faderift | [closed] We are never the culprits

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[closed] We are never the culprits

WHO: Martel and Hermione
WHAT: Hermione's still interviewing rifters about their magic.
WHEN: End of Drakonis (so now, basically).
WHERE: Library. Where else?
NOTES: Nerds being nerdy. And maybe angry. But mostly nerdy.

Hermione was ticking off the days since her arrival, growing steadily more anxious as time went on. On the one hand, Thedas had all sorts of problems that needed solving, and she wouldn't feel right, going back home and continuing on with her schooling and her life when mages here were being scorned simply for being able to do magic, or where an ancient magister was wreaking havoc upon the entire world. But on the other hand... would she ever get back home?

She usually wrote it off as useless nay-saying. Of course she'd get back; if not with the Inquisition's help or because of her own ingenuity, then because Harry and Ron and all the others would come through for her. She wasn't the only brilliant witch at Hogwarts, after all. There was no reason to think that someone wouldn't figure out where she'd gone and how she'd gotten there and how to bring her back.

The more she thought about it, though, the more desperate her situation seemed, and she didn't like desperation. So instead, she threw herself into her work, sitting in the library and copying over notes into a more legible format. After all, she had no way of knowing whether she'd met all the rifters in attendance in Skyhold yet, so there was always the chance that more would see her notice on the bulletin board and come looking for her.

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'In the company of rifters' is, as a rule, no place Martel particularly desires to be. Now least of all - the tension in the air has him acutely aware of how much freedom they've been given, how vigorously he has availed himself of it, and how easily it could all be taken away. He can't afford missteps; none of them can, but he resists the grouping. Let them rise or fall on their own merits, and not by connection to his.

This one is Adelaide's, however, and it suits him to be understood to be in sync with her. (All the more now it's clear to them what that means - and what it doesn't.) It suits him enough that after weighing the options, he does seek the girl out, a slight air of resignation in the set of his shoulders as he joins her. His mode of dress is a sleeker, darkly monochromatic version of what the Orlesians prefer; he has, by the look of him, come lately from the training grounds, although he's washed. One doesn't waltz into a library stinking of sweat and metal if one respects the books.

Or the concept, since he's read enough of these to know there are some which really don't deserve the consideration.

"Good day, little sister." A low, rolling voice; pleasant enough. "You asked after magic, if I'm not mistaken."

It isn't unusual for people to find their way over to her, but it still surprises her to see someone approaching her and referring to her as 'little sister'. It takes her a moment, but she mentally shrugs it off as simply a term of greeting wherever he might be from, though she has no way of knowing if that's from Thedas or beyond. His clothing appears native and his bearing is too comfortable for him to be a recent arrival, but she knows she'll never get the answers to any questions she doesn't ask.

"Hello; if you mean the notice I put out for rifters, then yes," she replies, instinctively smiling politely and offering him her hand to shake. "I'm Hermione Granger. Am I to take it you're from a world with magic different from what's practiced here?"

Martel's reluctance to associate himself with other rifters is no secret; he makes no effort to hide the brief expression of distaste at her adoption of the common use term. What have they in common, beyond that? Nothing. The rifts tore their lives (or, in his case, repaired them--) which is what they have in common with every Thedosian and

it doesn't matter, they're still seen this way. But no one can make him like it.

"Quite," he says, all the same, taking her hand and - automatically, too perfunctorily to be anything but instinct, brushing his lips chastely over her knuckles. "I would describe myself as a sorcerer, though I don't object to the local terminology."

He is not quick to anything that separates him from them, after all.

Hermione notes that brief look that passes over his face, though she can't quite place it. It matters little, though; his greeting takes her by surprise, though he's much too business-like for her to feel flustered over the whole thing.

Instead, she manages a small smile as she tells him, "Well then, in the interest of full disclosure, I should let you know that I consider myself a witch, though I understand that means something more specific here than simply a woman who can do magic. I wouldn't want it to mean yet another thing where you're from and cause any confusion."

Moving to pick up her pen, she asks, "Is sorcerer a specific title where you're from, or is it what one would call anyone who can do magic?" After all, he hadn't offered her a name as of yet, so if he'd prefer to simply be known as Sorcerer, she'd make do with that.

"A sorcerer is a practitioner of sorcery - a term given to a particular form of working one's will upon the world. Unique, as you may have guessed," a bit dryly, but it sounds as if that's rather just how he talks; it's less condescending than it is assuming Hermione can handle being spoken to like an equal, for all her obvious youth, "from the magic used here. Witchcraft, in my homeland, is forbidden by the church and frequently punishable by death. It is also,"

there's an odd quality to his expression, gentled a little, but something behind it turned harder, somehow, cold,

"as often as not a false accusation or no different to what I was taught as a loyal son of said church."

Martel doesn't get to criticise too loudly a church he vigorously participated in the corruption of, after murdering so many of the good men and women struggling in the lower ranks of the holy mother, but - there is plenty to be criticised, and well he knows it. A tilt of his hand -

"I was correctly Sir Martel, Margrave of Damerel, until parting ways with the knighthood some years ago." As if he doesn't remember in vivid detail- well, perhaps he doesn't. He wasn't very well, at the time, for all he's vague on that whenever it comes up here in Thedas. "Any person 'can' practise sorcery, in theory, with the aid of an experienced tutor. In the same way that anyone 'can' learn to sing, but some people simply couldn't carry a tune in a bucket."

Hermione jots down his words as quickly and as neatly as she can; from the sounds of it, a sorcerer isn't too dissimilar from a wizard, even if the specific practice of it may be different. Though it sounds as though witchcraft still maintains the negative connotations placed upon it by the Muggles of her world. Interesting, that everything pertaining to witches - which she considers to be distinctly women who can do magic - is considered evil in more than one world. She'll have to look into that.

But now is hardly the time for her to start in on women's rights when she's already hip-deep in mage rights and elves' rights. "Do you still go by Sir Martel despite that, or do you prefer a different title?" That's first and foremost, since she'd hate to refer to him by a name that he'd consider insulting, especially if he's claiming to be even tangentially related to royalty.

But the more important question, of course, is, "What exactly is the difference between sorcery and witchcraft, then? Officially, I mean? Does the latter focus more on Dark magic?"

"I've no title," he says, and doesn't linger on it; she can call him Martel or nothing at all. If he were still the Margrave...what would it matter? There's no Damerel here. The ties he builds in Thedas have nothing to do with blood, and for all he neglects to explain it, Damerel has long since been stripped from him, along with any right to be called sir or my lord. He was in a veritable constellation of stars, once upon a time, an aristocrat knight -

It was a long way to fall. And he doesn't linger on it, now.

"As for the difference between sorcery and witchcraft, no, it doesn't. I don't claim any familiarity with the practises, but the official difference is that anything not practised by sanction of the church in the defense thereof is sacrilege punishable by death. If the heretic in question is incidentally a pretty Styric woman who draws the jealous eye of her Elene neighbours, all the better to draw a crowd to her execution."

Speaking of women's rights. Martel's disdain for the attitudes he describes is not subtle.

She looks a little surprised by that. Margrave is a royal title, one he would have been born with, if things worked the same in his world as it does hers. For someone born to a title to now claim he has none....

But that isn't any of her business, not when it comes to someone she's only just met and is trying to figure out how to address. "Then... just Martel, then? I don't want to offend."

Ah. The differences between the two schools of magic in his world seems to lie chiefly in whether the church can make any use of it. And from the sounds of it, accusing women of witchcraft isn't too dissimilar from the witch hunts of old that she's more familiar with.

"In other words, if the church doesn't stand to gain anything from magic, it's by definition evil, and it's more likely than not that women are perceived to be practitioners of this 'evil' magic?" Her face showing more than she'd probably like it to, she looks down as she jots down more notes and mutters, "I already see more similarities than I'd like to."

Martel considers how to clarify the matter (and if he knew she'd misunderstood his former titles, he'd clarify that, too, but it'll have to wait), leaning back in his seat as he chooses his words. The problem with conversations like these, he's found, is that so often they rely on assumptions that are entirely alien to one person or the other; foundation knowledge taken for granted that can't be, that isn't either of those things to the person hearing the explanation.

It's a nuisance, but it's a nuisance that he's becoming accustomed to. At some point, that will mean he trips over it less - with any luck.

"All magic," he says, finally, "is considered sinful heresy by the church. The official stance of the Church of Chyrellos is that there is no, by definition, 'good' magic. That women are more often accused has less to do with magic than it does the cowardice of cruelty. You see, I had to beat her to death; she was a witch."

That his tone doesn't change in the slightest is somewhat chilling.

A quirk of his mouth and he moves along-- "The fundamental difference isn't the practise itself, it's the practitioner. A church knight - a member of one of four militant orders - is considered to be of sufficient moral character and personal faith to more safely imperil his soul for the sake of King and God."

And it is always his.

"There is, further - I came from an Elene country. There are four Elene nations, each represented by one of those orders. There is no Elene practise of sorcery. The orders each have a Styric tutor, who teach the novices the dedicated practise of the god that they follow. A Pandion knight and Cyrinic knight will practise sorcery with very slight differences - much of it identical, a few subtle differences that are often as not down to what interests their tutor and their tutor's patron more."

It's frustrating, having to break down just about every word to its very core just to make sure you understand the full scope of what someone is saying, and it's a frustration Hermione hasn't properly learned how to deal with yet. For now, understanding the nuances behind the roles of magic in different worlds is proving to be enough of a challenge, especially when she hears about places where it's regarded less favorably. Much as she tries to be diplomatic in her approach, she is prone to a rather fiery variation of righteous anger. Thankfully, she knows better than to take it out on the undeserving.

Usually.

Bristling visibly at the thought of beating women to death and using the flimsy excuse of witchcraft to justify it, Hermione scowls deeply up at Martel, hoping he's only using that as an example and not saying that he's actually participated in that sort of thing. As inquisitive as she is, though, she doesn't know that this is a question she wants answered, at least not until she can use more of her magic to hex him soundly if she doesn't care for his response.

"So a knight is thought to be better than the average person, which allows them to take on a bit of the damage one acquires when performing magic. Women, on the other hand, are thought to be just the opposite." It's hard not to be insulted by that prospect, for more than one reason, but she presses her pen down hard against her paper and scratches out her notes as best as she can, glad that she has more control than to simply let the magic spill over and destroy the library.

"And the full extent of what one learns is dependent on regional and individual differences. I suppose that much isn't too different from home. What we learn in the United Kingdom is much different from what they teach in the French and Scandinavian schools. We all still know the same basic spells, but some of them come with a bit of a different sort of flair."

It is, if nothing else, likely a safe bet that a man engaged in that behaviour wouldn't have discussed it in such frank and educated terms, nor described it as an act of cowardice; few are that self-aware, and fewer still understand themselves well enough and have a willingness to depict their own shame to a stranger. Particularly one who might then need to protect herself, when it would be so much simpler to give her no warning at all.

Some of them, in all likelihood, were indeed practitioners. Surprise someone from behind with a strong blow to the head or a knife between the ribs and all the magic in the world won't save their life from a person determined to take it. Once, in his youth and with his brother knights, Martel broke off a switch from a tree and ran down some of the perpetrators on horseback, beat a man bloody until he would not be returning to his village unaided.

It isn't a memory he's particularly proud of. It didn't change anything. It didn't solve anything. The Styrics who died remained dead and the Elene villagers who suffered their punishment only resented it and suspected the Styric-touched knights of secret heresy, unduly influenced by the Styric witch that guided them in Demos. Knowing all that he knows about the impotence of that righteous fury so applied, he'd still probably do it again.

"Men of the church are thought to be better than everyone," he says, dryly. "It isn't an opinion that holds up long if you spend a great deal of time in the Holy City."

Even after living through years of lies and wartime espionage, Hermione still likes to think that most people are, at their core, honest. If Martel had done these distasteful things in his past, and he feels real remorse over them, there's no reason to assume that he wouldn't have described them the way he just had. Except, of course, for shame, but somehow, she didn't take him for the sort to wither in the face of shame. At least, not from the whole two minutes of conversation they'd had so far.

"Again, at least that much isn't different from home," Hermione brings up, hoping she doesn't unintentionally make an embittered remark about how illogical organized religion can be. She's managed to hold her tongue on that front so far, if only because religion is such a remarkably prevalent topic in Thedas. Which leads her to look up at Martel as she asks, "Is religion as important to your world's history as it is here? It seems that hardly a day can pass by without hearing some sort of commentary about the Chantry. It's not quite the same where I come from, though admittedly, that changes significantly depending on what part of the world one might be in at any given time."

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[closed] We are never the culprits

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