faderift | [OPEN] Seeking faith, and speaking words I never thought I'd say..

WHO: Bethany Hawke, and You
WHAT: Bethany Hawke spending time spreading a little of what Marian had on tap; hope.
WHEN: Second Week of Guardian
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Pick your poison time

1. In the Courtyards/Gardens

Since the rift opening in the middle of the courtyard, Bethany had been helping by moving some of the heavier rubble with her magic, to assist with the rebuilding efforts. She wanted to help, in some small way, and she also wanted to make sure people saw magic being used to help them instead of hurt them. The mages here had gotten a lot of graff for things that were frankly in Bethany's opinion, out of their control.

So why not do something kind, that was in their control?

She could also be seen walking perhaps the ugliest black and white dog you have ever seen, who she fondly calls Gamlen, through the garden and in the open Skyhold Courtyard.

2. In the Library/Out in the practice ranges

As a Grey Warden, one really never stopped training. There were still endless darkspawn both above and below the earth. Yet while here, Bethany had found, at first, no reason to be training as vigorously. She found her mistake there when the rift opened in the middle of the courtyard, so now she put in a few hours every day in the library, working on learning more magic.

She... may have found a few volumes on griffons, and snuck in some reading when she could.

Out on the training ranges though - she went through the motions of different spells without actually casting them, her eyes closed and her movements smooth and even. She had learned this from her father - a way to help meditate and focus - creating more personal mana for herself and helping her pinpoint her spells even more directly. Sometimes she practiced with her staff, but more often than not, without.

Did she worry about Templars? Absolutely not. She was a Warden, and the Circles were no more. She had no more fear of them than she would anyone with a sword that she did not know personally.

3. The Herald's Rest

Bethany's evenings were spent in the Herald's Rest, sitting with a mug of mead and her balls of yarn, peacefully knitting. She would always welcome anyone to her table with a warm smile, and will chat with just about anyone about anything - except she did keep it silent on just why there were so many Wardens appearing.

She would also sit in on Wicked Grace and lose on a regular basis, sometimes horribly, but it was universally acknowledged that she didn't have a good poker face. Or a face that could easily lie, either.

Mostly though, she stayed aside and observed quietly, knitting needles clacking away as she soaked in everyone around her. A habit she picked up when traveling with Marian, and one that was doing her quite well here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Vergil suppresses a wry smile at this comparison. His feelings are complex, since Kirkwall is definitionally provincial, a place expressly meant for the funneling of sentient chattel, the lowest rungs and humblest foundations of Tevinter's glory. To stack it up next to the ancient and revered capital of the Imperium is farcical to someone like Vergil, but he's clever enough to figure that the last thing someone with first-hand experience of the erstwhile 'city of chains' wants to hear is Tevinter snobbery. To sneer at a city whose every aesthetic is inflected by Tevinter oppression would be the height of poor taste.

"Much as I would delight in the occasion of your visit," Vergil says, wrinkling his nose, "I'm not going to wish for another Blight just so I can have the pleasure. Perhaps sometime you can take me along on an expedition that will take us across open fields, and have us camp beneath a wide starry sky." He speaks with near-poetic cadence, his words mundane yet incantatory; he aims to cast a kind of conjuration with his words, to will - through imagining - what he describes.

"I've no skill with spell or sword," he confesses, "but I'm a fair shake at translation. I also have a voluminous knowledge of drinking songs."

His eyes are also brown, but dark, concealing craft beneath their sincerity. Not that he aims to deceive her, but he does bely himself, in both meanings of the word, veiling and unveiling. Thus the furrow of his brow as he peruses her pin, and examines her garb in light of her explanation. Intrigued, yes, but also a little wary. Orlesian influences make a Chantry brother like himself edgy.

...still, those dimples would set anyone at ease.

"I realize this is a stunningly personal question, and it is one I would not dare ask were I not entirely taken with you, but..." he cocks his head, "how is it a young, bright, magically-gifted woman such as yourself comes to make so... final a decision? It's heroic, of course, as all the tales I know of Wardens are, but they are also almost always tragic."

Edited 2016-02-29 19:56 (UTC)

Not only the height of poor taste, but to garner something from Bethany that could only be schooled in polite sarcasm, which she had become rather well versed in over the years. As it was, Tevinter was a far off place that seemed exotic enough outside of the, oh, massive blood mage population and slavery besides. Which she was tactfully going to avoid bringing up as well, thank you and good day.

Dimples flashed again, because how rare would it be for that sort of expedition? Unbelievably so. Still ... "Well, I am certain I could use a scholar of your aptitude in a search for more Grey Warden tomes. As long as you are fine with the occasional darkspawn, and a group of Wardens who might eat like five year old children."

A laugh sparked at the drinking songs, "Well my brothers and sisters will enjoy them, before she went back to studying his gaze. He was clearly perplexed, and she couldn't figure out why.

Until of course, he asked his stunningly personal question, which outright baffles her. She tips her head for a moment, before realization clicks in. "You've ... never read 'The Tale Of The Champion', have you? By Varric Tethras?"

"The same Tethras who wrote 'Hard in Hightown'?"

Skepticism is subtly etched into his tone. Vergil knows the works by reputation, though he's done little more than flip through them, skimming and just as quickly dismissing what he perceived to be little more than purple prose on cheap paper. But he has pretended to approve of far more troublesome things so as to keep conversing with a fetching woman.

"I confess, I've yet to have the occasion," he continues, doing his best (which is, to be fair, quite good) to expunge any further hint of dubiousness from his voice. In its place he sets up polite interest, one which is by no means wholly illusory. He is, indeed, polite. And he is most definitely interested to see what on earth a popular fiction writer's improbable bit of true history has to do with the dimpled enigma before him.

"Ought I to, then, if I am to understand you?"

Edited 2016-03-02 14:45 (UTC)

"The very same."

Amusement flashes over her face at his dubious expression, for several reasons. First one being - the only man she had ever met who outright had no reason to compare her to her sister? And he was a Chantry brother from Tevinter. A handsome, well spoken one, but still a Chantry brother.

Second one, this was perhaps one of the few times she could tell her tale without any comparisons to Varric's, so she should relish the opportunity to tell the tale without any of the dramatic flourishes.

Well, maybe one or two.

"It would give you a better idea of my family's history ... but it's not necessary for this tale." She finally stated, before she folded her hands together, "About ten years ago, my sister, brother and I were partners in a Deep Roads expedition, funded by Varric's brother Bertrand. We killed some darkspawn, cleared some tunnels, for a full half share of the profits. While we were there - Varric's brother betrayed us and locked us in an old dwarven vault. We had to fight our way out. It wasn't until later that I realized I had contracted the Blight."

She folded her fingers together, "During that time, we had made the acquaintance of Anders, a former Grey Warden mage. Before I died from the Blight's exposure, he used his knowledge of the Grey Warden maps to lead us to a group of Grey Wardens. There, he begged them to take me, and try to save my life. It wasn't something I chose - my sister chose for me - but it saved me and ... well. I could not imagine my life now, without being a Warden. It has granted me a much larger perspective and scope of the world."

Vergil is less amused than he is confused. Chantry brother though he may be, his interest in Bethany is sincere - pursuing a mage is, for him, a perfectly legitimate avenue of social advancement - yet it has turned out that she is not simply lovely and gifted, but also marked with a darkness wholly belied by the warmth and brightness of her presence. Still, this only serves to render her more fascinating, for all that Vergil isn't quite sure what it is he's getting into.

If only he knew who she was, her proximity to events that have reverberated across Thedas. Yet he remains oblivious, certain that Bethany is the protagonist in her own tale, and her family simply bit players. And why shouldn't she be?

Vergil listens well, eyes widening and brows furrowing at all the right places. In the end, he takes a moment, trying to regain his bearing. What is it he feels- what is he supposed to feel? A worker in words, a silver-tongued courtier and cleric, he is not used to being enchanted so quickly by someone else's story.

Then again, he has never met anyone like Bethany.

"Such a dark tale," he says, at length, "a dark road, marked with dark deeds. Yet you managed somehow to make your way back to the Light. Do you have some magical gift to transmute misfortune into favor? Or did the Maker simply bless you with a particularly beautiful soul?"

If Varric's tales had proven anything, you were the protagonist of your own tale, and not who wrote it for you. Bethany's life may have begun, and would probably end, tied to Marian and Carver's, but she knew her own place in the world. It was more than most, and her duty to the Wardens let her become a hero in her own right.

She dimples at his statement, before she shook her head slightly, "No -- I had a sister who loved me beyond all reason, a twin who would do anything for me, a mother who sought for me a better future, and a father who taught me how to be a better mage. Everything I am now, is because I was loved, and ... love the world in kind."

[OPEN] Seeking faith, and speaking words I never thought I'd say..

(apologies for the delay - life intrudes! - glad to be back)

Re: (apologies for the delay - life intrudes! - glad to be back)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject