faderift | we smash like glass

People who have seen her fight have called her a whirlwind, in the past. She could not be certain if they meant to honour or deride her, whether a force of nature in battle was a sign of her strength, or an indication of the destruction she might bring with her. Herian had decided long ago to take these things in stride, as best she could. There was no need to look for offence in every intonation and choice of words, when there was quite enough flung brazenly.

The words of one Gwenaëlle Vauquelin has seemed insulting, she thought. Insulting or uneducated, and there were a grim sense of dread that burned in her gut at the thought of the Dalish being considered any more softly than they already were. It was—

It was a wound still raw even one and twenty years after its infliction.

She wanders to where she has learned the author can be found, loosely but carefully holding the editorial she has read, and waiting until the person she waits on looks up before addressing her, with a slight bow. "Lady Vauquelin. I wondered if I might trouble you for your time."

Starkhaven lingers in each word, tone as calm as as measured as it ever is. No mage staff hangs at her back, and the sword that hangs at her side is standard Inquisition issue, but she moves with the controlled uprightness that belongs to knights and chevaliers.

Edited 2016-09-05 06:54 (UTC)

Well, this is -

This ought to be interesting, at any rate. It's somewhat unpredictable in Skyhold as to who will bother to remember she's supposed to be treated with at least a modicum of respect, so Herian has already stepped above much of the crowd; still, it's with some skepticism that Gwenaëlle allows herself to be drawn out of what she's reading, sat out in the clear air of the battlements.

"Of course," she says, after only a slight pause. "You have the advantage of me, I'm sorry...?"

"Knight-Enchanter Herian Amsel, of the White Spire." Technically it might be that she could introduce herself as Councillor, but that hardly seems appropriate when she is so freshly joined to the mage council. "I am only newly joined to the Inquisition. My teacher from the Spire, Councillor LeBlanc, mentioned you to me."

A friend of her younger brother, Adelaide had said. A friend to Adelaide's family, but Adelaide's family where nobility, Orlesian nobility, where Adelaide was a mage of the Circle. She was different, even if their blood ran the same, she was closer to something Herian understood, and removed from what it was to be noble.

Lady Vauquelin had no such redeeming qualities to be automatically granted her.

Gwenaëlle waits for a moment or so. When it becomes apparent that Herian is not continuing, she carefully does not sigh, though it's hard to miss that she might've. Most things about her are difficult to miss, upon examination; she is not some opaque thing made for the Game. Nor is she particularly suited to the kind of pussy-footing around subjects for hours as Orlesian noblewomen are so known for--

"You are currently eating into the amount of time I've agreed to be troubled for," she says, very politely, "if you were at all inclined to get to the point in the near future."

Not hostile, just - perhaps inappropriately frank. Herian wanted to talk to her. The onus is on her to have something to talk about.

"I presume it wasn't just that we have mutual acquaintances." Since she seems so thrilled by Gwenaëlle's existence, yes. (And - plural. Sometimes it's nice to pretend for her father that his brother might live. She doesn't think he'd be terribly grateful to her if he knew, but sometimes, she pretends.)

Nobles, she has learned, are one least likely to display any of the traits that should make them as refined as they claim to be, with all their talk of great minds and characters. Patience, graciousness, politeness - it seemed strange to her that the knighthood and chevaliers should be so much celebrated by nobles, so valued, and yet the values no exhibited even in those sworn to those titles.

"You presume rightly," she replies, and there is no heat or bite in it, just that eternal calm, unflinching. "I wanted to speak with you regarding your most recent editorial. Your comments regarding the Dalish were troubling to me."

The misunderstanding is immediate; Gwenaëlle doesn't roll her eyes, but her lips press together and she frowns, irritated. "I was more than generous," she says, curtly, "and I cannot be expected to speak any more kindly on the subject than I have already been obliged to. What they do with such grace is hardly anything I can now control."

Nor, from her tone, does she expect it to be 'anything good or with particular gratitude'.

In fairness, sharpish thing that she is, Gwenaëlle has no particular love of chevaliers to make her a hypocrite. She is precisely what she is, and increasingly unwilling to try to force herself into any other form - it's never worked, and she's tired of it. Tired of this project she took on, too, and how little of it ends up being her truth, but -

It is still valuable, and it's still her hand on the tiller, and one day it will matter. Probably.

Edited 2016-09-06 22:00 (UTC)

Herian does not often react terribly visibly, especially not around strangers. Around those who have earned more of her softness she has more give; she has been condemned for it in the past, even, called unfeeling. The entirely unexpected bluntness of Lady Vauquelin's response makes her eyebrows raise rather obviously, however.

"My concern was rooted in encouraging softness to a people who are so vicious and entirely lacking in honour," she replies, though her tone does not betray her so much as her expression had, even if it is perhaps a little more thoughtful. "They do not act with grace. At best they bide their time to strike at the soft bellies of those that do not expect it. That they are allowed a place in the Inquisition is galling enough."

So very softly spoken, and her gaze so very intent, assessing.

--mollified, somewhat, Gwenaëlle is a touch less sharp when she reconsiders Herian in light of that, sitting back, hands folded over her book. (When she isn't opening her mouth, she does at least look a pretty picture of a young lady; a bit more solemn than is considered sweet and styled too sleek and dark to be considered fashionable, but lovely enough. And then she speaks, and what sweetness there is tends to shatter.)

"Yes," she says, after a pause, succinctly. "But they are. We don't get to behave based on the world we want to live in, just the one we actually do, which is a world in which everyone has to be nice to the--"

Gwenaëlle does not say fucking elves. She catches herself, moderates her tone, says, "Which is a world in which they have a place here. Apparently. I try not to pay them any mind at all, which I understand is how they ordinarily prefer things, but it's." How to put this. "There are people in the Inquisition who I would not like to see harmed because of what they might do to its reputation. I felt it was appropriate to mitigate that in the small way that I can. And if and when someone needs to do something more permanent, we are surrounded at all times by large people with big sticks."

...yes.

The tone does not go unnoticed, and Herian has to keep her eyebrow from quirking.

She wonders if finding someone who shares her distrust of the Dalish means she has found someone who carries a scorn for all elves, and for a moment her jaw flexes very slightly as she thinks. Not necessarily. It would require further investigation, she thought, before she praised Lady Vauquelin too eager, too greatly.

"Is that so? I have found them all too eager to insert themselves where they are not welcome. The people I escorted here were harassed by Dalish on the road, and I will not see them made uncomfortable by them here." She does not need to moderate her tone, because it stays as even as ever it is. Heat does not edge in so easily, she does not betray her anger with every mention of the Dalish, because she would be a poor excuse for a person and for a knight, if she lacked that control. That it bristles under her skin, that the mention of them makes her heart quicken, is immaterial.

"I hope your words do not lull others into a false sense of security beyond these walls. Big sticks," she adds, "that the indiscriminate might want to apply to city elves in retribution, should the Dalish act out. Humans are not famous for being discerning towards the elves."

Said the human to the other human.

Edited 2016-09-06 22:50 (UTC)

If there's even the slightest twinge of guilt, somewhere, in this one thing Gwenaëlle has enough practise not to betray it. This one secret that she keeps so well she has no energy to hide anything else - oh, as if it would be so different. As if it would truly be her words that hurt those elves, and not the simple fact that there are those who don't need an excuse. Who'll claim one, but who'd have done without it, all the same. She can't be held responsible, she thinks, for the actions of such people.

"It is the Inquisition's responsibility to police its own," Gwenaëlle says, decisively matter of fact, not lingering on whatever thought Herian stirred. "The Inquisition's duty to handle what is done by those it permits to represent itself. I can't accuse the Inquisition of harboring dangerous persons while trying to persuade the rest of the world to support it and join it, and we can hardly afford for people not to, so."

A one-shouldered shrug.

"I have to put the best face on things, and hope that the Inquisition does its duty."

"So it is," Herian agrees, without much hesitation. "But there are always those who act without concern for consequences. Those who believes themselves above the law, or above accountability." The Grey Wardens, for one, but she had met Anders already, had heard rumours of Nathaniel Howe. Murderers and slavers. For all that she liked Warden Serra, the Wardens seemed to have proven themselves a shambolic, untrustworthy mess. They used to save Thedas. Now they seemed only to condemn it. "Those are the people who will act no matter what is said or who says it, more than likely, but the concern stands, I think."

She does not expect Lady Vauquelin to have an answer, because she is not proposed a situation with a solution so much as an inevitable concern to be mindful of. What she does ask is,

"Do you believe they will?"

"Do their duty?"

To her credit, she doesn't fob Herian off with a pat answer; she considers it, pressing her (bare) hands together over her closed book, the sick green glow of the shard embedded in her left a reminder. For all the things she says, and for as many of them as she does mean - unlike her impassioned plea for the Dalish, which she is self-evidently more than happy to distance herself from when pressed on it - she didn't come here by choice. Didn't come here because she believes but because her father could not bear not to believe -

"No one else is doing it, are they?" she says, finally, curling her fingers under her palms. "Someone has to save the world. I would quite like to still be a part of it, when it's saved, so I'm sort of. I have to believe that they will."

What a moment that had been, to look around and think actually, she does sort of want to live. What a terrible time to realise something like that.

"I'm in trouble if they don't." A wiggle of her shard-hand.

Her gaze settles on the Lady's shard, the soft glow of it, before looking back to Lady Vauquelin herself. She holds her tongue for long moments, contemplating it all, weighing up her words.

"It would do little good to be up in arms for the rights of any soul in Thedas and their well-being, if it is not saved. And... plausibly, the Inquisition cannot succeed if we do not rally behind them." Slowly, not necessarily a happy thought, given her own displeasure with certain elements of the Inquisition, Dalish included.

She flexes her hand, fingers curled to her pain, and takes a breath. "I am... I can make no claims of greatness of mind when it comes to research and insights to the wonders of magic and the Fade, but I am turning some of my focus to better understanding rifts and the shards. I will not pretend to be better than I am, but I hope to be able to offer you aid and knowledge regarding the shards in the future."

"The Inquisition certainly can't succeed if we rally people against it," Gwenaëlle murmurs, less a response than a reinforcement; it frustrates her more than she wants to admit, the things she feels she has to say, but...no one makes her write those things, and at the end of the day, she knows it. She chooses to do so because, swallowing pride and frustration and her own doubts, she believes in her troubled little heart that it's the right thing.

Maybe it's only one of a variety of right things, but in the end it's the thing she can live with having done. Hopefully, she thinks, everything will pay off, and she'll actually get to. Live with it.

After a moment - "Are you studying with the apostate mage? Solas."

A distinction that seems important, given the way Herian introduced herself.

we smash like glass

( closed ) for Gwen — also gently backdated to the end of August?

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