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[Val pauses briefly in the writing of his letter. Thoughtfully, he sucks at the feather end of his quill as he considers, then he turns to Jeannot.
Presumably they are in the sad library of Skyhold, and they are sitting at the same table. This is perfect for discussing philosophical questions, such as:]
Jeannot, is it very blasphemous to fear Freddie's wrath more than Andraste's, or only a little blasphemous?
Presumably they are in the sad library of Skyhold, and they are sitting at the same table. This is perfect for discussing philosophical questions, such as:]
Jeannot, is it very blasphemous to fear Freddie's wrath more than Andraste's, or only a little blasphemous?
Only a little, [ Jeannot answers offhand, without thought or upward glance: of course not. Freddie is terrifying when wrathful.
But then his eyes still on his book and he hums thoughtfully before he goes on with arch and only mildly guilty thoroughness: ]
Andraste is with the Maker, and until the Herald emerged from the Fade she had not truly interfered with us for a thousand years. However great her disappointment, she will leave you alone. And you need not face the Maker's wrath until you have died or He has returned, whichever is first to occur—or you need not face His wrath at all, if you die penitent and obedient. That is more likely to occur if you reach old age, and you are more likely to reach old age if you do not anger Freddie. In this way, fearing Freddie most of all is nearly an act of faith.
But then his eyes still on his book and he hums thoughtfully before he goes on with arch and only mildly guilty thoroughness: ]
Andraste is with the Maker, and until the Herald emerged from the Fade she had not truly interfered with us for a thousand years. However great her disappointment, she will leave you alone. And you need not face the Maker's wrath until you have died or He has returned, whichever is first to occur—or you need not face His wrath at all, if you die penitent and obedient. That is more likely to occur if you reach old age, and you are more likely to reach old age if you do not anger Freddie. In this way, fearing Freddie most of all is nearly an act of faith.
Edited 2016-08-15 18:03 (UTC)
Nearly an act of faith.
[Yes, that checks out. Val nods, and--thoughtfully--scratches his fingernails against his tongue to clean it of quill.]
Have I told you lately that I am so very glad you are here with me? Where would I be without you? Locked in a moral quandary, at the very least, to say nothing of the miserable company I would suffer.
[He begins to write again. After a few seconds (while still writing), he adds:]
Though I cannot imagine I will be a very penitent old man.
[Yes, that checks out. Val nods, and--thoughtfully--scratches his fingernails against his tongue to clean it of quill.]
Have I told you lately that I am so very glad you are here with me? Where would I be without you? Locked in a moral quandary, at the very least, to say nothing of the miserable company I would suffer.
[He begins to write again. After a few seconds (while still writing), he adds:]
Though I cannot imagine I will be a very penitent old man.
You will be. It will be your gift to me in your dying days, because you will be generous and want to ease my grief at the thought of going to the Maker without you while you wander forever lost in the Beyond.
[ Is he joking? Yes. Is he serious? Also yes. Is he glad Val is here as well? Most yes. ]
The remarkable contrast of the transformation will approach le miraculeux. There will be songs. I will ensure that I outlive you solely so that I may write them.
[ Is he joking? Yes. Is he serious? Also yes. Is he glad Val is here as well? Most yes. ]
The remarkable contrast of the transformation will approach le miraculeux. There will be songs. I will ensure that I outlive you solely so that I may write them.
I do hate wandering in forests. And being alone. And I do love giving you presents. And I do love songs, especially those written about me.
[Pros, cons. Val weighs them with appropriate deliberation.]
I think when I become a penitent old man, I will change my name. You will have to call me Le Miraculeux.
[Pros, cons. Val weighs them with appropriate deliberation.]
I think when I become a penitent old man, I will change my name. You will have to call me Le Miraculeux.
Edited (wait one more pro) 2016-08-15 20:37 (UTC)
Obviously you will still be permitted to call me Val.
[Special favors for friends.]
Except in formal settings, where I will insist upon being called Le Miraculeux, no matter how many teeth you have. [Also. His quill pauses in its scratching against the parchment, and he looks around at Jehan.] Missing teeth?
[Ew.]
[Special favors for friends.]
Except in formal settings, where I will insist upon being called Le Miraculeux, no matter how many teeth you have. [Also. His quill pauses in its scratching against the parchment, and he looks around at Jehan.] Missing teeth?
[Ew.]
Luh Miahcooloh.
[ He is nothing if not obliging. Or he is several things if not obliging, but where Val is concerned: obliging. Usually. Today. ]
Fal, [ he adds, with some effort to produce the F, before putting his tongue back where it belongs. ] You see? Slightly more tolerable.
[ He is nothing if not obliging. Or he is several things if not obliging, but where Val is concerned: obliging. Usually. Today. ]
Fal, [ he adds, with some effort to produce the F, before putting his tongue back where it belongs. ] You see? Slightly more tolerable.
Slightly.
[And so, in declaration, Val raps his knuckles against the tabletop.]
It's decided. Val. I will let everyone else say my title and save you and I both the trouble of having to listen to you try to pronounce it. And if anyone asks, I will say that you are an old and dear friend and so of course are permitted to call me anything you like, within the bonds of affection. They will not be able to argue with that.
And we will commission you a very fine set of false teeth.
[And so, in declaration, Val raps his knuckles against the tabletop.]
It's decided. Val. I will let everyone else say my title and save you and I both the trouble of having to listen to you try to pronounce it. And if anyone asks, I will say that you are an old and dear friend and so of course are permitted to call me anything you like, within the bonds of affection. They will not be able to argue with that.
And we will commission you a very fine set of false teeth.
In Skyhold.
Some sort of paddock. They were a gift from-- I suppose it was the Dalish, but they cannot be clear on that, and they're all writing things, now, it's almost impressive. Jeannot, they have halla, they keep them in a pen. They feed them Andraste-knows-what, they're--
[Almost in pain, please understand his pain:] Jehan!
Some sort of paddock. They were a gift from-- I suppose it was the Dalish, but they cannot be clear on that, and they're all writing things, now, it's almost impressive. Jeannot, they have halla, they keep them in a pen. They feed them Andraste-knows-what, they're--
[Almost in pain, please understand his pain:] Jehan!
[ A pause.
A lengthy pause.
A pause of sympathy?
Of confusion?
Both?
There's room for both in its length, definitely.
And then, gravely, not laughing at all, he's very good at repressing laughter, and Val isn't here to see the corners of his eyes crinkle: ]
You must set them free at once.
A lengthy pause.
A pause of sympathy?
Of confusion?
Both?
There's room for both in its length, definitely.
And then, gravely, not laughing at all, he's very good at repressing laughter, and Val isn't here to see the corners of his eyes crinkle: ]
You must set them free at once.
Apparently--
[do you think he has not thought of that, of course he has thought of that, and yet--]
--that would be an insult. As if we should give a shit whether or not we would be insulting anyone so supremely dull-witted as to send a herd of wild creatures who eat grass to a BLOODY MOUNTAIN.
[He feels passionately. Can you tell.]
I want to free them. They deserve freedom. They deserve not to be kept under lock and key and forced to eat-- what will they eat, when the grass has died? What are they eating now? There is hardly vegetation. Remember when we went for a walk the other day, and all we saw were rocks and more rocks? And they weren't even interesting colors, these rocks. Very plain and grey. You like them. I detest them. Halla cannot eat them. I don't care what provisions these Dalish say they have made for them. They keep them traditionally. They know these secrets. Such secrets! But they still sent a pack of herbivores to a sodding mountain, Jeannot.
We must free them.
[do you think he has not thought of that, of course he has thought of that, and yet--]
--that would be an insult. As if we should give a shit whether or not we would be insulting anyone so supremely dull-witted as to send a herd of wild creatures who eat grass to a BLOODY MOUNTAIN.
[He feels passionately. Can you tell.]
I want to free them. They deserve freedom. They deserve not to be kept under lock and key and forced to eat-- what will they eat, when the grass has died? What are they eating now? There is hardly vegetation. Remember when we went for a walk the other day, and all we saw were rocks and more rocks? And they weren't even interesting colors, these rocks. Very plain and grey. You like them. I detest them. Halla cannot eat them. I don't care what provisions these Dalish say they have made for them. They keep them traditionally. They know these secrets. Such secrets! But they still sent a pack of herbivores to a sodding mountain, Jeannot.
We must free them.
[ Jeannot nods agreeably. And fondly. The passion is admirable! Maybe it would be more admirable directed toward faith or people than toward white deer with funny antlers, but it's certainly better than none at all. ]
Perhaps their secret, [ he muses, ] is oats.
Perhaps their secret, [ he muses, ] is oats.
Chantry brothers.
[--He offers, in a prayer, to... well, the Maker, probably. Maybe Andraste. She seems more reasonable in some ways.]
All right, yes, the Maker. But second to the Maker should be me, not some-- pack of know it all forest children with dewdrops in their knifey ears!
Look. It is simple. Will a deer eat oats? Yes, of course. Will a halla eat oats? Probably. I don't see why it wouldn't. But should a halla eat oats? Should it become reliant on horsefeed? Variety is best for the stomach. What's more, should we be diverting horse feed to the feedbags of the halla? We did not ask for them. We do not collectively believe that they should be kept, like common pets. Just because some little elves believe it is some birthright!
[--He offers, in a prayer, to... well, the Maker, probably. Maybe Andraste. She seems more reasonable in some ways.]
All right, yes, the Maker. But second to the Maker should be me, not some-- pack of know it all forest children with dewdrops in their knifey ears!
Look. It is simple. Will a deer eat oats? Yes, of course. Will a halla eat oats? Probably. I don't see why it wouldn't. But should a halla eat oats? Should it become reliant on horsefeed? Variety is best for the stomach. What's more, should we be diverting horse feed to the feedbags of the halla? We did not ask for them. We do not collectively believe that they should be kept, like common pets. Just because some little elves believe it is some birthright!
Do you think they really have dewdrops on their ears? They do sleep outside. When the dew forms in the mornings it must go somewhere. I know we have woken up damp—perhaps if our ears angled so the moisture would gather.
[ There's quill scratching in the background. ]
After you have liberated their halla, you should ask them.
[ There's quill scratching in the background. ]
After you have liberated their halla, you should ask them.
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