There is something humorous in his own mockery of his mortality. He is no longer a young man, though an old man, he is not. It pulls at him, and a smile unfolds behind paperwork and parchment, those things falling quickly aside as his focus shifts to her. They have far too few moments and — in this age of uncertainty, he will take a moment here and there, even if the moment is melodramatic, for he enjoys the exuberance. “Now, now. You can butter me up later, we all know your opinions on wine.” Or the fondness for it. It’s a tease, punctuated with sarcastic wit, ever-present. 

“He’s a person, and you want him treated that way.” There is finality in those words. Cole had a found a soft spot in his armour and weaselled his way in, much like many of Sidri’s merry band of misfits ( for the most part ). Perhaps it was because Cole had an uncanny way of reminding him of home, reminding him of something so precious and so complicated, while maintaining himself through it all. Something fawnlike, someone still trying to find their feet in the world, to establish and navigate the unknown shores. 

Fatherly. That word is swallowed and swept aside— another thought for another time, a drunker time, a woeful time. 

“I can speak to him, of course — however, even if I do, he’s the one to make his own choices, Sid.” It’s a gentle reminder, a reminder that echos in the back of his head far too often for his liking, even though the choices that resonate are history — almost decades old and cooled. “I know he’s trying to find his way. If I can help that, I will.” It’s an assurance that is sealed with a hand over hers. 

his  remark  is  punctuated  with  a  small  huff   of  laughter,  fingers  lightly  tugging  through  his  hair  in  response.  “there  are  far  worse  vices  to  have,  i’ll  let  you  know,  and  at  least  mine  perhaps  hints  at  some  refinement.”  (a  lie,  she’s  more  than  content  to  get  drunk  off  whatever  is  near  at  hand  when  so  inclined.)  

a  person.  the  idea  flickers  through  her  mind,  gains  traction  as  she  tugs  at  her  lip  with  her  teeth.  “yes,”  sidri  nods  slowly,  “a  person.”  she  inhales sharply,  gloved  fingers  tugging  anxiously  at  the  corners  of  her  sleeves.  “i’ve....become  rather  accustomed  of  late  to  being  looked  at  as  a   thing,  as   something  composed  of  expectations.  i  would  not  wish  that  upon  cole,  not  when  he  so  eagerly  wishes  to  be  more  than  what  others  might  fear  him  to  be.  at  least,”  another  pause.  “if  that  is  not  what  he  wants.” 

❝ How enigmatic, ❞ it comes as no surprise to him that there are secrets kept and secrets held close to the chest ——— Dorian is no open book to peruse, either / some aspects of his person well hidden and sheltered from common view. His opinions are a different story, but he knows well that not everyone can afford to be so openly DEFIANT in the face of political and societal scorn. He’s well used to it, and a foreigner in these lands to boot, and little more is expected from him. When it comes to Sidria ( … ) he understands, in part. She wants to do good, that much he cal tell / and that is what matters most, in the end. ❝ Fitting for an assassin who holds the most power in all of Thedas ——— no need to worry, Sidria, your most scandalous thoughts shall be kept between us. ❞

It seems rather exhausting though. Pretending to be someone you are not. Then again, he only has a vague idea just how much she is putting on a show.

He can’t help but smile as she passes judgment on herself / quite the revealing thing to do, indeed / chin leaned upon his hand as he scrutinizes her. ❝ Quite astute of you. The opinions of the unwashed masses hardly matter when you’re certain of yourself, ❞ easy for him to say, of course, but alas. ❝ But, yes, I would say that you are rather charming in your own way. You certainly know how to talk to people. ❞

quicksilver slip of a grin appears at that and it does distantly occur to her how ridiculous all of this is, really; more laughable than inspiring. she’d only barely known had to hold a blade when all of this had begun and now? a trained assassin, the herald of andraste, the inquisitor. 

sidri had decided long ago that fate either did not exist or had an entirely ridiculous sense of humor. she isn’t certain which she would prefer.