Maymay 1: ✓ for Aether about Spiridon. Maymay 2: how does Aether perceive him anyway. Maymay 3: There are three young plants in three plain-looking pots, each growing in a different soil. "My mother carried the ancestors of these from the Anderfels thirty five years ago, and I carried them across the Waking Sea when I left more valuable things behind. I snapped twigs off their branches before they were buried in Haven, and potted them again when I could. (1/2)
Ya spoil me rotten, my dude <3
Meme1:Aether drew a breath to speak, and then hesitated before he let it out and smiled weakly to himself. Closing his eyes, he then gave a mild nod and then, he gave his answer. “Some may call this foolish of me, but what I find the most attractive about Spiridon is his honesty. It’s not sweetened to deceive, and he doesn’t mince words to inject what he wants to say into what he feels that he needs to say. If I am to be honest myself, I feel jealous of him for being the kind of person who can say things that way. It’s the sort of honesty I wish I had myself.”
Meme2:“The first time I met Spiridon was not the first time I had heard of him. The Lavellan clan which I was adopted into as their simple tradesmaster offered me little insight about him as a man, only that they had marked him for death for offenses none were willing to tell. Being able to meet him though, that made me question even more the clan’s reasons of casting this dark and miserable path upon him. He is not kind, no, but he is not cruel either. He is reliable when treated fairly, steady as the stones that the rains and winds beat upon, and mostly, he strikes me as someone who doesn’t want to be treated above or below anyone else. It’s men like him who help shape the world, not through great displays of power, manipulation, or money, but who are willing to do what needs to be done, to make decisions that need to be made, and to take responsibility for the consequences of these actions. He’s a good man. And I’m glad to have him, regardless of what the Lavellan clan has said.”
Meme3:Aether’s thoughtful pout was offset by the surprised raise of his blond brows as he read the letter that had accompanied these three potted plants. And slowly, a smile spread, one cheek dimpling as he gazed to his son, watching Da'elgara as he stretched out one fat little hand to tenderly stroke a leaf upon the closest pot to him. The Inquisitor leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his blond curls, “these are for you, da'len,” he told his little boy who looked up to him with eyes more gold than his father’s green, “why don’t we take these to the library? See what they’re called?” he suggested, always pleased to see the way Dael’s eyes lit up at the suggestion of going to the library, and quietly, excitedly, the two-year-old scrambled out of the chair. He watched his son walk carefully ahead of him, one pot securely embraced in tiny arms, the other two in his own, and then cast a glance out the window to where the battlements were being repaired, stone by stone, by the strong hands of a man more thoughtful than many believed.