faderift | 04 | CLOSED

Solas did not know what to expect from this. He did not know what to imagine, being invited here, especially as a member of the Inquisition. He had been something of an advisor, once, an ally, a friend, almost, but now - now he is just another mage in the eyes of most, someone who, perhaps, knows too much and says too much to go with it. Wisdom is not always accepted by most, he thinks, and there's an intensity about the situation that he struggles to wrap his mind around.

He stands close to Thranduil, careful, a frown settled on his features.

It's true that the discovery blackwater makes him uncomfortable. It reminds him too much of the world of Arlathvhen, of the promises of immortality that the Dalish cling to now, desperate and hoping for something to reunite them with their past. If the Dalish heard speak of this... No, she is correct. If Corypheus had learned of this then it would bring them more danger than he can begin to express, and his brow creases in frustration, in confusion, in ire. He is already immortal enough, Solas himself had learned that when his Foci had slipped from him, but...

None of this is for him to decide, of course. He is not here to be a ruler, to be a leader. That is the position the division heads must take upon their shoulders. This is not something that should be shared with anyone, he thinks, and he's sure his opinion is written on his brow as surely as anything might be. No, Lakshmi should not share this secret with Thedas. There is danger enough with magic and spirits and Corypheus' power, the spread of the Venatori. The world may not last as long as others might hope - and Solas will bite his tongue on that forever - but...

It is too great a risk.

His eyes turn to Thranduil, full of meaning, a frown curving on his lips. No, he thinks. No matter what holy magic Lakshmi brings, the Inquisition must not use it. It will damn them, it will cause them strife, and it will lead them to ruin. That he believes, above all else.

Standing silent and still with her back against the door, despite having made the decidedly correct observation that this is not about her crimes at all, Teren has watched transfixed as Lakshmi has given her display. There is no universe in which Teren could have possibly predicted what was about to be revealed, and, as one might expect, she is full of questions.
She saves most of them, however, instead breaking the sincere and fraught silence with an incredulous "what?"

Herian draws in a sharp breath. Aside from that, she is entirely still, controlled, watching Lakshmi with a vicious sort of intensity. Blood magic, some part of her offers. Unnatural, dangerous. Years of Circle education simmering under her skin, pushing at her mind. The instinct to contain and, if necessary, destroy is not easily shaken.

(And then there are the memories of Salzklippe, of the veiled figure that twisted and warped into that monstrosity.)

Her heart is beating too fast, and there is a steadying voice in her head: justice, truth and action, tempered by compassion. She holds up one hand at Teren's brief outburst, requesting silence from the others present.

"You bear a heavy burden, Lakshmi Bai." That much is plainly true. "But I hope that I speak for all present when I say that to bring such abilities to others of the Inquisition or Thedas would be a dangerous and corrupting thing. If such should fall to our enemies, even worse."

"It is a tool, for one purpose, to help protect and defend. I offer it, and my life, as it was given to me."

Which is to say, she isn't here for the pity of her position. She had made her bed, and she had done it in the same way she had jumped straight into that rift: feet first and without looking back.

She'd all but patterned that for the way she elected to live most of her life.

"But time is a price, and those who have not felt it drag on too long seldom understand it's cost, or at least that is what the man who gave it to me said. I would have that remembered for whatever verdict you elect for me and it."

Herian watches her for a long moment. All these words of protecting others, of oaths, of honour. Some part of her wishes to believe it, and yet—

"And this man who gave it to you - one of the knights you spoke of?"

"Sir Bors de Ganis." She supplies it smoothly, evenly, without blinking. A fixedness to everything she says, open, without hesitation to it anymore. "A knight, once of King Arthur's court." Would Kitty know his name, at least?

Easy to remember him, clear as a pool of water in her mind, his pale blue eyes that looked almost milky white, hair gone silver and that he looked so old he might fall over under his own weight, let alone the broadsword he carried. The rasp of his voice like ash on stone. Scratching soft. What would you do for your people, Rani? Will you die for them, this day? Or give them something else?

He was a son of the sword and shield.

There wasn't much that the blackwater could do when a cannonball blasted your arms clean off at the elbow. She blinks, clears her gaze and refocuses back on Herian. "He once served an Order... like your Wardens, perhaps. People bound to one single purpose." She nods to Teren, briefly. "The last line of defence against that which... people can never withstand alone."

Thranduil has a brief, wondrous hope. It is potential in a bottle, possibility beyond what he has been constrained to by the machinations and faults of Thedas. He covets it. He lusts for what he might do with such a thing, the taste of everything he might restore on his tongue.

Placidly, he says, "Time is a burden on those unsuited for it, in nature and in circumstance."

The fable of the orb itself weighs on him in eventual counterpoint to his considerations, and he gestures to the bottle.

"How often do you need to drink from it to keep your youth and vitality?"

He's heard the rumor of Xenon, of age without youth, and any discussion considering destroying the thing must also consider the rate at which Lakshmi might decay. How much water can one flask contain?

Her head tilts, looking at him a moment before she speaks - though it has little to do with him or his rather private wants. The particulars of its making, consumption, is one thing she would rather keep to herself in lieu of anyone in this room getting tortured at any point.

"Once a day, and as immediately as you are injured. As you saw, the years and injuries you have incurred rapidly catch up with you. The last... person I saw it happen too, was almost dead at the end of two weeks."

All this for me?

Before she can move, a throat's been split; the hiss of breath from her own, harsh and involuntary. Wren’s eyes slip shut — allows herself that, the brief ignorance to threat, contrary beside its waking, breathing presence. Amsel is capable. Thranduil is capable.

She mislikes that. What all here might be capable of.

Words wash, bells chime; the soft thump of something heavy at her feet, and she’s no further from an answer than before. The answer that has always been there, a parody of history and duty: Blood magic. Obvious, unrepentant blood magic. Maybe some day she’ll stop paying for this, for the mistakes of survival. Maybe.

But she doesn't think so. The huffs of strained breath are too familiar (Thranduil is capable, Thranduil is here). The tremors might be, if she bothered to look. She doesn’t. I am no mage —

It’s not as simple as that. Wren lifts a hand in gesture: Everyone. Shut up for a second.

"There is no saying that it could be done." Much shifts between dream and waking. "And it will not be."

Slips a glance open at last, skates over the whip, ignores the offer of a life. The promise is worthless, a foreign oath from a liar's tongue. There’s no true regard for their purpose, and no trust to be found in this; only the calculus of inevitable discovery.

Her eyes find Thranduil’s, narrow. This is poor company for secrets.

"You chose an audience for this."

Backed them into a corner, demanded an immediate decision. It's not what she'd classify good faith.

She doesn't even bother to deny it when her gaze flicks back towards Wren and fixes her there in an even stare. "Yes, I did. I can go over my reasoning for each one if you like. Though what remains to me, the most important:"

Her smile kicks, "I will not damn others any more than I already have by mistakes - " something that doesn't need to be repeated right now to a room of people either present or aware of it, or it wasn't their business. " - for that and the danger I inflicted, nothing but my service will atone for it." If it comes easier or difficult to admit to her own mistakes, it doesn't show. She simply does as she always had, and gets on with it.

"Do so."

The reasoning. We're all here, bitch.

Oh, it's on, Coupe.

Her brow lifts, and - fine. "As you wish," she clears her throat, looking about the room. "I picked you all for your positions, or as near to them as I know it, and what I have seen of your skills. You, Commander, Knight-Enchanter Amsel, Provost, are the one who must know this first and foremost, so you can correctly place me in the field. To you, I owe everything, first and foremost. As well as you are a mage, Enchanter Amsel, and you, a Templar, Commander Coupe? Or was I mistaken in my misunderstanding? With both of your strengths present, if I truly presented a threat that I am unaware of, I know you both to be of sound body and mind to make that assessment."

Then her hand lifts, her head turning, to gesture to Ioverth, beside Thranduil. "Ioverth is intimate with Madamoselle Gwenaelle, whatever that means to Provost Thranduil, who I assume knows, given how freely she spoke of it. As they're married soon, it is the nature of couples to share everything as it stands, so pretending he wouldn't know is tiring. Besides, I wanted to give assurance that since I must truly be killed by first-blow, someone who can do it easily seemed pertinent and would know to do it even if the future. Especially so you understand how seriously I mean that I will gladly submit." This is what you wanted, right? So she goes on. Her hand lifts next to indicate to Solas. "Master Solas is both an elf native to these lands, and a mage of considerable knowledge who seems very well versed in spirits and has proven to be discrete. I thought to make sure to submit myself to any testing he might have so you could make absolutely sure I am not a mage. Additionally, if you would like further proof of my lack of corruption, I believe you know... Madam Galadriel? At least when we were all on that wretched island together. But, that aside, the wondrous properties of her cloth. To that, you ought to know what it means when I say it does not burn me."

A sigh stops her words, lets that first bit sink it. "Warden Teren I have served with, as I presently do not know any other high ranking members of her order, she was the only one I could vouch for the character of as someone who could mind her own words both now and later, who has a healthy amount of paranoia to not be swayed by anything I have to say if she thought it wrong." Expletives and dry sarcastic commentary aside. "I have promised my service to Captain Vane and Captain Flint," well, not Flint right now, but Flint soon, whether anyone liked it or not. "For when they need an experienced fighter on deck, in the future. So it seemed important that in time, I tell them in case the worst should happen, but that I had best go to their commander, Araceli - " a nod to the woman's direction. "- first."

And her eyes drop, at long last, at the end of her list, something fixed unhappily behind her mouth, to Kitty. If there has been anything at all to any of these explanations, it is - "And Miss Kitty, who I promised the truth to, and... she deserves the truth from me, more than anyone." But that - that wasn't really for this room, or these people, or anything else that matters. But more than anything, it was what mattered to her especially.

With it all finished, she turns her eyes back. Waiting, perhaps even patiently for her. There, anything else you needed her to explain?

"You have put us in a corner, lady, by equalizing the burden of our knowledge. Not only across organizations," a nod to Teren, "but also across the hierarchy of the Inquisition itself."

Kitty, Iorveth, Solas, even Araceli. Three of four division heads.

And she's issued what he's taken as a threat, by spilling his own private matters into the public sphere along similar passages. He doesn't look at Coupe, though he's felt her presence during the conversation. He'll take the tongue-thrashing she'll give him later, find out how Lakshmi came to know of Iorveth (the Fade? more than likely, they've been careful otherwise) and handle it.

"Obviously," calmly, calmly, about to hold out his hands and see if she will, at least, hand it over peacefully, but thinking perhaps it best to fall to Coupe or Herian. "You can no longer keep it on your person, let alone take it into the field."

They're too aware of how precious it is now, how easy to lose.

Kitty has been quiet. Troubled by all of it, to be sure. Immortality like this seems a dreadful thing, a thing to hide from anyone and everyone - because how easy would it be to exploit this? To turn it into a wicked weapon, a terrible thing used to just deepen all the inequalities and injustices of life? If the magicians of her world knew of this immortality, they'd use it to extend their rule a thousand years - which is a hideous thought, considering that progress gets made only as each magician dies. Corypheus, here, would do the same.

It's Lakshmi's direct address that brings her out of her brooding. She doesn't understand, entirely, why she deserves the truth more than any other, but like hell she's going to question Lakshmi's logic. Because this is something that she does want to know, because it's something to safeguard and protect and keep from getting into the wrong hands. As for these others, though...The logic for sharing it with them sounds a lot less sound. Sharing something with someone because they're a mage is basically insanity, to her ears.

Well. It's Lakshmi's judgment, isn't it. So - "Why can't she?" Kitty asks, voice clear and steady. "She's protected it this far. And it's not like telling us about this makes her less capable of protecting it."

"I agree that putting us in this position was not well considered," Herian replies, evenly, voice soft and measured. "However Provost, I respectfully disagree that Lakshmi Bai should not be the custodian of this item. Having worked with her in the field, I would say that a resource that grants her the ability to carry on is something that should stay in her hands. It being away from her person would undermine its effectiveness and, from what we have seen, it's purpose in healing. I would suggest that instead the blackwater remain on her person at all times, and we consider matters further for when she is in the field."

Her gaze moves back to Lakshmi.

"As for promising your service to others, I would remind that you have joined the Inquisition, and that there are times when our decisions on where you might be placed, as you say, that may conflict with promises you have made." Her tone is cautioning, faintly reprimanding, and she looks back to Coupe and Thranduil both. "Best we have a meeting with Lakshmi Bai in private, for confirming details and discussing different possibilities, and then we can look to consulting with relevant experts as we see fit."

Edited 2018-11-15 21:16 (UTC)

"Having worked with her in the field," A glance to Kitty at that: The Fade is why. This meeting is why. The fact she's still on bloody confinement, "I must side with the Provost."

Yes, they're going to talk about this. Thranduil too. How is it so difficult to keep confidential intelligence from the people you're fucking? A pity to have spent that report upon Petra. A pity, if it would even go anywhere (wouldn't: there's been no disaster yet, only its looming shadow). If his wrinkled cock continues to interfere with —

"Word of this will spread."

She's sent it to eight people in this room alone, and intends to tell the mercenaries to already have near mutinied. Bai's all but guaranteed that this won't be kept. Her state of mind, her evident disdain of their purpose, is the least of it. If she ever falls upon the field? If any of the numerous wagging tongues present take it to mind?

"You claim this requires security. Yours will not be enough to guard it." Before anything else, any argument can be raised: "Ashara will be informed."

Should have been from the beginning of this farce.

Edited 2018-11-15 21:45 (UTC)

Herian watches Coupe intently, and nods her understanding. For all their differences, she does trust Coupe, more then most.
Beleth should have been made aware of this from the beginning; it is beyond unfortunate that she was not, and doubtless that and the audience would to little to endear any cause Lakshmi might hope to champion to the Scoutmaster.

“You have spoken of your experience in diplomacy, in ruling, and in this capacity I have trusted you with a role within my Division. This meeting and your secrecy has rendered your judgment in jeopardy, and may have compromised your honour, no matter what good intentions you harboured.”

A pause, and she looks at Lakshmi with disappointment. “As a ruler, what would you do? To ensure the silence of those here? To hold you accountable for your deceptions and your actions?”

"Her honour?" Kitty ought to let Lakshmi talk for herself, but that's just a bit too much. Her voice gets sharper. "What, it's dishonourable not to immediately trust everyone you meet immediately upon meeting them, now? Don't you think the fact that she wasn't babbling about it to any old person she came across means her judgment's good?"

She cuts herself off, shaking her head.

Teren has been silent all this time, taking a moment only to look mildly rankled by the suggestion that she is paranoid. First of all, how dare you, second of all, is it really paranoia if it's true?

But there are more pressing things at hand, namely, some ridiculous strain of cockamamie new-world magic bollocks that she can't even begin to fathom, and everyone here is talking about it like they've just found a pretty but potentially useful new kind of rock.

"What??" she says again, clawing her hands out on both sides.

Her hand lifts - thank you, Kitty. But - "It's alright. This is their choice. I heed them."

She rises, fishing for the silver chain and bows her head as she takes it off. Rolling it around in her palm. It was old, and yet, it had not aged a day. The silver markings, the snake eating its own tail. Different to the one Galahad bore. A design from a different century, a different place.

What had she done? Her thumb brushes against the coat of arms embossed on the back. What had she done with Sir Bors de Ganis? He had been such an old man, his bones looked so frail inside his skin for all his strength. Does she look like that, to them? Probably not, just old and a fool and stubborn.

"I understood him, that after the odd nine hundred years he had lived, you no longer see the world that way. I saw him no differently than the bandits that out of fear of starving took whatever food they could. If I accepted them into my army, why not understand him, also? People, time, take something from you seldom can get back. I took his guilt as genuine, I understood him, and I took him into my court." Her nails scratches against a bump, an old scratch. Gunfire, it looked like. That way of smooth and rough. "And for my trust, he died for me. I understand him, better now I think. I understood how hard it is to trust anyone at all when you know the wickedness or fear in their hearts. As for secrets - it wasn't one. Everyone knows of the blackwater drinkers, where it is kept, who wields it. They form a branch of a foreign government that defends the people."

Standing in front of Coupe, once more, she doesn't pass it to any of them. But she slides it, drops it so it hangs a moment from the chain, pendulum-like. Swinging like a clock count. "If this is your decision: I have given my word. But, as such, it means my duty as I swore it, has ended. If the Queen of Jhansi was the mantel I took up as a warrior for my people, and if I am no longer needed as one? Then - "

Forgive her Byerly, she meant to keep those words. But horrifyingly enough, she doesn't sound morbid, miserable. There is maybe a relief to this. "Self-immolation is what I would prefer since I cannot die in battle. I have set up what is required for it, but I would like another day so I may prepare my mind."

Edited 2018-11-15 23:58 (UTC)

“Poor judgment to make a declaration of this sort, indicating that it demand secrecy in front of so many,” Herian replies to Kitty, voice soft, “dishonour in serving the Inquistion when her secrecy might have undermined our efforts in this war and to protect Thedas. One could even suppose that by bringing so many here there was the intention to make this a spectacle, and then for what purpose?”

Herian has watched Lakshmi throughout her words, and her jaw sets now. It does not feel so different from when she begged Coupe to render her tranquil, even with how stark and massive the difference certainly is, and it weighs uncomfortably.

“Would you make yourself a martyr and portray the Inquistion as tyrants?”

And then there was the inevitable comparisons to Andraste burning at the pyre, but she’s not sure she wants to even try to get her head around that right now.

Edited 2018-11-16 00:29 (UTC)

“Maker’s sake,”

She spits, has lost any patience for this. Who’s the woman even rambling of? The vial disappears into a pocket, a rough gesture to Thranduil and Amsel.

“We are not discussing this here.” Another, to Lakshmi. “Your options are not death or getting everything you want.“

If this grits so ill it’s not for unfamiliarity. Better not to think of Minrathous,

“This will be settled with Ashara present, and by the established rules. You are not exempt of them for a crown or its absence. You will be watched. If you attempt to harm yourself, you will be stopped. Are we understood?”

A challenging glance about the room. Solas, Iorveth, Teren if she picks her jaw from the floor — let them say what they will, let this production be finished.

Whether she really has held her tongue as well as others, is certainly up for debate. But she tries, however well or not, she does try.

But - there is a limit even to that, and she gives them a faintly incredulous look to Wren. "If you take it off me regardless, I will die, that isn't a choice I am making, Commander. You can't keep me like a suckling lamb, mewling at your feet. I will die, maybe slowly by weeks, or I don't, that is it." And she laughs sharply, bitterly - all vile things she's done her best keeping inside her mouth. "As for who it should be discussed by. You are who it should be discussed by least of all. It should be discussed by every damn ruler in Thedas, not one outsider group who is only half recognised by every one it meets. I came to you in good will, yes, later than I should, I admit my mistakes, but don't pretend you're doing anything less than I just did when I only sort an audience amongst many different groups as fairly as I could because it never should have been one group's discussion. If someone isn't here and they should be, by all means, invite them, it's only my lack of knowledge and personal contact with them that I did not extend them the invitation and I am glad to rectify it. So call for them, please, we can wait." Fixes, sharp and mean. It's comforting to not bother with the politics of it a moment. " - However, before you become horrified with telling everyone - " wait for it " - I also recognise your governments are corrupt, both internally and externally, as much by Corypheus as their own selfish, piteous moaning and there is no government to fall on my knees too except a bunch of stuck up, self-righteous, boot-licking noble whores or disingenuous religious fanatics."

Tell us what you really feel, Lakshmi.

And she likes Herian, and she sees her point well enough, but that makes her round up and bite more surely than anything else. "How dare you assume it has anything to do with how the Inquisition looks? Why does my faith mean less than yours? This is how death is found honourably for my people, these are the tenets by which I have lived all my life by. I am a daughter of Brahmins, and whilst that means nothing to you - it means as much to me as Andraste to the Chantry. Fire for us is the way to cleanse the soul to prepare for the next life. If my act of devotion makes you look like tyrants, perhaps you should consider how you run the Inquisition."

Edited 2018-11-16 02:55 (UTC)

Teren looks like she's about to demand another 'what', but closes her mouth and blinks thoughtfully at Lakshmi's assessment of her available subjects. She glances around furtively, keeping her cards close to her chest as always, but there are obviously gears turning.

“Jhansi Ki Rani, Maharani Lakshmi Bai, that is enough.”

A rare occasion where Herian’s voice is raised and it clips the end of Lakshmi’s words. “Do not speak to us as though we are blind to the flaws of the world that we have lived in our whole lives, and do not presume that none of us have suffered for it.” She almost expects flame to burn over her skin, coals to burn in her nerves, but her magic remains steady and constant. Good.

Herian breathes, and then back to her usual steadiness, calm and even: “It is not an unreasonable expectation that you speak with the Division Heads in private, before discussing in this open manner. You have, to this point, held the position of community outreach and influence within the Diplomacy division, and you know that we do our utmost to be readily available and there are roles within the Inquisition hierarchy that we make available for people to apply to and diversify the knowledge and methods influencing our approach and direction.”

“We need Scoutmaster Ashara in attendance before be proceed, and then I will ask whether having the blackwater administered to you daily and when you’ve need of it will be sufficient. I cannot imagine that the Provost or Commander intended to see you deprived of it completely and left to perish. I also would like to know what you plan to do when your supply of it dwindles, as what you have handed to the Commander seems… a near insignificant amount. Until the Scoutmaster arrives I will ask that all present take time to reflect on the situation and apply sense and reason, so that we might discuss it in a calm and intelligent fashion instead of slinging accusations and insults.”

She looks to the Warden. "Warden, if you would fetch the Scoutmaster and bring her here immediately. Do not speak of this to anyone on your way."

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