overharrowed

Their lessons don't always take place in the library. Sometimes they happen in Julius' office. And other times Athessa manages to make an argument for taking the lesson outside, or at least into one of the gardens for a change of scenery.

But this time was in the library, so none of that really matters outside of flavor. Though she fell behind during her month in the jungle, and only managed to sneak one lesson in before spending nearly the same amount of time in Orlais, she's making up time quite well. Her writing hasn't backslid into chicken-scratch because she's been practicing, and her reading has stayed where it is because she hasn't been practicing.

With the lesson finished, Athessa tips her chair back on its hind legs and lets her gaze drift over the nearest shelves of books. There are so many, about topics unknown, but she seems to remember something that prompts:

"People write a lot about love, don't they?"

He glances at the shelf she's looking at, to see if any particular titles jump out.

"...they do, I suppose. I admit, I've never particularly thought about it in contrast with any other topic. What makes you ask?"

Not that he can't think of reasons she might; there are too many for him to successfully guess without context.

She answers first with a shrug. The kind of shrug a child gives when bored and asked what they want to do. Of course there is a particular reason for her asking, but for now she'd rather keep that to herself.

"No reason," she lies. "I don't always understand how people talk about it." That, at least, is true.

"That's fair," he said. "I was just recently having a conversation about how I think I still have a lot of habits from the Circle that ... likely don't serve me so well now. But regardless of the extent to which that's true, it certainly hasn't left me an expert on how most people talk about love."

Athessa lets her chair tip forward to return to solid floor and crosses her arms on the table top. "Like what?" She asks.

"What habits?"

He's walked himself right in to this one. With a smile, he says, "I've been romantically involved with the same person in Riftwatch for a little over two years, and there's no reason it needs to be a secret, but people who know us both still don't know because I'm so used to expressing affection only when no one is looking."

It's a frank answer, at least.

“Do they have a problem with that? Not everyone likes to have an audience.”

"We've talked about it. I don't think we would have lasted two years if it had been a problem, exactly, but. When I did want to make a romantic gesture for a special occasion, I hadn't much experience to draw on. It works for us, but it's not the sort of thing I imagine writers are filling their books with." He leans back in his chair. "Or maybe they are, I haven't read enough to know, I suppose."

She nods and hmms and looks back towards the bookshelves. Thinks about what he said, thinks about what she’s said to other people.

“Do you think it’s worth reading them to learn more about love, even if nobody’s ever written about...the kind of love that speaks to you? Like...I mean I haven’t read any of them, but the stories they make into street plays and puppet shows never seemed like the kind of—-“ She doesn’t have the right words for this, emphasized by her inarticulate gesture before she switches tracks entirely. “I mean what’s romantic, really? Flowers? Poetry? What if you don’t like those things? Does that make you not romantic? Or is it different for every person?”

She’s rambling now, but what do they say about objects in motion?

“If it is different, then how come all the stories end up the same?”

"I think it's... hm." He considers how to put it. "I think a lot of stories use shorthand. The same way that battles in a story are always exciting and bold and often heroic in similar ways, right? It's a way to talk about the idea of war without the messy parts where sometimes people are shouting contradictory instructions, and sometimes soldiers just trip over nothing in particular, and sometimes the same person is both brave and cowardly in different circumstances regardless of their underlying virtue or lack thereof. Who wants that? That's a mess. I suspect it may be the same with romance."

"Sounds more interesting than the stories where everything goes as expected," Athessa says with a shrug. "Don't you think?"

"Well, I think so, but I usually read history, not fiction. And I've been told that my sense of fun may have been warped by a distinct lack of puppet shows in childhood, so."

"Meanwhile all I had were puppet shows, and no books."

It's funny, innit? A funny little juxtaposition.

"Is there something that's a bit of both? History and fiction?"

Wryly, he asks, "Do you mean on purpose, rather than just someone getting a bit over-the-top in their attempt to write history? I suppose there must be. A lot of the songs about historical figures are meant to be good stories, not historical record, after all. No offense meant to the immortal poetry of 'Andraste's Mabari.'"

"Really? Huh. My clan's songs were all meant to be historical records. I guess that makes some sense, though."

It definitely explains why humans know so little about elves outside of cautionary tales and bedtime stories.

"Is the mabari meant to have written the poetry, or is it a euphemism?"

That startles him into a genuine laugh. "No, neither -- it's a song about the mabari. A tavern song, though I suppose it's mainly a Ferelden one. It's, uh, not technically good theology to claim Andraste had a war dog, but it's a very catchy song."

Julius definitely knows this song.

Athessa leans her elbows on the table and looks at Julius expectantly.

"Go on, then." Sing the song, Julius.

He considers, then says: "I think it may be against the law to sing this song without either of us drinking any alcohol. Certainly nontraditional."

Hm.

"I'm a Dalish elf without tattoos who has spent more time living among humans than other elves, and I'm being tutored in remedial education by two likely very impressive mages in a world temporarily without Circles," She punctuates her matter-of-fact list of conditions with another shrug. "I think singing a tavern song in a library would be one of the least egregious deviations from tradition."

She definitely picked up a few of those words from the books he's assigned.

It's probably more that he's pleased at her progress than that her argument is particularly forceful, but he raises his hands in surrender. "As you like. Granted, it's much more fun in a drunken crowd, but..."

He clears his throat and launches in. He's not a trained singer, but far from tone-deaf, and his high baritone would certainly do for joining in a group. At first, he's mildly self-conscious, but his evident nostalgia for the song carries him through at least the first verse and chorus -- perhaps further, though that will depend on her reaction.

Her reaction is subdued at first, mild appreciation and triumph that he caved, but as he goes on her smile widens into a grin, and she provides some accompaniment via tapping her foot in rhythm and — for the second or third chorus — sings along with the lines she can pick up quickest. She has a natural ear for harmonies and only what training she can recall from her clan, but even that would barely qualify as "training" in society.

At the song's close, she applauds Julius happily and laughs. "That was great! I gotta say, I dunno why anybody would be against Andraste having a dog, but —" Shrug. There's plenty about society she doesn't understand.

Now that it's done, he's in good humor, not sheepish in the least. "I think the general objection is that it's undignified," he says, "but frankly it makes as much as many of the more commonly accepted stories. Mabari are military assets, with the added bonus of loyalty that can't be bought."

Someone wasn't allowed to have a dog as a child.

"But, to your original point. It's fun to think she did, whether or not it's actually true. The history isn't the point."

"So the point is just to make a fun song?"

"Sure, maybe at first," he says, sitting back. "If it weren't fun, probably not as many people would remember it and teach it to other people. But I don't think it's only that in this particular case. There's some patriotism mixed in; some Fereldans like the reminder that she's from the same place they are. I think it's really popular, though, because it reminds people that Andraste was human. Scratching her dog's ears, feet that got cold, the whole thing. Depending on the person's feelings about the Chantry, it could be aspirational, or it could take the holiness down a peg. Something for everyone, that way."

"Hmm..."

Maybe not for me, she thinks. There's not much about Andraste that Athessa finds relatable.

"Most of my clan's songs were how to find your way, whether back to where you'd planted something, back home, or to worship at Sulahn'An. And about our history, but I don't think they did much embellishing on that front."

action! early august or whatever

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