therookery | (no subject)

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FORM: Crystal
SENDER: Gwenaëlle and Alistair.
RECIPIENT: Everyone else.
WHAT: Someone had an accident with a power she didn't know she had.
WHEN: Before Kirkwall.
WHERE: Skyhold.
NOTES: Undignified injury to cool guy.

Excuse me-

( slightly urgent, the wobbly delivery of someone who has been possibly moments ago in tears of shock and very sudden, awful disappointment )

Excuse me, we need a healer. At once, thank you. To the ramparts. Right now.

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( by the time morrigan arrives, gwenaëlle has stepped away from alistair and his healers - anders, the other one whose name alistair said was some fereldan thing probably - and is trying not to wring her hands in case one of them does something else. she gives it to morrigan when prompted, gingerly-- )

It aches. Not terribly - a little less than before.

[Same as she would with some elven fragment, Morrigan takes the offered hand; the marks aren't a thing she's seen so close before, not that she can recall. In passing as one notices anything but this is a deliberate inspection though for what she isn't entirely sure.]

There are no signs of any damage to it, even with magic there can be marks left upon the skin from certain spells. If the pain is less than what you have endured thus far then we must take it as a good sign, that all is well though I do not know what, exactly, happened.

[This time. She knows about before. And wonders sometimes why this young woman though she does feel better to know she is armed with more than her wits and pen.]

We were practising, Alistair and I, with the shield, I thought--

( she cuts herself off ruthlessly. morrigan doesn't need to know what she thought. gwenaëlle prefers herself as the girl of whom this woman is proud, not the one whose burn scars feel new and raw every time she thinks of raising a knife. not the one who was desperately casting about for any way out of what ser coupe had proposed without compromising her dignity in the process and was coming perilously close to giving up that caveat. )

And it was all as it was before, except then he threw it and when I put my hand up, it wasn't a shield. And I hit him very hard.

Breathe.

[The girl who came into her office one day (who was always a young woman but Morrigan has ever looked at things her own way) has survived that which would fell so many others. Tell her that though and perhaps it comes crashing about her feet; you snatch your life out of the teeth and claws of another thing and pieces of you are always left behind that you sometimes wonder if the world will see beneath all else.

Survival has meaning, survival is real and graspable and here they both are standing here amidst a ruin living again.]

Something came out of your hand? A bolt of magic?

( a reluctant nod. )

It hit him quite hard.

( a moment later; )

But not as hard as he hit the wall. It wouldn't have been so bad if we'd been somewhere else.

Or not hard enough.

[Some things are just reflex at this point.]

Alistair entered into this knowing that your hand contains a magic we barely understand. He has faced down darkspawn, dragons of all sizes, mages, blood mages, demons and abominations, werewolves, spirits, all manner of men, elves, dwarves and even a few Qunari who set upon us. And the matter of an archdemon. All in the time of the Fifth Blight. You have little to fear when it comes to him. [Seriously, you chose well.] Do you remember how you felt when you created this...new thing with the mark?

( an unsteady laugh, but a laugh all the same, quiet; everything can't be so terrible if morrigan can still make fun of alistair and she can still find it funny. right? right.

she turns her hand in morrigan's, palm up-- )

I think so. Ser Coupe bade me write it all down before I forget. It was different - it felt different, but it was so sudden.

[Worry if Morrigan worries. Then everything is going wrong and something is about to burst into flames at any moment.

There's - annoyingly - very little Morrigan can do or think to do since she isn't Solas who knows far more than any of the rest of them about the rifts and the marks but she takes the hand because she isn't afraid of being struck by anything. And it takes her mind off having to grudgingly give credit to a Templar.]

A sensible plan. Magic is drawn from the Fade and emotion is tied to it; Tranquil are cut off from both. First you had something of a shield to defend yourself, now it seems you have something of a weapon outright with all that the world might send your way. If it has not already.

[Gentle for the last part. Or more gentle. Does anyone in Skyhold truly know the how or why of all of this and how the pieces fit together?]

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