faderift | [Semi-Open (Elves)] bad news on the television

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[Semi-Open (Elves)] bad news on the television

WHO: Nari, Fern, Sorrel, and whoever else has pointy elf ears (sorry Qunari/Vashoth frens) and wants to get something rude off their chest
WHAT: A good old-fashioned yellfest about the Chantry Forest fire
WHEN: Backdated to mid-Guardian, a day or so after the Quarantine lift
WHERE: Gallows kitchen storage cellar
NOTES: CW: Dalish being Very Dalish, human bashing, mentions of character death. Salt is a way of life down here.

The cellar is cramped, but the walls are thick, the hustle and bustle of the kitchens is loud enough to further dampen the sound of incredulous and irate voices, and there are plenty of places to perch. Nahariel is sitting on one such stack of crates looking like a stormcloud, although every so often she jumps down to pace back and forth like a caged cougar, absently picking at the scar on her thumb. Her head snaps up when you come down the stairs, her lips pressed tight like they're trying to keep her helpless rage compressed inside her.

They fail.

"How could they?" she blurts out violently, as if every human in Kirkwall had held a torch and lit the underbrush on purpose.

[Let's just do this all in one thread for maximum hubbub :D just try to be aware if anyone's getting left behind]

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"Listen, I'm not going to stop anyone from doing anything to anyone who's too careless to live, since it's none of my business what any of you do in your own time," Sorrel tells them, practical about practical things, and a little bit savage, "But-- Beleth's right."

He would say this much even if he disagreed with every word she had said.

"Keeper's magic is made to protect The People, passed down all the way since before even the founding of the Dales. Both of you have a right to learn it, if you're willing, and if," He gives both Fern and Myr a sharp, serious stare, "If, you can protect that knowledge the way a Dalish Keeper would. It's not for all the world to know, and it's not for the humans-- the truth, is what gets written down and remembered, not what actually is. Both of you ought to know by now what happens to truths about magic, when they're in human hands."

He lets that sit for a while, then gently pats Beleth's shoulder to get her to let him up, and stands. That's that, the gesture seems to say, a confidence in unquestionable reality.

"So of course I'll teach you what I know. But I want to write Pel and see what she thinks. Bel, if you and Adasse would talk to Saoirse and work together to bring the Alienage's hahren around to the idea, and it might help to hear it from their own first, but if you want me, I'll help. This is settled for now; can we all agree?"

"There will not be any need to send others to speak with me," says one heavily Starkhaven accented voice. Speaking of appearing from the shadows, Saoirse was not the sort that appeared to have been nurtured on the path of a bard but she has never denied the usefulness of shadows nor her own skills. "I have heard your words."

Whether she agrees with what has been said is unreadable on her features as the mage looks over the gathered group of elves.

"I will come with you and speak with the hahren if this is what you request of me but one thing must be made clear." Her tone, although soft, carries a stern nature that is a noted rarity to those that know her. "You will be truthful in your words and your actions to her... all of them. If you seek to help those in the alienage and protect its future there will no secrets, no maneuvering behind their backs. These are people who have been through so very much, trapped in an existence where the smallest of wrongs are pinned on them and lived such a bleak existence that some believed the Qun to be a better life. The vhenadahl, in turn, is a source of hope for those that remain that there is still good to be had."

Quietly, she fiddles with the locket hanging around her neck. "I cannot say she will agree so willing at first as it is something so important as the vhenadahl but she is understanding and willing to listen. After all even in the chaos that was Kirkwall when the Circle fell, they hid me and helped me to escape from the massacre in the streets. Perhaps a demonstration? It might also be good for her to meet and speak with those you plan to teach this magic and their teacher as well."

Edited 2018-03-09 03:34 (UTC)

Myr's tempted sore to argue--to lay out the heartsick reasoning of months that had led him to defend the Kirkwallers' right to make of Sina's forest what they had--but he knows better than to start. It's not the time or place; mourning the loss of the forest is mourning Sina's death anew. (He wants desperately to hope the anger, the threats might be put to the foolishness of grief, but there's no refuge for him in that kind of naïveté any longer. The world is large and cruel; an elf must perforce grow fangs and claws or be crushed beneath it.)

Besides, if he's going to be contrary, better to be contrary defending a concrete goal--like the sovereignty of the alienage-- Though here is Saoirse saying all he'd say on the matter, and more besides. Myr wisely keeps his mouth shut until she's made an end of speaking. "It's a wise idea," he says quietly, once she has. "I'll be glad, for my part, to meet with her."

A beat of a pause--then, to Sorrel: "And 'no secrets' means you tell her if there's any risk to the vhenadahl from this." Magic that could encourage a graft to take he can believe--can even start to think of how such a spell might work--but magic has it limits.

Saoirse appearing at the mention of her name, like Fen'Harel out of the stories, spooks Beleth enough to jolt--then quickly think back on anything she'd just said about the other woman, and make sure none of it had been rude. But no, she had been clear that she would ask, not demand. But then Saoirse begins speaking, and Beleth frowns. A frown that only deepens when Myr continues after her. Before even acknowledging Saoirse, Beleth takes a moment to glance at Sorrel, whom she knows well enough to feel secure that he is having similar thoughts, and then to Nari's face, angry and hurting.

Still turned to Nari and Sorrel, Beleth mutters a few words of Elvish, "They assume much," and ponders if this hadn't, perhaps, been a matter that should have been dealt with within the People--and Fern--before reaching out to the others. At the least, she would not have had to sit through people reminding her not to be a lying, manipulative asshole.

"Do you truly fear that any of us are at risk of these abhorrent behaviors?" She turns to Saoirse first, for whom she could give a little slack, for it's not like she exactly knows Beleth, or any of the Dalish gathered. And she wouldn't be the first to assume the worst of them. Then to Myr, whose words aren't as biting, but hurt worse, somehow. "That we would lie to the hahren, or willingly risk the vhenadahl?"

And, because it apparently needs to be said, Beleth straightens, expression distantly polite. "I can assure both you, as I will assure the hahren and any others who require it, that we are doing this to honor the memory of our fallen sister, and to help those who would benefit from it. We have no ulterior motives, no desire to do anything that would hurt the alienage, and we will be as open in the process as we can." Then a pause, and she presses her lips into a thin line. "As long as our requests are met, as well."

There are, surely, better times and places for Solas to meet and speak with people, and as he wanders into the storage cellar he realises that he may have made something of a mistake; this is not the best way to meet others, especially those that have the mark of being a little too Dalish for his comfort. He also realises that he's somehow stepped into something that has his age-old frustrations are rearing up against, and he has to take a step back, to pause and listen as they begin to talk and discuss around him.

It doesn't take too long, at least, for him to figure out what it was that has caused this meeting to occur, what it is that has upset and frustrated all the gathered elves - but when he hears speak of the People something inside of him aches, leaving him with a tightly clamped jaw and an uncertainty about him. Stepping forward would draw attention to himself, but he cannot ignore the pull of a discussion that, perhaps, he may be able to weigh in on.

"While I am not sure of my welcome," he begins it kindly enough. "If there is any advice I can offer then I am here to give it." All he had wanted was a drink of something before he slipped away to read and join the Fade and dreams. He steps from one foot to another, uncertain and uncomfortable, but he walks forward. Whatever his opinions of the Dalish, at least, he is managing to keep them to himself for now.

There is something transpiring in this increasingly heated discussion that Fern doesn't quite follow, a tension in the air that reminds her of old warnings her mother had given to her about the Dalish ages ago. She hadn't fully understood them then, but the tension does throw something into sharp relief: they're all elves here, but the divisions between them might yawn as deep as those that separate elves from humans.

She's quiet, frowning privately to herself as the verbal sparring continues amongst the others, until the strange elf she'd glimpsed only the the one time while wandering the Gallows at night makes his appearance. (She'd thought to call him hahren, at the time.)

Now she glances to Beleth, to get her read on things, but is otherwise quiet.

Sorrel, who turned with no lack of sympathy to Saoirse when she spoke-- and then to Myr, mirroring Beleth, finds that rising annoyance cut off at the knees.

"You're Solas, aren't you?" Not quite famous, but known. An early volunteer, Sina had told him. She'd told him one thing more that made Sorrel put his eyebrows together, made him wary, "What advice do you have to offer?"

"Let us not play a game of assumptions, Scoutmaster. We are here as cousins but I do truly hope that we might be the ties to bind our families together but my words are an unfortunate truth and the hahren will be much harsher than I."

She sighs quietly, more tiredly than out of any displeased emotion. "Many gifts, even those in the best of interests and from the kindest of hearts, can be always be seen as something more from the city as a whole. And any could be seen as the needed excuse to tear down the vhenadahl or worse: burn another alienage to the ground, to run them from this city and their home. That is why we need these candid truths even concerning the smallest of gifts."

She swallows hard, bowing her head and only peeking again as Solas arrives on the scene. He is not someone that she has seen before and cannot help looking to him curiously.

Edited 2018-03-09 20:23 (UTC)

There are, he thinks, a thousand and one things he could say that might be clearly offered advice; it's not as though he has done anything to hide or disengage with his opinions about the Dalish and their intentions in Thedas. He has memories and information that he would gladly tell them all - but experience has taught him that few are willing to listen, and those that hold fast to myth and legend that have shaped their lives. The experience is not their fault, of course, but the choice not to try and question those myths and learn more about their true history has him on edge.

"I have yet to hear all the suggestions and ideas," it's easy enough to admit: it's not as though he's been standing by the door listening to their every word. "Caution would be most beneficial, whatever it is that you choose to do. Your people stand in the midst of a world that frowns upon them and leaves them distrusted and shunned, no matter what aid they have been to the Inquisition proper. It would help the cause to have some of you punished for something that is misinterpreted or misjudged."

That, at least, he has experience in: an older apostate elf with no vallaslin and no ties? He's had his fair share.

It isn't until Beleth replies that Myr realizes how his warning must have sounded--how his own frustration and grief and guilt colored his words in a way he'd not intended. "Not willingly," quietly, quietly. "I'd never doubt you mean only well for them, but all magic's got risks. And I'd not see another gift turn bitter from the haste it's given in."

As Saoirse says--and as Solas says, now that he's joined the conversation. Myr turns his face in the elder apostate's direction--old habit, not yet dead--and falls silent, swallowing back the resurgence of unease in his heart.

Nari has taken up her perch on a short stack of crates near Fern again, content to watch and listen intently. The topic has taken a long journey from where it'd begun, and far more of her people than she'd anticipated had come, but it was good. Fits and starts of conflict notwithstanding, the Inquisition's elves had never really met together like this before. It was... good.

Saoirse's words do little to soothe Beleth's agitated nerves. "Yes, I would prefer not to play a game of assumptions," Is all she says to Saoirse. Cousins don't, generally, accuse each other of being manipulative liars, she doesn't add on, and you generally assume someone with the best of intentions wouldn't do something like that. It's not the kind of thing you accidentally commit.

Unfortunate truth, indeed.

Luckily for the sake of the topic, Myr manages to respond in terms that are easier to swallow, and soothes her irritation far more. Her shoulders relax slightly, and she turns to the newcomer. Another city elf--not surprising, the only Dalish still in the Gallows that aren't present are far more concerned in bedding humans than aiding elves. Solas is, however, experienced in both magic and elven lore in ways that Beleth has rarely encountered. The perks of being a somniari, she supposes.

"You're welcome here, you are just as affected by the prejudices against elves as the rest of us." She thinks for a moment, then continues. "The discussion was focusing on the idea of restoring a little of what Sina had attempted to do. I believe we'd settled on the idea of using Keeper magic to graft fruit to the vhenadahl, so that it might provide for the alienage." A pause, and pointedly: "If we have the hahren's permission, and don't attempt to cause whatever horrible mischief we can to it and the residents."

Moving on. "...Have you had any experience with that kind of magic? It sounds possible in theory, but in application?" A shrug.

"There's not much to assume, honestly." Adasse piped up, from where he had let himself fade into the background, to listen to the others. Now his voice was pitched just right to carry across the room, as he leaned against the wall. He glanced over at Solas curiously -- he'd heard of the man after all -- and then over to Saoirse. Then back over to Beleth.

"The hahren's going to give a version of 'oh, that will be lovely, we don't really need it because we aren't starving or downtrodden, but fresh fruit during the winter will be a treat.'" A shrug of his broad shoulders, "I think it's going to be less about lying, and more about letting her know it's not charity. Just a sign of good will, all that. Nothing to see here."

A quick mutter, under his breath, "After all we're the Kirkwall alienage and we don't need any help, blah blah blah ..."

There are many here, Solas thinks to himself, that believe he is a part of their people. He is clearly not Dalish, with no vallaslin to colour the paleness of his face, but he does not yet fit in with the elves from the cities, either. He's a step away from them all but welcomed all the same, and it seems foolish to take advantage of the chance to learn as much as he can, to try and see if there is anyone with the wisdom to be a worthwhile ally to make.

He's heard the insults; he has been called knife ear and flat ear both, pushed away for not being Dalish enough and yet being too elven to fit in. Solas has a place here and he's loathe to risk it or do something that might encourage him to lose it.

"Magic is magic. Dalish magic is far more practical, yes, and more subtle." Using a Keeper's magic to try and restore something that was lost is not a terrible idea; the magic that the Dalish use is a memory of what the elves of Arlathan had used in their time, when they walked as the most powerful figures across Thedas. "I am no expert on the magic used in the Clans, but it is capable of being done with subtlety. I would suggest honesty as the best course: you seek to honour a friend. To say that, rather than focus on the gift of food for an alienage, will be more likely to inspire good will from your people."

Practically, the magic of the Dales is not something Solas has much knowledge about. The best he can offer is the gentle urging for caution, for consideration of the use of words, and at least some suggestion that the Dalish have something to credit themselves with.

"Why can't we want both, to honor the dead and look after the living?" Sorrel's voice is low, but it carries; he's sitting again. Solas' compliment for Dalish magic has bought him a handful of goodwill, "That's what we ought to tell the Hahren."

He cocks his head, gently sour, a definite shrug. For the moment, it's as if he doesn't care, as if having thought of the idea, and put it forth, and supported it, he cannot be seen to want it, for fear of... Something. He looks from Solas to the rest of them, settling last on Saoirse, for whom the anxieties of the Alienage seem loudest and most urgent.

"Well, if we're being honest, after all."

From her perch, Nahariel is unable to see the most recent arrival, but his even tone and delivery marks him the elf she'd met briefly in the library with the table in front of her covered in the few books and Elven Artifact research notes they had that mentioned any layouts or small scraps of information on the construction on the ruins that the Inquisition had visited. She'd filed away his interest in the subject and had meant to find him again to speak on it but hadn't done so.

His suggestion to approach it as an honor to Sina was what she wanted to do more than the rest, although it felt selfish to say so when the living had such needs.

"Ask, I think, rather than tell," Nari says just loudly enough to be heard, "It may benefit the alienage greatly in the long run, but the Vhenadahl is theirs, and that land--such that it is--is theirs as well. Respecting that little sovereignty is a gift in itself. Having a chance to give to us rather than just accept..." she trails off then, certain that the distinction was important, but not at all certain where she'd intended to go with that train of thought.

Edited 2018-03-11 19:44 (UTC)

He’d ventured down to the kitchen to see if some late dinner could be acquired and had heard whisperings coming from the pantry. Pointed ears were good for nothing if not overhearing. The door had not been locked, the stairs unguarded—

And what should he stumble upon, other than a conspiracy of elves, plotting in low tones but with emphatic gestures.

“I take it,” he says, paused on the stairs and not quite descending all the way, noting all the familiar faces. “—that this is something for which I ought to have deniability?”

Having grown relatively quiet throughout the rest of the discussion, Fern's expression adopts a quality that could closely be described as 'oh shit' when Thranduil appears. She carefully edges behind Nari.

(shit guys that's her boss)

Beleth has plenty of thoughts on the discussion, but as soon as Thranduil appears, finds herself unwilling to voice any of them. Here is one of her fellow leaders, not condemning, but being responsible. Wanting to make sure that he's not actively involved in the elf plotting.

And here she is, actively involved in the elf plotting.

"We aren't discussing anything illegal." She offers, head tilting to the side, eyes turned away. "Not even anything immoral, really." But now she's wondering if she shouldn't go join him. These are her people, and she's interested in the discussion about helping them. But--she can't just be an elf, anymore.

"Maybe...I should go." They'll probably be fine. Maybe there will be less accusations thrown around about manipulation and lying without her. And maybe it'll be easier to try to have a private discussion with Nari and Sorrel, afterwards.

"We were speaking of memorial for Sina, messere," Myr puts in. It's truthful and deniable at once--a Circle mage specialty. "One that's less contentious to the people of Kirkwall. I think First Sorrel's hit on something suitable, though we've not all the details settled quite yet."

He lapses silent, expression briefly pensive. "Beleth--I'd speak with you, if I might." Later might be better, but--he's questions he'd rather settle now.

He waves them off, still several stairs from the bottom. "No need. I will see myself out. I would be loathe to disturb you and break your trains of thought."

It isn't quite a direct endorsement.

He turns on his heel and returns the way he came, closing the door silently. It is yet another thing to consider. There were a great number of rabbits in that particular warren, all with very memorable faces.

Thranduil's parting only intensifies the guilty look Beleth is now sporting, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Or caught plotting an elven conspiracy. As you do. He doesn't seem to disapprove, and she trusts that he won't take the news to anyone who would create issues in regard to it. But for her, specifically, it seems to be a cue that this is not the place that she should be.

Nerves already on edge, Beleth can't help but stiffen when Myr speaks to her. It could be nothing, but that voice in the back of her head assures her that it is definitely not nothing, that it's going to be something unpleasant, him picking and poking at her about some flaw.

As tempting as it is to try to avoid whatever criticism she's accrued, Myr probably deserves to tell her off for it. Whatever it is. "Do you want to speak right now, or privately? Either way--I'm listening."

The question gives Myr a moment of pause. There's nothing he has to say he wouldn't around other ears--but openly questioning someone higher in the hierarchy still cuts far enough against the grain he's not ready to do it, for all he's finding so many of his other lines not so hard to cross of late. "Privately," he replies at length, "and after this, if there's anything left to resolve."

(Set Thranduil's indirect endorsement aside. Remember he didn't--couldn't--have heard all of what was being discussed, beginning to end.)

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[Semi-Open (Elves)] bad news on the television

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