therookery | stars are not small or gentle. they are writhing and dying and burning.

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gwenaëlle baudin

stars are not small or gentle. they are writhing and dying and burning.

FORM: A published work, and a letter.
SENDER: Gwenaëlle Vauquelin
RECIPIENT: Character(s) Anyone who purchases a copy; Gregoire Leblanc.
WHAT: The second part of Gwen's great work; a gossipy letter home.
WHEN: Early Justinian.
WHERE: You know, around.
NOTES:

are

Galadriel, a rifter elf

G.

Cannot believe what I am obliged to do for sake of Inquisition of which am not even a member. All I have to say about that.

Have not much spoken with your sister, likely due to immense grief caused by her countenance due to missing you terribly. Alternately because she is terribly busy and important what with the apostates having a Council now (although Morrigan says it is a Circle by any other name and of course M.V. is involved so as explained to me I think she has the right of it; though shall not claim to be expert on Circles). Unsure what they do. Frankly unsure what many people here do but have secured rather useful access in order to disseminate it, expect I shall find out.

Also, astonished by the height of these foreign elves from the rifts. All of them easily a foot above me. Have charitably given services to acquainting one ([Gwenaëlle painstakingly reproduces how Thranduil wrote his name for her], I don't know, it's foreign) with Orlesian culture. Could not for the life of me tell you why besides obvious value inherent in Orlais(!). Actually do not especially miss daily wearing of masks. (M.V. does not, ergo.) Even so. But no lessons required presently as everyone who can hold a sword is off doing so and very impressively I am sure. The absence of at least some of them has rendered Skyhold slightly more dull, but I suppose it leaves me with time upon my hands to do this work. Enclosed package of poems if you would please take to my agent. (I know you'll read them, sticky fingered nuisance, but I think you'll like.)

I have been offered the tale of the fifth blight to record, unfortunately by impossibly tiresome elf. Obviously I am taking it down, but what do you think I should do? This is all very different to writing art critique and poetry - not that I don't take either seriously but the sense of responsibility is a bit different to what I'm accustomed. A sense of weight to one's words that isn't just going to make some insipid prick cry into his handkerchief (you would tell me if I'd made anyone cry recently?). Guidance on subject has been a mixed bag (very encouraging + slightly threatening, though from different sources) but I suppose there is nothing for it but to do the thing thoughtfully and hope that means properly. I want to do it properly. I hope that I am. And upon whose head it will be if these rifters aren't what they claim to be -

No, I suppose mine as well, now. What has my lord got me into, sending me here? (I suppose I have got myself into some of it.)

But I am never bored.

Your most beautiful, intelligent & interesting friend,
G.

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[Why wouldn't--]

I don't know. Where do you want me to start.

[Because he has a list. Slightly shorter list, the list of people he doesn't dislike. The Avvar are almost worse than killer mages. At least killer mages, Bellamy can understand. This new topic has darkened the cast of his face to positively stormy degrees, and set the line of his jaw like it's carved out of rock.]

You want to know the truth, we blew some of them up first. Call it an answer to a problem that they started. Who'd you hear it from that there's an Avvar here?

[Because he can't imagine Lexa strolling around and introducing herself. Then again, last time he saw her, she was in no fit state to be strolling anywhere. Magic can do a great deal in a very short span of time.]

( her shrug is lithe, and on this subject she is much more at ease than she was with his opening sally regarding the rifter issue. it is entirely possible his discomfort contributes directly to her lack of it, because she is terrible and most at home on someone else's edge. )

Skyhold is like a little village in that way, ( she says, considering him. ) News does rather travel, and it is sort of my business to hear it.

( sift through what she hears for what's valuable and make use of it, somehow - )

And to talk to interesting people. You haven't made her sound not interesting to talk to.

[Somewhat sulkily, Bellamy folds his arms over his chest. The sense that he's said too much, or gotten too impassioned, sits heavy on him, especially now that he's been reminded of Gwen's profession. Not that he'd forgotten it. It's impossible to forget it.

Still.]

You sure as hell can try. In my experience, she's not much of a talker. [Stabber, yes. Betrayer, yes. All of these things are things he doesn't want to go into much detail on. The line of his jaw stays very tight.] I thought you had better taste. That's all.

( gwenaëlle does not say, I talk to you, don't I, but the sentiment is unavoidably present in the way she regards him, lips pursed. if they were in orlais, then she'd tell him he's being unattractively petulant and swan off; that she doesn't isn't because he isn't, but because his inability to express himself in a way that doesn't make him sound like a sulky prick is (she thinks) just a personality flaw rather than reflective of the importance of whatever it is about this avvar woman that bothers him so much.

it doesn't feel like the right time to tell him too much about himself. this restraint is outlined in applied friendship 101 by professor g. vauquelin. )

If I based the company I keep on my personal tastes, ( she says, bone dry, ) then I would have very little of it and almost nothing to write about.

But perhaps you're right, and she simply won't speak with me.

[He reads at least the hint of Gwen's true sentiment, and he looks away, irritated. You have no idea, he thinks and does not say, you have no actual idea, but of course she doesn't. And he can't tell her, in detail. As much as he actually likes Gwenaëlle Vauquelin, terrible Orlesian lady though she is, he's not going to make plain everything he's come from. She's in the business of writing. He's in the business of no one finding out what they did.

All he can do is sit there, sullenly, staring very hard at a wall. Eventually he brings himself to look around at her again.]

I can tell you why she's here. She sold some bullshit story to the advisers about being a good neighbor. Now she's waiting around for her guards to follow her here. They'll keep some kind of peace, for now, while it suits them.

[And that's straying towards saying too much again, but he feels like he ought to warn her, so, fine:]

Take my word for it. If all she does is refuse to speak to you? You'll be lucky.

I'll bear that in mind.

( she doesn't sound dissuaded, because she isn't; knowing gwenaëlle, it isn't out of the question that she wouldn't even if she understood the nature of his objections. she's always been more curious than she has been careful, prone to leaping even if she looked first -

it isn't that she doesn't hear the warning. it isn't even that she doesn't take it seriously.

it's just -

there's a flame, so she goes toward it. it's her nature to do. )

You're free to give me remarks on the record, you know. Any time you like.

( she doesn't think he will. it's less intended as a real suggestion than a means of diverting him back into their more usual banter. )

Sure you will.

[Why he always ends up surrounded by women who don't listen to him, Bellamy will never know. Each of them is as bad in the others, in their own way. In this instance, he can tell that Gwen will ignore his warning. He can tell that she'll go and talk to Lexa, because she wants to, and maybe even because he's just helped to increase her mystery. And probably everything will be fine; Lexa is putting on a civil face, she probably only wants to stab him in the leg, stabbing anyone else would be a good way to get shown the door--

But still.

He shoots a look over at her, at that suggestion.]

And what am I going to give remarks on?

( breezing blithely past bellamy putting exactly the correct amount of store in her word there, she shrugs, turning her gold-rimmed reading glasses over and over in her hands, absent-minded. )

Well, I don't know. What do you do all day?

( it would be easy to make that a criticism - and you only need to spend about five minutes in her company, if that, to realise that she is far from inclined to hold back her critique of just about anything - but it sounds like a question, instead, because it is.

even aside from the unlikely prospect of getting anything publishable from him, she is curious. )

[He huffs a laugh.]

Why, gonna write an article on it?

[But he shifts his stance agreeably, arms still folded over his chest, albeit a little more loosely.]

I'm out in the camp, not here in Skyhold. No titles to get me a room, Lady Gwenaëlle. There's always something to do out there. Set up the tent, fetch water, get feed for my horse... set up the tent again when the wind blows it down... We call those chores. I can spell it for you.

[Since she won't have heard of chores. He's joking more than he is being genuinely unpleasant.]

When all that's done, train. Read any interesting publications, not that there's many.

Oh, I think I've heard of those. I'm sure I have people for that.

( which is dry as hell, but - not untrue, of course, when every part of her life to date has been made a bit easier (or substantially easier) by attendants.

there's an elf here whose job it used to be to brush gwenaëlle's hair. )

Did you go to the Approach with everyone else? I watched them all leaving.

[People to brush her hair, do her chores, and people to help her spell. But at least she has a sense of self-aware and self-deprecating humor about it. Bellamy can appreciate that.]

Started to. I ended up turning back around. Acting as escort for that Avvar you're so interested in.

["Escort".]

Too hot for you in the Approach, or you just had better things to do?

( a short laugh. )

What would I have done in the Approach? Got in the way and wasted the time of whoever had to protect me? Probably died when they got bored and found an opportunity no one could prove they'd abandoned me?

( there is a time and a place for someone like her, and it is not 'in the middle of an active warzone'. )

Edited 2016-06-17 00:10 (UTC)

You could have written about it.

[Do they have 'the pen is mightier than the sword' as a saying, in Orlais? They don't in the Free Marches. Bellamy is thinking something along those lines regardless, enough that he gives her half a smirk.]

Next time the chance comes up, just don't get yourself assigned to me for protection. I already carried you to the healer's tents. I don't want to have to follow that up with carrying you off a battlefield.

I can write about what people tell me, ( very firmly. ) There is no 'chance'. Look at me!

I am exquisite.

( that is possibly not where it immediately seemed like her somewhat derisive look at me was going. )

I don't belong on a battlefield, no, thank you. And besides, I'm not a member of the Inquisition. They can't make me.

( yeah, that's right. you're not her real dad, entire inquisition. )

[That is definitely not where Bellamy thought it was going, and he communicates that by looking over at Gwen like

what

wrinkled nose and all. Not arguing but, come on.]

Yeah, I'm sure they take that into account. Put us non-exquisites on the front lines. Isn't firsthand experience better than secondhand accounts? Not good enough to be worth the risk?

( a little huff of air-- )

Even were I fool enough to think it a good idea, which I'm not, why on earth would they let me go? The Inquisition is in those places to do a job. Many jobs, usually, quite important ones. Why should they allow me to go along with no suitable experience or skills or even the very slightest ability to protect myself, and be obliged to divert resources from that work for the sake of someone who can't contribute to it? That's nonsense, Bellamy.

Particularly when you consider that I couldn't publish from there regardless. The Venatori can buy a copy as easily as anyone else, you know, I can hardly be publishing the details of what's being done in places like the Approach as it's ongoing.

I don't know, [he says, fairly, with an air of actual consideration.] They send some pretty dumb Inquisition members along. And I've known some useless Templars who still got sent off on missions. You can't be any worse than them. More exquisite, but not any worse.

My lady.

But good point on the publishing. We can't have you spilling secrets. You could try telling deliberate lies. Detracts from the integrity, but you already leave stuff out. Shade over that line a little and tell some real lies. I bet you'd be good at it.

[#compliment]

I'm a terrible liar.

( --with a laugh, because that is an excellent compliment, but, by and large. extrapolating something plausible and probably true that she doesn't really believe is one thing, but she is a terrible liar.

especially if she has to try and support any of it elsewhere. )

Well, it might work in print, but I wouldn't know where to start lying about things that wouldn't damage it, either, it would end up being so much someone else's lies it'd barely be my work any more.

No way. You can't be a terrible liar.

[He folds his arms over his chest. This is the thing he's going to stand his ground on, a thing he has no way of knowing or corroborating or anything. Except--]

You can't tell me you go to all those parties and balls and stuff-- [you know, stuff that ladies do, stuff he has no idea about--] and actually tell the truth the whole time. No lies. Come on.

Edited (my account literally expired as i hit post comment wtf) 2016-06-18 15:02 (UTC)

I didn't say that, ( she says, droll. ) I said I'm a bad liar, which is perfectly true, and if you think you're disappointed in me, imagine how my poor mother felt.

( it's supposed to be a joke.

she just sounds bitter. )

I work with what I have.

That's pretty much the same thing. Bad lies, no lies... maybe even worse. No lies comes off like you're a straight-talker. Bad lies, that looks like you're doing it on purpose. Way more offensive.

[Mom issues, let's not get started on mom issues.]

And I'm not saying I'm disappointed. I like it.

I try not to have to lie, exactly, just ...

( a twist of her lips. ) Make the truth look like something slightly different.

( aloof because she can't pretend to be warm; the appearance of disliking one thing when it's another that bothers her. sleight of hand has served her if not well then ... serviceably. the game is vicious and she's weathered it, at least, but maker.

morrigan has given her a third option, and she wants badly to think she can achieve it. )

It's all very tiresome. As are most people.

[Bellamy laughs at that. Make the truth look like something slightly different.]

Yeah, you're definitely a writer. That's all pretty much the same, you're just using different words to describe it. Lying is making the truth look like something different.

[Bellamy can lie. As a politician, he would be hopeless. As a spy, he would be too brutal, too ready to throw off disguises and cut his way free. As a noble, well, that one's so far from reality that it doesn't bear considering.]

And if you stop bothering with people, you don't have to worry about 'em anymore.

[this is very flippant advice from a guy who has 98 kids at home but that just means he's selective ok]

Lying is saying something that isn't true at all. I am unpleasant and disagreeable.

( in a tone of sweet reason. )

And I practically have, haven't I?

( a loose gesture about skyhold. it is the furthest thing from the imperial court, certainly. uncivilized. strange. full of individuals she would by and large hesitate to call 'people'. bellamy is people, probably, in that she considers him a friend - for whatever mysterious reasons keep bumping them into one another. )

[He follows that gesture, taking in the sight of Skyhold.]

I don't know, my lady. Maybe where you're from, narrowing your quarters down to a single room is practically a hermitage, but remember: I live in a tent.

[So she could always do the hermit act a little bigger. But:] You practically have. [--he'll give her that much at least. Expert tent dweller opinion, Skyhold is the sticks as far as civilization goes. Not as bad as a village, but nothing like Orlais, like the places she's probably seen and lived in, places he can only imagine.]

So is everybody from home scandalized by all this?

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stars are not small or gentle. they are writhing and dying and burning.

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