should they whisper false of you, never trouble to deny;

[trouvaille]

FORM: Sending crystal.
SENDER: Gwenaëlle Vauquelin.
RECIPIENT: All u scrubs.
WHAT: An announcement.
WHEN: During Cloudreach's sickness event.
WHERE: Skyhold.
NOTES: Refer to this.

( the sensible thing to do - indeed, what katell has urged, folding her exasperation under her hands and only trying to be conciliatory - would be to go to the healers. gwenaëlle has been tarred with the delicate brush of her mother's chronic illness, her every headache or cough scrutinized closely by family attendants; she knows herself to be from somewhat hardier stock, and has things to do, and the healers are far too busy to be called away to tend to her in private, so she will...something. later. she doesn't feel like it, and she's busy, too, you know. she has things to do now.

which is why she is making this brief message. over the sending crystals, no one has to know she's propped up on pillows in bed with her writing and not at the desk a bit more suited to the purpose. )

If I might steal a moment of the attention of anyone who isn't currently trapped in the clutches of their healer or a fever -

My name is Lady Gwenaëlle Vauquelin, and I have recently put to the advisors a proposal that they have given their approval to, that I will write on my observations of life at Skyhold to be published from Orlais in serial form. Obviously, what I write shall be closely examined before it reaches my publisher, that no inadvertent intelligence go to our enemies, but -

I see a means by which those for whom you all fight might-- ( her vision swims a little and she screws her eyes shut, takes a deep breath. fuck this stupid fever, she's fine, she hates to be ill, if she ignores it, it will probably go away - ) might have the opportunity to appreciate what you do. And perhaps see opportunities to support it. To be coaxed into being on the right side of history, as it were.

( to be reminded that they should, and that they can bloody well create opportunities to support the inquisition, which is trying to save all of their ungrateful backsides. attaching the established voice of a wealth orlesian noblewoman to that particular message will send it further than it might have otherwise gone, and heeded by those who might not have otherwise heeded it.

she writes well, besides that, but it can't be ignored that she could write twice as well and be heard half so loud without the sway of her name. )

Anyway. If you want something in particular brought to attention, tell me so and I might.

( if it's not stupid. )

Comments

private.

[byblow]

Closely examined by whom?

private ad infinitem.

[trouvaille]

The Inquisition leadership. They'll vet all drafts before publication.

( she must be in a good mood. the 'duh, obviously' tone is only subtle. )

[byblow]

All of them?

[ Not actually the point. ]

—I'm not sure how much they care about the Wardens at the moment, beyond inadvertent intelligence or whatever, but if you could make sure to leave us out of everything for now I can owe you a favor.

[trouvaille]

Define 'leave you out'.

( a thoughtful pause; )

And 'favour'.

[byblow]

Well, those of us here are, from some perspectives, deserters and fugitives, and we would rather not be summoned to the Anderfels just yet, so not mentioning that we're here would be kind of you. For starters. 'Favor' I would be willing to leave open, but I'm very good at carrying things, for example.

[trouvaille]

Very well. On the understanding that I will be defining favour, I will leave reference to the Wardens out of anything that goes to my editor.

( ha ha they're totally staying in the private copies that she's saving for after all this mess, though. )

[byblow]

Thank you. Call it in whenever you want.

[ A beat. ]

I won't kill anybody for you, so we're clear there.

morrigan approves

[arcaneadvisor]

You begin to carve your own path within the Inquisition then? Might I offer my congratulations.

[After all, she would much rather this than petticoats and parties, more good might come of it, a chance to have more say in a rather more direct fashion than everyone have to carefully layer meaning upon meaning.

Maker forbid the nobility hear the unguarded truth and have a fit over the world not bending to their whim.]

I am sure I can think of a few things though whether or not they would be approved of is another matter, and the approval of the advisors, well bar one, matters very little to me. The masses could do with their eyes being opened however it must be done.

[trouvaille]

Thank you.

( she is, despite the fever, exceptionally pleased with this development. maybe the contrarian in her might have enjoyed being denied, so she could pull a fast one and release the decidedly less abridged version after the chaos ends...but there's no reason she can't do that later, anyway, and it'll be easier, this way.

and more immediately productive. )

I should think so long as information poses no threat...

( that's probably a matter of opinion as well, in fairness. )

[arcaneadvisor]

[It pays to have a back-up plan; there will certainly be many eager hands and mouths waiting for after, their appetites sated not at all, in all likelihood even hungrier than they were at first.

Tales of the Fifth Blight grew and spread, the Tale of the Champion grew arms and legs.]

Threat is very much in the eye of the beholder, is it not? Or eyes, as it were, some of the advisors come from a very paranoid breed of being but I hear Chantry life and lyrium will do that to a person.

[trouvaille]

( what a probably accurate thing to say about the commander! gwen's small huff of air could be correctly interpreted as a laugh of the very tired and should be napping this illness away right now kind. )

I abstain from both, as a rule, ( a little dryly. ) For myself.

[arcaneadvisor]

[Some extends to the Seeker too but the Commander is far easier to make the butt of a joke, lowest in her opinion that he is. Satisfaction enters her voice, if she is guessing correctly here, because how very interesting.] You intrigue me more and more, we must make time for one another again when I return to Skyhold.

[Tactical mother and son bonding time has worked out so well, allowing them both to avoid whatever this is, though it does beg the question-] Are you afflicted by whatever has taken hold of Skyhold at present?

[trouvaille]

( she's about to say something along the lines of i look forward to it when morrigan asks her question and it becomes not quite a sigh, catching herself, not wanting to seem as if she's deeply sighing over morrigan in particular. )

A bit of a fever, ( in a tone that is at least trying to find the line between 'dismissive of being unwell' and 'not dismissive of the person she's speaking to'. ) I'm sure nothing that will prevent making time.

[nonsibi]

Well, would you look at that. You got what you wanted.

[Not that he sounds very surprised.]

Can I say 'congratulations' yet, or do I have to wait for the actual publication.

[trouvaille]

One thing.

( she does not limit herself to just wanting one thing!! but she sounds pleased, if a little - it's a lot of effort to pull it together to make this announcement, she should be resting. or seeing a healer. and yet here we are.

then, in a tone too self-consciously grand to be anything other than a send up-- )

You may congratulate me now.

[nonsibi]

[He snorts, before he gives her a dry:]

Congratulations.

So you don't sound that bad.

[trouvaille]

I'm perfectly well.

( yeah, that sounds fake, just a little too reflexively defensive, like she's said so several times already today. )

I've spent more than enough time in the company of healers and physicians.

[nonsibi]

[yeah okay, "well".]

Then going one more time'll be easy for you.

[trouvaille]

What? No.

( gwen for real. )

[hugeinorlais]

[Varric's not as his best when he's ill--in fact, he's just this side of a whining mass of blankets--but he'd have to be dead to not respond to this. He glowers blearily at his crystal and, in the tone of someone who is both incised and not entirely certain they've heard this right:]

If this is some kind of terrible, elaborate, Orlesian joke, it's as stupid and transparent as that pen-name you just made up--ugh--Okay, I do not have the energy to deal with weird pranks right now.

[Varric sounds both cranky and stuffed up; his tone is drier than the farthest stretches of the Hissing Wastes.]

Ha-ha, great, very funny--now cut this shit out.

[trouvaille]

( there is a long, chilly silence.

then, )

Am I meant to know what this is about?

[hugeinorlais]

[Varric sighs heavily and, almost audibly, drags his hand down his face. His quiet 'Fine.' is huffed the very second he starts speaking again. When he does, it's with a very clearly put on Orlesian accent. It is not a kind impression.]

Why Madame, this scathing demand is in regards to the positively asinine suggestion that someone with such a ridiculous name could, I dare say, swoop in and undermine my efforts without so much as a note of forewarning.

[He leans away to cough a couple of times. He is not clearing his throat.]

Seriously, have you people never heard of first right of refusal? And this idea? Slice of life biographical serials about an organization? It'll go bust before you've paid for the ink.

The only people who like biographical serials live in Orzammar and if it's not about rocks they don't want to hear it.

Honestly. Try harder if you're going to make jokes like this.

[trouvaille]

( gwen's response is - not measured, exactly. that it's so terse should not, by any means, indicate anything beyond the fact that she already has a fever and a headache and now there's this prick.

it is very flat; )

Who is this.

[hugeinorlais]

Oh, like you don't know.

[All at once he's a teenager again and Bartrand is just messing with him. He's stubborn enough that he doesn't want to give up the obvious answer and, thus, play along...but he's also sick enough that he'd prefer this joke be over sooner rather than later.]

Andraste's ass, fine. It's me: Varric Tethras. Happy now?

[He sounds both disgruntled and offended as he adds:]

Can we skip any height related punchlines today, I'm really not in the mood.

[trouvaille]

( varric tethras is pulling this in her announcement?

gwen starts to speak, gets halfway through a word and has to break off, and then finally - with clearly rising irritation-- )

Well, Master Tethras, let me assure you that there is nothing stopping you from speaking with the advisors yourself and sharing your own perspective, something I am certain I could not possibly put to pen.

( there's a full few seconds where it seems like she might be enjoying the high road. and then. )

And certainly would not wish to, as I have never before been so disappointed in a man still wearing his trousers. Though I do not for an instant suggest you would not fail to rise to that occasion, as well.

Did you have anything else you wanted to say about my fucking name?

( --gwen. )