faderift | [Open] The World It Learns

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[Open] The World It Learns

WHO: Jamie McCrimmon and you!
WHAT: Rifter reflections and various other things
WHEN: Mid-to-late Haring unless otherwise specified
WHERE: Various places in Skyhold
NOTES: Either brackets or prose is fine with me, so feel free to use either and I will match your style. I'm also happy to set threads prior to the Abomination appearing, so if you would prefer one of those, just say so in the header. Will update warnings as needed.

Battlements
[Monsters. It seems no matter where he goes, there's monsters. It's something that's been a part of his life for so long now that he normally he doesn't even think twice about the fact they're here, too, just falls into the habits he's developed over the past few years when they turn up.

The night the Abomination shows up is one of those nights, although he doesn't wind up facing it directly. Instead, he helps others get out of its path and tries to keep the fires from spreading, and when all is said and done the night becomes a bit of a blur. It's not until a few days later that he finds himself up on the battlements, staring down at the Courtyard below.

It's entirely not because of what's happened, although it is part of it. Losing people is never easy, and there's a part of him that regrets they couldn't do more to save them, especially that poor mage lass who'd never stood a chance. However, what happened also reminds him all too much of the way life used to be, before he'd fallen through the rift. Only a few months ago he'd still been with the Doctor and Zoe, fighting beasties and helping the people wherever they'd wound up. Sometimes they'd died, too, but they'd done their best to stop things from getting worse. Maybe he's doing the same here now, in a way, but now he's doing it alone. As much as he likes to think that he can handle what this world is throwing at him, deep down he misses his friends - and he winds up caught up in those thoughts, making it all too easy to sneak up on him at the moment and catch him unawares.]

Library
[Jamie's not normally the sort to be found in the library. He's neither a mage or a scholar, and much prefers trying to see about getting something to eat rather than nosing around old books. But the longer he's here, the more he's starting to realize that the books here can be useful, too. The main problem with that - or with reading anything that's being written down around here - is that he has no idea how to make heads or tales out of the runes people seem to be using for writing. Having to learn to read all over again in the space of only a few years isn't something he's particularly keen on doing, but given that it could be something that would be handy to know, he's determined to figure it out.

The problem, in his case, is getting started. There were books the Doctor used to when he first taught him to read. Simple children's books, ones where it was easy enough to take the letters he'd been taught and string them into words, and from there, start to puzzle out sentences. He hasn't seen all that many children about, but the library here has a lot of different books. Surely there's something her that'd work. On the days he's trying to find these books anyone who happens to come by the library can find him pulling tomes off the shelves, leafing through them (often while the book is upside down), and putting them back again, although not necessarily the right way around. Sometimes he finds a couple that look almost promising, and settles in a nearby chair, slowly tracing the symbols with a finger as if trying to make some sort of sense out of them. More often than not, though, he simply winds up looking frustrated with the whole exercise and winds up grumbling to himself. He tries to keep that part of things quiet...but he's also not particularly good at always being quiet. If it means he gets glared at, well, that's only to be expected.]

Out and about
[Being at Skyhold for the moment means that he can be found just about anywhere: having a drink at the tavern, trying to sneak a bit of food from the kitchens, or hanging out with the horses in the stables. Occasionally he can be found carving a piece of wood. It's a longer piece, about the length of someone's forearm, and to those who can recognize such it's slowly starting to resemble something rather akin to a recorder, although still very roughly formed. He seems to be taking his time with it, although it's hard to say if it's because he wants it to be perfect or if he just needs the practice. Either way, if you need him for something, you should be able to track him down one way or another.]

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Sina blinked at him, then smiled in pleasant surprise. "We have things like the lutes people here use," she replied, ".. stories are a huge part of Dalish culture. And we have songs, though they're often sad." Perhaps this wasn't surprising.

Even for Jamie, who wouldn't even dream of being an expert in these matters, it wasn't surprising, and he nodded, a little solemnly.

"Aye, I think I could see that." It hadn't been his point to get to think of something sad, though, and after a moment he offered her a quick smile. "Look, since I'll not be able to play anything for you for a bit and you've not got a lute to do the same, what would you say to maybe telling some stories? I've got a few I could tell in return, and it seems to me like it'd be a good way to pass some time. What do you say?"

Sina blinked, her expression brightening, and she nodded. "I'd love to," she said with a smile, then paused, her eyes going distant for a moment as she thought. "...would you like to hear about Ghilan'nain, the halla mother?"

Jamie's own smile was maybe just a touch lopsided, given how often he tended to pull his mouth off to one side, but it was warm all the same. He'd heard a little about hallas, but not a lot, and a story about them seemed like an very good way to find out a bit more. Accordingly he shifted a bit, working his way into a more comfortable position, and gave her a nod.

"Aye, that sounds like a good one. Alright, so how's it start, then?"

"Well," Sina says, and clears her throat, lightly, "Ghilan'nain began as one of the People, a Dalish elf, though this was back when the Dales were still ours. Before the Exalted Marches." Her eyes go distant as she tells it.
"She was the Creator Andruil's favored hunter, and each day she would walk the woods that she loved. One day she came upon a human, at whose feet lay a hawk." She pauses to look at Jamie, clarifying, "the hawk is particular to Andruil. It is a symbol of her, and to kill one is an affront to her." Sina looks now at the ground, where she fiddles with a blade of grass.
"Ghilan'nain called upon Andruil to curse this hunter who had done a thing so obscene, and thus she did. But he swore as he departed that he would find Ghilan'nain, and get his revenge.

A while later, Ghilan'nain once again traversed the forest, and the hunter, still bitter with his rage, took her by surprise. He tried to kill her, but Andruil's curse prevented him from ever killing again. Instead, he blinded and bound Ghilan'nain, and left her for dead."

Sina's face has hardened somewhat, with both secondhand incredulity and sorrow. The Creators, after all, are real. This is personal.

"Ghilan'nain cried out to the Creators, unable to free herself. Because of her earlier loyalty, Andruil, who could not save her in elven form, turned her into a deer so small and so white it could not be mistaken for the usual deer of the forest. The first halla.

And thus all halla are of Ghilan'nain, and we honor her sacrifice and her loyalty by keeping them among us, working alongside us as our sisters."

With the story more or less concluded, Sina shyly looks back at Jamie, then inclines her head to gesture to the vallas'lin on her forehead. "Ghilan'nain is the Creator I chose to represent."

He's heard bits and pieces of some of these things from other places - the Exalted Marches, in particular - so that part of things is familiar enough that he doesn't interject, like he might have otherwise done. And as she goes on, he finds himself caught up by the story itself, leading to him listening intently, nodding along where it seems appropriate but otherwise saying nothing. It's only at the end that he winds up straightening up a bit, turning a little more towards her with a faintly furrowed brow. He knows he's promised her a story as well, and he'll get to that, but he does have questions - or at least once specific one, and before he gets to anything else, he's simply got to ask, now that he's got the chance to do so.

"Aye, I see. Do all the Dalish choose the Creator they want to represent, or is that something different?"

Sina nods, smiling at his curiosity. "We choose," she confirms, "sometimes whole families will honor one Creator, other times people will go with the one they relate to the most. Ghilan'nain is the Creator of safe travels, the beasts that roam the lands, caring for one's surroundings and the safety of those one loves."

As unusual as the idea of there being more than one God was, strangely there were some things about what Sina was saying that actually made sense - simply because it wasn't the first time he'd heard about the idea of someone having a specific group of places or people that they were patrons of, in a way. That was something he'd known about his whole life, and as a result his nod actually held a note of understanding to it.

"It's a bit different back home. Ours - well, mine - doesn't have a group of gods like that. Just the one. But we do have saints that are said to look over certain things like your creators do. Saint Francis, for instance, watches over animals and the environment, and Saint Christopher looks after travelers. Like me."

Listening interestedly, Sina seems nonetheless a bit perplexed. "It sounds like the Maker," she observes, "and Andraste, though I don't think she's a... Saint." The word is a bit strange, but also pleasant-sounding. "What is a saint?"

Hearing that isn't so surprising, come to think of it. It's not a word he's actually heard mentioned since coming here, and even if for some reason they did exist here, he suspects it'd be under another name. Like Andraste, although he doesn't know quite enough about her to know if she'd be a saint or just a prophet. Still...he looked thoughtful for a moment, bringing up a hand to itch at a spot at the back of his head as he considered.

"They're, ah...holy men, I suppose you could say. Andraste's not quite the same, I don't think, but she's probably the closest thing, if what I've heard about her is right. I could tell you a story about one of the saints, if you want, and you can see what you think."

Sina nods in understanding, though in the back of her mind she wonders why they would only be men. "I'd like that," she decides, with a small smile.

Holy men and women or holy people might have technically been a more accurate phrase to use here, but it hadn't really occurred to him to say it that way - something that was more a fault of his upbringing apart from anything else. And unfortunately, it didn't occur to him to correct himself afterwards, so he simply went on with the story.

"Aye, well, perhaps the most famous story of St. Francis is when he tamed the wolf that was terrorizing the people of Gubbio. While Francis was staying in that town he learned of a wolf so ravenous that it was not only killing and eating animals, but people, too. The people took up arms and went after it, but those who encountered the wolf perished at its sharp teeth. Villagers became afraid to leave the city walls.

Francis had pity on the people and decided to go out and meet the wolf. He was desperately warned by the people, but he insisted that God would take care of him. A brave friar and several peasants accompanied Francis outside the city gate. But soon the peasants lost heart and said they would go no farther.

Francis and his companion began to walk on. Suddenly the wolf, jaws agape, charged out of the woods at the couple. Francis made the Sign of the Cross toward it. The power of God caused the wolf to slow down and to close its mouth.

Then Francis called out to the creature: “Come to me, Brother Wolf. In the name of Christ, I order you not to hurt anyone.” At that moment the wolf lowered its head and lay down at St. Francis’ feet, meek as a lamb.

St. Francis explained to the wolf that he had been terrorizing the people, killing not only animals, but humans who are made in the image of God. “Brother Wolf,” said Francis, “I want to make peace between you and the people of Gubbio. They will harm you no more and you must no longer harm them. All past crimes are to be forgiven.”

The wolf showed its assent by moving its body and nodding its head. Then to the absolute surprise of the gathering crowd, Francis asked the wolf to make a pledge. As St. Francis extended his hand to receive the pledge, so the wolf extended its front paw and placed it into the saint’s hand. Then Francis commanded the wolf to follow him into town to make a peace pact with the townspeople. The wolf meekly followed St. Francis.

By the time they got to the town square, everyone was there to witness the miracle. With the wolf at his side, Francis gave the town a sermon on the wondrous and fearful love of God, calling them to repent from all their sins. Then he offered the townspeople peace, on behalf of the wolf. The townspeople promised in a loud voice to feed the wolf. Then Francis asked the wolf if he would live in peace under those terms. He bowed his head and twisted his body in a way that convinced everyone he accepted the pact. Then once again the wolf placed its paw in Francis’ hand as a sign of the pact.

From that day on the people kept the pact they had made. The wolf lived for two years among the townspeople, going from door to door for food. It hurt no one and no one hurt it. Even the dogs did not bark at it. When the wolf finally died of old age, the people of Gubbio were sad. The wolf’s peaceful ways had been a living reminder to them of the wonders, patience, virtues and holiness of St. Francis. It had been a living symbol of the power and providence of the living God."

(ooc: not mine, original version is here.)

Sina listens with interest, then with something resembling wary amusement. At the end, she waits a moment, then wrinkles her brow.
"That's a strange way for a wolf to behave," she remarks, "I expect it all would have gone differently had it been Fen'Harel." After a moment, she clarifies, "The Dread Wolf, of the People's tales."

"Aye, well, I think the point is that Saint Francis is good enough with beasties that they're willing to do things they'd not do normally," he says with a shrug. It's how he's always interpreted it, anyway. Still, he's curious again, and gives her a considering look as a result.

"Why, what would've Fen...Fen-Har-el have done? Did I say that right?"

"Fen'harel," Sina repeats, a little more slowly, and with a patient smile. "And... I suppose that makes sense, about Saint Francis. He must have been quite special, that being the case."

She looks down and begins to fiddle with the end of her scarf as she continues. "Fen'Harel was one of the Creators. There are many tales of him, but most importantly, he tricked the others and sealed them away. This is why we long for them-- they have not been present on this side of the Veil since the days of Arlathen, the great Elvhen kingdom." Her smile diminishes. In some ways it's a fairy tale, and in others, it's as real as any other piece of history. "We lost everything when our Creators went away. We no longer know their faces, and no longer have their protection. The Dread Wolf is to blame for this. He would not have lain down at anyone's feet, let alone a human's."

Well, he's at least in the right ballpark - which given how often he mangles words he doesn't understand, is something, at least. Still, he dutifully mouths the name one more time in an attempt to get the pronunciation down. Most of his attention is on Sina's explanation, however. It isn't something he's expecting at all, and as she talks, his eyebrows arch in surprise, then wind up climbing up further and further, until they get high enough that they disappear into his bangs.

"No, it doesn't sound as though he would've. Why would he want to trick the other creators like that, though? It doesn't make sense, unless there was some sort of benefit for him to do so."

Sina considers, then shrugs, her brow knitting in a thoughtful frown. "We know of his Great Betrayal, but very little of why." She hugs her knees to herself and rests her chin atop them. "Only that... he must have wanted them gone, and for Arlathan to fall."

It's strange that he'd want to do that, but Jamie has come across a lot of strange in his time. So that simply gets him to hrm thoughtfully for a moment before putting the fact in the back of his mind to mull over later. For now, he tilts his head somewhat quizzically as he looks at Sina again.

"Arlathan? Was that where your people came from? Or was it a city of some sort?"

"It was our greatest city," Sina explains with a sad sigh, "and the Dalish Keepers believe its fall, at the hands of Tevinter, was the reason our People were enslaved and all our knowledge lost. It was destroyed."

Given Sina's words earlier, hearing that the city has been lost isn't so much of a surprise as it might have been otherwise. But there's still something in her tone that makes him press his lips together briefly before a look of sympathy crosses his face - and he reaches out with a hand, meaning to lay it on Sina's arm if she lets him, just so he can offer a bit of comfort. It's all he's really able to do, in this situation.

Even if she's not inclined to let him touch her, after a moment he does wind up letting his breath out in a fairly quiet sigh.

"There's nothing left at all, then? Not any small objects that might have gone elsewhere, or stories that could've been passed down? Nothing at all?"

Sina is a bit surprised by the touch, but doesn't pull away from it. Instead, she looks into Jamie's eyes and smiles a little.

"I believe there are artifacts," she says, "Pel and her expedition found some. I've been reading about others, discovered here and there over the years." Her smile becomes more hopeful. "And stories-- of course we have stories. But that's all they are now, and it can be difficult to discern history from myth."

"Aye, well, that's the problem with stories. They tend to take on a life of their own over time."

Not that's necessarily a bad thing, but it does make it harder to figure out what's real and what's just some sort of tale. Still, when there's artifacts that might help sort that sort of thing out, he can't help but think that's a good thing.

"If Pel's found artifacts, though, then maybe you'll be able to find more. Once you're feeling better, anyway. Think that'd be something, wouldn't it?"

"That's the plan," Sina says with a smile, "I just have to.. feel better, first." Little does she know how not-better she's going to feel very soon! But nobody's that psychic, except me, the writer.

"I helped them with some on their last expedition, but wasn't able to do much. I hope that... at some point, I'll be able to go out on an expedition. I'd like to see these ruins for myself."

"Och, you'll get there."

Not knowing what the future holds means he's confident that Sina'll get there sometime soon, and then she'll be out there with the rest of them, reclaiming her heritage. And for the moment he gives her a brief, reassuring smile before turning

"You'll have to let me know what you wind up finding, mind. I'll admit, I'd not mind seeing what some of these artifacts look like, but it's not my place to go along on something like this."

"Oh, I will," she says, with an enthusiastic smile. "And of course the same goes for you. If you see anything that might be relevant, I'd love to hear about it." After all, it's far more likely Jamie will be out and about than she will.
"Perhaps it's not your place to seek them out, but I understand people occasionally stumble on them. All you need do is ask one of the Dalish if they think it will be useful."

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