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

[elegiaque]

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:

• Previous publication.
• Gwen requests Norrington's help.
• Norrington donates to charity.
• An odd request of Galadriel.

Continuing in the vein in which she began, Gwenaëlle's editorial builds on the theme of the Inquisition's accomplishments and cohesion by addressing frankly the "unfounded rumours and irresponsible scare-mongering" aimed at the new arrivals through the rifts. While those she refers to by name are (with one notable exception at the end) exclusively among those of the rifters whose life in Thedas has seen them join the Inquisition officially (and not in capacities that might make publishing their identities...inconvenient), she touches with less specifics on the rest with references to a civilian population who face all of the same risks as Thedosians and, she contends, with as much bravery. Rifters of all kinds have been involved in the closing of rifts in the fashion demonstrated first by Evelyn Trevelyan, herald and heroine, whose example they follow and in whose footsteps some now walk; she provides thoughtful commentary on the exceptional work being done by those who are now investing in the world they've unexpectedly found themselves in.

Rather than focus exclusively on what the rifters are and what they have done, however, she continues by allowing that it would be equally irresponsible to simply ask her audience to take her word that they are not demons. Therefore the only sensible course of action is to discuss what demons are, and at this point the work becomes somewhat more confronting than readers may have been anticipating as her publishers did not balk at the inclusion of James Norrington's detailed and annotated diagrams of such demons as a combatant in these dangerous times may expect to routinely face. Much discussion follows of what she's been informed about the methods of fighting these demons, the frequency of attacks, places they've heard travelers ought to be more cautious of and the like. Anecdotes of work the Inquisition does in closing rifts and protecting said travelers from said demons pepper the piece, which closes with:

A portrait of the aforementioned 'notable exception'. A sketched portrait of an elven woman, recognisable to those in Skyhold as the Lady Galadriel, posed at such an angle as to show the fine point of her ear. There is a discreet credit to the artist, and a nameplate, Galadriel, a rifter elf. Gwenaëlle does not explicitly lampshade the point being made, but it is steadily built within the piece itself, and the argument she used when talking Galadriel into posing in the first place: while a demon can be defined and diagrammed, a person cannot. One gives a person a portrait. If when the reading public imagines 'rifters' they think first of a beautiful woman, that can hardly hurt, can it?

(There continue to be absolutely zero references to Grey Wardens.)


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.

Comments

[elegiaque]

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. )

[nonsibi]

[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?

[elegiaque]

( 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.

[nonsibi]

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]

[elegiaque]

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.

[nonsibi]

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.

[elegiaque]

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.

[nonsibi]

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.

[elegiaque]

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.

[nonsibi]

[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]

[elegiaque]

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. )

[nonsibi]

[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?