Justice was the most interesting friend he had ever had, which was quite a feat for someone like Anders… what with the situations he'd found myself in over the years. Anders takes friends where he can find them usually, but Justice was not like that. Every moment spent in his company was intriguing.
Justice liked to collect things. Seeing him around Amaranthine, you would never guess that he would be like that. You would think, from the way he speaks, the way he holds his shoulders back, with his back so stiff and straight, that he would be a nutter for order. Well, Anders thinks, there is order to his things, it just isn't the kind that most people would recognise. At first glance it just looks like clutter, none of it seems logical; but when you take the time to try and think like he does, it really makes sense. To categorize things according to what they represent, not how they look or how they function. Anders puts all his books together because they are books. Pounce's toys go in his bed.
Justice puts a stack of old letters in a shelf of paintings because they communicate. Pokers, quills and weapons go together because they are tools. His oil lamps and mirror sit with firewood because they are light. He likes nature most, things that change and move like plants. Anders thinks that is because they are all made of exactly the same things, but every one of them manages to grow differently. They are always changing too. He wants to understand change.
"They are dying, Justice. Plants need the earth to live," Anders tells him, hunched over a mound of disturbed earth with his robes hiked up above his calves. Sweating, Anders shovels another heap of dirt into a pot over the dry roots. The two of them are hidden behind a tall brick wall in the corner of Amaranthine's vegetable garden. Anders is borrowing some of their good soil to give Justice's weeds a fighting chance; he's no botanist, but at least he understands that water plus dirt plus sunshine equals happy plants.
Justice looks uncharacteristically nervous, wringing his hands in the picture of concern. Anders wonders what would happen if he told him that what they were doing right now would technically be considered stealing.
"Plants suffer like people, Justice. It might be too late to fix them."
"Can you not heal them?"
Anders chuckles at that, shaking his head, "No, I'm not good at that kind of magic." He almost apologises for his laughter, because the look in Justice's clouded eyes when they meet his is so sad. Anders looks away.
"I did this to them, I coveted them and removed them from the earth. This is an injustice." There's that determination, that misjudged resolve.
"No it isn't," Anders shrugs, "Death happens. What matters is that you didn't do it because you wanted to kill them, and you are trying your best to fix it."
"The flowers did not deserve to die."
"They would die eventually," Anders continues, "Here they have had the chance to make people cheerful, and they have taught you how to take care of their kind. Besides, they are weeds. These plants stop other plants from growing. If they die, it won't be so bad."
The slack skin of Justice's brow crumples a little, the corners of his mouth turn down. Anders wonders when if Justice knows that he has learnt to express emotion on his face?
"I shall think on what you have said."
He is quiet, as Justice often is, and Anders wonders how much of what they discussed made any sense to him. But he shows him how to water the plants properly, and Justice damn near drowns the poor things. Together, they take them back to Justice's room and put them with his lyrium ring: beauty.
Now Justice must be confused, Anders muses, because plants are 'life' as well as beauty. But he doesn't look confused with how things are laid out, and Anders remembers that to Justice, 'beauty' and 'life' are one and the same.
