lelιana ( adorable нereтιc ) dragon age. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fightingale) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
faderift2016-09-03 06:08 pm
fightingale) wrote in faderift2016-09-03 06:08 pm
( closed ) for Dorian — gently backdated to the end of August.
eviscerates
2016-09-05 06:32 am (UTC)(link)
It was all kind of sweet, actually, the kind of sweetness that Ruby wasn't really accustomed to. Sweetness was not meant for her - not in her own world, and certainly not in one that wasn't. She has a blue ribbon braided into her hair, perhaps recognisable as the same pale blue Adelaide had wrapped around her wrist for a few days. And instead, when she'd left, Adelaide had worn a woven bracelet, not so different from a few that roll down the long of Ruby's forearm, a thread of red cloth woven in with the soft black leather. And if that were not clue enough, if that weren't quite enough to make a man like Dorian raise his eyebrows, there was the parting kiss Adelaide pressed to Ruby's knuckles before she went, a casual thing done in the courtyard that might seem ridiculous to everyone else, but left Ruby with warmth twisting in her gut.
Sweet things were not usually for her, but she treasures the ones she has been given.
Right now the ribbon is being used to keep her hair back as she goes through inventory, carefully inspecting jars of herbs and bundles that are still drying, murmuring to herself as she frowns, checking against the list and the supplies of seeds and making notes.
It is the scent that catches her attention, first, as it so often does - and she glances up to see a man, one who she recognises as Adelaide's friend but that she doesn't know personally. "Hi. I'm really sorry, Councillor LeBlanc's actually on an assignment right now. Can I help you, somehow? Or take a message?" The offer is made with a smile, and the perfect lack of awareness of a smudge of ink on her cheek.
Sweet things were not usually for her, but she treasures the ones she has been given.
Right now the ribbon is being used to keep her hair back as she goes through inventory, carefully inspecting jars of herbs and bundles that are still drying, murmuring to herself as she frowns, checking against the list and the supplies of seeds and making notes.
It is the scent that catches her attention, first, as it so often does - and she glances up to see a man, one who she recognises as Adelaide's friend but that she doesn't know personally. "Hi. I'm really sorry, Councillor LeBlanc's actually on an assignment right now. Can I help you, somehow? Or take a message?" The offer is made with a smile, and the perfect lack of awareness of a smudge of ink on her cheek.
Edited 2016-09-05 06:35 (UTC)
People who have seen her fight have called her a whirlwind, in the past. She could not be certain if they meant to honour or deride her, whether a force of nature in battle was a sign of her strength, or an indication of the destruction she might bring with her. Herian had decided long ago to take these things in stride, as best she could. There was no need to look for offence in every intonation and choice of words, when there was quite enough flung brazenly.
The words of one Gwenaëlle Vauquelin has seemed insulting, she thought. Insulting or uneducated, and there were a grim sense of dread that burned in her gut at the thought of the Dalish being considered any more softly than they already were. It was—
It was a wound still raw even one and twenty years after its infliction.
She wanders to where she has learned the author can be found, loosely but carefully holding the editorial she has read, and waiting until the person she waits on looks up before addressing her, with a slight bow. "Lady Vauquelin. I wondered if I might trouble you for your time."
Starkhaven lingers in each word, tone as calm as as measured as it ever is. No mage staff hangs at her back, and the sword that hangs at her side is standard Inquisition issue, but she moves with the controlled uprightness that belongs to knights and chevaliers.
The words of one Gwenaëlle Vauquelin has seemed insulting, she thought. Insulting or uneducated, and there were a grim sense of dread that burned in her gut at the thought of the Dalish being considered any more softly than they already were. It was—
It was a wound still raw even one and twenty years after its infliction.
She wanders to where she has learned the author can be found, loosely but carefully holding the editorial she has read, and waiting until the person she waits on looks up before addressing her, with a slight bow. "Lady Vauquelin. I wondered if I might trouble you for your time."
Starkhaven lingers in each word, tone as calm as as measured as it ever is. No mage staff hangs at her back, and the sword that hangs at her side is standard Inquisition issue, but she moves with the controlled uprightness that belongs to knights and chevaliers.
Edited 2016-09-05 06:54 (UTC)
( closed ) for Cassandra — during stolen shardbearer plot.
fightingale
2016-09-05 03:33 pm (UTC)(link)
Interrupting Cassandra was unwise, though that had never been sufficient to dissuade Leliana from the task. That said, she could say with some degree of confidence that interrupting Cassandra, interrupting Cassandra while she was battering a training post into submission, and interrupting Cassandra during acts of demolition while she was very obvious unhappy were escalating risks.
She does it anyway.
"Cassandra." Just her name, as crisp and precise as Leliana always is, watching her intently.
She does it anyway.
"Cassandra." Just her name, as crisp and precise as Leliana always is, watching her intently.
There is no acknowledgement that she had been heard, at first. Just another vicious swing of her sword, then another, and finally Cassandra rears back and, with a terrible cry, puts the full force of her body behind her blade. It shears through the training dummy, taking its head off with a snap of the dowel, and Cassandra stops at last, turning her head to fix her customary glare upon Leliana.
"What is it now." She is tired of being interrupted, of being constantly dragged away for a million pointless, exasperating tasks - all while being barred from the most important task of all. Martel is missing, perhaps dead, and Cassandra cannot even go after him.
"What is it now." She is tired of being interrupted, of being constantly dragged away for a million pointless, exasperating tasks - all while being barred from the most important task of all. Martel is missing, perhaps dead, and Cassandra cannot even go after him.
Leliana resists the urge to look to the sky; it would only serve to aggravate, and beyond that?
Beyond that it would be cruel, to be so impatient with one who has been a friend for many years, even if more recent months has seen that strained. Never before have they had so many calamity happen one after the other, no space to breathe, no room to remember that even with their differences they have always stood side by side, that Justinia no doubt selected them for those very differences - that Leliana was part of the reason Cassandra had remained the Right Hand.
Instead of reacting, an urge she has gotten very good at suppressing, Leliana waits a moment, pausing before responding. "I have an update regarding the progress of the party we sent out to investigate what happened near Craintellier."
Beyond that it would be cruel, to be so impatient with one who has been a friend for many years, even if more recent months has seen that strained. Never before have they had so many calamity happen one after the other, no space to breathe, no room to remember that even with their differences they have always stood side by side, that Justinia no doubt selected them for those very differences - that Leliana was part of the reason Cassandra had remained the Right Hand.
Instead of reacting, an urge she has gotten very good at suppressing, Leliana waits a moment, pausing before responding. "I have an update regarding the progress of the party we sent out to investigate what happened near Craintellier."
Leliana's patience serves to temper Cassandra's own frustration - or at least, not add to it. Faced with the Nightingale's calm demeanor, there's not much Cassandra can do in response but calm herself, waiting to hear the reason for Leliana's visit.
When it comes, she surges eagerly forward, hand tightening instinctively on the hilt of her practice sword. "An update?" It still galls her not to be leading that party herself, but perhaps, if it is good news - "What have you heard?"
When it comes, she surges eagerly forward, hand tightening instinctively on the hilt of her practice sword. "An update?" It still galls her not to be leading that party herself, but perhaps, if it is good news - "What have you heard?"
It has always been something Leliana admired about Cassandra - how very easy she was to read, how honestly she reacted. Something in that must be liberating, as much as it must be exhausting, as much as people could turn that openness against you. Leliana misses being able to be so open herself, sometimes. Whenever the others speak of the Blight, there is a painful pang in her chest at what she had to change to be the Nightingale, even if she is slowly trying to come back to grips with some of those pieces that she cut away and figure out if they can be pieced back together in some way.
"They have arrived. Unfortunately the requisitions officer who reported the missing party had shared as much as he could, but they have found indications that the party was taken, not slain." A pause, and then, more gently: "I saw to sending two wagons with some additional supplies. They will have to travel the Imperial Highway, so they cannot go so directly as the party on foot, but when our people are located there will be a means to ensure they have all they need." In case of injury, of damaged supplies, or not being in a fit state to walk.
"They have arrived. Unfortunately the requisitions officer who reported the missing party had shared as much as he could, but they have found indications that the party was taken, not slain." A pause, and then, more gently: "I saw to sending two wagons with some additional supplies. They will have to travel the Imperial Highway, so they cannot go so directly as the party on foot, but when our people are located there will be a means to ensure they have all they need." In case of injury, of damaged supplies, or not being in a fit state to walk.
Well, this is -
This ought to be interesting, at any rate. It's somewhat unpredictable in Skyhold as to who will bother to remember she's supposed to be treated with at least a modicum of respect, so Herian has already stepped above much of the crowd; still, it's with some skepticism that Gwenaëlle allows herself to be drawn out of what she's reading, sat out in the clear air of the battlements.
"Of course," she says, after only a slight pause. "You have the advantage of me, I'm sorry...?"
This ought to be interesting, at any rate. It's somewhat unpredictable in Skyhold as to who will bother to remember she's supposed to be treated with at least a modicum of respect, so Herian has already stepped above much of the crowd; still, it's with some skepticism that Gwenaëlle allows herself to be drawn out of what she's reading, sat out in the clear air of the battlements.
"Of course," she says, after only a slight pause. "You have the advantage of me, I'm sorry...?"
"Taken?"
And Leliana has already sent a second party. Even if Cassandra could have managed to wrangle her way out of her other duties, the wagons will be well on their way by now. No chance for her to join them and be, if not the one to find Martel and the others, at least there for him - for them - on the long journey back to Halamshiral.
Her expression twists again in frustration, and she jabs her practice sword angrily into the ground at her feet. "And you did not think to inform me before the party left?" she asks, upset and ungrateful. She's all but throwing a temper tantrum, and she knows it, but at this point she doesn't care. She's afraid, uncertain of what will happen next, and worst of all, helpless to do anything about any of it. "Why did the officer report only to you, and not to me? Am I to be stripped of all authority now? All news relayed to me as an afterthought, after the decisions are made?"
And Leliana has already sent a second party. Even if Cassandra could have managed to wrangle her way out of her other duties, the wagons will be well on their way by now. No chance for her to join them and be, if not the one to find Martel and the others, at least there for him - for them - on the long journey back to Halamshiral.
Her expression twists again in frustration, and she jabs her practice sword angrily into the ground at her feet. "And you did not think to inform me before the party left?" she asks, upset and ungrateful. She's all but throwing a temper tantrum, and she knows it, but at this point she doesn't care. She's afraid, uncertain of what will happen next, and worst of all, helpless to do anything about any of it. "Why did the officer report only to you, and not to me? Am I to be stripped of all authority now? All news relayed to me as an afterthought, after the decisions are made?"
Edited 2016-09-06 01:01 (UTC)
She awaits the pause in Cassandra's frustrated response, waiting to be certain she is quite finished before responding.
"I acted as I felt was appropriate, when you are so personally impacted by the matter and to ensure due haste. We already have a strong team dispatched to determine what had happened to our people and bring them back to us, it was a matter of sending supplies rather than personnel. Contacting you first would have been a needless delay on what may be urgently needed aid."
The tone is not unkind, for all the bluntness in her words.
"I acted as I felt was appropriate, when you are so personally impacted by the matter and to ensure due haste. We already have a strong team dispatched to determine what had happened to our people and bring them back to us, it was a matter of sending supplies rather than personnel. Contacting you first would have been a needless delay on what may be urgently needed aid."
The tone is not unkind, for all the bluntness in her words.
Avery isn't one to ask for favors.
When she has a problem, she takes care of it herself instead of relying on anyone else. Because relying on other people has never been a very reliable solution to much of anything in her experience. So it's the way she is, and it's the way she's likely to always be. But sometimes things just aren't that simple, and... well, through some sequence of events even she can't explain properly, Avery is now somehow in a position to just approach one of the most powerful people in the Inquisition (and therefor debatably all of Thedas?) with a request or two and at the very least have them be heard.
Still, that doesn't mean she isn't feeling super weird about it when she cautiously enters the rookery and looks around to see if Leliana is actually present.
When she has a problem, she takes care of it herself instead of relying on anyone else. Because relying on other people has never been a very reliable solution to much of anything in her experience. So it's the way she is, and it's the way she's likely to always be. But sometimes things just aren't that simple, and... well, through some sequence of events even she can't explain properly, Avery is now somehow in a position to just approach one of the most powerful people in the Inquisition (and therefor debatably all of Thedas?) with a request or two and at the very least have them be heard.
Still, that doesn't mean she isn't feeling super weird about it when she cautiously enters the rookery and looks around to see if Leliana is actually present.
Leliana, for her part, is doing an excellent job of lurking in the shadows. Not on purpose, mind, it just so happens that when Avery arrives she is in one of the more shadowy areas of the rookery. Even without intending it so, it makes her stepping from them rather dramatic, somehow seeming taller than she is. (And, in truth, she does intend it at least a little bit. She cannot be the Nightingale, be the legend that observes Thedas from her tower, if she does not have a certain flair.)
"Avery." Her voice sounds dangerous, even as it is neutrally friendly. "I did not expect you."
"Avery." Her voice sounds dangerous, even as it is neutrally friendly. "I did not expect you."
"Fucking w--"
Avery nearly jumps out of her skin, already pretty much convinced there's no one up here at all by the time Leliana makes her appearance, and it takes a few seconds for her to get herself back under control. If that had been nearly anybody else, there would have been SUCH a tirade in response.
Instead, there are only a couple of long breaths, followed by a nod and a clipped, "Yeah. Sorry about that, ma'am. I just had a few quick questions. Thought I'd see if you weren't too busy."
Avery nearly jumps out of her skin, already pretty much convinced there's no one up here at all by the time Leliana makes her appearance, and it takes a few seconds for her to get herself back under control. If that had been nearly anybody else, there would have been SUCH a tirade in response.
Instead, there are only a couple of long breaths, followed by a nod and a clipped, "Yeah. Sorry about that, ma'am. I just had a few quick questions. Thought I'd see if you weren't too busy."
Cassandra's jaw sets, but she doesn't interrupt. She does, however, start to pace as Leliana explains, back and forth in her worry and frustration.
"You acted - "
She stops pacing, and looks at Leliana with an expression that's more pleading, now, than angry. Surely even the Nightingale could not be so unsympathetic to her plight.
"And what if it were you, Leliana? If it were you waiting for word, not knowing the fate of someone you - cared for - "
Her voice cracks a little on the last words, and she stops, her expression going closed-off and sorrowful.
"I suppose I could not expect you to understand."
"You acted - "
She stops pacing, and looks at Leliana with an expression that's more pleading, now, than angry. Surely even the Nightingale could not be so unsympathetic to her plight.
"And what if it were you, Leliana? If it were you waiting for word, not knowing the fate of someone you - cared for - "
Her voice cracks a little on the last words, and she stops, her expression going closed-off and sorrowful.
"I suppose I could not expect you to understand."
"Knight-Enchanter Herian Amsel, of the White Spire." Technically it might be that she could introduce herself as Councillor, but that hardly seems appropriate when she is so freshly joined to the mage council. "I am only newly joined to the Inquisition. My teacher from the Spire, Councillor LeBlanc, mentioned you to me."
A friend of her younger brother, Adelaide had said. A friend to Adelaide's family, but Adelaide's family where nobility, Orlesian nobility, where Adelaide was a mage of the Circle. She was different, even if their blood ran the same, she was closer to something Herian understood, and removed from what it was to be noble.
Lady Vauquelin had no such redeeming qualities to be automatically granted her.
A friend of her younger brother, Adelaide had said. A friend to Adelaide's family, but Adelaide's family where nobility, Orlesian nobility, where Adelaide was a mage of the Circle. She was different, even if their blood ran the same, she was closer to something Herian understood, and removed from what it was to be noble.
Lady Vauquelin had no such redeeming qualities to be automatically granted her.
Several thoughts, all of which boil down to you speak presumptuously, Cassandra.
Not are appropriate for the moment, and her expression stays perfectly calm, despite the narrowing of her gaze.
"When I was poisoned," she starts, opting for a different tact, "I was able to rely upon the calm actions of my fellow Advisors directing a plan that lead to the demise of those that struck against me and," she continues, "my own recovery. When Zevran was taken, one who is as a brother to me and has been so since the Fifth Blight, I stayed here to help orchestrate his safe return and tighten our security here." No matter how she may care for Martel LeBlanc, he was a new addition to Cassandra's life, where Zevran had been her family for more than a decade. Crisply, "I acted promptly so that the person you care for, and that persons others within this Inquisition care for, might be returned to us as swiftly as possible."
Her tone remains very cool. "Do not dismiss my understanding so readily. You are a leader in this Inquisition; you do not have the luxury of acting so childishly."
Not are appropriate for the moment, and her expression stays perfectly calm, despite the narrowing of her gaze.
"When I was poisoned," she starts, opting for a different tact, "I was able to rely upon the calm actions of my fellow Advisors directing a plan that lead to the demise of those that struck against me and," she continues, "my own recovery. When Zevran was taken, one who is as a brother to me and has been so since the Fifth Blight, I stayed here to help orchestrate his safe return and tighten our security here." No matter how she may care for Martel LeBlanc, he was a new addition to Cassandra's life, where Zevran had been her family for more than a decade. Crisply, "I acted promptly so that the person you care for, and that persons others within this Inquisition care for, might be returned to us as swiftly as possible."
Her tone remains very cool. "Do not dismiss my understanding so readily. You are a leader in this Inquisition; you do not have the luxury of acting so childishly."
Ah, the joys of those not trained in the art of so many subtleties. Leliana just barely bothers to conceal the slight smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth. It was gratifying when people reacted so openly, really. It made pranks so much more satisfying.
"Not at all," she replies lightly, moving across the rookery to her desk, as if it did not bother her rather than it being a source of amusement. "How can I assist?"
"Not at all," she replies lightly, moving across the rookery to her desk, as if it did not bother her rather than it being a source of amusement. "How can I assist?"
Herian, much as the new might shock those who know her, is not terribly adept at making friends. There are few who think of her fondly, and fewer still who coax her to rare smiles. Not many extend acts of kindness to her, and those who she might think of honourable? Difficult to find.
She had no place on the mission to retrieve those who had gone missing, but it gnawed at her. Araceli had shown kindness to a perfect stranger, Cosima made laughter a less foreign concept than it had been. Both seemed to her noble spirits, concerned with the fate of this world even though it was not their own. She was glad to give Sabine her horse, and offer prayers and light candles and hope, but it did not ease the tension in her. Adelaide was family, of a strange and distant sort, and she too had disappeared into Orlais and Nevarra to seek out the missing members of the Inquisition.
Herian is not well suited to waiting, and training eats up her days even more than it would normally. When she does not train she finds other things to do, and that eventually leads her to inspecting her armour and sighing at the damage accumulated and the obvious faults in it from the clashes with Red Templars. She carries it in her hands as she knocks, and then pushes her way into the undercroft, studying the glow of the forge and the work of the man before it.
"Good day to you," she starts, feeling aware (not for the first time) that her armour is the most basic, that her sword is standard issue, and thankful that at least her staff is an impressive one as it hangs from her back.
She had no place on the mission to retrieve those who had gone missing, but it gnawed at her. Araceli had shown kindness to a perfect stranger, Cosima made laughter a less foreign concept than it had been. Both seemed to her noble spirits, concerned with the fate of this world even though it was not their own. She was glad to give Sabine her horse, and offer prayers and light candles and hope, but it did not ease the tension in her. Adelaide was family, of a strange and distant sort, and she too had disappeared into Orlais and Nevarra to seek out the missing members of the Inquisition.
Herian is not well suited to waiting, and training eats up her days even more than it would normally. When she does not train she finds other things to do, and that eventually leads her to inspecting her armour and sighing at the damage accumulated and the obvious faults in it from the clashes with Red Templars. She carries it in her hands as she knocks, and then pushes her way into the undercroft, studying the glow of the forge and the work of the man before it.
"Good day to you," she starts, feeling aware (not for the first time) that her armour is the most basic, that her sword is standard issue, and thankful that at least her staff is an impressive one as it hangs from her back.
( closed ) for Korrin — more gentle backdating to the end of August.
eviscerates
2016-09-06 10:57 am (UTC)(link)
The downside of her time in Halamshiral (aside from, you know, seeing all the devastating things, and the personal sense of pain and confusion, and all the other serious downsides) was that it had kept her from her brewing project. For some things that didn't matter so much, they needed the time anyway. For other stuff? For other stuff it certainly hadn't done harm, but just leaving it there wasn't very satisfactory.
Ruby's sitting on the floor in her little slide of cellar, candles lit to counter the complete lack of natural light, and going over some of the notes she made and making amendments as she hums a tune, quiet but upbeat, breaking the humming only rarely to change into words before slipping back into a hum.
On the plus side: nothing had exploded, things seemed to be progressing, and it meant that if anyone needed to find her then they pretty much knew where to look.
Ruby's sitting on the floor in her little slide of cellar, candles lit to counter the complete lack of natural light, and going over some of the notes she made and making amendments as she hums a tune, quiet but upbeat, breaking the humming only rarely to change into words before slipping back into a hum.
On the plus side: nothing had exploded, things seemed to be progressing, and it meant that if anyone needed to find her then they pretty much knew where to look.
It is good to be back at Skyhold. Her people are here, seemingly safe and contented, and this is where Adelaide and Sabine are based, and it allows her to better call on Lady Cosima and be certain she is well. She is not much familiar with Skyhold generally, but she is familiar with the hot spring. Perhaps moreso than familiarising herself with the home of two so dear to her heart, she was looking forward to sinking into the hot water and letting it ease her muscles.
Her hair is dusty from travel, muscles battered and strained from training and fighting and the journey, and Herian stretches her neck with a slow crackle as her robes slip from her shoulders. For all her time in the sun, Herian's skin remains stubbornly pale, and it makes the shadows cast by the scars across her skin stand out all the more markedly. Burns roll down her back and her ribs from her right shoulder, and countless seeming bursts of scar tissue mark her legs, testament to punctures and blossoming infections that made the healing all the messier. They are more than a mere constellation; it seemed as though an entire galaxy had been gouged into her skin.
They are not the only scars, but they are the most obvious; another tugs at the corner of her mouth when she smiles, and her arms and legs and torso carry rare slashes from enemy blades. Some of those are new, since last Sabine saw her like this.
Different from all of these are the marks she chose for herself, starting a little below her hips on either side of her spine and ascending her back, spanning her shoulders and stretching down the back of her arms to stop at her wrists, two lines of filigree and spider webs, an abstract pattern of leaves and flowers and lace done entirely in black lines. These are new as well, and her muscles shift and roll beneath then as she stretches upward to let her spine crackle before moving to the bath and finally lowering herself in, hissing a little with the pleasing heat.
And then her head falls back and she allows herself the faintest expression of irritation. "I forgot the soap."
Her hair is dusty from travel, muscles battered and strained from training and fighting and the journey, and Herian stretches her neck with a slow crackle as her robes slip from her shoulders. For all her time in the sun, Herian's skin remains stubbornly pale, and it makes the shadows cast by the scars across her skin stand out all the more markedly. Burns roll down her back and her ribs from her right shoulder, and countless seeming bursts of scar tissue mark her legs, testament to punctures and blossoming infections that made the healing all the messier. They are more than a mere constellation; it seemed as though an entire galaxy had been gouged into her skin.
They are not the only scars, but they are the most obvious; another tugs at the corner of her mouth when she smiles, and her arms and legs and torso carry rare slashes from enemy blades. Some of those are new, since last Sabine saw her like this.
Different from all of these are the marks she chose for herself, starting a little below her hips on either side of her spine and ascending her back, spanning her shoulders and stretching down the back of her arms to stop at her wrists, two lines of filigree and spider webs, an abstract pattern of leaves and flowers and lace done entirely in black lines. These are new as well, and her muscles shift and roll beneath then as she stretches upward to let her spine crackle before moving to the bath and finally lowering herself in, hissing a little with the pleasing heat.
And then her head falls back and she allows herself the faintest expression of irritation. "I forgot the soap."
Wow, rude. First, give the poor girl a near heart attack, and then barely keep from laughing about it?
At least the scare seems to have chased a little of Avery's nervousness away, along with those few hours of her life. "Um, well," she mumbles as she follows Leliana toward her desk, "you said a while back to come to you if I needed help. I mean, with the thief thing that this isn't really about, but I was hoping it still stood?"
For lack of anything better to do with them, she crosses her arms over her chest. "I'd like to take a little time off from the kitchens. Maybe go on one of the missions coming up, if I can? Not a long or hard one, mind you. Just something simple. I want to see a tree that's not in the garden before summer's proper over, yeah? Somebody sort of made me think earlier about how I haven't seen nothing but snowy mountains in months."
At least the scare seems to have chased a little of Avery's nervousness away, along with those few hours of her life. "Um, well," she mumbles as she follows Leliana toward her desk, "you said a while back to come to you if I needed help. I mean, with the thief thing that this isn't really about, but I was hoping it still stood?"
For lack of anything better to do with them, she crosses her arms over her chest. "I'd like to take a little time off from the kitchens. Maybe go on one of the missions coming up, if I can? Not a long or hard one, mind you. Just something simple. I want to see a tree that's not in the garden before summer's proper over, yeah? Somebody sort of made me think earlier about how I haven't seen nothing but snowy mountains in months."
Gwenaëlle waits for a moment or so. When it becomes apparent that Herian is not continuing, she carefully does not sigh, though it's hard to miss that she might've. Most things about her are difficult to miss, upon examination; she is not some opaque thing made for the Game. Nor is she particularly suited to the kind of pussy-footing around subjects for hours as Orlesian noblewomen are so known for--
"You are currently eating into the amount of time I've agreed to be troubled for," she says, very politely, "if you were at all inclined to get to the point in the near future."
Not hostile, just - perhaps inappropriately frank. Herian wanted to talk to her. The onus is on her to have something to talk about.
"I presume it wasn't just that we have mutual acquaintances." Since she seems so thrilled by Gwenaëlle's existence, yes. (And - plural. Sometimes it's nice to pretend for her father that his brother might live. She doesn't think he'd be terribly grateful to her if he knew, but sometimes, she pretends.)
"You are currently eating into the amount of time I've agreed to be troubled for," she says, very politely, "if you were at all inclined to get to the point in the near future."
Not hostile, just - perhaps inappropriately frank. Herian wanted to talk to her. The onus is on her to have something to talk about.
"I presume it wasn't just that we have mutual acquaintances." Since she seems so thrilled by Gwenaëlle's existence, yes. (And - plural. Sometimes it's nice to pretend for her father that his brother might live. She doesn't think he'd be terribly grateful to her if he knew, but sometimes, she pretends.)
Nobles, she has learned, are one least likely to display any of the traits that should make them as refined as they claim to be, with all their talk of great minds and characters. Patience, graciousness, politeness - it seemed strange to her that the knighthood and chevaliers should be so much celebrated by nobles, so valued, and yet the values no exhibited even in those sworn to those titles.
"You presume rightly," she replies, and there is no heat or bite in it, just that eternal calm, unflinching. "I wanted to speak with you regarding your most recent editorial. Your comments regarding the Dalish were troubling to me."
"You presume rightly," she replies, and there is no heat or bite in it, just that eternal calm, unflinching. "I wanted to speak with you regarding your most recent editorial. Your comments regarding the Dalish were troubling to me."
The misunderstanding is immediate; Gwenaëlle doesn't roll her eyes, but her lips press together and she frowns, irritated. "I was more than generous," she says, curtly, "and I cannot be expected to speak any more kindly on the subject than I have already been obliged to. What they do with such grace is hardly anything I can now control."
Nor, from her tone, does she expect it to be 'anything good or with particular gratitude'.
In fairness, sharpish thing that she is, Gwenaëlle has no particular love of chevaliers to make her a hypocrite. She is precisely what she is, and increasingly unwilling to try to force herself into any other form - it's never worked, and she's tired of it. Tired of this project she took on, too, and how little of it ends up being her truth, but -
It is still valuable, and it's still her hand on the tiller, and one day it will matter. Probably.
Nor, from her tone, does she expect it to be 'anything good or with particular gratitude'.
In fairness, sharpish thing that she is, Gwenaëlle has no particular love of chevaliers to make her a hypocrite. She is precisely what she is, and increasingly unwilling to try to force herself into any other form - it's never worked, and she's tired of it. Tired of this project she took on, too, and how little of it ends up being her truth, but -
It is still valuable, and it's still her hand on the tiller, and one day it will matter. Probably.
Edited 2016-09-06 22:00 (UTC)
Listen, okay, she has to take her kicks when she can. Don't worry, the gray hairs will hardly show.
"Of course. Have more preserves gone amiss?"
But it isn't about that, and she suspects that to be the case - the very faint suggestion of a smile might give that away, though her eyebrow hitches with faint surprise. Her pause in responding is habit, the way of studying people rather than any kind of reservation, and she nods after only a moment. "That can be arranged easily enough. We've received word of a pair of rift in Orlais that will need to be closed sooner, rather than later. If you've no objection to joining on such a mission, it will will also give you a chance to see Cumberland."
A beautiful city, a thriving centre of commerce— "Granted, I would not think of that as the place for finding trees, but it would be quite a change of pace from Skyhold."
"Of course. Have more preserves gone amiss?"
But it isn't about that, and she suspects that to be the case - the very faint suggestion of a smile might give that away, though her eyebrow hitches with faint surprise. Her pause in responding is habit, the way of studying people rather than any kind of reservation, and she nods after only a moment. "That can be arranged easily enough. We've received word of a pair of rift in Orlais that will need to be closed sooner, rather than later. If you've no objection to joining on such a mission, it will will also give you a chance to see Cumberland."
A beautiful city, a thriving centre of commerce— "Granted, I would not think of that as the place for finding trees, but it would be quite a change of pace from Skyhold."
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