He had, ah, heard of this new Agent quite quickly. The way these Southerners either edge away from the topic of those native to Tevinter or, as in this case, speak it quite plainly with enough of an edge that he could use it to cut up the herbs he used in his alchemy experiments was so incredibly darling. It was charming, in that annoying, pesky, exasperating way. Rumors flourish within Skyhold’s walls and thoughts are hard to conceal, what with gossiping Sisters and a Spirit with benign intentions. It is what draws him close, his features schooled in a pleasant way, and his smile blooming like the extravagant flowers that the Inquisitor allowed Josephine to have planted in the garden. This was not what he expected, if he was to be honest, but it mattered little. He was raised to be terribly polite, and he remains so, despite some wishes otherwise; he focuses on the right side of the mage’s face.
“Ah, well, you know how it is; too many of our ‘peers’ are being complete idiots and partaking in a cult. It does tend to reduce the amount of potential recruits the Inquisition could call upon.” He feigns jolliness, easing his way into a casual conversation that does not seem to come easily from the other’s lips, and stays there. He would not be shaken off so easily, by any means. “Oh? I would not have placed you as such; your accent, you see.” He’s lying, but that is to be expect; he’s an Altus. “Did you study at the Circle there? Or did you study at one of the more remote Circles?” He doesn’t ever remembering seeing the other at Minrathous’ Circle, but then again, he had religiously put his nose to books while studying at the Circle. He hadn’t had much time for his peers, which is both laughable and pathetic, mostly in the fact he had once considered them peers. “Nevertheless; I find it comforting to have another from home, stranger or otherwise, here in Skyhold. The last Tevinter to come this far, with sense in his skull, ah— did not make it.”
If it hadn’t clicked before, it certainly did now. Here before him was an Altus, in the flesh. A position, a title, a legacy he had occupied not too long ago ; one savagely ripped away from him, as had been the structure of his visage, and wisps of his sight. How alarmed, and how unimpressed he was by the feigned ignorance and condescension of the mage. Zuko had not thought to conceal his accent, only strung together words of speech that would befit a commoner ; there was no suspicion as to him being otherwise. He had espied this man a fair number of times, he recalls, when compelled to flank his father to balls of great importance. Azula’s preening was enough to suck in attention for two, though it did not make him quite the shadow he would have hoped. Once he might have placed the house name instantly, yet now he wouldn’t even consider it – that was not his life now.
For all he knew, he was in the presence of a great practicer of blood magic himself -- blood magic his uncle had instructed him sparsely, and cautiously, with. No magic was corrupt by nature, he was told, it was its wielder that made it so.
His father, or what he had known to be his father, had blessed him with one advantage. With such injury, nobody would stare for too long at his countenance, sparing him the chance of recognition. Certainly not an Altus, one he assumed to be of great elegance – why linger on such unpleasant sights?
❛ A remote Circle, yes. ❜ He means to end this portion of the discussion hastily -- if his semblable would not desist, then the conversation would have to be led elsewhere. ❛ My condolences. I trust he did some good to our Nation’s name. ❜
Love his Nation he must, he did, his intentions were by no means at their service. What good was it to speak, to remember, to hope for more, in a land he was no longer welcome? The threat coiled around his throat like a snake, constricting him, depriving his lungs of air. There was no place for him there any longer, or so he must believe.
❛ Yes, you must be desperate. Had we been in Tevinter, you wouldn’t have looked at me twice. ❜ The apprehension, the confusion, the danger appeared to vanish to give way for something more, though his mien was still reticent. He could not place the exact source of his bitterness. If they had met in Tevinter, it would be under the guise of false smiles, and modest compliments. Perhaps it was all that the man represented that riled him up so. All that he had lost. First his magic, and for a time, he was forced to bear the shame as the sole rogue of a most high-esteemed family. Then his mother, without a trace, or a single farewell. Finally, his blood, his title, his right to live had all been stripped away from him, until he was left with nothing but what he himself could muster, and cast away into the wilderness. Yes, he had every reason to be bitter, resentful, even it was delivered under false accusations.
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