OPEN

[madame_de_fer]

WHO: Vivienne and YOU
WHAT: Madame de Fer is returned to the Inquisition and open to deliver opinions. About everything.
WHEN: End of Firstfall through the beginning of Haring. about a week
WHERE: Around Skyhold
NOTES: Vivienne is her own warning.

It's been a few weeks since Vivienne was last present with the main body of the Inquisition. There had been a matter of great importance to attend to in Val Royeaux. Alas, much as she'd quite prefer to stay by Bastien's side, especially now, she knows far too well that this is the place she needs to be. The Inquisition has the potential to shake Thedas to its very foundations and she is determined to be present when that dust settles. The loss of the Herald is a grave blow to the fledgling organization, but that merely spurs her on all the more determined to see this through to the bitter end. There will be time enough later for personal grief.

It doesn't take her long at all to lay claim to the balcony overlooking the main hall of the fortress. In short order, she's got herself a quaint sitting room set up with the best views available. There's quite a pile of books she's brought with her as well. Anyone who's curious or just observant will notice that when she's by herself, she seems quite engrossed in some manner of research, reading intently or taking notes. Those with the knowledge or true skills of perception will note that the books seem an esoteric collection of magical theory and alchemical discourses. Even while busy with this pet project of hers, she remains poised like a queen seated in state to permit a miniature court to be held with herself presiding. Naturally.

She does have other business to attend to. The leadership of the Inquisition must be made to see the importance of how the group presents itself. Certainly the quartermaster is doing his best to see everyone outfitted, but there's still new recruits who are little better than scruffy ragamuffins milling about. There is a need for funds to keep everyone fed and armed, and for that they must at least look like a respectable group, not like a gang of alienage starvlings looking for a handout. Yes, if one espies the Iron Lady marching across the fortress with a determined glint in her eye, it's to seek out those who matter and are in a position to correct this terrible atrocity of poor style.

Not everything is all lazy reading and fashion organization. Despite choosing fine silks with gems as her attire (finished off with creative hats) at all times, Vivienne doesn't neglect the very necessary attention needed to practice her Knight-Enchanter skills. There's no mistaking her for a mage, as she lobs ice at her chosen training dummy out in the courtyard. The surprising behavior is her sudden calling up a sword out of thin air, taking a melee-range method of attack mingled in with the magic. And yet somehow, despite this very real exertion, Vivienne somehow manages not to break a sweat. Maybe that's the chill of being high in the mountains, however.

Comments

[madame_de_fer]

That delicious compliment about her bearing was not lost on Vivienne and only a practiced self-control stopped her from basking openly in it. To be fair, the Iron Lady spent innumerable hours cultivating just such an image of herself, both in carriage, intimation, and in truth. It wasn't being the mistress of a Duke that gave her power, it was just one opening that she skillfully used to catapult herself to the places she wished to be.

"There's no need to apologize, my dear. I'm quite delighted to have a guest who can appreciate artistry when they see it." That was no idle compliment in turn. So few who came to the Inquisition had the knowledge or the interest to appreciate fine things. All of them had a purpose, naturally, but the general rabble was of small interest to her. This elf, if she truly was an elf, piqued Vivienne in the most intriguing ways. Anyone who could hold herself as she did, to appreciate fine woodworking for the beauty it held? Absolutely worth knowing.

The faint green crack on the woman's hand confirmed the nuance of the question issued. Someone from out of the Fade, from other lands. Vivienne casually motioned to a chair in invitation to sit while providing an answer.

"I am a native of Thedas, born in Wycome of the Free Marches, though I was reared at the Circle of Magi in Montsimmard." She'd gone to the Circle so young she couldn't remember her parents, and her duration at Ostwick so short she would never call it home. "What of yourself? Lands beyond the Fade seem to number beyond reckoning."

[laurenande]

Galadriel took the invitation as it was offered and, with delicate grace, settled into the chair she had been caught up admiring. It was, perhaps, rather telling that she didn't pause to adjust her gown nor take stock of her position, relative to the chair, before she seated herself. She might've considered it, as she considered all of her actions when she dealt in diplomacy and guile, but the conversation at hand was so much more interesting and imminent than thoughts of action and ease.

Vivienne's answers were surprising in that Vivienne, herself, was surprising. Her origin, in this world, was not entirely unexpected, but just strange enough to be worthy of note. Galadriel recognized very few of the names the human provided but, given the circumstances, she did not suppose that she was expected to know any of them. Curiously, however, Vivienne had confirmed a trend that Galadriel had begun to notice--names with a certain slanting to them, a florid quality to the sounds, were held in higher regard. She had not thought, until hearing this human speak, that the regard might be linked to station, but it seemed to be intrinsic to them.

It was an interesting revelation, albeit a minor one.

"Indeed they do," Galadriel agreed. "I have met none who hail from lands I know, but that is not so strange a thing."

"Until quite recently, I hailed from the golden wood of Lothlórien, heart of Elvendom in the East. Unfortunately, even in Arda, my lands are more myth than otherwise; precious few maps remain that still mark the wood or the city."

Galadriel spared the thought a moment of earnest silence--it wasn't quite dismay, but a near cousin of it. The pang of emotion passed as quickly as the moment and she inclined her head to the human.

"I am called Galadriel, Lady of Lórien and only daughter of the House of Finarfin."