[ It’s a familiar litany: She is the source of all disagreements, he has done nothing that could offend or show disregard despite evidence brought forth, he is unaware of the meaning of his own power over her, and when finally it has all become unbearable and she speaks it; aggressive unrelenting resistance and no sign at all that she is being heard. The recitation slowly seeps into Alexandrie, gives her an air of soft and well-worn melancholy.
At the end she nods. When she speaks it is still clear and calm, but with a certain distance. Even though she has not stopped looking at Wysteria, there is the sense that inside her there is a part that has looked away. ]
I envy you your strength and determination in the matter. I cannot seem to help myself.
[ She flies into furies and screams them like a hawk, she weeps in agonies of passionate frustration, she flees and goes to ground... and then as regular as the tide, she turns. She yearns to him. She pleads to be allowed to salve the harm she’s caused. She goes to his bed and clings to him like she drowns, and she loves him. She loves him.
Her eyes shine, and her smile is odd. Fragile, like the near-translucent delicacy of the cups they hold. A little sadness, a little wonder. Weariness. Resignation. ]
You have my word I shall not involve myself save to tell him that while you have not indeed cut off the opportunity for future acquaintance, you shall not be engaging with him until he has come to an understanding of the injuries he has done you and made demonstration of such—if I have heard you aright.
[She is quite firm, brisk as if to make the thing more steady by limiting its shape. Or maybe it is merely like reasserting the corners of a fountain, given the unexpected air which has settled over friend across the table from her.
Is it good to know that she is not wholly alone in this? That Alexandrie might know some similar frustration? No. It is irritating, and she would prefer very much for them both to be quite sure of their standing. You have, has a little of the air of yanking Alexandrie back from a walkway's edge on a windy day.]
It is one thing for a person not to make amends because they are unaware of what they have trampled. It is quite another to do the same after it has been voiced and—[Some of that waiting heat at last slips through the cold grip she has on herself.] He pretends to have no pride, but not once could he be swayed from its defense.
[And then, frowning, she drains her cup. With a great air of dismissal like throwing up curtains on a sunny day:] Anyway, that is the whole of it. I for one am glad it occurred for there is nothing like clarity of purpose to soothe the soul and make you fond of what is good. I hope that no part of this does you any harm.
[ A pause, and then she reaches to turn her teacup, making a soft scraping sound against the saucer. ]
I do not mean to excuse him, and I know myself to be impolite in continuing a dismissed subject, but—
I do not think it pride he defends so ardently. I think it his heart. That sometimes he hurts so badly that it is all that he can manage to see, and that he has spent so long powerless that he truly does not understand the dynamics of his power and influence nor the wielding of it.
It does not make it right to ask others to bear the consequences, but... if you give a poor man a fortune, he does not of a sudden cease to understand himself in the world as poor.
[ She pauses again, then shakes her head as if undergoing the same brisk spring cleaning that made Wysteria throw open the curtains, and the smile that follows is bright again. ]
No, you are right. Let us speak no more of it. I have come to no harm, and I am pleased you find yourself so fortified.
Perhaps you should like to tell me how it was you were going about constructing some means of destroying everything? I did not dream that part.
[So baited, it is with a great deal of effort that Wysteria forces herself to remain at that arm's length worth of remove. For there are at the very least a half dozen things which occur to her were they to in fact indulge in the utter folly that is discussing Byerly Rutyer further. It is only because she has said so a half dozen times already—has sworn to herself, if to no one else—that she will be finished with the subject, and that if anyone is to find themselves petty enough to hold onto any feeling whatsoever about the subject then it will, stubbornly, not be her—that manages to do it, saying,]
Oh that. There were a great variety of things, all of which Mister Stark and myself imagined the Venatori forced us to do. Not to worry, though. A great deal of the things we made in the dream are quite impossible. —Although we have since been discussing the practicality of one or two ideas which might for the use of Riftwatch or her allies. Barrier generators and alternative means of transport, and so on.
[Fetching up the pot, Wysteria refills her cup. Once she has finished, she offers to do the same for Alexandrie's.]
There was something that I believe the Venatori wished us to work on that...—I have the sense it was very dangerous indeed. But we never reached that place before escaping our captors, so I suppose it was likely no more than a general sort of dread made manifest.
And you? I would hope your dreams were all very daring and not at all unpleasant, but I gather that was a rarity.
Oh, how charming! It's funny, I so rarely think of them—as if I and everyone I knew were still on apron strings themselves, though that is so obviously not so. When do you suppose you will have them? Outside of a dream, I mean.
[ She laughs softly and looks both deeply fond and deeply skeptical. ]
When my lord is ready, I imagine. I am far less skittish on the subject than he, although I have my own worries.
[ She lifts the cup and holds it in her hands, letting warmth emanating from it soothe her. ]
The war, of course, although I know myself to be perfectly useful behind a desk. What the state of things in the world might be for mages when they are of an age to manifest magic, if they do.
[ What steps they might need to take to disguise their forms as their father does, whether or not she could even carry a Vashoth’s child, what danger in the attempt. ]
But it is never a perfect time, and so, in a way, always one.
[Given the grim sense of the room mere moments ago, even that small bit of laughter serves to warm it. And Wysteria, helping herself to a little sugar, laughs too.]
Certainly. I should like to have at least two I think, for I had no siblings of my own and sometimes wished for one who I might play and talk to. But I suspect also that so long as I am here in Thedas that it is an unlikely possibility.
Mais, oui! Two at least. Or, if not, they must needs be close friends with mine. I shall have six, as my mother did.
[ Alexandrie's eyes sparkle with mirth as she sips her tea at length with exaggerated primness. It's a fine theatrical look until she suddenly convulses with laughter that all but forces her to spit her mouthful back into the cup.
As soon as she can manage, she explains through a half-splutter: ]
I have thought of the face my husband would have made.
[ Although it will be unfamiliar to Wysteria, it gladdens her heart to mimic it; the way he drops instantly from smug confidence to a slack and absolute blankness, his eyes wide and a touch wild like a startled cat's.
Then she laughs again, and not softly. It's bright and gay and hearty enough that she has to put down her teacup before it spills. ]
[She snorts again, and that snort becomes a proper laugh and then she too must set aside her teaspoon or risk upending its matching cup.]
Good gods. I wonder if all men everywhere are so stricken by small brushes with domesticity! Even poor Mister Ellis with his chickens in my garden can hardly bear the thought.
Ugh, no! [Though she is still laughing, all good cheer for Alexandrie's fowl impersonations.] I have told him I refuse to have little to do with them save for the letting of the space. No, Mister Ellis is deeply afflicted by—
[Tragedy? No, that's far too grim.]
He guards his feelings very carefully, [she decides.] And though he is clearly predisposed to the notion, the mere mention of such gentle things makes me feel as if I've clobbered him with a great brick.
—Oh, but you mustn't say anything about it anywhere else! Given the man's aforementioned delicacy, I feel a little like I've betrayed him just by saying anything.
[ Resolutely: ] On my honour, I shall say nothing to anyone.
[ For a moment Alexandrie is genuinely (and pleasantly) surprised to find that she did not swear upon Geneviève's honour as she is wont to do. That she felt she had, in fact, somehow come across enough of her own.
She tucks the moment away with a sort of quiet pride, and quickly returns with relish to the subject at hand. ]
But how glad I am you have said something! Have you told no-one else? I think I should burst if I were to have such a Warden keeping chickens in my garden and be obliged to tell no-one of it.
[If there are people in the world who might doubt the Lady Asgard's honor, surely Wysteria cannot among their number. No, the flicker of mixed amusement and confusion must be for something else.]
Tell—? No. No, you are the very first to hear of it. Save of course for Misters Stark and Fitz, but they are frequent visitors to my house and so must know already.
[She hesitates. And then takes another sip from her cup, before setting it aside and sitting a little straighter in her chair. Very well. If she is that fascinated—]
There are six of them. Four brown and two white. Their names are Lady Shayna, Queen Mairyn, Arl Myrrdin, Ser Tillers, Marterel the Elusive, and of course Aldenon the great mage himself. —Though they are all hens, for a rooster was deemed too much of a nuisance to keep in a Hightown garden. I believe Mister Ellis built their coop himself, and he is there every morning to tend to them. I forget entirely what breed of chicken they're meant to be, but I believe as far as chickens go that they are all rather well behaved. If you care to take in a flock of your own, I'm sure he would be very happy to advise you.
[ Alexandrie's eyebrows rise with some speed as her friend jumps abruptly from having one suitor to six, categorized by colour, peppered with peers and royalty heretofore unknown, none of them Mister Ellis—
and all of them hens, the discovery of which makes her actually snort a laugh through her nose, her smile widening a bit more with every statement made thereafter. ]
Oh, I am in agreement entire; roosters are often too much a nuisance to keep. Although if they are well-behaved and visit every morning, perhaps with the larger purpose of catching sight of a particularly fascinating hen who has mistaken her friend's query to be about chickens rather than suitors—
[Wysteria laughs heartily at her own misinterpretation. It's an automatic thing, full and well rounded. And then she falters. Her face goes briefly pale, then very hot in the space of a half second, and when she laughs again, it is quite shrill.]
Put that gleam in your eye away this instant, Lady Asgard.
[Her scoff is full throated, deep from out of her chest.]
I swear to you. Mister Ellis has no inclination. And neither do I, for that matter. [Which sounds paltry even to her ear.] In fact, I may happily prove it to you.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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At the end she nods. When she speaks it is still clear and calm, but with a certain distance. Even though she has not stopped looking at Wysteria, there is the sense that inside her there is a part that has looked away. ]
I envy you your strength and determination in the matter. I cannot seem to help myself.
[ She flies into furies and screams them like a hawk, she weeps in agonies of passionate frustration, she flees and goes to ground... and then as regular as the tide, she turns. She yearns to him. She pleads to be allowed to salve the harm she’s caused. She goes to his bed and clings to him like she drowns, and she loves him. She loves him.
Her eyes shine, and her smile is odd. Fragile, like the near-translucent delicacy of the cups they hold. A little sadness, a little wonder. Weariness. Resignation. ]
You have my word I shall not involve myself save to tell him that while you have not indeed cut off the opportunity for future acquaintance, you shall not be engaging with him until he has come to an understanding of the injuries he has done you and made demonstration of such—if I have heard you aright.
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[She is quite firm, brisk as if to make the thing more steady by limiting its shape. Or maybe it is merely like reasserting the corners of a fountain, given the unexpected air which has settled over friend across the table from her.
Is it good to know that she is not wholly alone in this? That Alexandrie might know some similar frustration? No. It is irritating, and she would prefer very much for them both to be quite sure of their standing. You have, has a little of the air of yanking Alexandrie back from a walkway's edge on a windy day.]
It is one thing for a person not to make amends because they are unaware of what they have trampled. It is quite another to do the same after it has been voiced and—[Some of that waiting heat at last slips through the cold grip she has on herself.] He pretends to have no pride, but not once could he be swayed from its defense.
[And then, frowning, she drains her cup. With a great air of dismissal like throwing up curtains on a sunny day:] Anyway, that is the whole of it. I for one am glad it occurred for there is nothing like clarity of purpose to soothe the soul and make you fond of what is good. I hope that no part of this does you any harm.
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[ A pause, and then she reaches to turn her teacup, making a soft scraping sound against the saucer. ]
I do not mean to excuse him, and I know myself to be impolite in continuing a dismissed subject, but—
I do not think it pride he defends so ardently. I think it his heart. That sometimes he hurts so badly that it is all that he can manage to see, and that he has spent so long powerless that he truly does not understand the dynamics of his power and influence nor the wielding of it.
It does not make it right to ask others to bear the consequences, but... if you give a poor man a fortune, he does not of a sudden cease to understand himself in the world as poor.
[ She pauses again, then shakes her head as if undergoing the same brisk spring cleaning that made Wysteria throw open the curtains, and the smile that follows is bright again. ]
No, you are right. Let us speak no more of it. I have come to no harm, and I am pleased you find yourself so fortified.
Perhaps you should like to tell me how it was you were going about constructing some means of destroying everything? I did not dream that part.
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Oh that. There were a great variety of things, all of which Mister Stark and myself imagined the Venatori forced us to do. Not to worry, though. A great deal of the things we made in the dream are quite impossible. —Although we have since been discussing the practicality of one or two ideas which might for the use of Riftwatch or her allies. Barrier generators and alternative means of transport, and so on.
[Fetching up the pot, Wysteria refills her cup. Once she has finished, she offers to do the same for Alexandrie's.]
There was something that I believe the Venatori wished us to work on that...—I have the sense it was very dangerous indeed. But we never reached that place before escaping our captors, so I suppose it was likely no more than a general sort of dread made manifest.
And you? I would hope your dreams were all very daring and not at all unpleasant, but I gather that was a rarity.
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Largely unpleasant, yes.
[ A nod for the tea, a quick smile for the pourer. ]
But I did dream myself children; darling ones. Twins, as Geneviève and I are.
I cannot remember their names, but I have kept their smiles.
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Oh, how charming! It's funny, I so rarely think of them—as if I and everyone I knew were still on apron strings themselves, though that is so obviously not so. When do you suppose you will have them? Outside of a dream, I mean.
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When my lord is ready, I imagine. I am far less skittish on the subject than he, although I have my own worries.
[ She lifts the cup and holds it in her hands, letting warmth emanating from it soothe her. ]
The war, of course, although I know myself to be perfectly useful behind a desk. What the state of things in the world might be for mages when they are of an age to manifest magic, if they do.
[ What steps they might need to take to disguise their forms as their father does, whether or not she could even carry a Vashoth’s child, what danger in the attempt. ]
But it is never a perfect time, and so, in a way, always one.
Have you ever considered the thought?
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Certainly. I should like to have at least two I think, for I had no siblings of my own and sometimes wished for one who I might play and talk to. But I suspect also that so long as I am here in Thedas that it is an unlikely possibility.
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[ Alexandrie's eyes sparkle with mirth as she sips her tea at length with exaggerated primness. It's a fine theatrical look until she suddenly convulses with laughter that all but forces her to spit her mouthful back into the cup.
As soon as she can manage, she explains through a half-splutter: ]
I have thought of the face my husband would have made.
[ Although it will be unfamiliar to Wysteria, it gladdens her heart to mimic it; the way he drops instantly from smug confidence to a slack and absolute blankness, his eyes wide and a touch wild like a startled cat's.
Then she laughs again, and not softly. It's bright and gay and hearty enough that she has to put down her teacup before it spills. ]
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Good gods. I wonder if all men everywhere are so stricken by small brushes with domesticity! Even poor Mister Ellis with his chickens in my garden can hardly bear the thought.
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[ Up go her eyebrows, and she resettles in her seat in a rather appropriately hen-like manner. ]
I must hear about this immediately.
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[Tragedy? No, that's far too grim.]
He guards his feelings very carefully, [she decides.] And though he is clearly predisposed to the notion, the mere mention of such gentle things makes me feel as if I've clobbered him with a great brick.
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[ It's said quite warmly. ]
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[ Alexandrie clucks thoughtfully, miming the tap of finger to lips (so as not to stain her glove) and then delivers a gasp of epiphany. ]
What about as a tamer of Wardens? Domestication of wild griffons is a laudable affair, I should think.
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[Cue a smug sip of tea.]
—Oh, but you mustn't say anything about it anywhere else! Given the man's aforementioned delicacy, I feel a little like I've betrayed him just by saying anything.
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[ For a moment Alexandrie is genuinely (and pleasantly) surprised to find that she did not swear upon Geneviève's honour as she is wont to do. That she felt she had, in fact, somehow come across enough of her own.
She tucks the moment away with a sort of quiet pride, and quickly returns with relish to the subject at hand. ]
But how glad I am you have said something! Have you told no-one else? I think I should burst if I were to have such a Warden keeping chickens in my garden and be obliged to tell no-one of it.
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Tell—? No. No, you are the very first to hear of it. Save of course for Misters Stark and Fitz, but they are frequent visitors to my house and so must know already.
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[ Punctuated by the emphatic settle of her hands in her lap— ]
so you must tell me everything.
Save what you deem would cause you to feel as if you are committing a terrible betrayal, of course.
[ Normal betrayals are okay. ]
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[She hesitates. And then takes another sip from her cup, before setting it aside and sitting a little straighter in her chair. Very well. If she is that fascinated—]
There are six of them. Four brown and two white. Their names are Lady Shayna, Queen Mairyn, Arl Myrrdin, Ser Tillers, Marterel the Elusive, and of course Aldenon the great mage himself. —Though they are all hens, for a rooster was deemed too much of a nuisance to keep in a Hightown garden. I believe Mister Ellis built their coop himself, and he is there every morning to tend to them. I forget entirely what breed of chicken they're meant to be, but I believe as far as chickens go that they are all rather well behaved. If you care to take in a flock of your own, I'm sure he would be very happy to advise you.
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and all of them hens, the discovery of which makes her actually snort a laugh through her nose, her smile widening a bit more with every statement made thereafter. ]
Oh, I am in agreement entire; roosters are often too much a nuisance to keep. Although if they are well-behaved and visit every morning, perhaps with the larger purpose of catching sight of a particularly fascinating hen who has mistaken her friend's query to be about chickens rather than suitors—
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[Wysteria laughs heartily at her own misinterpretation. It's an automatic thing, full and well rounded. And then she falters. Her face goes briefly pale, then very hot in the space of a half second, and when she laughs again, it is quite shrill.]
Oh. Oh no. That is not at all the way of things.
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[Her scoff is full throated, deep from out of her chest.]
I swear to you. Mister Ellis has no inclination. And neither do I, for that matter. [Which sounds paltry even to her ear.] In fact, I may happily prove it to you.
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There, it is away.
[ From her eyes, at least. Her smile contains the same pleased mischief. ]
What happy proof shall I have?
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