faderift | I can do it with instruments,

Entry tags:

I can do it with instruments,

WHO: Leliana & open;
WHAT: the many adventures of Sister Nightingale - open prompts and some custom made.
WHEN: Some prompts can be backdated, if you like! Otherwise, spanning the end of fantasy land January.
WHERE: various!
NOTES:brackets or prose are fine, I'll match whatever you prefer :Db feel free to pp me on @swoons on plurk, or pm me if you'd like a custom starter! I'm more than happy to whip one up.

( herald's rest. )

( and there goes someone slinking out of the tavern, and they may just have knocked into your character on their way. they have lost a fine dagger and a bag of coin to a woman sitting in the corner, who is presently shuffling cards with a slight, pleased smile. it was foolish to let skills atrophy, whether it is the wielding of blades and arrows, or the brutal delivery of a winning hand. she has finished her wine, and is waiting for the man at the bar to deliver more. )

( gardens. )

( In the past she would spend more time in their little improvised Chantry, have lit candles and murmured prayers. She finds herself lacking the inclination, today. The Chantry has been a comfort to her for so many years, now, but she has always existed at odds with others. The brothers and sisters in Lothering had doubted her, and there had been part of her that relished the attention, even as she was appalled by their self-centered obsession that the Maker's love must make you unique. The memory makes a sharp, unpleasant smile tug at the corners of her mouth as she wanders the garden. It has become something of habit, letting the sun's descent and the pulling away of the yellows and oranges pooled across the sky and the inky blue and black of the night sky truly falls. Perhaps it is dramatic of her, but she would like to allow herself the indulgence.

Perhaps she hears the approach, and it breaks her from her reverie, or perhaps it is one of the rare occasions where she chooses to make the approach. )

It is beautiful, no?

( wildcard. )

I'm lazy, hit me with whatever idea grabs you :]b Rookery? Nug adventures? idk ANYTHING

( alistair. )

( Most people give their friends some warning before visiting.
Most people, however, are not Leliana, and so it is that she is standing at the entrance of Alistair's chambers just as he is leaving to go somewhere, a squeaking nug following at her ankles. She cannot loom over Alistair (it's not like she can physically loom over most people, actually) but she still has something of a presence, and she sometimes forgets not to loom in social settings. Or maybe she just wants to see the look on his face, because Alistair is so terribly expressive. She can't imagine a worse spy, but that's an endearing quality in a friend. ) Did I catch you at a bad time?

( That smile suggests that she isn't overly concerned about it, actually. )

( maria hill. )

( There were not many templars she held in esteem. Or, perhaps, there were not many templars that she deemed worthy of their rank and responsibility-- no. Leliana frowns, discontent with her own thoughts. The Chantry was a flawed thing, a thing that needed gutting and reworking in its entirety, as much as she suspects the very mention of such thoughts would make some amongst her frequent company less than easy. The Maker was a being of love, of acceptance - and he made mages, and granted them their gift. Why, then, was it the Maker's will that they be torn from their families, treated as if they were abominations before a demon could so much have dreamed of tempting them. Their gifts were shackled, and their wills, and all the while murderers and thieves like Leliana herself could walk free. It was not right, and the thoughts of Chantry corruption, of templar abuses of power and the suffering that those who claimed to do the Maker's bidding brought was insufferable. It could not endure.

Leliana paces, one hand balled into a tight fist as she walks the ramparts, eager to gain some air away from the rookery. And perhaps these thoughts leave her a hypocrite, because what is she, if not a bringer of death? She could bring men to their knees with a threat and a whisper, and cut their throats for the sake of certainty. She was no better, that she knows, but it is not for herself that she Chantry must be reformed. No, she knows the darkness within, and it is only one so well-versed that could dream of cutting away such a foul infection with the surgical precision required.

Perhaps the Maker has a sense of humour, that she looks away from the stretch of blue skies and mountains, only to be met with... a templar, and a cooperative one, at that. The hand that was so tightly clenched relaxes, and Leliana eases her posture, leaning against the ivy-strewn wall. ) Maria. I trust all is well?

( zevran. )

( Luncheon between assassins. It was laughable, in a way. Still, she has put off catching up with her old friend for far too long, and of all people, Zevran is one of few she has the most tolerance for. It is not that she is impatient, and she can play parts well, it is simply... Zevran knows her well, better than most, and so there are those who wish to make an impression on Sister Nightingale, on the advisor and the spymaster, or they are afraid of what she knows and what she can do. Neither particularly bothers her, but sometimes it is pleasant to be in the company of those who do carry the same expectations. Perhaps being in the company of one who remembers the earnest bard come lay-sister is a relief, as well, who has seen her evolution.

Leliana is sitting on a rooftop, eyes closed and inhaling deeply, relishing the way the mountain air stings her lungs on the deep breath, and has something of a picnic - if such a term can be used, in these circumstances - laid out. Eyes still closed, she smiles ever so slightly. He may move silently, stalk with the best, but she is Sister Nightingale, and detection is something she has known for decades, now. )

You made it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[At least things have improved since she arrived, after the Abomination decimated the garden because when used to sitting out in the wilds or prowling them from youth, being outdoors is better than being indoors. Especially Skyhold what with all the noise.

Spotting Leliana is not how she expected her day to go, en route to the library to see if there are more books she might need to send for, and Kieran is quickly sent scurrying on his way.

Meeting Zevran went well, but seeing as Alistair's only watched them both from afar? She's not going to do this in front of him when he could be off eating with his little friends instead.]

There are matters far more important than beauty, one would think that you of all people...

[Hello Leliana, have you missed her particularly special way of looking at the world and her poor people skills?]

( Ah, it is as if nothing has changed at all. She is not certain if that is a comfort or not, but it summons a slight smile, regardless. The last time she spoke with Morrigan of beauty, that she can recall, it had involved her commenting on Morrigan's own, only to be met with utter self assurance. It was admirable, in a way. )

What do we fight for, if not the sake of beauty? We neither of us would want to live in a world that was a mere smouldering ruin, and I doubt you would wish it for your boy.

( She has yet to actually turn to Morrigan, and her cowl keeps her expression a little more obscured. Simply because she is no longer a being that belongs to such spheres does not mean she cannot take a moment to appreciate beauty, from time to time. Long ago did she accept that she does terrible, vicious things in the name of preserving beauty for others, for fighting this desperate cause and the Divine's before it. )

The interplay between those who have care of one another, history and myth - they all of them have a beauty, no?

[Rolling her eyes, she steps closer and wonders if it's simply meeting old faces again in a time of crisis that prompts her to remember her mother's lessons or if it's motherhood itself, refusing to make the same mistakes.]

We fight for survival, as we did a decade ago - I trust you remember that? Why must it be beauty we fight for as if this all is some noble daughter with chevaliers asking after her hand? There are those who would remake the world as it was directly prior to this, those who want a new world, a better world. Others because that is all they know. I would give my son the tools to survive, beauty comes after.

[If they had been closer, she would pull that hood down but Zevran was ever the easiest to speak with and she would dare only with him right away, but oh how she has had enough of hidden faces after all that time in Orlais.]

Being a mother has not rotted the wits out of my head. I will concede that the chance to discover that which we thought irretrievable might come close, though I have never seen through such a lens.

[One of them was raised in a swamp by a mother who taught her only that which was practical, a girl who saw her own tears in a shattered mirror, who sees her own childhood sharper as she tries to puzzle out raising a son on her own without ever leaving him the legacy Flemeth left her.]

Noble daughters and chevaliers are a little over-done, I fear.
( I trust you remember that, says she, and Leliana would be hard pressed to say she missed the condescension, even if she would fight someone to the death before letting harm before any one of her companions. Brutality has its place; intention is, she feels, very important. Unlike Morrigan, Leliana is entirely capable of resisting the urge to roll her eyes, just casting a look to the moon in what could be a pensive or distinctly grant me patience sort of way. It's hard to tell, sometimes, but where the courtiers of Orlais adopt literal masks, Leliana's have become more subtle.

Subtle, of course, until she exhales a quiet breath of laughter. Bluntly; ) This world is rotten. At least, so much of the power in it is, and with power comes the sculpting hand.
( There is something colder in her voice than what might have been there so many years ago, less earnest, but a fire that still burns regardless. ) But for all that I feel it should be remade, there is some good that might be preserved - the very reason it should be remade, at all. I can fight for the most radical reforms, and still believe in beauty.

( And finally she turns to face her old - acquaintance? friend? who knows, honestly - back straight and hands held behind her, head canted just slightly as she sweeps an assessing gaze over Morrigan. After a moment's pause, )

You know, most people start a conversation with a greeting.

[There's a strange honesty that comes with those who have known her as long as some here. Others might know the stories. Others might know the reputation of the apostate at the side of the Empress but there are three here who know her, and out of all the possibilities, very few are outright disagreeable.

Leliana and Zevran are chief amongst them, though if that says more about them or Morrigan, she doesn't truly care to know.]

A sculpting hand, is that the new name for it these days? [But then there was the rose, that one solitary rose blooming in the Blight, the sort of story that made Morrigan want to gag back then.] And what of the head? Hands seldom work well without eyes to see and a mind to direct them.

[Leadership. Leadership is problematic because for whatever they did in recruiting both mages and Templars, there's not a single unifying figure that she can see, nothing to sway others with weight and power to their cause. Even during the Blight they had a leader. (And Alistair but everyone knows how she feels about his 'input'.)] No words of wisdom from the Maker now?

[For the moment the humour is gone, an honest question for once without angling to see what reaction it will cause. For the moment, she's not needling.]

But what will come of all your fighting, after all, Celene champions herself as ushering in a new era in Orlais but Halamshiral still burned and the Exalted Plains shall bear scars for years to come.

[Another slight for the elves once calling that place home and for all that she knows there are regions there she would investigate, it remains out of the question for now.]0

I have never been mistaken for most people, as you well know. [How boring she would be if she did what everyone else did, played all their games and pretended at being something tame? But she is actually smiling, and that's more than an awful lot of people can say they've had from her so quickly.] What finally made you descend from your tower?

( A sharp look, at that. Hands seldom work well, and she is too entrenched in the game to dismiss that as simply Morrigan and not a dig at herself, at Cassandra, salt rubbed into the very wound still left by Most Holy's death. And yet the Inquisition lacks an Inquisitor. Even if the Hands had founded the Inquisition that Justinia had so wished, they were not she, they were not the potential leader that they had hoped to find in Hawke. The bristling is internal, more than external, but a frost is crawling over her skin at the reminder, only one more of many constant reminders that she wrestled with. )

Sculpting is an act of creation, no? Carving that which is raw into something more meaning. ( As for the Divine, for their leader, she finds herself at a rare loss for what to say. In the presence of Morrigan, no less, which is both a relief and all the more galling. ) The Inquisition gathers more power by day, and we might be that hand, but... ( She exhales, slowly, and nods. ) We have the advisors. Surely the likes of us will suffice to save Thedas.

( And at least she can manage the faintest hint of a smile, humour edging in despite her worries. A joke, a misdirection, and perhaps all will be well, even though Morrigan is rather more perceptive than most. The humour, sadly, does not last long. ) I find myself left with ever more questions, ( she admits, very quietly. )

What once made me believe I could be some... ( something redeemed, a renewed innocence, she means to say but cuts off before she can give the foolish whimsy voice. ) If the Maker creates all, he must love all. And if he loves all, why are so many in this world caged and abused, simply for what they are?

( This is a moment of weakness, and she will regret it. ) I am not so naive to claim to know Him as once I did, but I suspect nothing will bring Him satisfaction. We must make decisions and hope we do not make a greater ruin or destroy more history than has already been done.

( A quiet exhale of breath, before she looks back to Morrigan from the stretch of bark she has been inspecting as she spoke, gloved hand dropped from the twisted, gnarled old tree. )

No, you are not most people. ( Which is both a relief and a point of general concern. Leliana considers, only briefly, before brightly offering, ) The pleasure of your company, naturally.

( #bullshit )

[If asked for an opinion, she will always give one. If not asked for an opinion, she will still voice one because there are many who would wish her to be silent. Now more than ever, a voice counts, the trouble lies in choosing the right one to listen to and in making sure one is heard above the general clamour.

Though she doesn't need to give voice to the thought, when things are held in too long they have a way of festering so she continues without hesitation.] Ferelden had a Hero, Kirkwall had a Champion, what is the Inquisition with an Inquisitor? Though how one could even be chosen now, I cannot say. Others are here with the same mark as the Herald yet there is but one native to Thedas, the rest - well, I did hear that they were suspected to be demons at first. [Unsurprising but disappointing, though that's the general state of affairs with everything these days.]

Something other than what you are? [But that's a soft question, one she's asked herself because she doesn't know exactly what Leliana knows of her beyond more than she would truly like her to, unavoidable as that is. Ten years is a long time, and she's asked it of herself less in the past few years than she did at first, when Kieran came along and changed more and more of her.] The Chantry would have those answers, if they remember, if they would say more than 'magic is to serve man' and to remind us of what the heathen elves did once as they do not once mention the role Shartan played in fighting alongside their blessed Andraste.

We forget the past, trample it beneath our feet, leave nothing but ruins and dust, wondering why the world gets smaller and smaller about us. [It's the great frustration of her life when she picks over the bones Tevinter left, trying to find the smallest fragments of something even most elves have forgotten by now, stitching it together more crudely than she cares for because there's no other way to do it.] There is so little wonder left, and so many who would be rid of that too.

[At least it's a tentative step towards common ground, a branch extended because she is here to help, more honest than she was before, even volunteering without having to be asked.]

I shall be certain to inform Alistair of that. [You know, for the inevitable face he'll make at her.] And the truth?

[Or as close to the truth as Morrigan will get.]

I have a fine collection of nugs. Perhaps Schmooples the Fifth would make a fine Inquisitor. ( Does she sound bitter? Frustrated? Perhaps.

Her jaw clenches, unclenches, and clenches again. Morrigan and her opinions, and her sometimes brutal way of speaking things that, and the softness in the question leaves her a little perplexed, in truth. )

Something other than what I was, ( she corrects, just slightly. ) We neither of us are the same as we were. ( I doubt we will weather this storm without change, if we are still standing at its end. ) The Chantry cannot remain as it is, either.

( It is not Andraste's fault that her followers have done so much damage, nor the Maker's. The fault lies in the Chantry, in humanity. How can they be anything but flawed, when they need the likes of the Left Hand to carry out the business of the Divine? It is abhorrent. )

Little wonder, ( comes the repetition, an agreement that more a breath than words truly spoken. ) With so much history lost, it no great surprise that we are so lacking the solutions that rise from the wonders that humanity has tried so frantically to erase.

( If more had been known, might this calamity they are entrenched in been avoided? No, likely not, though the tools needed to find some answers would not be so hard to get a true grasp on. It seems funny, after so many disagreements last time they worked together, that their views are so much more aligned. Perhaps Morrigan had been right, before. That faith was only the answer for those who lacked real information, or for those who wished to wield control over others. And yet, even thinking that, faith has given her so much. She cannot turn her back on the Maker and Andraste so quickly, nor even the Chantry, as terrible as she long ago started to suspect it must be. Nor more, however, can she dismiss Morrigan as a lost, lonely young woman. No, Morrigan was certainly right on one count: the young woman who believed she could be redeemed was a fool.

An almost-smile, at that. Yes, torment Alistair, it is practically a bonding exercise for each of them, though Leliana does it entirely lovingly and she's not sure she can vouch for the rest of them. The truth, though? The truth was challenging. She speaks softly, anger threatening to edge in around her words but remaining carefully controlled. )

Months I have gone in that tower, barely interacting with those gathering hence to help us, or needing our help, and what progress do we have?

( No, Leliana shakes her head. There is much she could say to Morrigan, but openness does not come so easily, not even with old friends.
I needed time to think away from the birds, the melee of agents coming and going...a different strategy, perhaps, is necessary. The Left Hand in her tower, surrounded by messages and spies and Maker knows what else - an impressive image, to be sure, but what or who she is means little. ) I see and hear so much. I thought the descent might offer me some better perspective for that information.

( Which is painfully honest, in its own way, even with a good deal left out. )

And when the first passing wolf or bear makes short work of it? [Part of her wants to make a joke about the nugs but they weren't close enough for that, and it wouldn't come out how she might want it to anyway so she holds her tongue, watching instead because she's always been better at that.

None of them are who they were, none of them even really knew who they were then at all if she's any judge, always some lie, some half-truth, something carefully stepped around until it came loose in the end. Maybe she's more aware of that now from ten years of raising someone small and soft, so he doesn't have to carry with him more than she's already given.]

Those who fear change are those who fight it most, but the ones who fight for it…well, how they are remembered depends on the victor. [Even then, so many of them are still mistrusted for knowing what others don't care to, for seeing the world for what it is. If something can be said for the both of them then it's that they don't blunder around with their eyes shut to how it is; protest that it's stripping the wonder from it but there's always something ugly lurking somewhere, and even if one wants to see the beauty, they'll know that just as well.

If the Chantry crumbles then the foundations were cracked long ago, nothing stands forever, certainly not with the weight they've placed upon it.]

I wonder how eagerly Tevinter watches to see what fate befalls us all, we southern heathens that we are. For all that we may find, for all that I have seen, they were the ones who learned the most, who built so much upon what was taken from the elves. If Corypheus truly was a magister then the knowledge he has? There is power in it. [Here they have the fractured remnants of the Chantry, the mages and the Templars, the many peoples of Thedas represented in droves but how long before the cracks begin to show? Faith has never served Morrigan well when there was no reason to have it growing up, when it was only harsh lessons and harsher words from Flemeth, only the woods and wind to hear her when she looked for solace away from her mother.

Ten years and she's learned more than others have, she's walked a place and found refuge within another world without a name until she gave it one. That can wait until it arrives though, when she has Leliana truly alone – for all that she told the commander, Leliana is the one who will keep it safe, she has absolutely no doubts about that, if not for Morrigan's sake then for the advantage it will give them.]

We have more Dalish than I ever thought to see in one place. We have more Wardens than I thought to see in one place outside a Blight though if some are to be believed we may be facing one as it is. Mages and Templars working together after a war that threatened to tear everything apart. How many people do you see here? Tell me, when last were so many working together? [Rare that she gives praise but for all the shortcomings, there's still good to be found in having all of them, and it surprises her more than she'd care to admit that Leliana is like this but then what does she know about her now, Left Hand of the Divine?]

Perhaps seeing and hearing with your own eyes and ears will do far more good than hearing it from birds, as will taking down that hood for a change.

Then I suppose that would make the wolf their successor. We can ascend the food chain in leaps and bounds.
( After the wolf or the bear would come, perhaps, a dragon. All very impressive creatures.

Still, Morrigan's words earn a quiet huff of breath that might have been a scoff or a huff of laughter, were it given enough force. ) Let us hope, then, that we are the victorious. I do not know whether it would be more prudent to push for change now, so it might gather momentum, or if it will distract us from our main goal.

( more quietly, and more harshly: ) But what goal is that, if not a better future for all? Fear is exactly the reason why change would benefit them, and a freedom from being feared would--

( But Leliana stops short, catching herself, reining back in her impatience and her displeasure, to settle the fire that rages in her so that she does not scorch herself or any other, even if it might be better. It is so frustrating. Doubtless there are myriad people out there who find her views frustrating; if they do, they have the sense not to voice it. It seems, at times, that there is a maze to be wandered through, filled with traps and dangers, and a good many keep themselves blindfolded through it out of sheer fool stubbornness. )

There is. ( She would be a fool to disagree, that much she knows beyond any doubt or hesitation. She frowns, then, though it is hardly a great shift from her expression as it was, tilting her head in a silent request that Morrigan walk with her. She prefers to move, where she can. It makes eavesdropping more difficult, shadowing more complex, and information easier to pin down. If she is paranoid, is it not with good reason, when the stakes are so high? ) We both of us appreciate the value of knowledge, whatever the battle.

( Whether against family, fate or something more widespread. Leliana steals secrets and feeds information as she must, blade in hand. Morrigan exhumes lost knowledge that it might be brought back to life, bringing history with it. A thought prickles at her, not for the first time, and she finds herself wondering if it is worth the risk. She has felt, before, that her work for Justinia was a game that risked the fate of nations. The Inquisition is no less significant, and what Morrigan might bring them could steel their cause. To receive an aide from a mage, as well, could do something to benefit her peers, even if Morrigan does not view them as such. (And she does not quite know what to make of a compliment from Morrigan, nor how to respond to it properly.) )

When, indeed? ( When would they stop being so in danger of it all crumbling apart? She cannot bear to think it, and yet it is exactly what she must think on, must consider. )

Perhaps we could ally our efforts more fully. If there is knowledge to be found and you are in need of more hands for the searching, my agents might be amongst the best suited.
( Swift, silent, and so very good at holding secrets.

On the other hand, of course, Morrigan was still ever in need of the clever comment. Lightly, more lightly than she feels, Leliana shrugs. ) Am I to take it that you are an expert in fashion, now, when your attire seems much the same as it was when first we met?

( She is fairly sure Morrigan called her crazy. Or perhaps Alistair? Or both. It hardly seems relevant. )

Better in the eyes of whom? The Templars would lock up the mages, the mages with sense would at last know their freedom, Celene’s supporters howl for Gaspard’s blood and vice versa, in some circles the Chantry would have the Inquisition entirely disbanded despite it being the one force doing anything to stop this madness.

[Right now there are still too many factions thinking of their own wants and needs though they might all say that they want to achieve a common purpose. Someone needs to be the loudest of all voices, or one who can mediate between them, pointing them where to go and setting the best minds for each task on them. She can leave when she wishes, she’s here to lend aid until it stands in the way of her own work and then she’ll be gone again, perhaps back to Orlais should she be required, or off elsewhere, Kieran at her side. Kieran has a destiny, somewhat unfairly given to him by Morrigan herself, her own purposes that came first when she was still so selfish. At least she can help him however she can, she can guide him.

It’s not the same as taming a beast such as this but part of her understands, as another part recoils.

So she follows, a little behind and to the right, her eyes and ears just as sharp. One might think that defeating the Blight would grant peace of mind, not guide them down roads to where every shadow might house an unwanted spectre from the past. She told the Hero once that Flemeth was the true danger, before she disappeared back into the eluvian alone. Leliana, Zevran, Alistair, they all know that her mother is more than just a Chasind legend and an old story, that there is something real and not wholly human about her but what can actually be done beyond watching, beyond waiting really. Flemeth looms and lurks, there is a chance she might not be free, not when Morrigan learns more, not when Kieran grows.] Perhaps we might conquer Thedas instead. There is little that stands in the way of knowledge, given time.

[It’s a joke, one in poor taste but there can’t be many who know more than the two of them between them, and what they do know can always lead to more. Tevinter has an Archon and a Black Divine, why not give Thedas something to mirror it, the victor getting to fight the Qunari whenever the invasion comes at last.

It has to be better than now, the petty squabbles that draw attention from where it is needed, the reason she’s glad to be out of Orlais when even the Empress is no longer safe. Orlais has always had greedy eyes, the Chantry in one hand, the might of the army in the other, all until now. Others will see what happens, how Ferelden has become imperiled once again, that Kirkwall has seen mages go mad like the days where slaves were brought to the Gallows.

But that’s a considerable offer from Leliana, one she wasn’t fully expecting and she stops for a moment before catching up again.]

I thank you. There are places that we have no foothold in, and others where we might draw more attention than we desire. [The Exalted Plains. The Emerald Graves. Beyond.] There is a matter I would discuss with you, a delivery to made to Skyhold. I approached the commander but you do better with things that should be kept secret.

[An eluvian in Skyhold being common knowledge? Utter uproar.

But she laughs, thinking about the dress she brought from Orlais, how long she had looked at Kieran after when it had been just as Leliana described before she pushed the thoughts away.] You did not see me in Orlais, tis nice to return to what one knows after...enduring their fashions, even altered to suit and without the masks.

[Maddening perhaps, but not crazy, they’ve all seen too much real crazy to make proper jokes about it now.]

( Morrigan’s words are aggravating beyond measure, moreso for being so true. Leliana walks a few moments in silence, hands behind her back. )

Better in my eyes, ideally. ( She has some grasp, at least, of what humanity is, of compassion. It may not have a place as Sister Nightingale, but it is important at least that people should have it for one another, for leaders. (A foolish thought, perhaps.) ) Everyone has an obsession with their security, to the detriment of others.

( And the look she gives Morrigan suggests that she is well aware that it is a hypocritical thing to say, given who she is, and what she has become. ) At least in the matter of the Chantry and the Templars, much could be resolved with the appointing of a new Divine. As to who would fit…

( She exhales, and for a moment she looks very tired. It is tiring, and it only becomes moreso, in the presence of those for whom you must always be Sister Nightingale and not someone more human.
Such thoughts are an indulgence, selfish, and after a slow roll of her shoulders she straightens again, and the moment has passed. Her thoughts are often the only company she keeps, and she cannot afford to let them compromise her. She must be the Nightingale, and she must save as many lives as she can, even if it requires the taking of others. A game of checks and balances, of light and dark and give and take, with far more dangerous consequences than Wicked Grace.

Morrigan’s quip surprises her out of her serious thoughts, turning to face the mage a little more and her mouth opening with a surprised laugh. ) I will keep that as a back up plan, for now.

( But she is still amused, exhaling a breath of laughter. ) I can already imagine the uproar. Celene’s apostate from the Wilds, and the extremist Left Hand. ( A moment of quiet entertainment. ) Mages would quite like us. Some of them.

( She probably should not find that as entertaining as she does, and yet. ) I think Alistair and Zevran might be unprepared for such a prospect.

( And it is back to business, although leaving Morrigan surprised does not leave her entirely displeased. It is a rare accomplishment, to get so visual a response. Morrigan always seemed to take such pride in knowing so much. A little nod is all Leliana offers, looking ahead until Morrigan mentions a delivery. She quirks an eyebrow. ) Should I be concerned, Morrigan?

( Serious and perhaps a note of humour, mixed together, though it is gravity that wins out in her gaze. She suspects that given their entire conversation, she should be concerned. Given that she is having a conversation with Morrigan and they aren’t at each others throats? A cause for concern, probably.

Ah, the masks, the hidden faces. Leliana can attest to that, even if she found it fascinating, and it forced her to learn to read the clues of emotion and deception held elsewhere in the body. A tightness between the shoulder blades, a slightly bounce or drag of a person’s step. She reaches up, pulls back her hood, and idly runs her fingers through her hair. She can, sometimes, be cooperative. )

That I did not. A shame, really, I could have directed you to some of the finest fashion houses.

( because Leliana is far better informed on fashion that everyone else in Orlais, obviously. )

[Thedas is a mess, always was a mess, perhaps will always be a mess. Flemeth never taught her the courtesies of not pointing such things out, Leliana knows that better than most.

And Leliana's eyes? Better than some, that she will allow but is there any way to say such a thing without revealing her hand or being considered suspect, at least for now? No. No there is not so she swallows it, instead thinking about Kieran, about the lengths she has gone to. Kieran is not a nation, but Kieran is her world, her life, she is making him ready. That has to be something at the very least though if others think she's actually fit at parenting well that she can't answer because Alistair probably believes she teaches him nothing but terrible things, grooms him to be a monster.] Are any of the candidates likely to be free of politics and influence? A return to order.

[She doesn't actively seek chaos out, not exactly, but that's where anything worth having comes from. It doesn't come from logic and order, of something cold and calculated because there must always be a raw spark somewhere to prompt it. But in a way, she thrives on it, because then there's that room to do what she needs to, such as the gasps when she walks into the court of Orlais and takes advantage of everything in her favour to make herself a spot at Celene's side. This is when a witch is needed, the sort with secrets, with knowledge and power.

The ones bringing back old things from before they even named the Ages of the world.]

A joke could be made, about extreme times, extreme measures. Could you not win some to our side [what a strange thing to say, it almost makes her give herself a shake as she walks] with the story of that dream you had? There are those who like such stories. [Because that's how she met Leliana, the guise of a Chantry sister and a story when two Grey Wardens, a witch, and a dog all strode into a tavern and started a fight. What has followed since is almost disturbing in a way because even for a bard, assassination is more difficult to swing, at least on such a scale as the tales. And even allowing for the salt one must swallow with such things.] Alistair is woefully unprepared for everything in life, even a hole in a sock would have him searching for someone to take such a heavy burden from his shoulders. You might wish to give him some lessons in lurking though, he is as unobtrusive as he ever was.

[Which is to say lummox. Which is to say mouthbreather. Which is to say she can smell him from across the courtyard.]

Perhaps, what I speak of is…very old, something almost lost entirely, I went to great personal effort to retrieve it. [To repair it herself, voice gone down to a glassworker's rasp in Serault, coughing and coughing.] If I lose this…

[No, she doesn't want to think about that, not now, not when she has given it a name for the first time since the days when elves ruled the earth, when it was the sanctuary she so badly needed with someone so small depending upon her. How does one ever explain that without showing? And she can't show it, not yet at least, not when Skyhold is such an uproar.]

There is time enough, they will send word before they begin the ascent by which point I shall need a secure room with a good sturdy lock. Maybe an enchantment too, to be safe and certain. It can only be an advantage to have this with us though, the enemy will not suspect what we have, and here it should be far safer than remaining in Orlais.

[No that is not a smirk of triumph, why would she ever give Leliana such a look.]

To stand and lecture me about how many layers of taffeta to have beneath my skirts, the right shade of velvet, how low to cut the front, to better scandalise those delicate Orlesian sensibilities? [Did you think she'd forgotten that one Leliana?] Kieran's opinion was enough for me.

Perhaps if I drag Josephine along. She is very good at persuading people that they want the exact opposite of what they originally desired. ( But, allow her this: ) Are you saying that my 'delusions' and 'weak mind' are useful? Are you acknowledging that you actually paid them some mind?

( This is basically the best, and it is... there is a reason why she feels better in the presence of Alistair and Zevran and Morrigan than she does with most any others. She feels like she is a person who can have ideals and believe and make a difference. They did not always (read: hardly ever) see eye to eye when they travelled together, but... but this feels better than she has for a long while. Even the ongoing mockery of Alistair has a comfortable familiarity. ) I named one of my nugs after him, ( she idly comments, and then frowns, thinking. If she's made that admission, then she should probably come clean. ) Actually, there's one named after you, as well. Always making Nugistair run away, poor thing.

( But: ) Do you really want Alistair able to play pranks on you as well as I could?
( Not that she has (yet) ... still, there is a mix of humour and genuine concern when she says, ) I will not see Skyhold fall from your mutual vendetta. No, some skills are better kept in certain hands.

( Very old, almost lost. 'A sense of decency?" Leliana might ask, were she in one of her more vicious moods, and whether the barb would be set against a particular person or just Thedas in general would be a mystery. 'Gentleness?' might be the joke better suited for teasing Morrigan, though whether that teasing would be playful or run closer to goading would be another question again, and Leliana is not sure she wants to lean to either, in this subject.Instead she thinks, and she considers how Morrigan has seemed from a distance, from the words Zevran spoke that encouraged her to soften her own words, somewhat. )

Is it to protect Kieran? ( The question comes more softly and more carefully, the way one might carefully lay a reassuring hand on the back of a particularly unhappy feline, with the mixed hopes of bringing it comfort and not being instantly drawn into its maw. A little more-- straight, serious, more Nightingale and less Leliana, but with far too much of the latter's influence, ) Such a place will be secured. A time will come when I must speak of it to the advisors, I suspect, if it is so powerful, but until that time your secret will remain with me. Will it require guards?

( Supervision that might be for the sake of Cassandra and Cullen and Josephine, as much as for Morrigan's peace for mind. Cassandra and Cullen would not think highly of her friend - strained friendship that it was, if ever such a dynamic as theirs in those days could be even called 'friendship' and not 'discordant acquaintance' - for myriad reasons, all of which pale to Leliana's loyalty to those she wandered with, for one who has fought so desperately for her own freedom, and who fights now for her son's. Josephine is always a diplomat, but... she can well imagine that she, too, would be uncomfortable with Morrigan's presence, with her gaining influence here as she has in the Winter Palace.

Onto easier topics, there is a moment of rare and surprising indignation, and she is more the girl from the Blight in that moment than she has been in months. ) I never lectured!

And I never spoke of taffeta, ( A little prim, although it gives way to something of an amused quirk of the mouth. ) And I suspect I was naive in my assessment. Silk would be very becoming, though velvet would likely be better for the pressing social engagements of Skyhold.

( And, for the record: ) Morrigan, your status at Celene's side and your status as an apostate who adventured with the Hero of Ferelden is likely to scandalise them quite enough, without a low cut. ( A pause, and then, very dryly, ) That simply works with one of your more redeeming qualities.

Your lady ambassador? A possibility. [Morrigan prefers to shout, to snipe, to get what she wants through sniping and sheer force of will, the blistering arguments with Celene ample demonstration of that. Speaking of which.] There are many things I would take over Alistair’s bleating and thinly veiled accusations, Wynne’s nonsense, Oghren’s everything, and an awful lot of what Zevran came out with. There was you and Sten, sometimes Shale.

[That she’s missed them is strange, or maybe not so when she looks at, at actual companionship for the first time in her life. She remembers that Leliana so well, how it seemed more a game to try to get under her skin. Would she want to now? Would she want to know what this Leliana is capable of?] You named a nug after me? Those awful little vermin? Are we all to find some small squealing pink thing named after us?

[At least her namesake has sense, that would be the most she would say, were she to dignify this conversation much further but now she just finds herself wondering if Leliana truly missed them so in the intervening years, and if she names her birds as well. It’s quite the jump from Shmooples to Nugistair and whatever Morrigan’s nug equivalent is.]

One can hear Alistair coming a mile off, even a boy playing can hear him coming. If there is a vendetta though [and that’s almost regret, it’s been ten years and still he gives her headaches but his son is here and she’s done right by him as best she can, better than either of them had at any rate] well that is his. I have more important matters to attend to, though so long as he rises to the bait...

[And he needs something to remember who he was, when the Wardens are plagued by Corypheus, when there are more questions than answers. Not that she’d admit it, he probably wouldn’t either, too disturbing a notion to entertain but you can’t come out of a Blight the same people that you were. She never expected to care for anything beyond saving her own skin from Flemeth.]

That it has already done, though no one can tell the future, least of all now. [They couldn’t remain forever but she had those years with him when all she needed was something she would never have found outside. That place between, that strange and wonderful place where history lived and the magic rippled over her skin, sanctuary and shelter. She can’t help the smile, soft but sad, almost pained because there’s so much more to consider now, that destiny that sits upon his shoulders and the soul carried within that little boy she loves so fiercely.] I wonder, is it so strange that I care for him? Tis hard to tell with Zevran and broaching it with Alistair thus far is...is best done in person but I will not push him. He rarely thinks before he speaks as it is. Whatever else Kieran is...he is a boy, he is my son. [She regrets the question, almost immediately because she doesn’t know how to do this mothering thing, or if loving him now makes up for the selfishness of acquiring him in the first place, if she’s any different to her own mother for having a plan where he has so little say or knowledge of it. But she’s trying and the eluvian was part of that, perhaps it will help Leliana to understand.] No guards, the less attention drawn to it the better. There is only one other I have met here that has even seen such a thing, Merrill, the Dalish elf that was one of Hawke’s companions and she does not know what I do.

[Satisfaction makes her smile, no small amount of pride either because the work she put into it and maybe she can show it to Leliana when things are more settled - show her what it means, what advantage it might give to them, to lead her through a place so few have seen since the fall of Arlathan.

The indignation makes her laugh, shaking her head before she takes a step forward and turns enough to look Leliana in the eye.] Lecture you most certainly did! And what pressing social engagements would Celene’s apostate be a part of here, I wonder?

[Although having so many of the those who fought at the Hero’s side...it could help. And she hates that she’s been in Orlais enough to actually think of politics so easily, especially around Leliana, but planning is planning, and the wilds prepares you for survival.] Redeeming qualities, I have never heard it phrased quite that way but there were so many gasps the day I was presented, in that dark dress and no mask. You might even see it.

[But to be fair, ten years and motherhood and she still looks the same and that’s something to be proud of.]

( Expression is— she is not even sure what her expression must be. Sad? Happy? Some complex mix, that on one so much inclined to subtlety now hardly translates? ) There are so many questions I wish I had asked them.
( All of them, really. But especially Wynne, who is beyond their reach, and Sten, who she wonders if they will ever see again, and what he would think of their Inquisition. Sten you could always count on to be forthright. She misses that. Better leave it, though, better to deflect. ) But I am glad I made it into the “somewhat tolerable” section of your social circle.

( Surely naming nugs is the most terrible crime a person could manage, the true sinister strength of the Nightingale. She smirks a little. )
Morrinug, ( she confesses, quite serenely. ) She can be quite aggressive. She head butted a scout’s ankle, once, just as they were going towards the stairwell. It was such a mess to clean up.

( Is she joking? Is she serious? She’s joking.
Maybe. )

I don’t know, ( and perhaps that is too honest, but she pushes on. ) I never thought you incapable of caring. Confusing, yes, and very disagreeable at times, but… everyone has humanity. ( Leliana shakes her head a little, thinking. ) I believed I was chosen by the Maker. I do not know that I can look back at that time with any certainty of the convictions I held.

( That she was chosen, that she was so different from Marjolaine… a good deal of folly, and little else. Short-lived delusions. ) That you love your son is not under question, Morrigan. I apologise if I made it seem so. And I cannot imagine Alistair would ever hold true malice against anyone, not against you. Kieran allowed both he and Jonas to live on. We are all indebted to you for that, and to Kieran, no matter what comments might be made.

( Her own included - she cannot deny a certain incredulity at the thought of Morrigan raising a child, and has even voiced such thoughts to Zevran. She was still so petty and emotional, even now, as the Nightingale. It was a disappointing thing to know of yourself. Perhaps an off-shoot of playing the Game so long and so well. Perhaps simply a flaw in herself that she has allowed to take root.

As for the guard to this mysterious artefact, she simply nods, acquiescing to Morrigan’s wisdom on the matter. That Merrill, though… she has not yet spoken with her. Curiosity might demand that she must, though carefully, thoughtfully. It would not do to betray Morrigan’s confidence, not when it is so new (and not at all, she can imagine. Morrigan is softer, not de-clawed.) ) I will remember.

( And she may question. She suspect they may need to change more than even she anticipated, and if anyone might hold the keys to change, to radical ideas not yet considered… Morrigan may well be that person. Quite what that will mean for the Inquisition, she does not know, but they cannot afford to dismiss things out of hand. Not any more. )

I offered advice, ( she protests, although it is half-hearted. ) Well, perhaps if we are very fortunate, Josie will be able to arrange a ball. A gathering of visiting dignitaries for you to wow and delight. ( Though she cannot imagine Vivienne would take that lying down, that is another matter entirely. This is the moment to tease and counter tease, as she has not been free to in months. It is very good, to have the company of old friends.

She even laughs, though only quietly, and only for a moment, short enough that it might be missed or mistaken for a sharp intake of breath. ) Of course. You are beautiful, powerful, and revealed you true face to those who guard that secret so jealously. They would have been outraged by your boldness, and intrigued by it. Rumours and vicious words would have been the first thing they reached for.

( That last comment comes more slowly, more carefully, and her expression is serious again when she looks to Morrigan. ) It cannot have been easy to raise Kieran in such a place, so… contrived and utterly false. Gold lions and jewels and all the glittering things to awe us, when really it is… a nest of vipers.

( A pause, and she shakes herself, refocuses on exactly what she means to say: ) It would require great strength.

( To raise a child in such circumstances, to keep him safe, without all the adversity that Morrigan doubtless faced. )

Is that not always the way? Do we not always reach for the past and the answers we never thought we might need only for it to be next to impossible? [The greatest struggle of her research is always having to look and wonder at what it might have been used for, what the ancient elves might have been. She won't admit it to another soul, she's too proud for that as well as knowing that she isn't a fool in the first place, that she can make sensible and reasoned guesses, fighting different pieces together but it will still never be what was. There's no way to bring back the dead to give sensible answers, only angry shades and corpses, a pale shadow, a mockery.] Tis a small circle.

[Growing here perhaps. There are one or two who have made her laugh, there is a student in shapeshifting, another interested, a few others that don't completely irritate her to the point of avoiding them or making sure they know not to pester but Leliana and Zevran are those rare creatures, her barbs meant for teasing more than wounding.]

Have you told her the same legends you spoke of when we met? Was her mother a nutty old bat of a nug caked in mud and dirt? Of a nug that behaves more like a spider when the males come to court her, unless she truly is like my mother.

[Joking about a subject like this makes it...well not easier, it can't be easier when your mother is Flemeth, when you must look over one shoulder and hold your breath but it does help. A little at least. This is a part of Leliana she doesn't find disagreeable, whistling past the graveyard and all that.

Even if a scout took a tumble, if it had come to blood then Leliana would care. Nightingale would have made a remark to Morrigan herself about it. Surely. There's too much of Leliana still here, the woman Morrigan met when the sky darkened and the land sickened, if that person is gone then...

No, she'd rather not think that if she doesn't have to.]

I-- [When she falters, it's always because there's something she doesn't want to admit. She doesn't need another to tell her she's doing things right but each time it happens it trips her up, because it wasn't something she ever thought she would hear. Kieran will have more than she had. He'll have friends, a chance to see the world, the support he needs, a mother who loves him but love is hard when you weren't ever raised to know it.] In Orlais he was a quiet, well-spoken lad. A child of a forgotten family. Twas easier that way, there were stories of me that I do not doubt he heard but there are too many who would take advantage of a child, what would he be but another potential pawn there? He was safer as a boy connected to nothing and no one if they knew of him at all. In Skyhold I cannot keep up such a tale but what I can do so that my life touches his as little as possible?

[Well Leliana should know in much the same way as Zevran: keeping your dirty hands from the few unspoiled things as best you can, even if it's just making sure the blood is out from under your nails before you go back to them. Kieran's nightmares are those that come from within himself, not anything she whispers late in the night with expectation in her tone.]

You would risk a ball in Skyhold with the potential for scandal if the wrong Templar and the wrong mage get into the wine? [It's the most likely source of conflict as it is when neither of them have any true leadership to direct and dictate. A council can only go so far when not all the members knew a Circle or the same type of Circle.] Twould be expected of me to put in an appearance, lest they forget what I still am away from here.

[Vivienne can think what she will. Morrigan had no one but herself to find a place at Celene's side because like it or not (and like it the First Enchanter certainly does not) what Morrigan knows is never something a Circle mage could know and there's a value in it. Not even the Dalish know what she does, they can't go where she goes, they can't access what Morrigan can either through her own skill or after discussions with Celene. Morrigan's place at Celene's side isn't something that will ever be repeated, and that's why she is so close, even with all the arguments.] Whatever any of you might say, tis nothing but nonsense, caring so much for such petty things. What does it matter if one shuns those ridiculous masks [a greater challenge comes in showing your face to the world but still hiding whatever you might feel] or how dark the dress is, how low the cut.

[Yet she was copied almost instantly when the next season rolled around. Did that happen for the First Enchanter? To have Orlais readily copy someone so wild, who openly mocked them? Unlikely, Vivienne plays the Game as it is, she doesn't truly break the rules so much as bend them to her whims.]

That could almost be taken as praise.

[Look that's not something Morrigan has ever received much of, or thanks come to think of it. How does one actually accept such words with any measure of grace?]

I suspect your passion for the past has rather more depth than mine.

( Undercutting herself, that. She who loves songs and history and stories, who always reached to them for insight and guidance, who adored the characters as dearly as though she knew them herself - but that side of Leliana is better extinguished. There is not time for such indulgence, here. Morrigan’s investment in the past could give them so much, but what are stories, if not her own childishness being allowed too much freedom?

And she exhales a little, stopping by some lavender and plucking a stem from in, idly rolling the stalk between her fingers. ) Exclusive sounds better.

( Though it isn’t said as jokingly as it should be. And as for the questions about the bug? Leliana shakes her head. ) There is no time for stories. If she is so intrigued, I am afraid she will have to learn to read.

( The comments on Flemeth are less easy to consider a response to, and she frowns, ceasing rolling the lavender. The crushed stalk has left aromatic oil on the fingers of her glove, their scent rising in the air. )

I doubt her mother was so toxic, ( Is what she finally allows. On that front, she is sure Morrigan deserves some seriousness.

And perhaps she thinks too long on Morrigan’s question. Morrigan’s love for the boy is commendable, and the familiarity in it is painful. The familiarity, and the absence it acknowledges, and it would shame her for her callous comments about Morrigan in years past if she did not already carry so much shame over her past, her naiveté, her determination to prove she could and would show everyone how to be happy and free. Her were the hands of destruction, now, and Morrigan was the one who nurtured, who cared. In the eyes of the Maker it was probably fitting, to be so punished for her pride. )

That you remember and ask yourself that question is, I think, a very good start. Not enough people interrogate their own actions. They simply do, with no consideration of the repercussions and the human cost.

( She exhales, lets the sprig of lavender fall to the grown, and retrains her focus entirely on Morrigan. )

Sounds like a diplomatic problem, ( Dry. False dryness. ) I do not have time to attend such things, but I am sure Josie can handle whoever gets in the wine, more than ably.

( This would be an excellent window to make a quip on how low cuts are actually very important, but she has not the taste for it in the present moment. And for one who finds the Game engaging, interesting, she has moved beyond it. For a time it was her entire life, but then, so had Marjolaine been. )

It was intended as such. Try not to faint.

This coming from you of all people, you who spoke of the Chasind legends - and what bard would know the details of such a tale off the top of their head I cannot say - as if I were not present too?

[Genuine surprise is a rare thing but it’s always unwelcome though this time for a different reason; even if it was part of her job, there was passion whenever Leliana told a sorry or sang a song, something that had Morrigan paying attention even if she refused to turn her head. At least there already exists much to share, and Leliana would return her belongings to her.

No one else gets to take Morrigan’s volumes out of her direct line of sight.]

That’s very Orlesian of you.

[And that would be Morrigan’s way of laughing without laughing. The arguments over how to phrase things in Orlais and no wonder they were expanding the borders prior to that, they’ve clearly gone too long looking ever inward to have Gaspard and Celene throwing troops at one another.

Tis no small feat to walk out of the shadow. The shadow can move just as easily as if it has stitched itself to your heel. Were there other daughters Morrigan never knew that got away? Is each tale true of the wild lands and one witch carving her own life free of a mother who would do with them just as she pleased, all for her own sake. In some ways that’s not so different to how some Orlesians treat their children only lacking actual possession; she knows well enough to worry, and to know that there are times when Kieran would be better off raised by other hands. That a day might come before she would wish it where she has to part from him before any temptation grows, weeds choking out the flowers, but not yet, not now, not if she is aware.

Not everyone has ever had reason to be so aware, as you or I. I wonder, should they be envied for that or is it best to go through life with eyes open lest you stumble blindly?

[For once there’s no answer. For her son she would chose ignorance if she could so long as she is there but they both know the damage it does.

This time she gives in, a hand on the arm to stop them both.] If I attend you are most assuredly attending too, your absence would be noted, there are many who would take advantage without your fearsome reputation present.

[Or she’ll drag Leliana down with her, maybe to thumb her nose at certain folks but to see if she can, to see how much convincing it would take.

Still…]

You flatter yourself.

[But you know +5 approval]

And, as I recall, you thought it rather presumptuous of me. Arrogant, even. And when history is penned by those who hold victories, or who simply pen a tale when another does not... I have no interest in lies. ( It comes out too harsh and too bitter. It feels as though everything is poisoned, some days, as if some slow and insidious toxin has been eating through the tissue and bone of their world from the first. In those days she was too naive to see it. ) "History" was defined so often by those who reviled mages, who saw elven culture burned to the ground, as best they could.

( No. She is not sure she wants to read those history books, any more, nor their more romantic variations. Not if she holds a shred of integrity, and not when there is so much work to be done.
Her tone has more lightness than the rest of her, tension pulled tight across her back, when she replies. ) Of course. Another Orlesian quality, no? As is my plan to have a series of excellent locks to prevent you from getting me.

( As if locks could truly befuddle a mage. Then again, it was she or Zevran who picked locks, and never Morrigan and Wynne who blasted them with magic... perhaps for the sake of their egos. Who really knows?

Quick, this is very quickly carrying the risk of involving an emotion, or something. Leliana looks up to the tower, and see the flickering light of a lit candle. One of the scouts has returned, then. Thank the Maker. )

I am afraid I must go, Morrigan. Duty calls. ( She moves swiftly and silently, too much a habit to allow herself any other kind of motion, but stops herself before she has drawn too far away, even if she does not wait for goodbyes. ) Keep me abreast of developments with your project.

( It is not quite it was good to see you, but perhaps it carries the tone of it. Perhaps. )

Edited (words!!!) 2016-02-15 21:47 (UTC)

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I can do it with instruments,

gardens;

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