faderift | closed. send out the morning birds to sing of the damage,

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closed. send out the morning birds to sing of the damage,

WHO: Martel, Adelaide LeBlanc.
WHAT: Comparative magical theory.
WHEN: Vaguely current/recent.
WHERE: Skyhold Garden.
NOTES: Martel is a warning, but if anything specific comes up, I will edit.

Having returned from his adventure down the Frostbacks with the Orlesian elf girl (and her thrice-damned horse), Martel - does not immediately seek out Adelaide's company. He does not, as a rule, seek out company. Much less immediately. There is enough as needs doing that can or must be done by him that though he has had it in mind to do for a time, it's been...not urgent. While other things - he did not miss the Abomination, no - have been.

Still. He finds her in the garden, unhurried as he descends the steps, observing her. The way that she moves, stiff and deliberate; it is a moment before he announces himself, and not with a greeting--

"It seemed to me that as I have made myself a part of this organisation, I might make myself available to some of the relevant parties as to what uses I can be put to," not quite dryly, just sort of - as Kalten once put it, you know how he is. Martel talks a certain way, it's a problem with his personality.

And as for relevant parties, there are a few, potentially. But the simplest place to start is with the mages, and he and Adelaide are...

...acquainted.

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"Coaxing a spirit such as I know them is more like bargaining with a child - do this chore and have a sweet. One needs to handle them carefully, certainly, but more for the sake of their pride than anything else; all things have risk, but the risk there is far more minor than what you contend with."

Or what he would, if he were to try it here - but Martel was never one for playing games with spirits. No; he had skipped over silly things like that and gone straight to summoning fucking Damorks. With so much distance between him and his life, now, he is almost -

But it's done, it's over. It doesn't matter what he might've done. Only what he does next.

"I've always found the theology of sorcery more interesting than some of its practical applications," he admits, after a thoughtful pause. "The philosophy of it, the...the implications of my ability to channel my own power, I wish I could discuss it with Lady Sephrenia." More than anything, he wishes that - for more reasons than the obvious. "What that means for everything we understand about what we do and how it works."

"Here it depends. From what I was told and what I experienced- spirits choose mages that they will speak to often before their magic ever manifests. I've been hearing them for as long as I can remember. Calling one and convincing it to partner with you varies from spirit to spirit, mage to mage. My mentor charmed a spirit of faith into working with him. For me it was simpler and more specific. Compassion has been speaking to me for most of my life. In the interest of knowing precisely to what extent they would aid me, we made a contract and I keep it in return for their power." Rules she must follow, guidelines for how she might live.

It limits her in combat, to be certain, but she doesn't mind it overmuch.

"It does beg the question- if your sorcery has simply shifted into something that follows the rules of magic as established in Thedas- or if you would have been able to channel without the guidance of your patron gods in your world."

"It seems to me I bend those rules a little too much as it is for it to be the whole of the explanation, but," with a hint of genuine dissatisfaction, "I suppose I will never know."

There's no one to debate it with - there's only one way to find out, and that's going home, as they've firmly established he wouldn't choose to if he could. He has spoken of his death with, by and large, equanimity; a little bleak, but not truly regretful. He has spoken of his world with an absent-minded distance, some fleeting hints of affection but as if it is a place he has been gone from a long time, a place he has accepted is the past.

No; the first and only moment it seems he might regret anything, it's to have such a question raised and be forced to accept he'll never truly know the answer. Martel's never been good at accepting 'no' at all.

"In Eosia...the Younger Gods of Styricum are a thousand, and the relationship one has with one's god is something profoundly personal. The means by which patronage and worship are defined for a person are - intimate. It isn't polite to ask a Styric who it is they worship. To be perfectly honest, I don't know how such things are determined in the ordinary way of things."

But he's not known that for longer, enough to be more at ease with it. For a long time, it didn't matter: "For the knights, we don't choose. There is a patron god of each knighthood, through whom we practise our craft - for all that they are clergymen, of a kind, to be a knight of the Church of Chyrellos is to have an intimate relationship with a the god of another people. And the church turns a blind eye to all of these armored heathens lifting their swords in her name." There's a wryness that's almost kind. Ah, the hypocrisy and nonsensical nature of church life.

"It isn't," he adds, scrupulously fair, "that they are not faithful servants of their own god." To whom he self-evidently feels less connection; perhaps that crisis of faith he mentioned. "Knighthoods are a religious order, for all that a tavern the night of a battle might give you a rather different impression. But we are no longer obliged to simply have faith. We know that our god is real. We know that the gods of Styricum are real. And while one lets us to our own devices, a remote father represented by corrupt churchmen who send us to our deaths and abandon us to the follies of mortal kings, the other is a guiding hand and familiar voice each and every day of our lives, a god who is strengthened by our love and strengthens us in turn to survive."

(He doesn't notice when he stops saying they. Or that, perhaps, he is not so reconciled to their absence as he's asserted.)

"Would a lack of faith not upset the very balance of an organized religion? Knowing something to be true, for it not to be the subject of speculation and a matter of fact would reshape the entire basis of any chantry here. It would end academic debate on the whims or intent of said deity if you don't have to guess at it or meditate on it or refer back to a document centuries old and attempt to divine their obscure scrawling as something relevant and concrete. Why bother when you can ask them?" Certainty in religion. If she could stir up the spirit of Andraste or call to the maker and ask what in their name they meant by magic, why they had it, why demons were a thing, what did they want for and from mages in the first place-

Quite a few of her mentors might yet live. The war might not have happened. The abuse many mages endured may never have been. Circles may never have been created.

And what of those that disagreed with divine decree when goes are not speculative, but fact? Where did free will come into play when such beings existed and took an active role in the lives of those around them-

Were these beings gods at all or merely something that defied rational explanation and thus were given such a title out of man's inherent superstitious nature?

How did Martel's world function?

"How would having that many-" No, that's not the right question- and it's impolitic. "...Ce qui la baise?"

He can't understand that.

"I have no frame of reference for this. I suppose this is what you feel like when we go on about Andraste, the Maker, and everything else you've fallen into."

Martel is wry at her questions, though his amusement sharpens at what he can well guess is not a polite thing she just said to him - a little gently,

"Are your religious institutions well known for being satisfied with the word of soldiers? Even soldiers of your Maker? Chyrellos isn't going to set aside centuries of theological debate and accepted truths because a soldier says the Styric gods are real. The people of Elenia have faith or don't off their own back - the church is all the things a church apparently feels it ought be. And for all that we have that knowledge...our god is no less remote. Not all knights are devout, or remain so, but many serve because what they have faith in is that their faith matters."

(And he did, once, for that same reason - but if you were to put the question to him again, if you were to ask him now... if it mattered, how could he have done all that he did? It doesn't matter. It can't.)

"An Elene churchman would kindly tell you that the Younger Gods are likely demons. That the knights are moral men who can be trusted to stand proof against their temptation and wield their power to the greater good of our own faith, that our faith is such proof. It's an argument that struggles somewhat if you've met many knights, but frankly, most don't. Rendors, across the sea to the south," in a faint sigh, "warn their children that the church knights will come if they are not good. That they are eight feet tall, summon demons with a snap of their fingers and wear the skulls of Rendor babies as belts. I believe there was something in there about horns, as well. Does the knowledge you have about yourself stop superstitions and assumptions and argument about what a mage is?"

His shrug is loose.

"I know lots of things. You know lots of things. The world doesn't turn on what you and I might know. I served a degenerate king for years - knowing what he was meant nothing. Meant no more than knowing the truth of my god, which in whole part, I never did. No one ever does. The gods are not so easily understood. You can ask. You shouldn't assume your question will be answered, or that you will understand the answer you're given if you get one."

He doesn't sound bitter.

After a moment -

"And no church knight is going to walk into the Free City and make such a declaration. They're not all idiots." Just most of them. Pisshead bastards.

Edited 2015-12-26 05:35 (UTC)

"So you've a multitude more gods and kings and knights and religion and they are all still useless bastards." Is what she is taking away from this. The basis of knowledge and faith and politics and religion and while it is not quit so few or so bloody as far as she has heard of Thedas; it is not all that much better.

Somehow that is bizarrely comforting.

"Yes," he says, a bit arch, without needing to consider it in much depth. "And all still convinced of their own faith's superiority. We haven't recently tried to convert Rendor by the sword, but, well."

Eight foot tall demon summoners that wear Rendorish baby skulls as belts. It wasn't a pretty part of the church's storied history.

"I don't particularly miss it."

"It does not sound much like it was worth missing." Alright. Setting that aside, setting cultural differences and questions of faith and kings aside- teaching. Learning. Making use of Martel's skills in a way that he does not mind offering them. "There are many mages on the Council. Why come to me?"

His shrug is one-shouldered, easy.

"Why not you?" by way of perfectly reasonable counterpoint. "There are many mages on the Council, but the number of mages in Skyhold with whom I'm acquainted is a short list and on your Council, you are the whole of it."

He could've gone to Dorian Pavus, but that probably wouldn't have endeared him to anyone. Maybe Pavus.

"I'd recommend becoming better acquainted with more of them but I would hate to inflict your humor on most." He can be charming, yes, he can be reasonable, yes, but there is a bite to him a fair many would find either vexing or frightening. Adelaide merely finds it reasonable.

Vexing or frightening is more the reaction he's accustomed to, at this point in his life, but he sees little point to courting it in Thedas. His options here are limited; he must be reasonable. Sometimes being reasonable means mitigating his own personality through intermediaries.

Like Adelaide, who will never take him seriously. It's refreshing.

"Well, if there's anyone you think I ought to inflict myself on, do let me know."

"Dorian Pavus." She says without missing a beat- though she does allow one to pass before continuing. "And Madame Le Fer."

What they will make of him, if anything, is worth whatever vexation she might earn at pointing him in their direction. Dorian might be well pleased with Martel's attention. Vivienne, like her, may not have the patience for his ego.

"Pavus I've met," he supplies, contemplative. "He makes an able instructor."

It doesn't sound like much, but Martel is hardly known for being effusive in his praise - that there is any, the sparseness of the remark is compliment in itself, no backhand on the back end of it, for all that he says it like an afterthought. He found little to object to in Dorian.

Probably there are those who'd take that as something to object to in him, but they'd likely have to work through the long list of his other flaws, first.

Her eyes narrow. "...You approve of him."

In some way. Martel isn't one to bandy about flattery or insincere praise- in fact he is not one to praise anyone for anything whatsoever. She may not know the man terribly well but she has noticed that much.

"Shouldn't I?"

His tone is slightly too droll for him to play at being entirely unaware of the position that that Tevinter mage occupies in Skyhold and the Inquisition. Especially as he continues,

"Don't you, after all? The castle walls do have ears, my lady councilor." The tease in it lacks any bite; he is as near to relaxed as he ever seems to get, like the lion waiting for something worth tensing for.

"I did not say that. I merely expressed surprise that you could approve of anyone." Best as she can tell he tolerates her. To what end? It wearies her to attempt to think that far ahead. He is neither threat nor demon nor templar, anything more is irrelevant.

That he teases her isn't unwelcome.

"He offers good wine and intelligent conversation." A beat. "Decent wine."

"I'm perfectly capable of appreciating both of those things, for a start," he protests, leaning back on his elbows. Making himself quite at home, if not currently very useful. "I'm not an unreasonable man."

No, he is. He is an incredibly unreasonable man. But one that can also appreciate sharp edges, intellect, and competence where he finds it. (And prefers both of the latter to come with the former.)

"Bullshit." He is unreasonable- she does not know how unreasonable, but a man with this air of arrogance and his opinions? Must be. They're the only sort that infuriate and captivate her attention quite so intensely.

Unreasonably reasonable, perhaps. Unreasonably rational. Something to that effect. "You find him useful."

Much as he probably finds her useful, but that hasn't occurred to her just yet.

"Not to me personally," he says, very mildly. "I find him competent and interesting. I think the Inquisition has a resource in him they ought not overlook."

It isn't quite the same thing, but - well, it isn't as if he doesn't think Dorian is useful. It's just that it has more to do with generally approving of his uses than it does considering them in context of himself.

...whereas cultivating Adelaide has rather more direct benefits.

"A sensible mage from Tevinter. I honestly had not thought them to exist." And yet here Dorian is, proving a number of people on either side of the conflict wrong. He knows it, pretends it doesn't bother him, and moves along with his life and studies. Adelaide has to respect that.

"The world is full of surprises," he says, his faint smile more in his voice than on his lips. "This world, and, I imagine, every other."

He was surprised enough to find himself in it.

"He bemoans the state of things at the top of his lungs, but he acts to a purpose and achieves a great deal while other people are complaining about the sound of his voice." A shrug.

"Were it not for the sound of his voice we might have him on the Council. As it is? I may or may not use him as a consultant. Unofficially." If two friends share wine and happen to discuss council business among other things- that breaks no regulations. He has no vote but he does have opinions- and as he's put forth the effort to see her where she sits? It is only fair that he help her manage in some way or another.

"You may end up sharing his fate; while the manner in which magic is learned and taught varies greatly- perhaps there is something of use in your teachings that can be applied to ours." Even if it is only 'hit the fool with a stick until they stop moving'.

Martel is a strong proponent of hitting fools with sticks. Just so long as Adelaide doesn't get any clever ideas about applying that wisdom to this fool, of course.

"Unofficially," he repeats, amused, at the thought of serving as Councilor LeBlanc's rifter advisor. It isn't a terrible idea; drifts him a little closer to the centre of things than he'd rightly planned on getting, but not too close. It isn't as if they're ever going to actually let someone like him serve on their Council, after all, and he has no illusions that Adelaide won't ignore his opinion and tell him he's an idiot for having it if that's her inclination.

"My practical similarities to your Templars might be useful, there."

Not that he'd speak for them - but a perspective that sits somewhere between both, an outsider's view with insight.

"It is not so clandestine as it sounds. We meet. We drink. We speak." The walls have ears but Dorian is hardly subtle in his tastes and proclivities. With Martel? Discretion or some other manner of excuse might be to her benefit.

Meeting for tea and meals would suffice for some time but- if it is possible to multitask? She would prefer that.

"In more ways than you think, truly." She's uncertain how to ask other than to simply do so, and thus thinks nothing of the asking. "It might be better for you and I to hold such conversations while you demonstrate for me what it is you will be teaching the apprentices. I should like to know what they are being shown ahead of time."

"The easiest way to demonstrate that will likely be to teach you, which I'm sorry to say might preclude the drinking," with a sharp smile - yes, perhaps it's better that the time she spends with Martel looks a bit less like the time she spends with Dorian.

Though if Skyhold means to give her a reputation for preferring biting brunet mages, there probably isn't much that can be done to stop it short of actually just marrying Alistair.

closed. send out the morning birds to sing of the damage,

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