Fear is a cage. Fear is a cage which poses a question of two parts: whose stupidity is greater, those who built the cage in the first place or those who allow themselves to be put in it. What things have been done because fear has whispered. I am afraid of the invaders at the border, a general might say as he rallies an army, as those on the other side interpret it aggression, so it feeds itself. Ravenous as hunger has any right to be. If I had to pay all those elves a fair wage, if I had to treat them as a person, the Orlesian noble might think going over the accounts before refusing to pay for services rendered. Rage burns hot and bright, the hollow spaces of hunger. People who do not understand anything because they fear it. History repeats itself. Pity the Chantry is so slow on the uptake.
"Fierce? Is that how the tale of Flemeth sounds these days?" Fierce is-- To a Circle mage perhaps but fierce implies something with less awareness or believing itself to have more valour; Flemeth possesses too much of the former, and any accusing her of carrying about the latter are those casting themselves into the maw of the dragon as it inhales to bathe them in flame. "Neither were any of you born to ewes or rams. What a mage does is what no other does. Revel in what you can do. Do not let them take that from you; how much of these schools of magic do you think come from the Chantry, from those who have never cast a spell in their life. How much do you understand of what is you?" Posing more questions than answers might not seem fair to others but this is how Morrigan speaks more often than not, tips her head to the side, prods and pokes until she finds something. This isn't talking to Anders where it's all combat. Or the others, older, set in their ways. "Ah, the wicked men of Tevinter - if you believe all the drivel the Chantry teaches then why stand here now? Tevinter was what it was. Is what it is now. Do you believe every teaching they have every told of the world? The elves were older. If magic runs through your veins, through whole lineages...is not all magic blood magic?"
How very scandalous an idea and yet--
And yet how little is it understood. Is the fear of a mage in a line passed in whispers. To be cut out root and stem. To bring in less magic not more for those who do not value it. All of it depends on where one sits.
(There are places where the boundaries of things are less than they should be. One need not disturb the Veil to go seek them out. Libraries, Morrigan's found, have ever been such liminal spaces where something always seems just that slight touch off.) "Maleficar. Arcane advisor. Scornful sorceress. Apostate. Name me witch but that might've frightened all of them too much." Name a thing what it is, you admit that it's real. The lad hasn't run though, she has to commend him for that so it's a careful touch on the arm, to tap the table, a quiet murmur of sit. (She has a son, he likes to go exploring Kirkwall when she's here proper.) "There are mindless creatures in the world enough without turning to blood magic, those without wit or sense, or those who chose not to think." There are other sorts of abominations that walk around as humans, elves, dwarves, grey folk all of their days, no one batting an eye.
She laughs, louder, pleased. "I did not do as Vivienne did. I never sought to play their games, court favours. No masks, no pale gowns. I am myself entirely. 'Tis a valuable thing." A rare thing. A thing almost stolen.
no subject
"Fierce? Is that how the tale of Flemeth sounds these days?" Fierce is-- To a Circle mage perhaps but fierce implies something with less awareness or believing itself to have more valour; Flemeth possesses too much of the former, and any accusing her of carrying about the latter are those casting themselves into the maw of the dragon as it inhales to bathe them in flame. "Neither were any of you born to ewes or rams. What a mage does is what no other does. Revel in what you can do. Do not let them take that from you; how much of these schools of magic do you think come from the Chantry, from those who have never cast a spell in their life. How much do you understand of what is you?" Posing more questions than answers might not seem fair to others but this is how Morrigan speaks more often than not, tips her head to the side, prods and pokes until she finds something. This isn't talking to Anders where it's all combat. Or the others, older, set in their ways. "Ah, the wicked men of Tevinter - if you believe all the drivel the Chantry teaches then why stand here now? Tevinter was what it was. Is what it is now. Do you believe every teaching they have every told of the world? The elves were older. If magic runs through your veins, through whole lineages...is not all magic blood magic?"
How very scandalous an idea and yet--
And yet how little is it understood. Is the fear of a mage in a line passed in whispers. To be cut out root and stem. To bring in less magic not more for those who do not value it. All of it depends on where one sits.
(There are places where the boundaries of things are less than they should be. One need not disturb the Veil to go seek them out. Libraries, Morrigan's found, have ever been such liminal spaces where something always seems just that slight touch off.) "Maleficar. Arcane advisor. Scornful sorceress. Apostate. Name me witch but that might've frightened all of them too much." Name a thing what it is, you admit that it's real. The lad hasn't run though, she has to commend him for that so it's a careful touch on the arm, to tap the table, a quiet murmur of sit. (She has a son, he likes to go exploring Kirkwall when she's here proper.) "There are mindless creatures in the world enough without turning to blood magic, those without wit or sense, or those who chose not to think." There are other sorts of abominations that walk around as humans, elves, dwarves, grey folk all of their days, no one batting an eye.
She laughs, louder, pleased. "I did not do as Vivienne did. I never sought to play their games, court favours. No masks, no pale gowns. I am myself entirely. 'Tis a valuable thing." A rare thing. A thing almost stolen.