faderift | OPEN: And you can shake the mountains with a whisper

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OPEN: And you can shake the mountains with a whisper

WHO: Hermione Granger and YOU!
WHAT: Hermione ventures out of the library. Sometimes. But she's also in the library most of the time, because she's Hermione.
WHEN: Late Justinian, creeping into early Solace if need be.
WHERE: Throughout Skyhold, just outside of Skyhold, pick a place far away from Skyhold and find a reason to drag her there.
NOTES: If you'd like a particular starter and/or would like to hash out some minor assumed CR that can lead into this, feel free to let me know either via PM or plurk (

StarryOblivion). Otherwise, feel free to have them randomly bump into one another!

The Herald's Rest.

Hermione doesn't often come in here, not since receiving an odd look when she'd first asked for just some water (really, given how young everyone here seems to think she is, she'd been surprised that the surly bartender had thought she'd wanted something harder). But sometimes it's a nice change of pace, sitting among the mostly quiet chattering of the other patrons and enjoying the fire as she reads or looks over her notes. Presuming, of course, that no one is foolish enough to have too much to drink and try to bother her. Talking is a distraction she'll accept with no fuss, but Merlin help anyone who's had enough alcohol to think she's open to anything friendlier than that.

Stables.

When she'd first arrived at Skyhold, the stables had seemed relatively empty and were a fine place for practicing her magic without risking hurting anyone. She'd thought she could do the same now, only to find that there are considerably more horses - and, er, other creatures - residing there. Magic might only frighten them, she decides, but they're so pretty that she can't help visiting with them for a bit, getting as close to them as she dares. It's been years since she's ridden a horse, but she's entirely certain that these mounts aren't exactly the type that would trot gently along a given course for an inexperienced rider, so she isn't even going to ask after something so silly, even if the interest is clearly there in her eyes.

Courtyard, not too far from the healing tents.

When the stables prove not to be the best place to practice with her magic, Hermione decides that it might be best to find a little corner close to the healing tents instead. At least then there would be other mages around, and so it was less likely that anyone who stumbled across her would look at her disdainfully. And if anyone gets hurt, a healer wouldn't be too far away. Of course, she highly doubts that anyone would get hurt just because she was unsuccessfully attempting to transfigure leaves and pebbles and whatever else happens to be in the vicinity. Transfiguration doesn't seem to be an aspect of her magic that's carried over into Thedas, or at least Hermione can't manage it without more practice, given that she's growing more and more frustrated as she continuously taps rocks and other objects with what looks like a stick, muttering to herself in exasperation.

Library. Because of course.

If you've been to the library, you've seen her. Whether you know her and enjoy talking to her about rifter politics or think it's entertaining to scandalize her or have never bothered to approach her, Hermione can more often than not be found in the same little niche in the library, nose in a book or a quill hastily scribbling down notes. Or even, occasionally, dozing off, since she hasn't exactly claimed any sort of sleeping space for her own and more often than not loses track of the time when she doesn't explicitly have somewhere to be.

Wildcard!

Hermione wanders, and while she tries to be careful, sometimes it takes her places she just shouldn't go. If it doesn't look like a private room or setting, it's safe to assume that the young witch has made her way there, likely looking for a quiet place to read or do magic or just to get a few moments of silence. And while she doesn't often journey outside of Skyhold, she can definitely be tempted beyond its walls if she has the right incentive, or the right company.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'm not sure I understand," Ariadne admitted. "How you can be friends with someone...and not benefit from it." She paused. "Although, I have to admit, I've never had very many friends."

As if that weren't blindingly obvious.

Airy was cheerful and optimistic and kind. But she did tend to leave people at an arm's length. Even here in Thedas, no one knew much about her. She would talk about home sometimes, but not about herself.

Katniss was the only person who knew she'd lost several sisters.

"There's an emotional benefit to any friendship, of course," Hermione pointed out. "But there are some people who only want to be friends with someone because they're popular, or rich, or very smart. To some, friends are a status symbol or a means to an end. That's why I'd never had very many friends as a child, either."

She still didn't have a lot of people she'd consider friends, actually. There were a few people she liked and willingly spent time with, and then there Harry and Ron. She'll never have anyone else like Harry and Ron, of that she was certain.

"If someone wanted to be friends with you because you were very smart, wouldn't that be a compliment?" she asked.

No one had ever, ever, ever called Ariadne smart. In fact, she couldn't imagine how she would respond to such a compliment. Equal parts flattered and incredulous, she supposed.

Of course, it was a moot point. Ariadne wasn't...smart-smart. She was clever. And streetwise. And she could even be incredibly instinctive. But the lacked the education to ever be smart.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry," she added. "I've never had a conversation like this before. It's interesting. A new perspective, one I had never considered. And I like new perspectives. I hope you don't mind."

"Not if they wanted to use those smarts to their own ends," Hermione replied, trying not to think of some of her earlier friendships. "Sometimes they just want to use you to cheat on an exam, or if they thought they could somehow manipulate you to get something they need."

Smiling, Hermione turned away from the horse and looked at Ariadne head-on. "No, not at all. I'm just sorry if I'm coming off sounding particularly jaded or pessimistic. Like I'd said, I'm not, really. I've just seen some of the best and worst of people. That sort of thing happens when you live during a war, I suppose."

"I can tell," Ariadne said.

She was going to leave it at that, but realized how it sounded and quickly added, "That you lived during a war. There's a certain look that a lot of people get. It makes it easy to tell that they've been through a lot. I see the look all the time. Saw. And see. Both here and at home."

In some of her less guarded moment, she probably had it too. But as was Ariadne's wont, she pushed it back, preferring optimism.

"I'm sorry," she continued. "That you had to go through terrible things, whatever they were. But for what it's worth, I've seen war break a lot of people. And you seem very unbroken to me. Which is a good thing."

Hermione was silent for a few moments before softly bringing up, "It's strange, isn't it? You would think, now with the possibility of a potentially infinite number of worlds in front of us, we'd find one where people were actually relatively peaceful. I can't help but wonder if that just proves that sentience will eventually breed war."

Whereas Ariadne was clearly an optimist, Hermione took the more logical route and stuck with pragmatism. It was just unfortunate that being realistic about things often sounded like pessimism. It said a lot about the state of the world. Or, well, worlds.

"I think making a conscious effort to be unbroken means I'm at least a little worn around the edges," she commented, managing a small smile. "I'm sorry that you've had to go through awful things, too. But it doesn't do to constantly think about the negative. I'd think you would know that better than most."

She smiled, ducking her head sheepishly. "That's why they say I'm aggressively cheerful, I guess," she replied.

Katniss put up a sign outside of her house: Beware of cat and aggressively cheerful visitors. She took it as a compliment.

"At the risk of being a little too aggressive," she added, "if you ever need to talk about some of your experiences...I'm a very good listener. And I know how to keep a secret." Oh, boy did she know how to keep a secret.

But she decided that enough was enough.

"I should let you mount your ride. I've taken up too much of your time."

"There are worse ways to be aggressive," Hermione acknowledged, smiling a touch wryly. "After all, we could all use a bit more cheeriness, given what we'd just been talking about."

Shaking her head, Hermione glanced back at the horses and replied, "I appreciate the offer, but most of what I'd have to say would require quite a lot of backdrop, and that might make for an unending conversation. But thank you. The same goes for you, too, of course."

Looking back at Ariadne, she shrugged and remarked, "I think I'd like to spend a little more time around the horses, even if I don't necessarily ride. You're welcome to stay with me if you'd like, unless you have something else that needs doing."

She considered pointing out that she was more than happy to listen to any 'backdrop' as well. But it was implied, really. Hermione clearly didn't want to talk. Which was perfectly fine.

Maybe not healthy, but fine.

Ariadne shrugged up one shoulder. "I think I'm better off admiring horses from a distance," she said. "They have such enormous feet!"

Hermione was more than willing to talk about her past. Or, well, most aspects of her past. There were still a few things that she hadn't been able to reconcile with yet, and so she chose to avoid the topic of the war primarily for those reasons, but she would still be able to pick and chose her story without making the truth suffer for it.

"They won't step on you!" Hermione laughed good-naturedly. "At least, not if you don't frighten them!"

"But how do I know what frightens them?" she asked. "Horse is one of the few languages I don't speak!"

It was a joke. For the most part.

Ariadne found herself suddenly feeling strangely proud. She'd gotten Hermione to laugh. And somehow, she sensed that it wasn't something that happened easily or very often.

But it was worth it.

"You approach them from the side, since they often have difficulty seeing what's directly in front of them," Hermione explained. "And you don't want to startle them, so you have to be sure to make noise as you go, even if it's just talking to them. And like most animals, you let them sniff at you to see how they feel about you. Can you speak cat or dog? They prick their ears up when they're content or press them back against their head if they're scared or sense a threat, and horses do the same."

Hermione smiled often enough, but laughter was another matter altogether. Not because she didn't find things funny, but because more often than not, laughter usually felt like it took too much effort, or it sounded hollow in her ears. Ron had usually been able to make her laugh, when she wasn't mad at him; laughing without him now sometimes felt a little... sad.

But she didn't need to dwell on that, not when she was explaining what little she knew about horses.

"They each have their own specific quirks, of course, just like people. I'd imagine that speaking to the horsemaster would probably be more enlightening, since he knows the horses a bit more personally."

Ariadne listened intently, making it as clear as possible that she was hanging on Hermione's every word. It was a talent she had. To look at someone like they were the only person in the world that mattered.

She found that people enjoyed being heard.

"I had never thought of that," she lied serenely. "Approaching from the side, I mean. I guess I didn't really think about where their eyes were."

She was no expert on animals - at least, on animals that weren't magical creatures, since she'd had to study those - but Hermione didn't mind imparting what little knowledge she did have on the subject. Besides, she'd heard of a pony having come in through a rift, so there was no telling if the horses in these stables hadn't done the same and weren't just as troubled as the people were. It wouldn't do to risk other people scaring them when they'd already had enough on their plates.

"Most people don't unless they've had a lot of experiences with horses. I only happen to know because it's what I'd always been told whenever I'd visited farms and was given very casual lessons."

Smiling a little as she glanced back at the horse again, she remarked, "Personally, I'd rather use that knowledge to make friends with the horses than use them as beasts of burden. I know there's not really much for it in this world, given the limited modes of transportation, but maybe some of the rifters can impart different viewpoints on the natives. Not entirely, of course, but at least enough so the horses the Inquisition does have aren't overworked."

"I hope you do," Ariadne said. Quite sincerely, by contrast. "And more than that. I hope you tell them about your metal birds and your brooms. They may not be able to recreate them for a thousand years, but as long as you can get them thinking about it, there's the chance for this world to grow and change."

And maybe, just maybe, that was the real reason why the Rifters were there.

It was a nice way to think about it, anyway.

It was a nice thought, certainly, but Hermione didn't really know how likely the people of Thedas were to change, or to want to change. They seemed rather set in their ways, given that the Inquisition had re-emerged at the first sign of a major worldwide threat rather than any sort of new organization.

But it wouldn't do to bring that up, so Hermione only smiled gently as she turned away from the horse to face Ariadne fully again.

"Maybe. I'd like to think it's impossible for so many of us to be here without them learning at least a little bit."

"Well, that was always the fun of visitors from far-away places when I was little," she said. It didn't feel like it was revealing too much about herself. "New ideas and new stories. I'll tell you this." She leaned in a little bit. "If the situation was reversed. If a whole flock of new people were flooding into Valeria, I wouldn't be scared of them. I'd be pestering them non-stop with questions."

Of course, there would be plenty back home suspicious of such an influx. Still. The more reasonable among them, including Princess Amanda, would do their very best to make strangers feel welcome.

Hospitality was an endangered beast. Which was all the more reason to protect it and keep it alive.

Hermione smiled a bit when Ariadne leaned in as though she was confiding in her. "We had some visitors from other wizarding schools at Hogwarts once," she reminisced. "Most of us were very interested in learning about what sort of customs they had, though there were a few who didn't entirely trust them."

Jealous. There were a few who'd been jealous of them. Or rather, Ron had been jealous of Viktor. At least, four years later, Hermione was finally confident as to why.

But she shrugged all of that off, only saying, "People are always going to fret over what they don't entirely understand. That's just all the more reason to be cooperative when they attempt to understand it."

"Oh, I agree," Ariadne said with enthusiasm that was entirely genuine. "That's why I try to help out where I can. I just wish I could do more. I suppose I'm very good at fetching and carrying, but it feels a little..."

She struggled for the word. She, who spoke every language she knew, had to pause a moment to find the right one...

"...insignificant."

Hermione's smile immediately fell away at Ariadne's opinion of herself, or at least of her actions. "No attempt to help is ever insignificant," she told her. "It's better than what some people are doing. I'm sure there are some rifters who want nothing more than to find a way home and get as far away from all of this as they possibly can. At least you're doing whatever you can manage to help the Inquisition, so it's far from insignificant."

"A child can fetch and carry and still have time to be a child," she said. "Despite what some people think of me, I have a lot more to offer."

It was probably more than she should have said.

Ariadne knew that.

But all the same, she realized, she'd been holding it back for a long time. Maybe it was for the best that it had come out in the presence of Hermione. A friend, sort of.

"Are you saying children are insignificant? Considering that most think of them as our hope for the future, I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to agree."

Hermione knew what was actually being said, of course, and she wasn't going to let it go at that. So she turned from the horse completely, offering Ariadne a small but wholly genuine smile.

"People have similar opinions about me, mostly because of how old I look. Or how old I don't look, I suppose. Though for what it's worth, I don't think of you as a child. And even if that weren't the case, I come from a world where a baby almost single-handedly put an end to the First Wizarding War. Being innocent, being happy, being loved by others - those things can be bigger strengths than anyone realizes. Just focus more on that than on what any cowardly fool might say behind your back."

Ariadne's eyes widened to the size of coins. "Oh! No!" she cried, shaking her head emphatically. "I didn't mean it like that. Of course children are significant. They're what we fight for. They're the most important potential in the world. In any world. I didn't mean it like that!"

And her shock and regret was completely genuine.

"I only meant that...I don't need to be protected from the realities of war. I don't need all the leisure time that I have. I'm ready to do what's necessary. I don't want to be treated as some one who needs to be coddled."

Which was how people saw her. Ariadne knew the sort of impression she tended to give off. But that was largely because optimism was conflated with youth, with childishness.

"I know," she said levelly, assuring Ariadne that she hadn't actually thought she'd meant anything ill towards children. As for the rest of what was said, "I know that, too."

Shaking her head, Hermione explained, "From what I've heard of where we've all come from, all of us have seen more than our fair share of the world. It makes me wonder if there's such a thing as a 'normal' life at all. So no, I'm not going to assume that you can't bear to see the darker side of this world or help the Inquisition fight against it. After all, what would that say about me?"

"My mother would say that you can't see the light without the darkness," Ariadne muttered. Which was more than she'd said about her mother to anyone else in Thedas. Ariadne and Rotspine used to fight like cats. They were so fundamentally different, down to the very cores of their respective beings. Which wasn't all that surprising. Rotspine had grown up on the run. Ariadne had lived in comfortable isolation.

She shook her head, her panic abating. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm saying everything all wrong. I'd make a poor diplomat."

OPEN: And you can shake the mountains with a whisper

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