faderift | (open-ish) out of the slumbers of my head 

Entry tags:

(open-ish) out of the slumbers of my head 

WHO: Leliana & open-ish - see notes
WHAT: FREEDOM. talks about freedom/the Chantry/wherever it takes us.
WHEN: throughout late-late-late Drakonis and early/mid Cloudreach, can be after hearing some rumours.
WHERE: Default setting will be the Rookery, others possible on request.
NOTES:
1. Likely referral to imprisonment and torture in narrative, others to be added if they come up.
2. It's not exactly open-open because I'd like to be able to keep the different threads unique and avoid burn out on the topic, but if you are interested then just shoot me a pm or talk to me on plurk and we can figure it out!
tldr I am flexible with who/when/where and such, but hammering out some info first would be greatly appreciated.
3. Prose or brackets are totally fine, I'll match style :]b

Too long has she stayed her hand. First it was her ignorance that silenced her, and then it was loyalty, the belief that Justinia wished to make the world better, stronger. A more just world, where all would benefit rather than a rare few. As time has passed, though, and as the Inquisition grows, Leliana has realised more and more that Justinia's peace and her vision for the Chantry were not enough. For all that Justinia had once been a worldly woman she had not fought in the Blight, had not fought side by side with mage and elf alike. She had moved as a player of the Grand Game must, small moves, small changes, and stability had always been her first thought. It was Justinia who had threatened to deny aid to Celene in the settling of mage and Templar if Celene did not cease the elf rebellion simmering in Orlais before the burning of Halamshiral. Justinia was a good woman, a good friend and teacher and mother, and she had great vision. Even so she had been blinkered by the prejudices that ran rife throughout Thedas, the small mindedness that seemed to define each country in different ways. No one should be enslaved or punished simply for being; no one's personhood should be compromised by the simple facts and circumstances of their birth.

Most often she is in the Rookery and must be sort out between scouts and ravens bringing reports, or meetings with the other Advisors. The tower is cold, and candles flicker from a shrine to Andraste and make shadows dance. (And, if visitors come late in Drakonis and early in Cloudreach, they may find evidence of Dorian's prank, for which there will be dire consequences.)

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Unsurprisingly, Leliana is speaking with a couple of scouts in hushed tones. Both nod, on hands over a report and a small parcel, then waits for Leliana's response. She simply nods, and murmurs something that makes the scout - an elf - stand a little straighter, head held high before Leliana hands her an envelope that she immediately tucks into a pouch on her belt before moving to the stairway. The other scout waits, receives a second envelope, and glances upward with quiet confusion before seeming to dismiss whatever his concerns might have been and moving for the stairwell.

Watching them both go draws Leliana's attention to another figure ascending the stairway, even as she crosses to her desk, gaze narrowing a little as a Grey Warden enters her Rookery.

"Did you need something?"

Edited 2016-04-03 09:36 (UTC)

Ellana knows the spymaster must be bogged down with work, but after hearing rumors of Leliana's views, she decides to come see for herself. Rumors are just that, and she wants to hear Leliana's opinions from her own lips, not filtered through several people who heard it from a friend of a friend.

She comes up the stairs to the rookery, and when she spots Leliana she appears to be at liberty, so Ellana approaches, footsteps light despite the boots she wears. She has no illusions about coming up on a master spy unheard.

"Sister Leliana, may I speak with you?"

The steps approaching her are not familiar ones. There are so many in Skyhold it would be a considerable endeavour to hear each often enough to recognise them all. What matters is this is the not a scout, nor one with whom she has spent considerable time, and she looks over her shoulder with curiosity and faint exasperation because she is working - although neither of those emotions quite make it to her face, whose expression remains carefully schooled.

At least the young woman has good timing.

"You may," she starts, turning to face her more fully, arms crossed against her chest. "What is the problem?"

Usually when people come to speak to her it relates to them being angry about something or because there is urgent news the Inquisition must see to.

He's been hesitant to approach. So far his opinion of her is nothing like what he's heard from stories from Jonas or from others who called her friend, and Anders never appreciates having a knife at his throat. On the other hand, he's been hearing a lot of rumors that she's starting to speak out about equality and freedom. As he would like a reason to have a little bit of hope for the future of mages when it comes to the Inquisition, Anders finally decides to talk with her.

Once up the staircase, he leans against the railing several feet away, waiting for when she's done with the current scout talking with her. Only after he's leaned does he realize there's glitter everywhere, and now he's wearing it. He frowns as he looks at his hands... and then shrugs. He'll just have to hug Nate later and get it on the archer, and the thought means that he's prepared for however this conversation goes.

Once the scout is gone, Anders stops looking at the fine layer of glitter over everything and raises an eyebrow at Leliana.

"Celebrating?"

His voice is distinct, though once as hyper aware as Leliana did not need to hear it to identify him - not when he made no moves to conceal himself, and especially not when there is enough light filtering into from the tower roof that it catches on anything or anyone who has been tarnished by the damnable glitter. It is unfortunate that her general feelings surrounding Anders tie into frustration and anger and betrayal (not all his fault, though he has become a symbol for all manner of things as a result), otherwise she might have cracked a joke.

Or she might not. The appearance of Leliana's humour has become less and less in past weeks, and it was rare enough already.

"Not yet," she replies, rather clipped, and perhaps that is a glint of humour baring its teeth despite herself, even if it isn't terribly obvious or direct. She will celebrate once Dorian's destruction is complete, and she already has a plan forming in the back of her mind.

"What do you need?" Both her default response, these days, and an observation on the reality that he probably wouldn't be here without a very good reason.

The question is one that intrigues Ellana, because it's different than her own reaction would be to someone asking if they could speak with her, at least if they weren't running towards her panicked, or anything like that.

"Do people only come to you with your problems?" she asks, adding, "Or are you saying if there isn't a problem, you don't have time to talk? I only wished to discuss something I'd heard with you, but I don't want to take up your time if you're busy."

An interesting question, and one that Leliana opts not to answer. She doesn't smile, either, but it's certainly more on the side of "cryptic not-smile" than "cryptic nothing" or "cryptic scowl," and Leliana nods towards her desk in something like an invitation.

"I have a moment," she replies, a little less bluntly. There is much happening, now as always. At least in this moment there is also room to breathe, even if she is technically busy. "You are Ellana, correct? Of Clan Ashara?"
She is aware of some familiarity between her and Morrigan, that she is a mage and there are other rumours that circulate, but Leliana has little time for gossip without substance, without use.

Ellana moves towards the desk and gives a short nod.

"Yes." That really shouldn't surprise her, especially since she is more than just a random soldier within the Inquisition. She's from the largest clan represented here, and also on the Mage Council. And she is friendly with those Leliana fought beside during the Fifth Blight. There are plenty of reasons for Leliana to know her name on sight.

And now she gets straight to the point. Perhaps being around Morrigan has taught her to skip the pleasantries when there's information she wants to know. "Word has been spreading that you're speaking out for the freedoms of elves and mages. As a part of both of those groups, I felt it was a good idea to just ask you directly about your views, rather than rely on what I've heard thirdhand."

Leliana sits, back rigidly straight before she sets her elbows on the desk and leans forward a little, attentive.

"I have done nothing more than express views I have long held," Leliana replies rather simply, although they both well know it can never be so simple as just that. There are always reasons, there are always motivations. Considering for a moment before speaking further, Leliana cants her head to the side to observe Ellana. "I believe that elves and mages alike should be afforded all the freedoms that others enjoy. That all people should be treated equal."

Not yet. There's an inside joke there, he's pretty sure, but he doesn't have the familiarity with her or the situation to make a guess of it. It's put to the side because her question is far more interesting.

"What do I need?" At this point, one might say that technically all of his needs are met. He has shelter, food, people who give a care about him, and a way to keep Justice feeling fulfilled and content. It's a good thing he's not here for himself alone.

"That's not quite accurate, but it's close. The mages have a council, and that's a good start. But until mages are generally seen as people and not objects, they won't have much of a voice." It's something they have no control over. Only by being around people, free, out there, will they have a chance, and only also if they have someone who isn't a mage who can vouch for them because a lot of non-mages are horrible idiots.

"They do not need further oversight, but they could use an assisting voice. Legitimacy. Rumor has it you might be seeking to be that on their behalf and on the behalf of the elves. I came to find out if it was true."

Poor Baroness de Plumes is having something of a day, perched obediently on Leliana's arm as the Spymaster brushes over her feather. Despite Dorian's act of war at the end of Drakonis, it seemed the poor dear was still struggling with unusual amount of sparkle. She suspected this was, in fact, the Baroness deciding that she rather enjoyed the glamour and attention that it brought her, but Leliana is more concerned with one of her fastest birds being able to fly undetected in a particularly dangerous area for her scouts. It might only be a subtle sparkle, but there were eyes other than her own trained to watch for the slightest matter of interest, and a glittering raven might raise some curiosity.

Leliana is speaking to the bird in Orlesian, quietly soothing and offering a gentle rebuke when she goes to hop away, and someone across the other side of the Rookery is trying to sweep and clean the lingering glitter dust away as efficiently and quickly as possible. Baroness de Plumes peers at Merrill before Leliana does, opening her beak in a silent human, look! before cawing when Leliana does not look fast enough.

"I know, Baroness," she murmurs quietly, gaze flickering towards Merrill and dropping as she continues to brush the glitter away. "Merrill will not be brushed, however, because she did not choose to roll in glitter before an important mission."

Another caw, and Leliana gently sets a finger on her beak. "Don't take that tone with me. Now, keep still."

If she were in a less generous mood, were her temper more volatile, she might be more prickly. And truth be told she is hardly friendly, but she watches Anders with a critical, careful gaze before taking a seat at her desk, gesturing for him to sit, if he is so inclined. (She cannot quite bring herself to say it. She has made many compromises over the years, and she is still struggling some of those surrounding Anders, even if she would not act to counter them.)

"I agree," she starts, and this is the painful reality - that she agrees with Anders on so much, even as she reviles his methods, as she is angered by the way his actions have made mages more feared, rather than less. "Mages should be treated as equal, not as subordinate, and so too the elves. However, this is not simply a matter of elf and mage - it is a matter of all peoples being treated with love and respect. I do not wish the degradations suffered by elves and mages to be inflicted on any person for the apparent crime of simply being born as they are."

Leliana might shrug, if she were not so tense and rigid by default, if she did not hold herself as a statue might. "I only offer as much legitimacy as the Left Hand and Seneschal can. Much work must be done to win more support and influence."

Pity you weren't the Divine, Alistair said, and it made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle with discomfort.

The soiree had been Hermione's first real exposure to Thedosians outside of the Inquisition, and it had been something of an eye-opener. And not a pleasant one, at that. Nobles kept approaching her as though expecting her to lash out, or worse, as though expecting her to do a trick. If she hadn't been escorted out of there by Mal less than halfway through the night, she just might have lashed out as they'd half-expected, and that wouldn't have ended well for her at all.

The days after had mostly been spent speaking to her friends who were natives of this world, trying to figure out if that sort of behavior was the norm or if only the nobility was privy to those sorts of prejudices. The answers she'd gotten hadn't been promising, and so she eventually decided to turn to someone else who had offered to give her answers whenever she might need them.

She's not even entirely up the spiral staircase leading to the rookery before she catches sight of something sparkly on the floor that grows more and more pronounced the closer she gets. By the time she's at the top of the stairs, she can't help staring at the fine dusting of glitter everywhere, to the point where she assumes that this is how the rookery always is.

When she does spot Leliana, she tilts her head a bit curiously, lightly kicking up a small spray of glitter up from the floor after approaching her. "I'm surprised this hasn't infiltrated the library. I don't remember the owlery at home being like this."

At the sound of the familiar voice Leliana looks up, and offers Hermione a not-quite-smile. She never really smiles, these days, but there is a slight flicker at the corner of her mouth and a wryness that quirks her lips a little, even if it disappears fast. "I would hope not," she replies, sighing a little at the glitter. "The next level of an ongoing vendetta, I'm afraid. I will have to bide my time to think of adequate retribution."

Retribution that will come after the Inquisition, that goes without saying, but Dorian will have his comeuppance.

"How are you settling in? It has been a little while since we've spoken," and there is the edges of something apologetic in that. Her work comes first. It must always come first, but that does not mean she is happy to leave people lacking in assistance or support, in a friendly ear.

Despite all the different hats Sister Nightingale has worn, Leliana can't truly know what it means to hear that you've been accepted as an elf and a mage. The Inquisition is a more liberal place by far, but even within it, there are many who hold to views because they have always been just the way things are.

Were this even a month ago, Ellana's shoulders would sag in relief right now, but she doesn't give herself away as much now. It's a concentrated effort to hold something back instead of always wearing her heart on her sleeve. It becomes more easily damaged that way. Instead, she inclines her head in acknowledgment, and lets her words show what she's feeling.

"It's such a simple thing that should be obvious, and yet with the way things are, you come across sounding enlightened in comparison to many others."

"That," Leliana starts, very bluntly, "is because Thedas is a place where small-mindedness is as pervasive as any Blight, and people wrap themselves up in ignorance believing that it will grant them succor and sanctuary."

Pausing for a moment, Leliana glances towards the shrine to Andraste that dwells in the Rookery, and back to Ellana.

"What do you know about Andraste?"

Isabela still comes by the rookery on a regular basis to deal with her assorted correspondence.

"Interesting change of pace," she remarks, rubbing some glitter off her fingers, "Do you ever sprinkle it on the heads below you?"

The pirate collects her incoming messages, frowning at one of them, and then selects a few ravens to send the outgoing ones.

"So, rumor has it you're wanting to talk about freedom." It wasn't a question. More an observation, really. And an invitation if Leliana wanted to take it.

Ellana's eyes dart over to where Leliana is looking to see that familiar statue there, candles lit around it. For all her reading since arriving at Skyhold, the Chantry is still the subject Ellana knows the least about. But there is hardly need of diving into books about it, when a daily walk through the stronghold will afford her a stirring rendition of numerous Chant verses. She thinks she has that "There was no sky..." part memorized by now, simple because that one sister in the garden won't move on to something else already.

"Not much, I'm afraid. She was a slave who joined with the elves to free themselves from the Imperium, and was burned at the stake. Her family gave the Dales to the elves for fighting alongside them." And there is all that talk about being the bride of the Maker, but that is for humans to say, not her. The People have their own stories to explain their gods and their world, and the humans have theirs. Each should be allowed it.

Leliana, for her part, does not look up from the paperwork. The glitter no longer irritates her; now it is simply a slow burning fuel for her desire to destroy Dorian utterly with the next escalation of their shared vendetta. Lovingly and respectful destruction, playfully meant, and yet utterly brutal. Theirs is a strange friendship, one could suppose.

"Only when the scouts are in need of entertainment," she says, and it's seriousness enough that she might just be being honest. Or perhaps she is just a very good liar. Speaking of good liars: hi, Isabela, she is still not happy with you. Pragmatism over personal grievances was a rallying point she liked to recommend, but was a rather more difficult ideal to latch onto for herself.

"It is not the talking about it that interests me. Words can mean very little, Isabela. It is action that counts."

"She is lauded among those of our faith as a hero who stood against tyranny," Leliana replies, "although your summary is correct. Most importantly, though, she fought to end suffering."

A moment of consideration, before she frowns. "It is... unusual, then, that those who claim to celebrate with the greatest passion and loyalty should also stand so staunchly for the suffering of others, no? That Andraste has been used as a means to justify so many wrongs and so many lives destroyed, when she sought peace. The Canticle of Andraste tells us that among her last sentiments she said, 'Let mine be the last sacrifice.' Why, then? Why have so many others been sacrificed to satisfy the Chantry and the nobles that draw their strength from it?"

Fire touches her words, hands curled into tight fists, though she does not expect Ellana to have answers for her. "It is all wrong."

There is a passion to Leliana's voice on this issue and Ellana is glad for it. If no one questions things, how will they ever change? If anything, she admires Leliana for this, because she isn't afraid to make her opinions known. Ellana wishes for a better future for her own people, but knows that they are so stubborn that her words would fall on deaf ears.

"I cannot tell you," she replies, brow furrowed. "Power? Influence? The Dales were lost in the name of the Chantry and Andraste, weren't they? It seems any evil can be seen as righteous if it's claimed in the name of serving the Chantry." She pauses, head tilting to the side. "There are many good Andrastians, and the Chantry can't be all bad. But it's done many terrible things too."

Hermione hardy thinks of glitter as being part of a vendetta, but then she realizes that it's a bit of over-exaggeration. "You mean someone played a prank on you?" she asks, trying not to smile. "I could help you clean it up, but I don't know that even magic can properly get rid of glitter. It's stubborn that way."

And speaking of stubborn, she can be a bit hard-headed herself, which is probably why she's allowing everything that's been said and done at the soiree to have any effect on her whatsoever. "It has been," she murmurs softly. "I've been... all right, I suppose. There are still some things I'm trying to get used to."

As though it has nothing to do with anything else, she asks, "Were you at that party a while back? There were more people there than I've seen together in one place in a long time."

If Merrill thought she could get away with it -- and if she could reliably get around Skyhold, and if she wasn't certain whether or not she would be distracting the birds too much -- then she would likely spend a lot more time in the rookery. As it is, she giggles in delight when Baroness de Plumes notices her, wiggling her fingers -- a ring on her fingers, which may attract attention -- before turning it into a bolder wave for Leliana.

"Oh, I wouldn't mind being brushed," she giggles again, stepping closer with her hands open so that the Baroness can see she isn't holding anything scary. "Or being glittery, I suppose, on certain occasions. May I-?"

Pet the bird, that is. In fact- "I could brush her, or if there's another bird who could use some attention...?"

"They were lost to an Exalted March," Leliana agrees, though the words taste foul on her tongue. "After they were gifted to the elves by Andraste's own sons as thanks for their part in the war. There was a sermon after the Exalted March that claimed the elves were guilty of grave sin, of turning their back upon the Maker and condemning all Thedas to being deprived of his presence." Her voice is cold - angry. "In the same breath they spoke of showing the elves mercy, for that was Andraste's will."

Leliana shakes her head and stands, abruptly, because she finds herself uneasy simply sitting, when so much of her work as the Left Hand felt like inaction, or worse still, action to the opposite direction of her own beliefs. "You are not wrong, Ellana. There are good Andrastians, but what is goodness when it is coupled by inaction? Ignorance is one thing. Inaction despite knowing what is right?"

That is unforgivable.

"Yes," she concedes, after a moment of deliberation. "Someone played a prank on me. However, Dorian does not appreciate the perils of testing an Orlesian bard." Especially when they are the Left Hand, and more specifically, when they are Leliana.

As for it being stubborn, Leliana just tilts her head towards one of her ravens, hopping along the floor and tilting its head, peering at a corner where glitter has managed to linger despite efforts to the contrary, before the bird keels onto the ground to give it's a dust bath. A glitter dust bath. Leliana shakes her head, murmuring a reprimanding "Baroness" before the bird squawks an indignant response and continues hopping along. "I am becoming more and more aware."

But, onto more important topics: Hermione, the ball. "I can imagine it would have been difficult to attend such an event with everything being so fresh. I rarely attend such events, any more, but I was required at that one. Did you enjoy yourself?" There is a note of curiosity there, and of implied concern. "Nobles can be rather challenging, at times."

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(open-ish) out of the slumbers of my head

FOR VELANNA. ( late drakonis, post-cyril & advisor talks. )

early cloudreach

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in my sleep haze i misread "hug nate" as "nug hate" and was just like ANDERS PLS

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LOL. Yes. Glittery nugs are made to be hated.

FOR MERRILL.

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Probably late Drakonis

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Early Cloudreach

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