faderift | (open-ish) out of the slumbers of my head 

Entry tags:

(open-ish) out of the slumbers of my head 

WHO: Leliana & open-ish - see notes
WHAT: FREEDOM. talks about freedom/the Chantry/wherever it takes us.
WHEN: throughout late-late-late Drakonis and early/mid Cloudreach, can be after hearing some rumours.
WHERE: Default setting will be the Rookery, others possible on request.
NOTES:
1. Likely referral to imprisonment and torture in narrative, others to be added if they come up.
2. It's not exactly open-open because I'd like to be able to keep the different threads unique and avoid burn out on the topic, but if you are interested then just shoot me a pm or talk to me on plurk and we can figure it out!
tldr I am flexible with who/when/where and such, but hammering out some info first would be greatly appreciated.
3. Prose or brackets are totally fine, I'll match style :]b

Too long has she stayed her hand. First it was her ignorance that silenced her, and then it was loyalty, the belief that Justinia wished to make the world better, stronger. A more just world, where all would benefit rather than a rare few. As time has passed, though, and as the Inquisition grows, Leliana has realised more and more that Justinia's peace and her vision for the Chantry were not enough. For all that Justinia had once been a worldly woman she had not fought in the Blight, had not fought side by side with mage and elf alike. She had moved as a player of the Grand Game must, small moves, small changes, and stability had always been her first thought. It was Justinia who had threatened to deny aid to Celene in the settling of mage and Templar if Celene did not cease the elf rebellion simmering in Orlais before the burning of Halamshiral. Justinia was a good woman, a good friend and teacher and mother, and she had great vision. Even so she had been blinkered by the prejudices that ran rife throughout Thedas, the small mindedness that seemed to define each country in different ways. No one should be enslaved or punished simply for being; no one's personhood should be compromised by the simple facts and circumstances of their birth.

Most often she is in the Rookery and must be sort out between scouts and ravens bringing reports, or meetings with the other Advisors. The tower is cold, and candles flicker from a shrine to Andraste and make shadows dance. (And, if visitors come late in Drakonis and early in Cloudreach, they may find evidence of Dorian's prank, for which there will be dire consequences.)

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Ellana knows the spymaster must be bogged down with work, but after hearing rumors of Leliana's views, she decides to come see for herself. Rumors are just that, and she wants to hear Leliana's opinions from her own lips, not filtered through several people who heard it from a friend of a friend.

She comes up the stairs to the rookery, and when she spots Leliana she appears to be at liberty, so Ellana approaches, footsteps light despite the boots she wears. She has no illusions about coming up on a master spy unheard.

"Sister Leliana, may I speak with you?"

The steps approaching her are not familiar ones. There are so many in Skyhold it would be a considerable endeavour to hear each often enough to recognise them all. What matters is this is the not a scout, nor one with whom she has spent considerable time, and she looks over her shoulder with curiosity and faint exasperation because she is working - although neither of those emotions quite make it to her face, whose expression remains carefully schooled.

At least the young woman has good timing.

"You may," she starts, turning to face her more fully, arms crossed against her chest. "What is the problem?"

Usually when people come to speak to her it relates to them being angry about something or because there is urgent news the Inquisition must see to.

The question is one that intrigues Ellana, because it's different than her own reaction would be to someone asking if they could speak with her, at least if they weren't running towards her panicked, or anything like that.

"Do people only come to you with your problems?" she asks, adding, "Or are you saying if there isn't a problem, you don't have time to talk? I only wished to discuss something I'd heard with you, but I don't want to take up your time if you're busy."

An interesting question, and one that Leliana opts not to answer. She doesn't smile, either, but it's certainly more on the side of "cryptic not-smile" than "cryptic nothing" or "cryptic scowl," and Leliana nods towards her desk in something like an invitation.

"I have a moment," she replies, a little less bluntly. There is much happening, now as always. At least in this moment there is also room to breathe, even if she is technically busy. "You are Ellana, correct? Of Clan Ashara?"
She is aware of some familiarity between her and Morrigan, that she is a mage and there are other rumours that circulate, but Leliana has little time for gossip without substance, without use.

Ellana moves towards the desk and gives a short nod.

"Yes." That really shouldn't surprise her, especially since she is more than just a random soldier within the Inquisition. She's from the largest clan represented here, and also on the Mage Council. And she is friendly with those Leliana fought beside during the Fifth Blight. There are plenty of reasons for Leliana to know her name on sight.

And now she gets straight to the point. Perhaps being around Morrigan has taught her to skip the pleasantries when there's information she wants to know. "Word has been spreading that you're speaking out for the freedoms of elves and mages. As a part of both of those groups, I felt it was a good idea to just ask you directly about your views, rather than rely on what I've heard thirdhand."

Leliana sits, back rigidly straight before she sets her elbows on the desk and leans forward a little, attentive.

"I have done nothing more than express views I have long held," Leliana replies rather simply, although they both well know it can never be so simple as just that. There are always reasons, there are always motivations. Considering for a moment before speaking further, Leliana cants her head to the side to observe Ellana. "I believe that elves and mages alike should be afforded all the freedoms that others enjoy. That all people should be treated equal."

Despite all the different hats Sister Nightingale has worn, Leliana can't truly know what it means to hear that you've been accepted as an elf and a mage. The Inquisition is a more liberal place by far, but even within it, there are many who hold to views because they have always been just the way things are.

Were this even a month ago, Ellana's shoulders would sag in relief right now, but she doesn't give herself away as much now. It's a concentrated effort to hold something back instead of always wearing her heart on her sleeve. It becomes more easily damaged that way. Instead, she inclines her head in acknowledgment, and lets her words show what she's feeling.

"It's such a simple thing that should be obvious, and yet with the way things are, you come across sounding enlightened in comparison to many others."

"That," Leliana starts, very bluntly, "is because Thedas is a place where small-mindedness is as pervasive as any Blight, and people wrap themselves up in ignorance believing that it will grant them succor and sanctuary."

Pausing for a moment, Leliana glances towards the shrine to Andraste that dwells in the Rookery, and back to Ellana.

"What do you know about Andraste?"

Ellana's eyes dart over to where Leliana is looking to see that familiar statue there, candles lit around it. For all her reading since arriving at Skyhold, the Chantry is still the subject Ellana knows the least about. But there is hardly need of diving into books about it, when a daily walk through the stronghold will afford her a stirring rendition of numerous Chant verses. She thinks she has that "There was no sky..." part memorized by now, simple because that one sister in the garden won't move on to something else already.

"Not much, I'm afraid. She was a slave who joined with the elves to free themselves from the Imperium, and was burned at the stake. Her family gave the Dales to the elves for fighting alongside them." And there is all that talk about being the bride of the Maker, but that is for humans to say, not her. The People have their own stories to explain their gods and their world, and the humans have theirs. Each should be allowed it.

"She is lauded among those of our faith as a hero who stood against tyranny," Leliana replies, "although your summary is correct. Most importantly, though, she fought to end suffering."

A moment of consideration, before she frowns. "It is... unusual, then, that those who claim to celebrate with the greatest passion and loyalty should also stand so staunchly for the suffering of others, no? That Andraste has been used as a means to justify so many wrongs and so many lives destroyed, when she sought peace. The Canticle of Andraste tells us that among her last sentiments she said, 'Let mine be the last sacrifice.' Why, then? Why have so many others been sacrificed to satisfy the Chantry and the nobles that draw their strength from it?"

Fire touches her words, hands curled into tight fists, though she does not expect Ellana to have answers for her. "It is all wrong."

There is a passion to Leliana's voice on this issue and Ellana is glad for it. If no one questions things, how will they ever change? If anything, she admires Leliana for this, because she isn't afraid to make her opinions known. Ellana wishes for a better future for her own people, but knows that they are so stubborn that her words would fall on deaf ears.

"I cannot tell you," she replies, brow furrowed. "Power? Influence? The Dales were lost in the name of the Chantry and Andraste, weren't they? It seems any evil can be seen as righteous if it's claimed in the name of serving the Chantry." She pauses, head tilting to the side. "There are many good Andrastians, and the Chantry can't be all bad. But it's done many terrible things too."

"They were lost to an Exalted March," Leliana agrees, though the words taste foul on her tongue. "After they were gifted to the elves by Andraste's own sons as thanks for their part in the war. There was a sermon after the Exalted March that claimed the elves were guilty of grave sin, of turning their back upon the Maker and condemning all Thedas to being deprived of his presence." Her voice is cold - angry. "In the same breath they spoke of showing the elves mercy, for that was Andraste's will."

Leliana shakes her head and stands, abruptly, because she finds herself uneasy simply sitting, when so much of her work as the Left Hand felt like inaction, or worse still, action to the opposite direction of her own beliefs. "You are not wrong, Ellana. There are good Andrastians, but what is goodness when it is coupled by inaction? Ignorance is one thing. Inaction despite knowing what is right?"

That is unforgivable.

"And what do your stories say about why your Maker created the elves?" she asks. "If the Chantry thinks my people turned their backs on him, they must also believe he created them. But why would we agree when we have our own gods?"

She shakes her head and leans against a nearby beam. She's never begrudged anyone their religious beliefs, as long as they didn't try to convert her to them. Why would she need the Maker when she reveres Mythal and everything she values? When she has Sylaise, whose footsteps she walks in whenever she lights a fire? Ghilan'nain to remind her that the halla are her brothers and sisters? All of them are locked awy, but they would be there watching over the People if they could. Better than a Maker that abandoned them.

"It sounds like they were just looking for someone to blame. The Maker abandoned humans, but surely that can't be their fault. No, that has to be the elves' fault too."

"I would not put it past many of my fellow Andrastians to dismiss and belittle the beliefs of others. After all, if the Maker is the one true god and all others are false, what credit should the Creators be granted?"

Leliana shakes her head, sighing as she contemplates it. "Truthfully, I think you are likely right. Anything to take the blame from ourselves and to belittle others. The Qunari who do not bow to the Maker, or dwarves or elves - all are accountable, except for ourselves and our own actions."

But there is a faint shadow of a smile there, even if it is quickly gone. "I do not believe the Maker has abandoned us. I believe He is ever present, and those who insist that He is absent simply wish to make themselves feel all the more important when they feel His presence."

Ellana inclines her head just a little at being told she's probably right, but doesn't feel the need to press the point any further.

"I can understand how you feel. Though the Evanuris are trapped where they can no longer reach us, I feel their presence in the gifts they've left to us. Our view of the world and our way of life comes from them." There's a brief smile on her lips too. "I may not follow all the ways of my clan anymore, but I will never forget what it means to be elvhen."

It has not been her central focus, immersing herself in elvhen culture. Some things felt like they were not for her to know or understand, others were simply beyond what she needed to know to carry on, but her respect is sincere, all the same. She thinks, for a moment, lapsing into silence rather than offering a quick response.

"May I ask you about that?" she finally settles on, soft spoken. It is truly a question rather than a veiled demand, no matter of her position in the Inquisition. "I understand if it is a wholly private matter."

"You can ask," Ellana replies. "I've always thought that maybe humans would understand us better if we were more open about ourselves. Obviously there are some secrets I can't share, but I can tell you some things. What would you like to know?"

"Actually, I was curious as to why you no longer followed the ways of your clan, as you put it."

She has other questions, ones tied to history and culture and a better understanding when she speaks for the freedom of a people to whom she does not belong, but better to start with one thing at a time.

"Oh, well most ways have to do with living in the environment of the clan, and I won't be returning, at least not on a permanent basis. There's so much of the world I want to see." There's a pause as she looks thoughtful, before she smiles.

"I was the Hearthkeeper in the clan. That means I was responsible for lighting all our campfires. I would ask Sylaise the hearthkeeper for her favor before lighting each one, and when I extinguished it too. But I never asked for her favor when using a fire spell. Those fires were for different purposes." She shifts a little against the beam. "But even outside of the clan, I'll pray to Sylaise when I light fires. I won't abandon all our ways."

So much of the world to see - for a moment Leliana's heart aches for the sake of a girl who was a delusion and who had wanted so badly to see and experience the world without Marjolaine's shadow of the Blight shaping her. She hopes against hope that she does not discover truths of herself that Leliana had, just as she hopes that Araceli and Beleth are not sculpted into becoming beings not-so-different from the Nightingale. "I understand," is all she has, and perhaps it is a little gentler than her tone before.

It is good to know, to note, and she nods her understanding. "Your faith is your own. No one has the place to judge you for it, so long as you are true to your heart and the tenets of your faith."

"It is good to hear you say so. And likewise. I hope that your faith brings you peace, even if the state of the Chantry at the present time does not." It must be frustrating to believe in something that has become so warped. The elves have their gods who they have held onto through the long years of exile, slavery, and the lose of their empire. They don't argue over exact interpretations of what Andruil meant here, or what Falon'din was trying to accomplish there. Their stories are known to every Dalish elf by heart, whether they choose to show reverence to their gods, or have broken away from their clan and that life. The Dalish Grey Wardens Alistair once mentioned to her come to mind. Whether or not they pray to their lost gods, everyone knows the stories and they don't spend time trying to reinterpret them.

It has been a long time since her faith brought her peace. Not since Lothering, she suspects, and even then there are times when she wonders if she truly found peace, or if she was just bored. The bright girl of optimism and innocence was, she has realised, a delusion. In the darkest hours when she doubts the Maker and herself, Leliana cannot help but consider if her own faith and belief is something she has fabricated to soothe herself.

None of those are things to be voiced aloud. "Thank you."
That, at least, is simple - genuine - though the moment is interrupted by a scout jogging up the stairs, pausing and moving to the side when they spot Ellana. They have a report they have immediately started writing, but her gaze flickers to them.

"Is there anything else you wished to speak on?" She can speak more, at least for a little longer, though her work looms ever present.

Ellana straightens when the scout enters, and she looks back at Leliana to shake her head no. This talk has helped Ellana understand Leliana's position much better. She knows the woman can't overrule the other advisers on her own, but the fact that she's open about her views and that news is spreading gives her hope.

"No. But I do wish to say I'm glad you're here as a part of the Inquisition, now that I know more of your views. Ma serannas." She dips her head a little in thanks and will take her leave if Leliana has no more to say.

Perhaps they have too much hope - faith - in her. Leliana hopes not. She will fight to earn it, to keep it, and to see their faith justified.

"And I am glad for your presence, as well, and that of your people. We cannot reforge Thedas with human hands alone."

She nods, respectful, and her gaze lingers on Ellana in quiet assessment before she looks to the scout, holding out her hand for the report.

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(open-ish) out of the slumbers of my head

early cloudreach

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