You wandered through the willows

[arcaneadvisor]

WHO: Morrigan, Herian Amsel
WHAT: Catching up after a fun time in a forest of hands and teeth
WHEN: Oh at some point in Bloomingtide
WHERE: Gallows
NOTES: Reference to violence and human sacrifice back in the Tirashan murder forest

Perhaps Morrigan should have sought Herian out sooner after they'd returned to Kirkwall upon returning from the Tirashan but she'd had her work to do with that name to research (so little, so vanishingly little), the trip to the Sunless Lands. Relocating Kieran as well after Gwenaëlle's news had taken time to do as well, settling a boy and all the things a boy gathers in the longest settled time of his life from Hightown out to Sundermount where he stays now outside his lessons.

By the time she had asked after Herian by the Chantry Relations office, the reply had been some mission, that she was away, my lady, shall I give word you asked for her. And Morrigan had said no, better to wait. Now she knows she's here, has heard her on the sending crystals and raps sharply upon the door before stepping inside because waiting to be called is for other people who aren't Morrigan.

"Knight-Enchanter, if you have the time to spare." In a time that very much implied that the time had better be spared for her. "We had no chance to speak after you accompanied me to the Tirashan, I wish to put that right."

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[arcaneadvisor]

Wren had been the one to recommend Herian, in a different context yet there it had sat in a letter of something so very sensitive. Now as she looks more closely, she wonders…

"The Tirashan was and was not what I expected. I was recommended your skill and integrity, I knew I would be in need of both but what can prepare for that?"

Morrigan was involved in the Fifth Blight, that's no secret but the horrors of a Blight are an exception in and of itself.

"You did well with Myrobalan, I cannot imagine 'twas easy. None of it was." An admission, quiet but Morrigan doesn't have the air of triumph one might expect from coming across a rare find such as they did.

[dashing]

Her gaze drops, subtly shifting so she can and she clears her throat. "Duty must be done. Honour would demand that duty be upheld, even as it demands that those rendered vulnerable be protected. There was— we had not arrived in time to save those who suffered. To sacrifice duty to a lost cause would be— an insult to those who died and to the Inquisition's cause."

Returning her gaze to Morrigan, she gestures to the seat on the opposite side of her desk. "I hope that something might be done to stop their brutality. In truth it does not sit well with me, that I— that we had to disregard their immediate actions for the sake of a loftier goal."

What goal is more important than the protection of life? And yet, do they not fight to save the lives of all, not simply individuals? It grates against her, cannot leave her any peace, but saying such is no doubt too much.

[arcaneadvisor]

As Morrigan sinks heavily into the seat, the sigh works its way free of her; in truth, though she had expected to see violence, it troubles her now as she ponders the words of what they had found there. A hand to her brow, a moment to breathe, to think. "When I was in Serault some time ago, long before the Inquisition, there were reports of violence encountered by Dalish elves who did not pray to the Creators. Who would slaughter humans. Crimson Vallaslin. A report perhaps not meant for my eyes but 'twas described as 'pigs on a platter'." A hand lifts in the air, but there's none of the levity there might be sometimes when Morrigan speaks of darker things, of blood and bone. "I had wondered if some was exaggeration; you know how Orlesians are when elves come."

The ignorance that comes, especially when tensions are high. Morrigan doesn't flinch at violence. She's seen it. Has waded through it when the Archdemon was atop Fort Drakon to breathe rancid magic flame at them after the hordes, after all there was to see on that long journey to the end.

But equally, she looks up at Herian, holds her gaze and gestures to them, to them room. "Perhaps few would weep yet what might be said? Elves slaughtered by the Inquisition? A human woman. An elfblooded knight-enchanter. A rifter elf in a position of power many are unhappy with," and him with an elfblooded woman of his own as all that is coming tumbling out, but Morrigan holds her tongue there but she's aware as she takes a breath, "and Myrobalan who holds the Chantry dear to his heart."

A bad look for all of them even if there might be few who'd weep in truth, there would be enough who would, and Morrigan...well knowledge is power, and Morrigan couldn't have done it. Couldn't have gone after them. It sits ill with her but there was Haven. The Conclave. The Tirashan and the elves. Perhaps one day the Chantry shall sweep that clean but she doesn't know what they might have wrought had they rushed in.

[dashing]

"An elfblooded Knight-Enchanter known to have little love of the Dalish," she agrees, though not at ease with it. All of this grates, goes against the grain of who she is and what she wishes were possible. Few of them, though, had the luxury of being able to do all they wished. Orders were orders for a reason.

Herian shakes her head very slightly, and corrects her posture. It's unnecessary, given how correct her posture is already, but even so. There is a moment of silence, which is interrupted by a sleeping corgi pup in a bed in the corner yawning loudly and stretching, as he peeks up from his basket and sees A Person. He would normally at this point come skittering over, but because he is very sleepy, he sort of trips his way out of his basket, and very slowly and drowsily starts to meander his way towards Morrigan. Herian barely smiles at the sight, though there is a faint softening of her expression before she looks back to Morrigan.

"Do you yet know if the information gathered was of use?"

sorry i was hanging out in a lore doc all saturday

[arcaneadvisor]

"If that put you in a difficult position with Thranduil, I apologise. He heads research, more than that, there is a great deal he knows and understands of what I have been working towards as well as having experience of forests few others will ever have." How to dance around the subject of his age, of what he is? Thranduil has his connection - the best thing she can call it - to the Dalish and they to him, and Morrigan would be foolish not to make use of that, same as to not have him with her in a forest she had never been to. Likewise, to ignore someone Coupe recommended? The only Templar proven to have a (mostly) sane head on their shoulders? Equally foolish. "I was raised in the Wilds, I know them, but I cannot speak for either of you. Myrobalan for all that he is a skilled mage…"

Morrigan isn't so unkind as to say he would have been lost without others there, and after what they witnessed? It was proof enough that Morrigan wanted people who could fight had it come to it, people who could defend one another to get each other out safely. Still, she sighs. Thumb at her temple, forefinger of the hand at the bridge of her nose for a long moment as the knot of tension that never leaves the base of her neck comes into sharp focus as she turns at the sound of some small creature.

After all the times back in Skyhold when Morrigan had to meet Doghren, this impossibly small thing isn't the unfortunate eyesore that 'dog' was. Nor is it any of the mabari attached to the Inquisition. It could in time be mistaken for a hairy nug. If she extends a hand, Herian might be polite enough not to notice it.

To business then. "None of the names are names that the Dalish use, that much was known to me, yet...the reason I wished to travel there was for that reason. I seek to find where Flemeth is, where she has been, and the signs thus far point me back. When I went to the Wilds I was to look to the past: that the stars in the sky were something other than what Tevinter named them." Her mouth is dry suddenly, she has to swallow carefully to keep speaking. "Silentir? 'Twas not always Tevinter, it belonged once to a Creator, and I knew of them, knew of Dalish who might have something old but...it said 'there are no gods'. That was the start of the message. 'There is only the subject and the object, the actor and the acted upon. Those with will to earn dominance over others gain title not by nature but by deed.' Can you imagine a being writing such a thing before it denounces the rest that those alive today still worship? If I were to share this writing with them?"

If her voice has climbed, not in volume but in pitch, perhaps that can be forgiven because there's a reason she sought Herian out: Herian doesn't love the Dalish, so Herian will give her if not a balanced opinion, then one of someone who will maybe imagine what could come if Morrigan were to share this with them, or even with the project for it to go spreading out into the wild.

and now i must apologise bc this is hideously late sorry sorry sorry

[dashing]

"I must confess I have had few experiences in forests and the wild that were ever pleasant." Her father's murder and her own torment, sheparding those elves of the cities wishing to escape dangerous circumstances and seeking cover from sight, only to be harassed by the Dalish, that ill-fated diplomatic mission, and now this—

Herian shakes her head a little. "There is a great deal that is romanticised of the wild. I cannot speak so boldly as to condemn them, but there are times I wonder at the fascination people have of forests and their beauty. They speak of them as places of freedom, condemn and scorn those better at ease in cities or villages, and yet— from what I have seen, they only allow freedom to those willing to tear lives and freedoms from others. Those willing to murder, torture and enslave find freedom and power in the forests, just as nobility find freedom and power in more tamed lands. Precious little remains to those who seek peace."

There is something heavy in her words, though she keeps her unhappiness from leeching in, and shakes her head.

"I apologise; that is not what you attended to discuss." Better to focus. Better to be sharp, accurate, to cut to the heart of matters and decipher the truth from all the rest.

"There are no gods?" she repeats, faintly bewildered. Herian has to resist the urge to rub at her jaws. "'Earning dominance,' 'actor and the acted upon'... those words to me suggest forcing others into submission. Gaining power through..." domination is what comes to mind, but she tries to reach for something different so as not to simply repeat what was in the quote. "Through a forced supremacy and authority over others, truth be told."

Wait, hang on. She pauses. "Am I correct in thinking that you... believe these elves do not worship the Creator gods of the Dalish, and deny their existence? And that they wish to ascend to their own dominance by bringing others under their control?"

Is she misunderstanding? Is she making too great or too small a leap in judgement? She hardly knows, as she watches Morrigan carefully, trying to gauge her response. Where is this going? Where will this lead?

(Franklin, in the meantime, noses at Morrigan's hand.)

[arcaneadvisor]

"There are those who grow nostalgic, but such longings come from the heart, and that is the fertile ground of treachery where such feelings are concerned. The Wilds were but the last place I left my mother, the place where her tales begin, if I were to take a first step outside Kirkwall where I have searched and searched every scrap of Sundermount, 'twas to where it all began for her and I." A heaviness lies there, words she would press deep in the swamps she has perhaps stepped through for the very last time in her life.

"For my own part, I was raised far from all others. Yet I would venture to villages. Lurk their outskirts. Had there been a town close by I might even have gone there, for that was all I knew, to be alone, so utterly alone. Perhaps that is what they seek in the noise of the towns and cities. I spent little time here," a gesture not entirely for the Gallows though that of course is a part of it, who can imagine Morrigan freely choosing to live inside walls such as these, "before moving myself to Sundermount. There is a wildness some seek there, an answer. A thing to conquer. For myself, I wish for less noise, less pressing about myself."

Herian might have noticed on the journey to and from the Tirashan the avoidance of touch with any of them, even Thranduil. Thranduil a friend, Thranduil beloved of Gwenaëlle. She shakes her head, the beadwork of her robes clatters gently. "You wished to speak of it, some words are better to be said."

Morrigan listens. Watches. Considers what she does know of Herian though much of it comes secondhand or when there was too much going on otherwise for her to give her full attention to anything other than finding what they were there for. Sharp. Quicker than others would be with it (how long had she placed hints of the eluvians before folk only to have to spell their truth to all but one who hadn't stepped through them? How jaded she is over these matters) and she inclines her head. (Franklin is indulged for her hands need something to do.)

"Yes." Short for her but this is-- extraordinary doesn't cover it. To have proof to a rumour, to the attacks about Serault driving people from their lands. "I am uncertain if they wish to ascend to dominance or godhood themselves yet, though by offering up blood and bodies as they do, those in Tirashan may be attempting to bring that about." After all there are ways to create cults, to lift up a god, and Morrigan has seen a dragon cult in the flesh not so horrifically many years ago that it's dulled.

Far easier to talk about it to Herian though. She's not Dalish. "The Creators have been far from the Dalish for so long, impossibly long, but I wonder what this being even was. It raises questions I never thought to ask before, about what a god might even be. They certainly were more than willing to worship."