faderift | Our aspirations are wrapped up in books

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Our aspirations are wrapped up in books

WHO: Hermione Granger and Open!
WHAT: There's a new ~~witch~~ mage wandering around Skyhold. Come say hello?
WHEN: Backdated to her arrival near the end of Guardian and onward throughout Drakonis.
WHERE: ~~The library.~~ All over Skyhold. ~~But mostly its library.~~
NOTES: Feel free to run into her pretty much anywhere, or have her run into you. And be prepared for all the questions about your character and Thedas/their homeworld and everything in between.

If not for the fact that Hermione had spent so many of her formative years in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Skyhold might have been overwhelming

As it was, the sprawling fortress was a little hard to get used to, since the academic environment that had given Hogwarts some sense of structure amidst the chaos wasn't present here. There was a library, thankfully, and she spent much of her time there, though it was so small that she was certain she'd end up reading every book in there in two weeks' time if she didn't actually go out and explore the rest of her surroundings.

And so every so often, she pried herself away from the cold little corner she'd set aside for herself and wander the rest of the area, though granted, she more often than not was carrying at least one book with her. Usually it was one of the books that had survived the trip through the Fade; anyone who might spot her in the garden or tavern or a safe distance away from the sparring going on in the training grounds might notice her engrossed in such unfamiliar titles as Hogwarts, A History or occasionally digging through Spellman's Syllabary in the vain hope of finding recognizable runes on various inscriptions throughout Skyhold.

After all, just because she was endlessly fascinated by all the new people and cultures and history and magic, it didn't mean she didn't occasionally need a bittersweet reminder of home. Especially when her other major reminder was her wand, which - despite the fact that she'd taken to finding the most solitary places she could find and practicing with it harder than she ever had the night before an exam - still wasn't behaving properly at all. Apologies to those of you who end up slipping on some wayward ice or getting sprayed with pebbles from a spell gone wrong.

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Hermione's sentiments for elves is unique even for the magical community in her world. House-elves are outright slaves, and to hear Ron and even some of the elves themselves tell it, they prefer it that way. It makes her heart hurt, knowing that the elves don't know any better and that the wizarding community is just taking advantage of that. "All worlds are built on cruelty," she murmurs softly. "I just would have hoped to find that that wasn't the case."

She's well aware that the only way to see any change in the world is to become that change, embody it, and hope people will be inspired by the example. It hasn't worked so far, not insofar as the house-elf business, but then, she'd been young when she'd last tried to form the Society for the Protection of Elfish Welfare. She's older now, wiser, so maybe she can reinvent it. Starting with that ghastly name.

It takes a moment for her to realize why Leliana is holding out a handkerchief to her, and when she does, she immediately wipes at her eyes, though she does take her up on the handkerchief with a murmured, "Thank you," surreptitiously dabbing at the corners of her eyes.

"Someone told me about magisters," she replies quietly. "Those magisters, specifically. There's a bit of blurriness between what's fact and what's legend, but that doesn't need to be discussed." Given that Leliana had said that this had been "taught" to her by the Chant of Light, Hermione is going to assume that this means she ascribes a religious meaning behind it all. Hermione isn't against religion, but she's going to reserve judgement whenever there's some haziness between truth and myth.

Taking a breath to try and gather herself together after her upset about the elves, she manages a small, crooked smile as she meets Leliana's gaze. "I don't really find people who do much more than entertain my passion until it becomes annoying, so thank you. I appreciate the offer, especially since I still have a lot to learn about Thedas." Her smile faltering, she glances away before remarking, "No offense, but the things I learn don't seem to paint a particularly nice picture."

A little shake of her head, nothing more - no thanks are necessary.

"Only so much blurriness," Leliana comments, barely audible though there is no aggression in her tone, only thoughtfulness. "You are correct, however."

Things she does not say - that the Chant of Light is the word of man and not Maker, that it has been altered over time, that the Chant has been used to keep mages oppressed and controlled and to justify many evils that do not reflect the Maker's heart, nor His will. Such thoughts are for herself alone. Her faith belongs to none but herself.

"I have found myself in such positions more than once." The present moment being no exception. "That is the cost of truly seeing, I fear. So many are able to justify the suffering of others, or simply to ignore it, because the system that is flawed has not maligned them, personally. They do not comprehend the cost, whether it be human, elven, qunari or dwarf - it does not concern them. You have found us in a time of floundering, a chance for the broken systems to be taken apart and rebuilt so all might benefit and thrive, and so few have the vision to bring it to pass."

Leliana shrugs, though the gesture is barely visible, when the motion is so subtle and she is wrapped up in armour. "Perhaps the perspectives of rifters will allow us to better ourselves by learning the lessons of more worlds."

Though it will only work if people become less determined to be blind, to be selfish. "I... believe that Thedas has the capacity to be much kinder than it has allowed itself to become."

For what it's worth, Hermione is glad Leliana doesn't try to engage her in a conversation about religion; she doesn't even feel comfortable talking about that in her own world, where she can hold her own in a discussion about Christianity or Judaism or even Taoism. Here, in a world where she doesn't even know the names for the various belief systems beyond referring to them as monotheistic or polytheistic, she has no idea how such a discussion would go.

As Leliana speaks, Hermione looks down, feeling her words resonating within her. She'd often made comparisons between Voldemort and his Death Eaters to Hitler and his Nazis, and she's come to realize that no matter what time period, no matter what world, there will always be evil men and women who want nothing more than to hate and destroy.

"Back home, almost sixty years ago, there was a man who had this idea about a 'master race,' and decided that he and his followers would kill all those who didn't fit into that mold he'd created in his own head, whether it was for their nationality, religion, lifestyle, or allegiances. Over sixty million people died. Sixty. Million. It's hard to think about numbers when they get to be so big, but... there is a poem I'd heard a long time ago, written by a man who lived through that."

She closes her eyes, trying to remember the verse verbatim, glad that she has an excellent memory when it comes to things she's read. "'First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out, because I was not a Socialist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out, because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me— ... and there was no one left to speak for me.'" She feels that there's a line or two missing or a word out of place, but the sentiment is still very much there as she meets Leliana's eyes once again. "Most people are happy to stand by and watch the world destroy itself, not realizing that they're a part of that world. As much as I'd hate to think of anyone going through that sort of thing, at least there's a chance for the people here to gain that foresight before they end up in a spiral of self-destruction just because they couldn't be fussed to stop a problem before it got out of hand."

She lets that hang in the air for a moment before shaking her head and mentioning, "The people I've met here at Skyhold have all been very decent to me, despite my being considered a mage and a stranger in this world. So yes, I'll hold out hope that Thedas can be better than what it is, so long as the people of Skyhold work to spread their positive influence."

Leliana listens intently. There are surely lessons to be learned from other cultures. Entire other mappings out of people and their fates and beliefs, actions that have shaped their worlds, and in turn, have shaped those people. When Hermione speaks, though, when she says just how many people died… she is right, such numbers are impossible to comprehend. Leliana is not even sure Thedas is home to that many people in full, not when people can die so young and when there are so many dangers waiting in the shadows. Few things leave Leliana at a loss, but Hermione at struck to the heart of her.

For all her years of experience as a bard and all her control, her jaw slackens at the prospect, skin turning a few shades paler, and though she forces herself to keep looking at Hermione, it feels hard to focus. So much loss of life feels impossible to grasp, and it leaves a weight on her chest, slowly and inescapably growing heaver with each moment, forcing the air out of her. So many people, people with family and people who loved them, who they loved, with life and mirth and potential to do so much, and each one had been extinguished— for what? In the name of some master race?

Under normal circumstances she would be delighted to hear a poem or a song from another world, no matter how self indulgent she might find her own joy, and how much she might chastise herself. Here, though? Here she does not know how there could ever be joy in it.

“That is beyond imagining,” Leliana starts, when she finally finds her voice, though it is low and harsh. That Hermione thinks they might not be fussed… that is not necessarily the problem, so much as that there are so many ideas that compete, but Leliana finds herself needing a moment with her thoughts as she attempts to process this information. Spymaster and assassin she might be, but always in the hopes of protecting people, always in the hopes of saving lives.

“You are right, of course. And it is exactly that which I hope to press for.” Though sometimes it feels as though they are in a conflicting dance, even amongst the Advisors. Without Evelyn— Well. Without Evelyn they lacked a focused, guiding hand to break their debates and disagreements and fix them to a certain star.

“That man who killed so many. What became of him? Of his…” Her mouth twists, because she cannot settle on a word that is satisfactory, “Grotesque actions?"

She doesn't like talking about war, whether it's a war she's read about in history books or one she's personally been through. Either way, it will always remind her of people she's lost, and the people she can't afford to lose, and the fact that she's currently lost here in Thedas without any familiar faces to fall back upon.

But given what Leliana had been saying, given everything she knows about the history of her own world... a stark cautionary tale seems necessary. She doesn't say it to shock, only to draw parallels and warn against what might be.

After a long time, she shakes her head, trying not to grimace. This and similar subjects always leave a terrible taste in her mouth.

"When the rest of the world finally realized that these stories were true and not just terrible propaganda, they joined in the effort to stop him. He realized he was going to be defeated, and so he did what any coward would do. He killed himself and left his followers to fend for themselves. Even now, all these years later, there are still occasional accounts of discovering Nazis - that's what they were called - who'd escaped judgment. They'd be well into their eighties or nineties, but that doesn't keep them from being punished for their crimes."

She hadn't even gotten into the torture or the unethical experimentation, and quite frankly, she doesn't want to.

"That is a sign for hope, then." So quietly as to almost be inaudible, though Leliana is leaning forward, hands braced against a nearby table as she absorbs the information, just as the shore must absorb the strength of the tide. Unlike the shore, though, she must not be corroded. She must not allow herself to give way under the weight of this information. This is a fate that Thedas might yet avoid. "Thedas has suffered so much," she says, very quietly. "We cannot allow such a thing to come to pass, here."

She believes Thedosians small minded and prejudiced, but surely, surely they could do better than that? Surely there was some hope? But hope was so hard to hold onto, and Leliana preferred to deal in certainty where she could. Perhaps there was something that could be done, something to ensure that people would see-- but what?
A struggle for a later hour, perhaps.

"I hope that their victims have some peace." She does not care for the men themselves. They can rot in their guilt, they can face justice. It is the people who suffered, who died, that matter. It is the people who survived that matter. A little more audible, she adds, "I hope that those who survived have been able to recover."

Her jaw clenches, unclenches, and she looks towards Hermione more directly. Emotion pressed back, and she is all control again, upright, even if the empathy in her gaze betrays her. "You have given me much to think upon, Hermione. I apologise for drawing up such... painful topics into the light. It cannot be easy to speak of such matters."

The idea of an organization so vile and widespread that it continued throughout the decades despite most civilized people knowing about how awful it is really doesn't do much to comfort Hermione. True, very few people would ever come out in support of Nazism in this day and age, and if they would, they'd at the very least be scorned to hell and back. But the fact that some people simply can't evolve past hate... it hurts, especially when such hatred is evident even here, in a completely different world with a completely different history.

"There are the occasional stories that get categorized under 'human interest'," Hermione explains. "About couples who'd met during the war or families who'd been separated by it and reunited years later. From what I know, many of the survivors have gone on to lead full lives. I can't speak for how easily they'd recovered, if they ever did at all."

Clearing her throat, she looks up at Leliana with a friendly sort of expression, even if she doesn't think smiling is technically appropriate right at this moment. "It's all right. I had no personal stake in that war in terms of my ancestry; it's just... hard not to be affected by it when you stop to really think what things must have been like at that time. The war I'd just been through seems so small in comparison. But then, no war is really 'small,' or else it wouldn't be called war at all."

"Perhaps it is not for us to know," Leliana replies, a little more gently. "Hearts and minds are complex, at the best of times."

They who had not endured could surely not understand the reality of the horrors, for all that they might offer empathy and sympathy. They could burn with how unrighteous it was, the knowledge of what people are capable of could scorch them, but Leliana wondered sometimes if it was better for her to burn so that she fought against such things all the more viciously. She did not know how the people of Redcliffe recovered Connor's possession and the dead that tore their living apart, and for all that she fought with them, for all that she cared, perhaps it was not her place. It was only to try to understand, and to aid, and their recovery was their own.

It concerns her that one so young is so... mature in her understanding and speaking of war. But then, who in Thedas could really afford to be young, save for indulged and much-protected nobles? Entire towns could be razed, and so long as it was no disturbance, the High Quarter of Halashiral did not care. It was sickening. (It strikes her, then, just how carefully Morrigan had protected Kieran, how she had tried to spare him so many horrors.)

"No, no war can be called 'small.' Any cost of life and suffering at all is too great a cost." It is Leliana's own burden to bear, it is the burden on all the Advisors. Connections, secrets and forces, and still the cost of life would always be too great. And speaking of, she can see the feet of a scout awaiting her on the stairwell leading to the Rookery, and sighs inwardly.

"I am afraid I have lingered overlong. Much business awaits me. If you require any information on the history of magic and different cultures here then there a good many people who would be more than eager to speak with you, I would think. Perhaps hearing their tales will help balance out the different bias you find here. All people are made up of stories, and they all weave together into a rich tapestry."

A pause of consideration, and she adds, ruefully, "My time is limited, but I would be eager to hear more of your world, if opportunity comes to pass and you did not object."

She misses hearing new stories, in learning things that are not secrets and threats to be traded.

Hermione's silent for a time before remarking, "Sometimes I can't help but wonder if surviving a war is harder than fighting in one. At least with fighting, you have a purpose. After you've survived... there's still a purpose, but sometimes it's harder to see underneath all that guilt." She still sees the faces of people she'd known and cared for, and that hurts more than her own torture at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange had hurt.

It still surprises her that so many in Thedas consider her young. Hermione has always felt older than her age, but given the events of the past year and change, she feels the years even more heavily. Perhaps she's feeling them for all the people who are no longer around to see the sunrise, but those kinds of thoughts are depressing. She'll leave her depression for when she's alone in the dark. Crying never happened if there's no one around to witness it.

Despite the morbidity of the conversation, Hermione's surprised when Leliana goes to take her leave. She's been insightful, and not simply when it comes to discussing the cruelties towards specific people in her world, but cruelty in general. She's likely seen much more than Hermione has, and while she's far from envious, she's certainly respectful of that.

"I'm sorry you have to go. But I understand. You're always welcome to stop me for a chat. I'm already looking forward to our next one." She wants to make a standing offer, though she's not sure if it's a shoulder to lean on or a fresh perspective on mages, so she stops herself before presuming too much in either direction. "Thank you. My world isn't perfect, but if this one can learn from its mistakes, I'm only all too happy to share whatever I can."

She is far too experienced a bard to falter, though the comment cuts deep. The things they had all seen in the Deep Roads, in Denerim, all across Ferelden as they journeyed and fought to survive and to save their world from another Blight. The smoldering remains of Lothering, the desecration of a place that had meant to much to her, symbolised so much peace and change, they were all branded on her, all etched into her. Perhaps not so easy to spot as the scars from Marjolaine's dagger or Harwen Raleigh's torture, though Leliana keeps those well covered, as well. Her face is all that remains visible, wrapped up in leather and cloth and chain mail, armoured and removed, as the Nightingale must be.

But at least with her face still visible it is possible to see her gaze, and Hermione's words cut as cruelly as any knife. "Surviving is an achievement," she allows, and slowly, and her voice stays steady because it must, because that is who she is. I am steel. I do not relent. "Though never without cost. 'Victory' is a fickle creature."

(There are times when she wonders what she will find of herself, when this war is over. She carves away pieces of herself to make herself a weapon the Inquisition can use, that is must use, but what will remain when all is done? Even now there are those who say she is no longer Leliana. They are right. She has changed so that they need not.)

"A Spymaster's work is never done," Leliana offers by way of explanation. "There is ever more to see and to hear, but I will see Thedas safe." No matter what it takes. No matter what sacrifices she must make, they will be worth it to protect the Inquisition, and the Rifters, and Thedas. "But I will look forward to it, as well. I will send a runner to you later, with some recommended reading."

Edited 2016-03-17 12:49 (UTC)

"Victory doesn't always feel victorious," Hermione replies, shrugging her shoulders a little. "But I suppose, if someone is the type of person to celebrate the loss of so much life in the name of glory and not feel bad for it, they aren't the sort of person who should be allowed to win a war without some sort of retribution."

Leliana isn't that kind of person. Hermione doesn't make immediate judgments of character, not anymore, since people like Sirius and Snape have proved that first impressions aren't always the right ones, but she can tell easily enough that Leliana doesn't think so little of life that she wouldn't mourn the loss of anyone who falls in this war Thedas has found itself in. If she's around to see it, Hermione hopes she can help deal with the aftermath, in some way.

The mention of being a "Spymaster" visibly takes Hermione aback, and she opens her mouth to ask after it, but decides against it. For starters, if Leliana is a spy, then she really does have more pressing business to attend to. And besides, from what she's seen of people who call themselves spies, any questions she might have on the subject are likely to be immediately deflected.

As it is, she only lets it slide with a nod and small, albeit quizzical, smile. "I'd like that very much. Thank you."

"Precisely."

It was a sorry truth, but it could not be denied for all that it was unhappy.

She does not smile to Hermione, not quite, just a flicker of something at the corner of her mouth and a respectful nod as she takes a step backwards and turns, hands clasped behind her back as she moves to the stairs. Hermione has given her much to think about, though it was not as if she had been lacking before.

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Our aspirations are wrapped up in books

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