faderift | open; Give me a field, give me a big sky

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open; Give me a field, give me a big sky

WHO: Araceli, Morrigan, Asher and you
WHAT: Catch-all for Bloomingtide
WHEN: Bloomingtide (post-5th Bloomingtide for Araceli)
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: A proper catch-up for all three characters below with specific starters and some open headers, if you'd like something specific feel free to hit me up! If you'd like a backdated thing for Araceli or Morrigan, let me know and I'll sort that too, I know I've been gone for a fair bit sorry!
Araceli's threads will all be post 5th Bloomingtide when she gets back from her mission in Antiva!
For some ooc details on Morrigan things, please see here, a rookery post will go up shortly for research helpers!
Warnings for talk of violence, blood and language in Asher's threads.

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Perhaps it surprises no one more than Morrigan herself that she has grown strangely fond of Gwenaelle in so short a span of time but she is quite unlike so many of the young Orlesian ladies, and that is even when the marked hand is ignored, and they had made an agreement to one another prior to the malady that had inflicted itself upon Skyhold. Once again it lumbers, unseemly, unsightly, ungainly, teetering from one impending disaster to another but there are snatches of calm and she takes one, seeking the young lady in question out with one of her rare smiles and knock on the door.

"I have made time, if it suits of course," she says by way of greeting, because she always arrives when she pleases, a prerogative of witches wherever they go. "I am glad to see you well and recovered, though I suppose tis better a sickness than another rift or abomination deciding to tear through the gardens or the hold."

Having spent so much of her life watched so closely for signs of her mother's frailty (chafing against the limitations, the scrutiny, and the tiresome pretense that Annegret Vauquelin could pass anything onto her without a lesson), Gwenaëlle is in motion when caught simply for the satisfaction of being up and about again. Bed-rest leaves her bored, waspish and deeply uncooperative; how much she hated it is apparent in the effervescent way she takes to literally anything else immediately after, and the room behind her when she opens the door reflects as much in its slight disorganisation.

"I'd have preferred neither," she says, considering the room briefly before moving so that Morrigan can come in if she wishes, "but now it's done with I shan't complain it wasn't worse."

It isn't messy, both because she couldn't abide that and because her lady's maid has taken on work that would have been more spread about the housemaids were they still in Orlais - but the overall tidiness serves as a contrast for the unedited papers spread across the end of her bed and the desk, the glass on the window-sill, perfume bottles that have been taken out to be reorganised and not completely put away, hair pins-- hers has changed, a little, in style, more of it falling forward out of the thick braid swinging down her back than would've done when she first arrived here.

There is a low sofa and an armchair by the hearth, and another table that Gwenaëlle's work has overtaken between them. It isn't all for Skyhold; when she catches sight of some paper and takes it away, she doesn't bother being surreptitious. They're allowed their secrets, the both of them, she thinks, even if she'd like to be someone to whom secrets are told.

"Would you like to join me? Or risk inclement weather?"

For all the time she had spent in Orlais, it had always involved the Game to an extent; Celene playing it or Morrigan taking savage delight in catching her whenever she wasn't, when her guard was down, the nobles that never knew how to take the masks off. Vivienne, for example, has become the Game entirely even if she would say that she is the Circle as it should be. Wynne was the Circle, and Morrigan might dislike Wynne to this day but she knows exactly what Wynne's opinions of Vivienne would be and they can still bring a smile to her face. Almost a pity that she's gone now so she can't wag her finger, using that matronly nature of hers that always wins far more support and sways influence faster than playing games of politics. But another matter for another day; she cannot help herself peering, the smile more one of recognition.

Gwenaëlle has sat in her own study after all, she has seen that it is organised chaos the way most things tend to be in both Skyhold and the world, trying to have everything you might need just so, so you can grab it the instant you need it without it ever becoming lost.

There are certainly many things Morrigan would snatch away from someone though if they even turned their body slightly towards them, things she keeps locked and warded from sight, keeps very safe and secure. Not even the secrets of her eluvian will be told to anyone beyond Leliana while she is here, for there will be no going back after that.

"Given what we have faced here since I have joined," and that was after the debacle that was Haven and what might have happened before she came through the gates too, "we might have had a true plague and possessions, I am sure there are some of the faithful outside the walls who might have relished a chance to shout about us heathens."

A chance to do anything to make themselves seem less useless and more important again, that's always their way.

"I would leave that decision up to you, though I have had my fill of the wilds now that I have returned to Skyhold, and certainly we shall have more peace here." There are rumours following her like a pack of hounds, there are so few places where she can shut them out entirely.

"How exciting that would have been," Gwenaëlle says, drolly, of being called heathens - preferring both the privacy and the quiet, even if she has spent a great deal of time in this room recently, she arranges her skirts as she seats herself on the one-armed sofa, leaving the armchair for Morrigan's use. That she relaxes even this far in her company isn't entirely innocent of Orlesian politicking; the Game is the lens through which she's been forced to see the world, and for all that she's loudly impulsive, she isn't stupid or incapable of thinking ahead. There might be a time when such a friendship means something beyond its innate value -

But it's not irrelevant that as well as clever and sharp, she's lonely and restless, that being listened to and taken seriously turns her head quicker than anything, that she sees something to aspire to in the way Morrigan maneuvers uncompromisingly through the world. She navigated the Orlesian court without, so far as Gwenaëlle can tell, being compelled to bend to it.

It isn't ambition, per se. It's only that being left alone is a luxury of those who are given power or take it for themselves, and it had never occurred to her before that there are more kinds of power than she'd been told. And perhaps if someone who wields them sees value in her already - maybe there are other ways for her, too. (And maybe she just wants someone here to see value in her. Maybe then she can focus on Skyhold as an opportunity and not a punishment.)

"Join me in a drink, then?" she offers, taking her spectacles off and reattaching them absently to the chain that hangs from her waist; they rest against the folds of her skirts where from a distance the thin gold looks like another decoration. "I'd like to have been better acquainting myself with the hold, but recuperation sort of took my attention for a time. You and Kieran avoided it entirely?" And what did they do instead? She considers whether or not she's prepared to ask explicitly and risk a polite rebuke.

"Wait long enough and I am sure they will come, who knows what audience your words will reach - you alone are the one voice ringing out from Skyhold in truth. The Nightingale might whisper, the scouts and soldiers will chatter with all the rest, Josephine will put out whatever diplomacy and politics require but it is still your voice." There are so many without one, after all, how many years did she spend when she shouted but still never seemed to get anywhere because Flemeth had never allowed her to own her voice for herself? She settles comfortably, with better posture than one might expect from a woman who grew up in a shack but then her mother was a very contrary sort of creature, snapping at odd things.

One never really knows what their mother is until they become one and jump at the shadows they cast themselves.

If she slouched in Orlais, it was boredom, because it annoyed Celene and her courtiers, because they demanded to be the centre of the entire world. In truth, she doesn't miss it even when she does write her missives back to update on the progress the Inquisition makes, or on her own research here and there, carefully leaving out as much as she likes since the spies will have far better things to concern themselves with these days. Still, it's amusing to have them scurrying about even when she's so far away and to know she can still cause a fuss. Leliana would roll her eyes but she'd still smile perhaps.

"Certainly," she agrees with a smile, eyes darting to the glasses but well, birds and bright things. Old habits die hard. "Kieran wished to escape the tedium of his lessons - Vivienne is very strict, and her ideas of fun are as old as she is." It's very rude but well, gossip is allowed and if it filters out then it'll come back to one of them, and Vivienne already knows exactly what Morrigan thinks of her after all. A cautionary tale - spend all your life playing a Game and be consumed by it when you realise what happens when the world has no place for it and you. "I heard very strange tales though of spirits, demons, hallucinations, not the sort of things small boys should be exposed to nor anyone - I trust you have recovered well from all this? The shard has caused no complications?"

At home there'd be a servant for this, but if privacy obliges that Gwenaëlle pour her own wine for herself and her guest - well, she has hands attached to the end of her wrists perfectly capable of doing so, and she prefers privacy over being too precious to do anything for herself. Two glasses of red wine properly decanted, then, a good year likely sourced directly from her papa's cellar as he had been generous in the things he sent with her to make a little bit less the distance from Orlais. An excellent companion to musing on what might be done with her voice...

In Orlais, it meant nothing. Art critiques that only a select few took interest in; 'the Comte's girl'. From Skyhold, though, she amplifies beyond anything she might have imagined before, and there are worse people to learn from when it comes to what she might do with that. The way she brightens and laughs at Morrigan's assessment of Vivienne is a sort of freedom, in a way, when before she'd always have been far too disquieted by the thought of that formidable mage to dream of laughing about her.

"It passed quickly," she assures her, of the illness and all that had come with it. "They said that we were seeing through the Veil - a very strange thing indeed, I found it, but I saw the healers in the end and all was well. The shard..." A grimace; her hand flexes. "It did me no more ill than it ever does, I suppose. I'd have rather been chasing Kieran about than taking to my sickbed, though."

Not that she has met him, but Gwenaëlle has a more genuine affection for children generally than most would credit, and more of a tolerance for oddity in them than adults.

As an aside, "My father finds her fascinating. Madame de Fer. He tried his luck once. I was mortified."

Next time the young lady comes to her study she can horrify her with what Morrigan called tea growing up: wooden cups (better now, she has learned a taste for some of the finer things) with a mix of herbs for whatever she might need, honey only because Kieran likes it. Flemeth never bothered with things like that and Morrigan learned very quickly not to ask for such things as a girl. Yet again she's pleasantly surprised that Gwenaëlle is seemingly happy enough to do things for herself; change always comes to the world, but it always up to the individual what they will do with it.

"Skyhold is a very old place, Tarasyl'an Te'las, the place where the sky is held back is the literal meaning of the name, and even within the very stones there is magic, very old, very strong. I had heard from some of those involved with the healing efforts that there has been no official word put out yet regarding the cause, how very surprising." The last part she says flatly from behind her glass, rolling her eyes with disgust because while she isn't surprised, they can hardly afford these continued incidents within the very walls. "He would have welcomed it, I am sure, most young ladies he met in the court did not wish to play any games, none that involved anything strenuous lest they ruffle their petticoats or crease their gowns."

As she says this, she's very aware that he's either off with Doghren slobbering all over him or he's rolling around somewhere telling stories to Leliana's many nugs. Which option is worse she can hardly tell but she'll be wrestling a boy into a bath tonight.

"Truly? What I might have given to have seen their faces, but that is what men are good for in my experience. If you have not met Alistair I would suggest that you would, he is easy amusement whenever you are in need of it the way he puffs himself up straining to make a point. Quite like a toad or a frog." That's funnier when you really know Alistair, and yes, they're trying but well, sometimes you have to be horrible about Alistair and she's allowed to do that if she's being scandalous. "If you were to transform the Game into a person, you would have Vivienne. Watching everyone from her balcony in Skyhold and sitting in another Circle though I believe they do prefer to call themselves the Mage Council, for whatever good they think that will do them."

Mention of Alistair prompts another laugh - a bit of unguarded humour suits her better than the acutely self-conscious way she tends to be navigating the world - and she gestures briefly with the glass she's in the process of offering to Morrigan--

"He has promised me a favour, actually. I was anticipating being creative in what I asked for."

(It's very likely to be purely for her amusement, after all.)

"But my lord hasn't got an ounce of shame in him, or else he probably wouldn't have tried to flirt with her in the Duke de Ghislain's own home. It's strange to me to think of her so..." Gwenaëlle's head tilted a little. "Everyone speaks of her as the institution. But if she likes the Circles so well, why was she at court, then? With the Duke? My uncle was an Enchanter."

Is, maybe. No one knows what happened to Gervais Vauquelin.

"He never went to court."

"You may need to explain it slowly, and carefully, and with small words. He is not the sharpest of blades in the armoury though since I last knew him I am glad to say he has improved. Though I dread to think how he might have become more dull." It's hard work to suppress the shudder of dread she feels but Alistair? Worse than he was? The second glorious coming of Cailan? Too dreadful to imagine. "Still, he is trying, more than some of them, of all the Wardens he is perhaps the least objectional and useless, though that hardly says much."

(Well he's trying very hard with her and Kieran so she's grudgingly fond.)

"The same reason she is here in Skyhold: to rise ever higher. Within one Circle one can rise to the rank of First Enchanter and that is all, but there has always been a position within the Imperial Court for a mage to entertain. Vivienne has spent her life playing the Game, including saddling herself with the Duke de Ghislain, likely to advance her own position within it. Some people will do anything to advance themselves, even to the point that they are no longer themselves, I fortunately do not count myself among them."

Her smirk has an edge of triumph, wickedly sharp. She knows exactly what she did when she came to the court, when she was unveiled at Celene's side, when she thumbed her nose at their culture, their tradition, at every little thing Vivienne used to her advantage to get to where she was.

"Court is a dreadful place, I was lucky to get just as much out of the bargain. More than she ever did, I can guarantee that."

Gwenaëlle's experience of the Wardens to comment upon is - limited. Anders had been her healer when she first arrived, for all her ignorance as to precisely who he is, and Alistair had bargained for her silence; she hasn't gone out of her way to better acquaint herself. In theory, the Wardens are...necessary? And all of that. In practise, they're secretive and they're bad news and there's so much bad news, isn't there? Does she really have to go digging for more?

Probably. Sooner or later. She never cares for not knowing things. But there are other pressing concerns, and they can wait.

"To be still your own creature in the imperial court is no small feat," she observes, not taking any great pains to hide the hint of admiration in her voice. "Quite a victory, I think. Maker knows," with a more rueful sigh, "I've never got as much out of that life as my mother wished." Admitting a vulnerability or preempting one? Perception is ever-shifting, and Gwenaëlle shifts with it; she'd rather Morrigan didn't think her a fool who can't see her own weaknesses, even if there are times pretending to be ignorant of them lets her get away with more than she otherwise might.

Sometimes it's easy to forget that to so many, the Fifth Blight is only a story, a thing they read about. A Blight that didn't even seem like a Blight because it was defeated so quickly, so easily, with so little cost compared to all the rest; instead of making it a greater tale they simply shrug it off, and that it was Ferelden doesn't help. There's not Varric Tethras and his ridiculous stories for them like there was for that Champion of Kirkwall, a book people have tried to make her read but she has lived a tale, and anyway, she knows how they should be told properly, how to set the mood, the tone.

She saw Ostagar, and she saw two Wardens as young men painfully alone and snatched from death by her mother, them and a dog and a sullen ugly silence. What to make of it that so many return but he does not…

"I cared little for what my mother wished but my mother is an old bat who talks too much, though I suppose since my arrival in court and in Skyhold there have been folk dusting off the old legends, of Flemeth and her many daughters." At least now she can say it more casually to those who weren't there, with a smirk and roll of the eye, the look that says there is no love lost and there is not because there was none to begin with. "Were you close to your mother?" Her voice softens when she asks it, and her smile is more fond; the other questions can wait, along with the advice that she might better utilise than another she has given it to, a question she asked Cousland ten years ago but it feels a little closer to her heart now that she understands it from the other side. "Mothers do their best to prepare their child for the world they must enter, and one false step in Orlais might send anyone into the path of a bard."

Every answer she could give that question feels like a lie. Were they close? Past tense, obviously, because Annegret Vauquelin is some years dead now for all the long shadow she still casts over her husband and daughter. Or present tense, because Guenievre still lives, lives where her elder daughters don't, grieves them in her quiet and her still hands. The elegant way she holds herself, patient as a slowly eroding rock, a statue to something Gwenaëlle will never understand.

The most honest answer, however you slice it, is, "No," after a pause, taking a purely coincidentally timed drink of wine. "But I admired her very much. She did her best for me, I know."

Annegret teaching her, guiding her, disciplining her; Guenievre's hands on the soft rounded tips of her ears when she was too young to remember more than how it felt and the warm smell of cooked apples, pinching, imagining.

Edited 2016-05-18 05:56 (UTC)

"You will forgive my curiosity, it was a trait of mine that my own mother did not care for." At least she can speak of it with just the right touch of derision, as if Flemeth had the capacity to care for anything beyond a body and talents she had wanted to take for her own at the first opportunity. "Though I am given to understanding that there are rules regarding raising children in Orlais though I never bothered to wrap my head around it, all the fuss over not setting fire to this chevalier, and not encasing this baroness in ice. A wonder anyone gets through the day."

Enough to maybe break the tension, if there's any, because mothers are after all such tricky things.

"It shows, not everyone would have been able to settle themselves so quickly when so much in their lives changed in such short order. You write confidently, and compared to some I would rather hear the truth of things as far as they can be told, unlike some who prefer preposterous fiction and revel in it. Tales should be told correctly. By those who have the ability to dream."

Meaning literally everyone that isn't a dwarf or a qunari because Sten's stories were just...bleak.

Mothers are very tricky things, especially when you've - as Gwenaëlle does - an overabundance of them, confusing the issue and teaching you contradictory things that can't be lived with all at once. So she doesn't, mostly. She's supposed to be this one thing and so that's what she is, and it's -

Fine. It's fine, it's always fine, she's fine. Everything is just as it should be, and she laughs, quick and genuine, at Morrigan's well-timed jest. Looks at her wine, and thinks, I don't miss her until it feels so true that it doesn't matter she doesn't tell herself which of them she means.

"It's easier to tell a tale when it's ended," she observes, leaning back in her seat - it's hard to slouch in a corset and she doesn't, really, but she makes herself a bit more comfortable. "But I have an aversion to doing things the easy way, I've been told, and I...it's going to matter, one day, that someone spoke."

It matters now.

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open; Give me a field, give me a big sky

closed; morrigan & gwenaelle

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