It's Not A Pretty Thing To See [Closed]

[overharrowed]

WHO: Julius, Petrana, Colin, Marisol, and Finch
WHAT: Winning hearts and minds
WHEN: Solace, pre-Tevinter expedition
WHERE: Ferelden
NOTES: Link to OOC post

With Orlais at war, things in Ferelden appear relatively quiet, apart from the seemingly never-ending stream of suitors attempting to catch Queen Anora’s eye. But the Inquisition has heard grumbling, low but persistent, about the news that the Inquisition will support mages’ legal right to inherit and hold titles. Sources have traced much of that grumbling to Bann Selwyn. He is not a particularly influential figure in his own right, but he has friends and allies who are inclined to take his point.

The Inquisition has managed to secure an invitation for a small group to visit Selwyn, along with his wife and his heir. (Thomas has only been the heir since the Fifth Blight; his older brother fell defending Ferelden from Darkspawn.) The information available is mainly that Bann Selwyn is a fairly ordinary Fereldan noble, with aspirations above his station, but hopefully a man to be reasoned with. The situation is not yet a problem; the Inquisition wants to ensure it does not become one.

Comments

In The Castle (And Environs)

[overharrowed]

[Catch-all for one-on-one threads. Contact me if you'd like NPCs.]

For Colin

[overharrowed]

Dinner the night of their arrival had been awkward, but at least not outright disastrous. Lady Selwyn was polite, if careful with her words. Thomas Selwyn, the current heir, had the look of man who was torn between pressing the guests for news of the wider world and attempting to escape to somewhere quieter at any given moment. Bann Selwyn's temper was short beneath an almost aggressive veneer of hospitality.

Other than the sense that the servants had been instructed to keep an eye on them, the Inquisition representatives found themselves with more or less run of their host's home. Julius dutifully spent a lot of that time working on various Selwyns, sometimes with Marisol or Petrana, sometimes on his own.

But he can't work all of the time, and he's aware he's not the only person who might feel strange being back in Ferelden, for all they are not especially near Lake Calenhad. It's a few hours after supper one night when he goes looking for Colin.

[keenly]

The other Fereldan has kept quiet for most of the trip. Quiet is how Colin tends to keep most of the time, and isn't a sign of a good or bad mood. His preference, especially around nobles, is to wait till he's been spoken to and weigh his options then. That doesn't mean he doesn't have opinions once Julius gets him alone.

And alone he is, having been dragged off by an upset groom after a wet-behind-the-ears stableboy managed to get kicked in the ribs by a gelding. And after Colin confirmed that the boy's ribs had not hurt the horse's hoof, he saw to the boy while the groom saw to the horse. He's on his way back, holding a lantern and wading through the damp grass when Julius approaches. The opinion he'd kept to himself all day now shows in the crook of his eyebrow and the tic of one corner of his mouth.

"So. You're a nob."

It's not a bad thing, necessarily. It's very nearly funny, in fact. Not because Julius deserves or does not deserve it, but because despite what people said, there was some remnant of classism in the Circle. And usually, those mages born with silver spoons in their mouths were easy to spot, but this one had escaped Colin. But more than that, there's a note of admiration in what he says. Julius was a highborn brat all along, and he hadn't treated Colin any differently.

[overharrowed]

Julius doesn't make a face, though if Colin wants to speculate that he would like to, he may.

"Technically, I suppose. It's not as if I was here long enough for it to have made much of a difference."

He knows what Colin means, but Julius came to the Circle young enough to plausibly claim he didn't even remember where he'd come from. It was a falsehood that would not have taken if he'd been 10 or 12 -- but at 6, he could stick to it without straining credulity too much.

"I didn't see that it was ever going to matter. Though there are a lot of things I didn't see coming, I suppose. There was a time it seemed easier not to complicate what people thought of me unnecessarily." Sort of bleakly funny, now.

For Petrana

[overharrowed]

At first, it might seem difficult to approach Lady Selwyn apart from her husband, but only at first. Much of the day-to-day administration of the castle bores him, in truth, and there is simply much of her day when she busies herself with things he prefers to leave fully in her hands. When she's apart from him, she seems to come slightly into focus, no longer intent on smoothing rough edges or receding into the background.

She is in her element, here in her home, and while her demeanor is always somewhat muted, one gets a much better sense of her in overhearing her speaking to their steward or their quartermaster than in observing her conversation at dinner.

While she's interested in their guests (some more than others), she doesn't expect to be approached, especially for the first day or so. It makes her easy enough to find.

[ipseite]

Mme de Cedoux does not seek Lady Selwyn out.

She does not appear to have sought Lady Selwyn out, at least, when their paths cross; the approach naturally coincidental. Her interest in the home has been polite and genuine and marvelously nonspecific—it is her first visit to Ferelden, she explains to those of the household who entertain her charming curiosity, and those who don't find it charming certainly find it novel enough that such an Orlesian-seeming woman evinces such earnest enthusiasm for learning of Ferelden people and custom. Amiable and smoothed of edges—Orlais without all the Orlais, she overhears in her wake, not a compliment but useful nevertheless—she is sufficiently tolerated and indulged to further her acquaintance.

She is not so unusual a sight, querying this or that; wishing, you see, to better understand how Ferelden conducts itself, as she is better acquainted with the Free Marches, and perhaps they are not the only acquaintance with Thedas that one might wish to consider oneself well-rounded.

“Madame,” she says, warmly, when she rounds to Lady Selwyn. “Forgive me; I did not know I was not alone.”

[overharrowed]

She smiles in return; if she has concerns about rifters, mages or both, she certainly keeps those concerns much better-concealed than her husband. "Mme de Cedoux," she says with perfect politeness, maybe just a hint of warmth. "There is nothing to forgive; I had hoped you all would make yourselves quite at home. I hope you've been enjoying your stay, thus far?"

If nothing else, at least one of the Selwyns does not intend to squander the opportunities presented by hosting representatives of the Inquisition when their neighbors have not been so favored.

[ipseite]

“I've found it extremely illuminating,” mirroring the expression expertly, with perhaps a little more warmth; it is fitting that the Inquisition put forth its best foot, and Petrana be openhanded, openhearted. Yes; this is an opportunity. For the better if one of the Selwyns can see as much, too, but useful to know that perhaps only one of them does.

Finding herself welcome, or at least not openly unwelcome, she continues til she might come to a companionable stop at Lady Selwyn's side. “I have spent little time in this part of the world, til now, and it is most educational. I see why one might feel moved to defend it.”

An opening, if she likes. Or not.

[overharrowed]

Lady Selwyn seems, very briefly, to consider the woman in front of her. There's something of her son in her, though Petrana might be better positioned to see it than Lady Selwyn herself. The same deliberateness behind a smile, if muted in the older woman and sharpened in the younger man.

"I think it is a natural thing, to wish to defend one's home. It is what the Inquisition is trying to do, is it not, on a larger scale? Or so I understand, I don't pretend to know so much about these things as you and your companions must."

An instinctive softening of her view, though more habitual than anything.