faderift | V. CLOSED.

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V. CLOSED.

WHO: Sabine and Morrigan
WHAT: On magical mirrors.
WHEN: Late Justinian.
WHERE: The location of the Eluvian.
NOTES: There is probably going to be some swearing. Hide your virgin eyes.

[ The last time Sabine came here, she was beskirted in colours and cloth of a simple life, flour-dusted, ready with an excuse for somewhat dim-witted curiousity as to the intriguing Witch of the Wilds and her elven affiliations, as any elf has a right to be. Dim-witted or not.

Proportionately, the presence of leathers and complicated buckles may convey a more complicated life in turn, as Sabine hasn't bothered to change, or to rest, since her latest return to Skyhold.

Instead, she is here, with her unfinished business.

She is seated on a low stone garden bench, legs crossed, directly opposite the door guarding where she knows the Eluvian resides. It's a big door. A big heavy door that's probably hard to pick open, even if it didn't have magic spells wreathed into the wood as Sabine imagines there to be. She is less scoping out how to get in and more awaiting Morrigan's arrival and notice, but the former makes for a thought exercise anyway.

She reaches up at the overhang of a tree, twisting away a leafy twig to twist and knot to keep her hands busy as well. ]

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[Recently, very recently, the eluvian has been pushed to the back of her mind after what happened to Leliana but still she checks on it, goes about her life, and she is never not aware of who comes and goes. It's why rumours irritate her - they're a distraction she cannot afford to waste time with when she must pay attention to what truly matters.

This is something she has poured ten years of work into, and Skyhold is clearly not nearly so secure as it wishes to be. Once she almost lost it, so each day she looks upon the eluvian and presses her palm to the cool glass, sets the wards again, locks the door tight.

Of course the hair is what catches her attenion, because that sort of hair never escapes notice. From across the gardens she watches for a moment but presently her patience has been stretched thin and thin again, so she approaches quicker than she would like.]

Might I assist you? [After all, this is her usual spot if not her study but the arcane advisor has been busy of late.]

[ The Eluvian has, somehow, been pushed to the back of Sabine's mind too. She's now full of memories of the Deep Roads, and the dragon-scorched deserts of the Western Approach. But it's still there, reflective and shining and nagging, and now that she's here, again, with it only several yards away behind a single door--

She turns to look at Morrigan, and offers a bit of a crooked smile. She points, loose-wristed and casual, in the direction of the Eluvian's room. ]

Do you concern yourself about what might come out of it? If they had a mind to. Right into the heart of Skyhold. I suppose they would be locked in, oui, with solid oak. Witchy spells.

[ She unfolds her legs, settling the flat of her boots on the ground. ]

Un petit-- awkward.

[Straight to business then, skipping the pleasantries. It's something of a relief truth be told though it doesn't stop her from sighing heavily the way she is prone to sighing, perhaps hoping she might be rid of people one day if she just sighs hard enough.

No such luck.]

I take it you have been listening to some of the more lurid rumours the gossips like to share? Though I am curious - what makes you think there is any reason for anything to come out of it in the first place?

[To her knowledge, only one person knows about eluvians the way she does and well, they agreed to keep a secret so she's allowed to be suspicious because it's a suspicious sort of question. But she keeps her smirk mostly intact, though her eyes do keep darting between the door and the elf, wondering what she might have missed.]

As for the spells, well the last person to get too close became a toad, a rather warty one. So the rumours go.

[ Morrigan asks that question and Sabine's regard back is as flat as a still lake, utterly unforthcoming, prioritising her own query that's already gone dismissed. Relents, after a moment, resting back on the palms of her hands on the bench, a blokey kind of slouch that steers her knees comfortably apart. ]

You can find truth in rumour like gold in rivers. You have to sift through a lot of shit first, though.

[ She smiles, thin. ]

Does that mean you aren't concerned?

That is certainly one way of putting it. [It does net Sabine the edge of a smile, rather tired; there's a strain around her mouth, darker shadows under her eyes than usual but she's bold, and Morrigan does like that, can respect that even when she isn't precisely herself.] I wonder, if you would be so kind as to indulge me as to what, exactly, you have heard. An eluvian is a rare thing, even among the Dalish memory of such things are few.

[Memory among the Dalish is so small that they only know it as something once used as a means of communication or she knows she would never have peace, that from those she is closer to there would be polite requests, then demands from others, continuing onward. Perhaps escalations to the advisors if they thought they might find a sympathetic ear. Or an attempt on the door.]

I am less concerned about the eluvian than I am about those with shards. [Her glance after all, is not insignificant, for all that her concerns would still comfortably fit in a thimble but well, how does one explain a problem like an Old God Baby?] Rest assured, the eluvian is rather more predictable, there will be no demons throwing themselves against the other side of that door.

Maybe that's because Dalish brains are so tiny.

[ Sabine can't just not take the line when it's right there.

And, appropriately, it doesn't sound like it has a lot of heart in it. Just dismissive. The Dalish memory may be comparatively long, but it's selective. As Morrigan talks, Sabine itches a little that spot on her arm where her own shard is hidden beneath her sleeves, her head tipping to a point taken.

She takes a breath in, and then says; ]

It is not what I have heard, but what I have seen. Not many times, but when you see the roads between the mirrors, you do not forget them.

I am sure they are the ones who would argue that your minds are the ones to have shrunk, confined to alienages as they roam the wild open spaces.

[Try having to take Beleth Ashara on an assignment, an error Morrigan will never make again when she clings so doggedly to her point of view that she reminds her of old human men.

A comparison she's sure she wouldn't enjoy but one day she might make it all the same to see just how furious it makes the girl.

But it is forgotten all too easily when her heart stops in her chest, when her eyes are suddenly very wide and the garden for all that it's perhaps one of the least crowded places in all of Skyhold suddenly seems too busy, too full of ears. Such a rare thing, a thing so very nearly forgotten because there are so very few left and someone else has seen one that isn't a mage, that doesn't have an interest if her remarks about the Dalish are to be believed.

Yet Morrigan was at the Court. Celene's interest had a purpose even if Morrigan had an agenda of her own, Celene should have known that lesson the second time around.]

When did you come to see these roads? Or rather, how did you come to see them?

[ Her gaze having wandered back to the door, Sabine's eyes shut, then, as Morrigan asks more questions. Her hand goes up, fingers splaying, folding, save for her index finger.

Shhh.

Not that Morrigan couldn't find means to extract from her information, but Sabine would rather call for silence than attempt to side-wind around answering. A matter of can't as opposed to won't. Her hand drops again, letting out a long, noisy sigh through her nose before she shakes her head. ]

I do not have answers for you, madame. Not until I get to have questions as well.

[ She raises one dark eyebrow, her first query a silent one. ]

[A muscle in Morrigan's jaw clenches, hands coming up to rub her temples. She is tired. She is tired in her bones and she doesn't have the time or the will to play games today.

Ten years ago and Sabine would have been on the receiving end of a spell. Ten years ago and there would be rather more people in the gardens to break this up already. But she's spent endless days in bed with Leliana rubbing her frozen hands, listening to her attempting to utter out even a single word, and there are more Wardens from Weisshaupt than there ever were before.

The sooner this is done the better, and she looks up, unfolding and folding her arms, jaw tight enough that it strains her voice. Trying - and managing, just about - to keep her tone even.]

Ask your questions then but do not blame me if you are not satisfied with your answers.

[ Sabine watches this reaction, unable completely to fathom what all must be going on to warrant it, even though she is aware at having caught the other woman off-guard. Everyone has their own stories. Still, shems are intense about everything, aren't they.

Her smile is brittle at this answer. ]

You are gracious.

[ She shuffles along on the bench, then, making room. They likely both consider the public nature of the gardens to be something of a personal advantage, dangerous as it is. ]

Will you sit?

[Have you met her mother? If you think this is intense please track down Flemeth and find out how extra she is.

Actually don't, she might follow you back and Morrigan is really in no mood to deal with that foul creature, not now, not ever again. Not when she has a semblance of a life.]

I would prefer to conduct this elsewhere. [To ask for a change of venue will likely make it worse and the lock is not nearly so secure; there are plenty more things in her study, she doesn't need anyone poking around in there. So she sits, arms folded, head cocked as if to say satisfied?] So here we are: two women talking, enjoying what little sun Skyhold has.

[It will serve since Morrigan has a face prone to scowling and a short temper anyway, no one will be too surprised by what they might see, only by what they might hear.]

More sun than some places.

[ At least Sabine is capable of keeping her voice down, despite common assumption. ]

If we have more conduct, you may pick the venue. [ The if doesn't really sound particularly loaded, but it's there, a verbal teetering. There's a beat as she considers the questions she has, more given to listening to the conversations of others than striking up her own, but--

--but she has to do something. ]

Have you been in?

I have a study. The door is similarly sturdy but I can frequently be found there. [Generally there's something of an open door policy, unless she's with Kieran, or if Alistair happens to be around too sometimes but it's rare to have that level of privacy within Skyhold.]

I have been in, yes. [A careful answer. Sabine has been in too, enough to know of roads between the mirrors, been in long enough to name a place, to hide within, between. Perhaps longer than anyone else in centuries.

Not the sort of thing she wishes to mention though, so confirmation will have to suffice.]

[ Careful answers, and even more careful questions. Morrigan's answer confirms something, anyway. Sabine's mouth forms a line as she thinks. ]

You've walked the paths of ancient elvhen. Seems like a lonely place for a shem.

[ This word isn't, in fact, filled with the usual acid, although Sabine has known many humans who bristle at any identifier said in an elven tongue, especially its shortened form, and uses it frankly all the same. ]

What do you wish for them? The roads. What are you seeking there?

I grew up in the Korcari Wilds, there are many lonely places. [It takes effort not to smirk; walking had been a small part of it but she had stayed there, had made a life for herself and her son for as long as they had needed it. Years they'd been sheltered with not a single soul to know where either of them were.]

What I seek is to recover that which is thought lost, forgotten. Ancient things the world has almost no memory of now but whispers. Would you see this it all become utterly mundane? The Dragon Age was foretold to become the age of upheaval; change is coming. [It isn't softening, not precisely, but she isn't entirely here with Sabine in the garden when she says those words. She is the girl she was with mud between her toes, she is the young woman hurling lightning at an Archdemon, she is a slightly younger woman with a screaming baby and a destiny she has thrust upon him.

The eluvian is a part of that, the Crossroads not merely the paths - and she scoffs, thinking of it, the paths are a trifle compared to the splendour and power of the Crossroads themselves - and she curls her hands in her lap, tilting her head to give Sabine fix her with a look.] Did you wander only the paths, a bold spirit such as yourself?

[ A look of irritation crosses Sabine's face, which means-- more or less. Their utility had been better emphasised to her than their splendour. ]

I have wandered, [ she chooses to say, instead. She hesitates, and continues; ] When I was small, raised in Halamshiral, we learn that to be quick-footed is but one of the gifts allowed us when it comes to walking a world full of shems. If being an elf is a criminal thing, then you must always learn to be swift in your doings.

I am no scholar of magic, as you are. I am not a Dalish either. I am a city elf. The paths allow us to be quicker than everyone.

[A pity. They are marvels the likes of which shall never be recreated again, and once lost? Morrigan doesn't wish to think of it, a shadow of grief crossing her face for a moment, knowing what she felt each day she spent in them, when she took Leliana through. What might happen to them now with the Veil in the state it's in, she can only hazard terrible guesses.]

After Halamshiral I am certain there was even more reason to be swift. [Denerim's alienage had once been as bad as she thought she might see. If she should ever see Halamshiral, she knows she'll see worse.] Yet to use the paths, precision is necessary; as you say, you are no scholar of magic. Magic in some form or other is required for the paths, and the paths cannot be traversed without care.

[Not with darkened doors or the risk of things watching you from the shadows.]

Are you warning me off them, witch?

[ She says witch like she calls Martel shem, which is to say, inherent offense may be found in her blunt speech but not necessarily in her tone, for all that it's not friendly all the time either. Mostly, Sabine sounds curious, a little suspicious, trying to grasp Morrigan's words and find their sharper intent hidden there. Most humans speak in threats, is one of those life lessons you take with you. But the witch has a way of speaking that feels slippery. Sabine does not, often enough.

As much as she may try. ]

You recover what is lost, as you say. For who, then? Your Empress? The elven? [ She smiles, a little, and gestures. ] The Inquisition?

[One eyebrow raises, she takes a small breath. Prickly? She will remember that.] Hardly. Though caution is required, the ancient elves sealed many to prevent attacks, yet those that are unlocked: can you know for certain what lies behind them? I have been to their ruins and they are trapped, why should the eluvians be any different.

[There is also the tale of Clan Sabrae, the Blight sickness that slipped out to afflict two of their young hunters. Not her tale to tell unless she is pushed but one that kept her cautious when she worked, when she made her first moves.]

Celene is more your Empress than she is mine, of the two of us, I do not hail from Orlais. I was simply her advisor on the arcane. [Her position is convenient while it lasts, as well as suitably vague. She owes this woman nothing, but more than that she has Kieran. Kieran and his destiny that she must prepare him for it, the eluvians and what lies beyond undoubtedly a part of it, the knowledge that she will need to help prepare him. As she has from the start, she will keep him safe.] My knowledge is the Inquisition's knowledge. I have made it no secret that I came to offer aid.

[ It's a hard look that Morrigan gets from the elf perched beside her. One that seems to be deciding how much you can believe a witch, or not even that, but a shem, one that's frocked it up in the courts of the Orlesian Empire, taken tea with a monster like the Empress, one claiming now that her loyalty is merely circumstantial.

One in possession of an Eluvian. ]

We don't choose our Empresses, [ she concedes, raising an eyebrow. ] Except you, maybe.

[ She looks back towards the sealed door. ]

You believe in this all? In the Inquisition?

[Morrigan might have donned a gown (too dark) and gone to the parties (unmasked) and been presented to the court (and made an open scornful mockery of the whole thing without ever having to play the Game) but she never got in bed with Celene.

She shrugs only lightly to that first comment, as if to say 'as you wish'.]

I would not be here if I believed otherwise. You may take that as you will. I am many things but I would not bring my son here if I did not think this was where victory stood.

[And her voice is very firm there. So much of this is about Kieran, more than Sabine will ever get out of Morrigan, but when she knew full well that there were dangers present here that were so much sharper than Orlais could ever hope to be? Aye, she believes, and it rankles that she must be questioned.]

I have offered my aid, freely. I have offered others the chance to work with me, freely. Believe what you will, that will not change why I have come nor what I have done.

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V. CLOSED.

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