faderift | open | neither snow nor rain

WHO: Nari, Lexie, you~
WHAT: Guardian catch-all for some ladies. (Well, one Lady and one elf.)
WHEN: The Present!
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: prompts I have promised people will be appearing below as I get to them!

Nari

I.

With the sleet keeping everything near-constantly coated with ice, Guardian is hardly the right month to be jaunting about between the Gallows towers and the towers that hold the massive machinery designed to raise and lower Kirkwall's immense chain net. The massive machinery that hasn't been used in two decades, ever since Viscount Threnhold had used it to strangle Orlesian trade and the Divine had ordered the city's Templars to 'convince' him to lower it. Threnhold's successors had been loathe to use it with such a tangle in the recent past, and so its mechanism is full of two decades of largely untended metal shifting, weathering, rusting in places.

The winter seas are rough enough that an assault by sea isn't likely, but the thin dark Dalish woman had shrugged and said that the Archon's Palace raising into the sky above Minrathous hadn't been all that likely either, and so here she is, on her way to the Chain tower, a pack of tools slung over her back. A pack that has been repaired several times, and by the look of it is about to need one more: something heavy looking is inching its way out of the back of it with every step she takes. Won't be long before that's lost. Hope it's not important.

II.

What Guardian is the right month for is being here near the hearth in the Hanged Man's taproom with a hot mug of mulled wine and a mallet, tapping chairs back together and listening with quiet amusement to a harper on one side and two tipsy men one-upping each other outrageously in order to try to take the same woman home on the other.

The important thing, really, is that the weather is outside, but the entertainment isn't unwelcome.

“Are you listening to this?” she asks, looking up briefly with a crooked grin spreading across her face, “The taller one has gone from fisherman to ship's captain in the space of five minutes.”

[ or something else! ]

Alexandrie

Winter here has not brought the lovely romantic fluffy pristine snow she'd dreamed of. It's desperately horrible in Kirkwall, and what work she can do from home she does from home with great relief. Unfortunately there are still meetings to be had, new correspondence to discuss, and every so often new books, scraps, and sheafs of paper arrive for the Inquisition that are in need of translation. All these things are in the Gallows, and so, begrudgingly, is Alexandrie.

She can be found now, looking far less disgruntled than she actually is, sitting at a table in the library with a letter in one hand—at which she is frowning with extreme delicacy—and a painted porcelain cup of tea in the other, her maid doing a spot of embroidery close enough at hand to refresh it when that becomes necessary.

“Ah!” she exclaims quietly, her glance warm and pleased over her painstakingly painted smile, “C'est parfait. Have you a moment to spare?”

[ ...or something else! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I do hope so," she replies, making a graceful gesture of invitation toward the seat open beside her.

"There is a continuing argument in the Venatori correspondence I have been translating and making note of about whether or not the artifact that seems to be greatly aiding, if not entirely enabling, our ultimate foe is of Tevene or elven origin. The argument against it being an elven artifact seems rather spuriously based on national pride and dismissal of your people," An opinion I certainly do not share, says her intonation, although whether it's to ingratiate herself or her true belief is negotiable. Of course her thoughts on elves are hardly relevant, "Thus, I am inclined to believe it indeed elven.

"The Dalish keep a good deal of old knowledge, do they not? Know you any tales of such an orb?"

Finel blinks a moment at the offered seat, now rather curious but already feeling a bit out of place as he sits and listens to what she has to say. It's already quite a significant question, one he certainly doesn't feel equipped answering or offering any sort of knowledge or advisement on specifically because of its significance - the artifact enabling their enemy.

He tilts his head, frowning slightly.

"The Dalish keep what we can, but much of it is disjointed and more of it either still hidden or lost for good. The knowledge of each clan is passed from Keeper to Keeper, but sharing knowledge between clans has always been much more difficult. I personally have never learned of such an artifact used by our People in the past, but I suppose it's possible someone else might know."

"Ah, a shame," she sighs lightly and sets the letter aside, "but I am well aware I aim at a small and far off target in my asking. Perhaps a more likely one next: tea?"

There are a few unused cups by the pot in the case that she receives any visitors, and Marie looks surreptitiously up from her work to observe the answer.

"Ah-" He starts, a little surprised by the offer, but softens after a moment and smiles.

"Yes, thank you." Finel shifts a little in his chair, settling into it more comfortably. "Might I have the pleasure of my host's name?"

Tea is dutifully, if hesitantly, poured. The look on Marie's face implies that serving elves is a bit much, although Alexandrie seems entirely unbothered as she takes possession of the cup herself to lift it on the saucer and set it in front of the young Dalish man.

"Lady Alexandrie de la Fontaine, daughter of the Comte of Val Fontaine in Orlais." With her accent and the names, it's hardly necessary for her to have added the last, but she does in any case out of habit. "Lady Alexandrie shall more than suffice." She smiles and inclines her head curiously, "And may I have the pleasure of the name of my guest in turn?"

If Finel is put off or annoyed by the look on Marie's face, it doesn't show outwardly, and he accepts the cup gently with a gracious smile. He holds it ever so carefully with both hands, quite unaccustomed to handling such fine and delicate things, even if they are ostensibly meant for everyday use. The fragrance of the tea sweet and inviting.

It's a relief that she shortens all of her names and titles, as he's already forgotten half of them by the time he's taken his first sip.

"Please call me Finel, Lady Alexandrie."

"Finel," she repeats, dipping her chin slightly in acknowledgement. Alexandrie has quite a singular look of attentiveness as she shifts slightly to better face him and resettles her skirts about her. It's much like being watched by a bird of prey who is managing a mien of warmth and kindness to soften the edges of its gaze.

"Have you a clan name as well, a title within it? It is customary for the Dalish to be so identified, is it not?"

The smile he gives her is a careful, pleasant surprise edged with the smallest bit of hesitation and something else slightly more painful beneath the surface.

"Forgive me, I've found most humans don't seem to care about such things." It's only a partial reason for his initial reticence, however. "I was First of clan Ravennan. We usually wandered the western Free Marches."

"Most do not," she agrees.

But as long as she's to be working with the Dalish in the Inquisition, Alexandrie has considered that it may be useful to be thought of as a notable exception to the rule. Besides, she'd already shown up to a highly publicized wedding on Merrill's arm. She can hardly do more damage to her reputation in this particular arena.

(The flash of something painful, she keeps. Imagines it connects to 'was', that they perhaps no longer wandered.)

"But the Inquisition is a diplomatic organization as well, and I believe my mind still has room for one or two more titles." She smiles and sets the letter aside definitively in order to sip her own tea. "Are you newly arrived? I admit, I am on this dreary island as rarely as I am able, but I do not believe I have set eyes upon you until now."

"I am," he says, setting the cup down gently on its saucer with a soft clink. "I arrived only a few days before the haunting." His smile falters for a moment at the memory - it...had not exactly been the best 'welcome', so to speak. "I'm afraid I've spent quite a lot of my time here since then."

Finel settles his hands lightly on the table, fingers twined together. "Have you been with the Inquisition long, Lady Alexandrie?"

"Only since after the Grand Tourney at Wycome. I came originally to join my sister, but she has since returned to Val Royeaux with a very prestigious appointment; one she has hoped for all her life." She misses Geneviève terribly, but she is too proud to mind as much as she might. A Chevalier of the Empress's personal guard, serving as she most wished to, and terribly honorable for their family besides.

"I am... sorry to hear of the timing of your arrival, Finel," Alexandrie says with some gravity. "Hardly a fine introduction to our company."

open | neither snow nor rain

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