I can do it with instruments,

[fightingale]

WHO: Leliana & open;
WHAT: the many adventures of Sister Nightingale - open prompts and some custom made.
WHEN: Some prompts can be backdated, if you like! Otherwise, spanning the end of fantasy land January.
WHERE: various!
NOTES:brackets or prose are fine, I'll match whatever you prefer :Db feel free to pp me on @swoons on plurk, or pm me if you'd like a custom starter! I'm more than happy to whip one up.

( herald's rest. )

( and there goes someone slinking out of the tavern, and they may just have knocked into your character on their way. they have lost a fine dagger and a bag of coin to a woman sitting in the corner, who is presently shuffling cards with a slight, pleased smile. it was foolish to let skills atrophy, whether it is the wielding of blades and arrows, or the brutal delivery of a winning hand. she has finished her wine, and is waiting for the man at the bar to deliver more. )

( gardens. )

( In the past she would spend more time in their little improvised Chantry, have lit candles and murmured prayers. She finds herself lacking the inclination, today. The Chantry has been a comfort to her for so many years, now, but she has always existed at odds with others. The brothers and sisters in Lothering had doubted her, and there had been part of her that relished the attention, even as she was appalled by their self-centered obsession that the Maker's love must make you unique. The memory makes a sharp, unpleasant smile tug at the corners of her mouth as she wanders the garden. It has become something of habit, letting the sun's descent and the pulling away of the yellows and oranges pooled across the sky and the inky blue and black of the night sky truly falls. Perhaps it is dramatic of her, but she would like to allow herself the indulgence.

Perhaps she hears the approach, and it breaks her from her reverie, or perhaps it is one of the rare occasions where she chooses to make the approach. )

It is beautiful, no?

( wildcard. )

I'm lazy, hit me with whatever idea grabs you :]b Rookery? Nug adventures? idk ANYTHING

( alistair. )

( Most people give their friends some warning before visiting.
Most people, however, are not Leliana, and so it is that she is standing at the entrance of Alistair's chambers just as he is leaving to go somewhere, a squeaking nug following at her ankles. She cannot loom over Alistair (it's not like she can physically loom over most people, actually) but she still has something of a presence, and she sometimes forgets not to loom in social settings. Or maybe she just wants to see the look on his face, because Alistair is so terribly expressive. She can't imagine a worse spy, but that's an endearing quality in a friend. ) Did I catch you at a bad time?

( That smile suggests that she isn't overly concerned about it, actually. )

( maria hill. )

( There were not many templars she held in esteem. Or, perhaps, there were not many templars that she deemed worthy of their rank and responsibility-- no. Leliana frowns, discontent with her own thoughts. The Chantry was a flawed thing, a thing that needed gutting and reworking in its entirety, as much as she suspects the very mention of such thoughts would make some amongst her frequent company less than easy. The Maker was a being of love, of acceptance - and he made mages, and granted them their gift. Why, then, was it the Maker's will that they be torn from their families, treated as if they were abominations before a demon could so much have dreamed of tempting them. Their gifts were shackled, and their wills, and all the while murderers and thieves like Leliana herself could walk free. It was not right, and the thoughts of Chantry corruption, of templar abuses of power and the suffering that those who claimed to do the Maker's bidding brought was insufferable. It could not endure.

Leliana paces, one hand balled into a tight fist as she walks the ramparts, eager to gain some air away from the rookery. And perhaps these thoughts leave her a hypocrite, because what is she, if not a bringer of death? She could bring men to their knees with a threat and a whisper, and cut their throats for the sake of certainty. She was no better, that she knows, but it is not for herself that she Chantry must be reformed. No, she knows the darkness within, and it is only one so well-versed that could dream of cutting away such a foul infection with the surgical precision required.

Perhaps the Maker has a sense of humour, that she looks away from the stretch of blue skies and mountains, only to be met with... a templar, and a cooperative one, at that. The hand that was so tightly clenched relaxes, and Leliana eases her posture, leaning against the ivy-strewn wall. ) Maria. I trust all is well?

( zevran. )

( Luncheon between assassins. It was laughable, in a way. Still, she has put off catching up with her old friend for far too long, and of all people, Zevran is one of few she has the most tolerance for. It is not that she is impatient, and she can play parts well, it is simply... Zevran knows her well, better than most, and so there are those who wish to make an impression on Sister Nightingale, on the advisor and the spymaster, or they are afraid of what she knows and what she can do. Neither particularly bothers her, but sometimes it is pleasant to be in the company of those who do carry the same expectations. Perhaps being in the company of one who remembers the earnest bard come lay-sister is a relief, as well, who has seen her evolution.

Leliana is sitting on a rooftop, eyes closed and inhaling deeply, relishing the way the mountain air stings her lungs on the deep breath, and has something of a picnic - if such a term can be used, in these circumstances - laid out. Eyes still closed, she smiles ever so slightly. He may move silently, stalk with the best, but she is Sister Nightingale, and detection is something she has known for decades, now. )

You made it.

Comments

[arcaneadvisor]

Your lady ambassador? A possibility. [Morrigan prefers to shout, to snipe, to get what she wants through sniping and sheer force of will, the blistering arguments with Celene ample demonstration of that. Speaking of which.] There are many things I would take over Alistair’s bleating and thinly veiled accusations, Wynne’s nonsense, Oghren’s everything, and an awful lot of what Zevran came out with. There was you and Sten, sometimes Shale.

[That she’s missed them is strange, or maybe not so when she looks at, at actual companionship for the first time in her life. She remembers that Leliana so well, how it seemed more a game to try to get under her skin. Would she want to now? Would she want to know what this Leliana is capable of?] You named a nug after me? Those awful little vermin? Are we all to find some small squealing pink thing named after us?

[At least her namesake has sense, that would be the most she would say, were she to dignify this conversation much further but now she just finds herself wondering if Leliana truly missed them so in the intervening years, and if she names her birds as well. It’s quite the jump from Shmooples to Nugistair and whatever Morrigan’s nug equivalent is.]

One can hear Alistair coming a mile off, even a boy playing can hear him coming. If there is a vendetta though [and that’s almost regret, it’s been ten years and still he gives her headaches but his son is here and she’s done right by him as best she can, better than either of them had at any rate] well that is his. I have more important matters to attend to, though so long as he rises to the bait...

[And he needs something to remember who he was, when the Wardens are plagued by Corypheus, when there are more questions than answers. Not that she’d admit it, he probably wouldn’t either, too disturbing a notion to entertain but you can’t come out of a Blight the same people that you were. She never expected to care for anything beyond saving her own skin from Flemeth.]

That it has already done, though no one can tell the future, least of all now. [They couldn’t remain forever but she had those years with him when all she needed was something she would never have found outside. That place between, that strange and wonderful place where history lived and the magic rippled over her skin, sanctuary and shelter. She can’t help the smile, soft but sad, almost pained because there’s so much more to consider now, that destiny that sits upon his shoulders and the soul carried within that little boy she loves so fiercely.] I wonder, is it so strange that I care for him? Tis hard to tell with Zevran and broaching it with Alistair thus far is...is best done in person but I will not push him. He rarely thinks before he speaks as it is. Whatever else Kieran is...he is a boy, he is my son. [She regrets the question, almost immediately because she doesn’t know how to do this mothering thing, or if loving him now makes up for the selfishness of acquiring him in the first place, if she’s any different to her own mother for having a plan where he has so little say or knowledge of it. But she’s trying and the eluvian was part of that, perhaps it will help Leliana to understand.] No guards, the less attention drawn to it the better. There is only one other I have met here that has even seen such a thing, Merrill, the Dalish elf that was one of Hawke’s companions and she does not know what I do.

[Satisfaction makes her smile, no small amount of pride either because the work she put into it and maybe she can show it to Leliana when things are more settled - show her what it means, what advantage it might give to them, to lead her through a place so few have seen since the fall of Arlathan.

The indignation makes her laugh, shaking her head before she takes a step forward and turns enough to look Leliana in the eye.] Lecture you most certainly did! And what pressing social engagements would Celene’s apostate be a part of here, I wonder?

[Although having so many of the those who fought at the Hero’s side...it could help. And she hates that she’s been in Orlais enough to actually think of politics so easily, especially around Leliana, but planning is planning, and the wilds prepares you for survival.] Redeeming qualities, I have never heard it phrased quite that way but there were so many gasps the day I was presented, in that dark dress and no mask. You might even see it.

[But to be fair, ten years and motherhood and she still looks the same and that’s something to be proud of.]

[fightingale]

( Expression is— she is not even sure what her expression must be. Sad? Happy? Some complex mix, that on one so much inclined to subtlety now hardly translates? ) There are so many questions I wish I had asked them.
( All of them, really. But especially Wynne, who is beyond their reach, and Sten, who she wonders if they will ever see again, and what he would think of their Inquisition. Sten you could always count on to be forthright. She misses that. Better leave it, though, better to deflect. ) But I am glad I made it into the “somewhat tolerable” section of your social circle.

( Surely naming nugs is the most terrible crime a person could manage, the true sinister strength of the Nightingale. She smirks a little. )
Morrinug, ( she confesses, quite serenely. ) She can be quite aggressive. She head butted a scout’s ankle, once, just as they were going towards the stairwell. It was such a mess to clean up.

( Is she joking? Is she serious? She’s joking.
Maybe. )

I don’t know, ( and perhaps that is too honest, but she pushes on. ) I never thought you incapable of caring. Confusing, yes, and very disagreeable at times, but… everyone has humanity. ( Leliana shakes her head a little, thinking. ) I believed I was chosen by the Maker. I do not know that I can look back at that time with any certainty of the convictions I held.

( That she was chosen, that she was so different from Marjolaine… a good deal of folly, and little else. Short-lived delusions. ) That you love your son is not under question, Morrigan. I apologise if I made it seem so. And I cannot imagine Alistair would ever hold true malice against anyone, not against you. Kieran allowed both he and Jonas to live on. We are all indebted to you for that, and to Kieran, no matter what comments might be made.

( Her own included - she cannot deny a certain incredulity at the thought of Morrigan raising a child, and has even voiced such thoughts to Zevran. She was still so petty and emotional, even now, as the Nightingale. It was a disappointing thing to know of yourself. Perhaps an off-shoot of playing the Game so long and so well. Perhaps simply a flaw in herself that she has allowed to take root.

As for the guard to this mysterious artefact, she simply nods, acquiescing to Morrigan’s wisdom on the matter. That Merrill, though… she has not yet spoken with her. Curiosity might demand that she must, though carefully, thoughtfully. It would not do to betray Morrigan’s confidence, not when it is so new (and not at all, she can imagine. Morrigan is softer, not de-clawed.) ) I will remember.

( And she may question. She suspect they may need to change more than even she anticipated, and if anyone might hold the keys to change, to radical ideas not yet considered… Morrigan may well be that person. Quite what that will mean for the Inquisition, she does not know, but they cannot afford to dismiss things out of hand. Not any more. )

I offered advice, ( she protests, although it is half-hearted. ) Well, perhaps if we are very fortunate, Josie will be able to arrange a ball. A gathering of visiting dignitaries for you to wow and delight. ( Though she cannot imagine Vivienne would take that lying down, that is another matter entirely. This is the moment to tease and counter tease, as she has not been free to in months. It is very good, to have the company of old friends.

She even laughs, though only quietly, and only for a moment, short enough that it might be missed or mistaken for a sharp intake of breath. ) Of course. You are beautiful, powerful, and revealed you true face to those who guard that secret so jealously. They would have been outraged by your boldness, and intrigued by it. Rumours and vicious words would have been the first thing they reached for.

( That last comment comes more slowly, more carefully, and her expression is serious again when she looks to Morrigan. ) It cannot have been easy to raise Kieran in such a place, so… contrived and utterly false. Gold lions and jewels and all the glittering things to awe us, when really it is… a nest of vipers.

( A pause, and she shakes herself, refocuses on exactly what she means to say: ) It would require great strength.

( To raise a child in such circumstances, to keep him safe, without all the adversity that Morrigan doubtless faced. )

[arcaneadvisor]

Is that not always the way? Do we not always reach for the past and the answers we never thought we might need only for it to be next to impossible? [The greatest struggle of her research is always having to look and wonder at what it might have been used for, what the ancient elves might have been. She won't admit it to another soul, she's too proud for that as well as knowing that she isn't a fool in the first place, that she can make sensible and reasoned guesses, fighting different pieces together but it will still never be what was. There's no way to bring back the dead to give sensible answers, only angry shades and corpses, a pale shadow, a mockery.] Tis a small circle.

[Growing here perhaps. There are one or two who have made her laugh, there is a student in shapeshifting, another interested, a few others that don't completely irritate her to the point of avoiding them or making sure they know not to pester but Leliana and Zevran are those rare creatures, her barbs meant for teasing more than wounding.]

Have you told her the same legends you spoke of when we met? Was her mother a nutty old bat of a nug caked in mud and dirt? Of a nug that behaves more like a spider when the males come to court her, unless she truly is like my mother.

[Joking about a subject like this makes it...well not easier, it can't be easier when your mother is Flemeth, when you must look over one shoulder and hold your breath but it does help. A little at least. This is a part of Leliana she doesn't find disagreeable, whistling past the graveyard and all that.

Even if a scout took a tumble, if it had come to blood then Leliana would care. Nightingale would have made a remark to Morrigan herself about it. Surely. There's too much of Leliana still here, the woman Morrigan met when the sky darkened and the land sickened, if that person is gone then...

No, she'd rather not think that if she doesn't have to.]

I-- [When she falters, it's always because there's something she doesn't want to admit. She doesn't need another to tell her she's doing things right but each time it happens it trips her up, because it wasn't something she ever thought she would hear. Kieran will have more than she had. He'll have friends, a chance to see the world, the support he needs, a mother who loves him but love is hard when you weren't ever raised to know it.] In Orlais he was a quiet, well-spoken lad. A child of a forgotten family. Twas easier that way, there were stories of me that I do not doubt he heard but there are too many who would take advantage of a child, what would he be but another potential pawn there? He was safer as a boy connected to nothing and no one if they knew of him at all. In Skyhold I cannot keep up such a tale but what I can do so that my life touches his as little as possible?

[Well Leliana should know in much the same way as Zevran: keeping your dirty hands from the few unspoiled things as best you can, even if it's just making sure the blood is out from under your nails before you go back to them. Kieran's nightmares are those that come from within himself, not anything she whispers late in the night with expectation in her tone.]

You would risk a ball in Skyhold with the potential for scandal if the wrong Templar and the wrong mage get into the wine? [It's the most likely source of conflict as it is when neither of them have any true leadership to direct and dictate. A council can only go so far when not all the members knew a Circle or the same type of Circle.] Twould be expected of me to put in an appearance, lest they forget what I still am away from here.

[Vivienne can think what she will. Morrigan had no one but herself to find a place at Celene's side because like it or not (and like it the First Enchanter certainly does not) what Morrigan knows is never something a Circle mage could know and there's a value in it. Not even the Dalish know what she does, they can't go where she goes, they can't access what Morrigan can either through her own skill or after discussions with Celene. Morrigan's place at Celene's side isn't something that will ever be repeated, and that's why she is so close, even with all the arguments.] Whatever any of you might say, tis nothing but nonsense, caring so much for such petty things. What does it matter if one shuns those ridiculous masks [a greater challenge comes in showing your face to the world but still hiding whatever you might feel] or how dark the dress is, how low the cut.

[Yet she was copied almost instantly when the next season rolled around. Did that happen for the First Enchanter? To have Orlais readily copy someone so wild, who openly mocked them? Unlikely, Vivienne plays the Game as it is, she doesn't truly break the rules so much as bend them to her whims.]

That could almost be taken as praise.

[Look that's not something Morrigan has ever received much of, or thanks come to think of it. How does one actually accept such words with any measure of grace?]

[fightingale]

I suspect your passion for the past has rather more depth than mine.

( Undercutting herself, that. She who loves songs and history and stories, who always reached to them for insight and guidance, who adored the characters as dearly as though she knew them herself - but that side of Leliana is better extinguished. There is not time for such indulgence, here. Morrigan’s investment in the past could give them so much, but what are stories, if not her own childishness being allowed too much freedom?

And she exhales a little, stopping by some lavender and plucking a stem from in, idly rolling the stalk between her fingers. ) Exclusive sounds better.

( Though it isn’t said as jokingly as it should be. And as for the questions about the bug? Leliana shakes her head. ) There is no time for stories. If she is so intrigued, I am afraid she will have to learn to read.

( The comments on Flemeth are less easy to consider a response to, and she frowns, ceasing rolling the lavender. The crushed stalk has left aromatic oil on the fingers of her glove, their scent rising in the air. )

I doubt her mother was so toxic, ( Is what she finally allows. On that front, she is sure Morrigan deserves some seriousness.

And perhaps she thinks too long on Morrigan’s question. Morrigan’s love for the boy is commendable, and the familiarity in it is painful. The familiarity, and the absence it acknowledges, and it would shame her for her callous comments about Morrigan in years past if she did not already carry so much shame over her past, her naiveté, her determination to prove she could and would show everyone how to be happy and free. Her were the hands of destruction, now, and Morrigan was the one who nurtured, who cared. In the eyes of the Maker it was probably fitting, to be so punished for her pride. )

That you remember and ask yourself that question is, I think, a very good start. Not enough people interrogate their own actions. They simply do, with no consideration of the repercussions and the human cost.

( She exhales, lets the sprig of lavender fall to the grown, and retrains her focus entirely on Morrigan. )

Sounds like a diplomatic problem, ( Dry. False dryness. ) I do not have time to attend such things, but I am sure Josie can handle whoever gets in the wine, more than ably.

( This would be an excellent window to make a quip on how low cuts are actually very important, but she has not the taste for it in the present moment. And for one who finds the Game engaging, interesting, she has moved beyond it. For a time it was her entire life, but then, so had Marjolaine been. )

It was intended as such. Try not to faint.

[arcaneadvisor]

This coming from you of all people, you who spoke of the Chasind legends - and what bard would know the details of such a tale off the top of their head I cannot say - as if I were not present too?

[Genuine surprise is a rare thing but it’s always unwelcome though this time for a different reason; even if it was part of her job, there was passion whenever Leliana told a sorry or sang a song, something that had Morrigan paying attention even if she refused to turn her head. At least there already exists much to share, and Leliana would return her belongings to her.

No one else gets to take Morrigan’s volumes out of her direct line of sight.]

That’s very Orlesian of you.

[And that would be Morrigan’s way of laughing without laughing. The arguments over how to phrase things in Orlais and no wonder they were expanding the borders prior to that, they’ve clearly gone too long looking ever inward to have Gaspard and Celene throwing troops at one another.

Tis no small feat to walk out of the shadow. The shadow can move just as easily as if it has stitched itself to your heel. Were there other daughters Morrigan never knew that got away? Is each tale true of the wild lands and one witch carving her own life free of a mother who would do with them just as she pleased, all for her own sake. In some ways that’s not so different to how some Orlesians treat their children only lacking actual possession; she knows well enough to worry, and to know that there are times when Kieran would be better off raised by other hands. That a day might come before she would wish it where she has to part from him before any temptation grows, weeds choking out the flowers, but not yet, not now, not if she is aware.

Not everyone has ever had reason to be so aware, as you or I. I wonder, should they be envied for that or is it best to go through life with eyes open lest you stumble blindly?

[For once there’s no answer. For her son she would chose ignorance if she could so long as she is there but they both know the damage it does.

This time she gives in, a hand on the arm to stop them both.] If I attend you are most assuredly attending too, your absence would be noted, there are many who would take advantage without your fearsome reputation present.

[Or she’ll drag Leliana down with her, maybe to thumb her nose at certain folks but to see if she can, to see how much convincing it would take.

Still…]

You flatter yourself.

[But you know +5 approval]

[fightingale]

And, as I recall, you thought it rather presumptuous of me. Arrogant, even. And when history is penned by those who hold victories, or who simply pen a tale when another does not... I have no interest in lies. ( It comes out too harsh and too bitter. It feels as though everything is poisoned, some days, as if some slow and insidious toxin has been eating through the tissue and bone of their world from the first. In those days she was too naive to see it. ) "History" was defined so often by those who reviled mages, who saw elven culture burned to the ground, as best they could.

( No. She is not sure she wants to read those history books, any more, nor their more romantic variations. Not if she holds a shred of integrity, and not when there is so much work to be done.
Her tone has more lightness than the rest of her, tension pulled tight across her back, when she replies. ) Of course. Another Orlesian quality, no? As is my plan to have a series of excellent locks to prevent you from getting me.

( As if locks could truly befuddle a mage. Then again, it was she or Zevran who picked locks, and never Morrigan and Wynne who blasted them with magic... perhaps for the sake of their egos. Who really knows?

Quick, this is very quickly carrying the risk of involving an emotion, or something. Leliana looks up to the tower, and see the flickering light of a lit candle. One of the scouts has returned, then. Thank the Maker. )

I am afraid I must go, Morrigan. Duty calls. ( She moves swiftly and silently, too much a habit to allow herself any other kind of motion, but stops herself before she has drawn too far away, even if she does not wait for goodbyes. ) Keep me abreast of developments with your project.

( It is not quite it was good to see you, but perhaps it carries the tone of it. Perhaps. )