Yes, yes, there's always a risk of abominations, yes, they'd like to know where one might come from, but that's not all we are. We're not just vessels that will suddenly erupt into flames and tentacles and murder. ...But given my name I have to say such things more through minorly rebellious actions than actual words, because Maker forbid reports get out about a mage named Anders speaking out against the current order of things."

"Is the name really that much of a trouble to you?" Nathaniel tilts his head, considering the man. "What a superficial nothing for people to fixate on."

That story, the tale of the Champion, had been remarkable and heartbreaking. He's not sure he ever agreed with the idea of Anders getting what he deserved. That's always been the saddest part, the reason he only read the book once and never again. There was something truly upsetting about it.

Belatedly he inquires, "Tentacles?" with a skeptical look.

The smile comes back at the first question, widening at the second.

"The name likely wouldn't be much trouble if I wasn't very blonde, very flirtatious, and very prone to... slipping away," he admits. "There's another mage named Anders in Denerim too, but he's dark-haired and loves sitting and reading for days on end. The Templars are never worried about him."

His mother had admired story-Anders' resolve, even when it cost him everything. He thinks part of that might be because she had to find her own way when abandoned, and needed strength to get through everything on her own. Especially the raising of him - he's always loved his mother, but that hadn't translated to a great deal of behavior on his part.

"And yes," he says, wiggling fingers in Nathaniel's direction, "tentacles. Desire abominations can be very interesting."

Nathaniel flinches, but he knows it's a joke. Hopefully. It had better be a joke.

"I suppose I don't understand it," he says, going back to the previous subject. "Tale of the Champion is such a depressing read. Anders seems so...unutterably tragic. I read it once in school and found it too upsetting to revisit. To name a child after him? I can see wanting to honor who he was, if not what he did. It's still depressing, though."

This Nathaniel seems delightfully easy to tease, something Anders tucks away for later. As to the other, he nods.

"Perhaps you'd need to be a mage to understand the naming. We're better off than we were in the Dragon Age, or many other Ages, for that matter, but there's still an inherent, mm, I'm not sure what word is good here. Awareness? Weight? Neither is quite right." He shakes his head, shaking off that particular matter. "The other Anders is the child of two mages, from a long line of mages, and he says they named him as a reminder of how far we've come but how far we've yet to go. My mother never said why she named me Anders, but my best guess is that he kept trying and never gave up."

"We're better off," he repeats. "But being registered, tracked, watched, from the moment your powers manifest, can be exhausting. And we've not a lot of mages to look to when it comes to endurance or strength, not when for so much of history mages have been deliberately kept out of it."

And now he gets to see if his habit of talking too much scares off Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome Protector.

After a moment of silence, digesting the man's passion and finding a faint and far-away unsettling feeling about it, Nathaniel sips his whisky.

"Stigma," he offers. "That might be the word you're looking for, I don't know. I do know I've never been mind-controlled or sacrificed, and I don't think it's because of the measures you're talking about. But I'm afraid I'm hardly qualified to speak on the matter. Just to listen."

A flicker of a smile, and he meets Anders' eyes.

"Though I might rather talk about you."

What is it that he is searching for, here? Some connection between that unsettling feeling and how drawn he is to this man, certainly. And something else.

He's sticking around, at least. Anders appreciates that, and not just because the man is compellingly, almost uniquely, attractive. There's still the way the man's voice seems to echo sometimes in his head and his core, and something to the look in Nathaniel's eyes.

Anders' smile softens and he reaches out to trace a finger lightly over the hand holding the whiskey glass.

"What would you like to know? I've not set any records for disappearing just yet, I've only managed it three times, I," and he laugh-coughs, shaking his head, "I am in fact a healer, I like both men and women, and I greatly prefer cats to dogs or mabari. I also may, emphasis on may have started a fire in the Templar barracks once but if I did do that, it was entirely an accident because the perpetrator was young and got startled by a giant spider that should not have been indoors."

A low chuckle. A finger peels away from the glass to chase the one touching him, but his eyes remain on Anders, his smile wide.

"Any hobbies?" he asks, utterly entranced, like he has found some manner of happy place to return to.

"Aside from planning daring escapes?" he asks back with a grin. "I like reading, cuddling, there's a cat that wanders around the Clinic that I feed and play with, I genuinely like healing, dancing, having a drink, playing a game of cards, all the usual interests. And pranks. I like pulling pranks. What brightens your day up?"

"I like reading," Nathaniel agrees. "History especially. And maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I do a bit of archery." More than a bit of archery. It's how he calms down, figures life out, clears his head. "Orienteering and hunting. I love the outdoors. I learnt something of music when I was in boarding school, as well, but I'm no performer. I just like attending the odd concert or opera."

"Orienteering and hunting, that lends itself well to daring escapes. I've spent some time out in the woods, and I'm... passable. My complaint is that I like comfortable beds and hot water." He's grinning now. "If I could get the excitement of the great outdoors along with comforts, that would be the best of all worlds."

He leans forward in his seat to continue the light touch of one finger on Nathaniel's hand and wrist. "But a date to a concert or opera has appeal. I've never been to either."

"I can teach you more about--" And he stops at the touch of Anders' finger. It's remarkably good at distracting him. And after Anders finishes speaking, Nathaniel beams.

"Really?" His parents have often wondered what they did wrong, that their boy turned out with such damaged self-esteem as to be surprised when someone who repeatedly showed interest him actually meant it all along. "I, um, I could get us seats for La Galatea on Friday. Probably not good ones."

"It's about hearing it, isn't it? I'm not certain how seats could be bad." The doubt surprises him some as well; he's been hitting on Nathaniel a few times, he got protected, he's complimented him, and yet the man's still surprised Anders would want a date? Maybe it's because he's not a mage.

"Provided it's not too late I'd love to go with you." What the show is about he has no idea. He's also not entirely certain that matters. It's Nathaniel he's interested in. ...and also not missing his curfew. He's already missed it once this month and there's fifteen days left; the punishments started at three tardy marks.

The beaming intensifies. “I’ll get us tickets, then. Um. Here’s my number.” Nathaniel pulls out a business card to hand to him. “I’ll pick you up at five, and we can get a bite to eat first.”

He has just the place in mind. He glances around for that templar.

“Do you need someone to walk you home?”

He's being protective again. Anders has spent a vast majority of his life feeling vulnerable and like his entire would could be thrown awry in a second and here he is with someone trying to protect him.

"He won't hurt me," he says, following Nathaniel's gaze, "he's been too public about checking on me tonight." Nathaniel deserves the honesty. Anders is safe for the evening thanks to the Templar's interruption.

"But I'd not turn down the offer." The card gets gently tucked away in his pocket, something to treasure whether or not Nathaniel shows up on Friday. Anders gets up and smiles at Nathaniel while quickly leaving a tip for their server.

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Please Remember Me | PSL with justice_is_blond

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