arcaneadvisor | ooc: inbox/plot with me

A redhead. Loud.

( gwen remembers her name perfectly well. )

She served some time ago, I didn't think to see her in Skyhold, it isn't -

In any case, it stopped.

[There are plenty of redheads but well, she has the feeling she knows the one Gwen's talking about already. What a terrible thing. The person, most likely, not the feeling.]

There are many who joined in search of something or other; to save the world, to restore order, to see change the world though the reasons for some being here are not so clearly defined.

[Wardens your ears should be burning. Anders your ears should be on fire.]

Do you wish for me to visit? There is little I can do, this is not my realm of expertise, but I will come nonetheless.

( her first thought is to say no - there is nothing morrigan can do, so why should she? )

Yes.

( abrupt enough to be awkward; she catches herself, modulates-- )

If it isn't a bother. I would - like that.

You are not a bother Gwenaelle, I would not offer if you were. [She wouldn't even have introduced Kieran if she were.

And in far too short a time for her to have walked - because why walk when you can have wings - Morrigan is outside her chambers, knocking on the door softly with a small smile and look of concern, a slim volume held in her hands.]

( katell has long since been dismissed for the night, gwenaëlle not requiring her attentive service while drinking wine, damply, and engaging in competitive sexual ruthlessness via the crystals - so the door is opened by the lady herself, a small thing made smaller by her loose, wet hair and the fact she is wearing what appears to be a man's shirt made for a much larger frame than hers.

one foot tucks behind the other ankle; she holds onto the doorframe, wobbles, then steps back to let her past. she is a tidy thing even in her apparent disarray, the only real sign of how she's spent her evening being that cushions from her chaise and bed have been deposited unceremoniously in a pile by the fireside, where a mostly-empty decanter of wine and half-empty glass have been left, too, where she presumably was a moment ago with the crystal she'd spoken on. her metal tub is out on the small balcony (she likes the cool air and the hot water), and has been emptied already, quite possibly just by tipping it over the edge. )

Thank you. For coming.

( she wants company more than she wants to protect her dignity, she supposes. she hasn't done very well at that, anyway. )

[Long ago, if someone had told her that she would worry about a young Orlesian woman of noble birth, Morrigan would have laughed in their face after a suitably scathing remark fit to strip several layers of flesh from them yet here she is, at Gwenaelle's door.

But then there are so few who know what it is to be the extension of another person, to want to be themselves though Morrigan had her plan in place when she left so she cannot mask her surprise at the sight before her, and why would she? She's remarkably open around the young lady in question as she steps inside, setting a hand on her arm.]

Of course, tis a strange time. [A worrying time, another person might say but they are both proud creatures and that much must still be allowed.] I had been meaning to thank you as well for Kieran, your name is said a great deal in our chambers of late.

( pride is much of everything she isn't going to say, all the small things that shouldn't upset her because she is so much bigger than they are -

like a little kitten convinced it can fight a mabari. the brittleness of her softens a little under morrigan's hand and the mention of kieran warms her further; he is so bright and unexpected, and she is terribly fond of him. if she had a son, she'd want a son like kieran, odd little thing that he is - she understands that, she thinks. there's more that she doesn't, but enough that she does to give him her hand and think nothing of it. )

He's some of the best company in Skyhold, you should tell him so, ( a more interesting topic than her awful hand or the awful people around it.

she nudges a cushion with her foot, sits down on the edge of the chaise instead of back on the floor. )

[Two Wardens, one of them a complete buffoon twirling a pike and wheedling a possessed old woman to darn his socks for him still managed to muster an army and defeat a Blight faster than any other Blight in recorded history, all the while with the threat of a civil war looming. Small things can accomplish much when they do it the right way, and the world takes notice.

Notice enough that it might like to pretend that it never happened but that in itself is enough to have plenty of others clinging tooth and nail to the truth of the matter.

Kieran is of course the brightest spot in Morrigan's life, no matter how dark the rest might become. Bright enough that she will always smile, always laugh, settling herself comfortably.]

Perhaps you might care to tell him yourself though I would worry that his face might set aflame if you did. I did not wish to worry him with all that has been going on of late, including my absences, there are very few who would show him such kindness without… [The pause is to sigh; the hour is late and Gwen knows that even children aren't free from being used against people or as part of plots and games and schemes.]

( what was gwenaëlle as a little girl if not a game-piece to be pushed and pulled into this place or that? she knows it better than she cares to and her lips tighten, gaze cutting away. she isn't so special or good or kind, she just - )

He's a very good boy, I thought - he needed. Someone. For a bit.

( maybe not her, particularly, she wouldn't presume, but someone. not that morrigan isn't a great many things, all of them enough, she just - maybe she shouldn't have to be everything, either.

gwenaëlle becomes aware that she is fidgeting, and flattens her hands against her thigh, looking up, mustering a crooked smile. she feels off-balance in ways she does not feel entirely safe to be, but what does it matter. what does it matter. if morrigan isn't her friend, then she hasn't got any, apparently, so

she doesn't want to be alone. she's so tired. )

Not that you wouldn't - I mean, I don't -

( an unsteady little laugh. ) I'm sorry; I'm not at my best.

He did. And will.

[Watching is something Morrigan has always done. She was alone so often as a girl with only Flemeth or the creatures of the wilds for company, left to peer out into civilisation, and such habits have never left her for long.

How did this girl last so long, she wonders, watching her now, when the Court is a relentless vicious thing with teeth and claws that is never ever sated. But then there is much to be said for someone that makes all around them hold their breath, waiting for the reaction. And for a woman that guards her smile well? Men will do incredible things, ridiculous things.

Morrigan knows what it's like to be spectacularly alone, and she is careful when she reaches out. The way one extends a hand to a wolf; it might back away, it might snap. But she reaches out all the same.]

I am sure the day has been long and trying. Change is not easy, not when it comes to something such as this. Your entire world has tilted, and tilted again. But you have come through one fire already have you not? And quite literally at that.

Until she is fit for visitors- yes.

[ He swallows- a thickness to his voice that he tries to hammer down. ]

It will not be pretty when you can see her again. This poison- you must consider if it is what you would wish to remember of her should the worst come to pass.

[She could almost laugh; what was pretty in her life? What did she grow up with - a mother who used men until nothing was left, looking to Morrigan to do the same as she grew into her body. Who used her as bait for Templars who met lock her up at best, kill her at worst? A woman who sent her to bed with tales that chilled her to the bone?

The knowledge that everything in her life was to ready her for the day she was to be possessed? What in her life wasn't ugly until she stepped free of that swamp beneath a Blight-darkened sky?]

I have not flinched from that, and I will not leave her alone. Not now. She has been alone too long. If this...if the worst comes to pass? I will be there and she shan't be alone. I am strong enough for that.

Of course, I never doubted that. [ Not once. He simply was uncertain of the depth of their association- friends? Yes. But this...this is sentiment deeper still than that.

If only he had it in him to be smug. ]

As soon as she is fit for visitors I shall send for you- and make it plain that you and she are not to be disturbed unless you call for a healer.

M.,

I was distracted when we last saw each other, I shared no news. I meant to tell you that the elf mage Solas spoke with me regarding the shard and now I am to learn how to control the shield it creates. Alistair still owes me a favour, so I've told him he has to help me; Solas says that the best way to try to recreate it first is to threaten me and Alistair promises he's very good at not hitting very hard if I can't produce a shield in time.

Do you know healing magic? I don't want to ask any of those healers if it goes poorly or tell anyone Alistair blacked my eye.

But much more importantly: you were right. I'm very glad I began writing. There's someone in Skyhold now because he read my words and saw the need and came. It did work. I thought perhaps it might not; that people would just think it frivolous, a vanity project.

I wanted you to know.

G.

Gwenaelle,

Think nothing of it, the time was most trying. I well remember the circumstances too leading to your shard reacting as it did previously, though I am glad you shall be arming yourself. For all the faults he might have - you may wish to stand downwind, do not say you were not warned - he is, rather annoyingly, a man of his word. Clumsy words. Too many of them. But he shall hold to them.

I know some healing magic, certainly enough to aid in that regard, you must know how small boys are. If you are able to use your shield to black Alistair's eye, you might tell him he is entirely on his own to fashion a tale.

Congratulations, I am proud. You have done well. You have done something. More than others, this action has borne fruit that can be weighed and measured not in promises or alliances that might be waved away or misplaced, where all rests upon the place settings and ballgowns. There is power in that, none can take it from you. Remember that.

Morrigan

[And there's a heavily implied 'or else' after 'But he shall hold to them' because she is a giant spider amongst other things and she will come for him.]

( without preamble, in a slightly puzzled tone; )

I've wriggled out of courtships before, but I've never accidentally wiggled into one.

How, pray tell, did you ever manage that?

[Half-sympathetic (see: what do we even call her and Leliana) but ready to spider on up to someone (especially Thranduil, she warned him.)]

You know, I'm not entirely sure?

( - ruefully. )

People were beginning to get the idea that Lord Luthor is courting me, and I might have said some unflattering things about Brother Jehan to his brother in a letter and he might have threatened to tattle on me about 'the Marcher' and I was trying to make sure that Alexander -

( yes. )

- didn't feel he had to stop speaking to me to quell it. Well, ( philosophically, ) it turned out he didn't feel that way.

That-- sounds remarkably familiar.

[Not courting, can you even imagine? Well, Alistair probably can but in general, Morrigan and Leliana courting would break Skyhold.]

T'would not be a Chantry brother if he were not somehow poking his nose where it does not belong. You might remind him that such things are easily lost. [Dry. The three deserts are jealous. Such a pity that the Inquisition not being a part of the Chantry still doesn't keep the annoying pious beasts out.]

And you feel the same? I know very little of this Marcher of yours though I am always happy to help with the gossips.

[Spiders. You can never have too many spiders.]

I might remind his brother, if he isn't careful.

( little tattle-tale that she is unrepentant for being. )

I - well, I don't know the same. I don't know his mind, entirely, but mine is - I like him very well. I worried, a little, that he wouldn't have been as inclined if there weren't someone to amusingly spite, but he said that isn't so.

( and it all sprang from her determination not to lose his attention, that's not irrelevant. )

If you wish to provide me his name, there are errands I plan to undertake in Orlais.

[Val she has not forgotten about your mother, she will get to her in due course.]

Had he said anything else, I would be telling you what you might do with him. [Morrigan, who has so little time for men in general, and even less in that regard. A roundabout way of saying you deserve more and better than whatever there was in the Court.] Spite can be a foundation, I would be the last to say otherwise, tis very much what I am known for yet..you are clever with words. I believe you would know if he were lying there.

( promptly and without hesitation; ) Martin Mercier. He's very sweet to me, like a big uncle. He calls me Gigi still.

( among other things. choupinette drives her up the wall, she isn't repeating it. )

But Alexander -

I don't think it'd be his way. ( thoughtfully. ) I don't know that he bothers with things he doesn't think are worth bothering with.

When you are a woman grown?

[What a strange concept. Then she was just Morrigan if her mother was in a good mood, or girl. So. It's not as if she had anything else to compare it to.]

You are very much worth bothering with. What does he do then, when he is here?

The number of people who don't seem to have noticed that is constantly astonishing to me.

( some of them are more annoying about it than others. jeannot and his stupid friend, for instance.

but the not small moment of warmth she feels being so described by morrigan is much more compelling than either of them. )

But Alexander is a blacksmith. Which I think even in the Free Marches is a strange occupation for a nobleman - he learned his trade in Orzammar.

Many will see only what they wish to see. That says rather more about them than it ever will about you.

[See: literally everything anyone says or thinks or breathes about Morrigan, even the edge of a look they might give her.]

I was unaware Orzammar would take in a human, let alone a Free Marcher. They were very much for tradition last I suffered being there. Tis a stuffy place, and I say that not regarding the heat and the rock above ones head. All that tradition, tis worse than any surface court. Though I suppose there is no better place to learn unless he joined the Qun and then I believe he would be rather less taken with you.

ooc: inbox/plot with me

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one of a parcel of letters sent to orlais.

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crystal.

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