Damaelle has been playing a game with herself. It's a very silly game, but entertaining anyway. It's called 'What Else Would I Rather Be Doing Than This'. She'd rather be working. Selling oysters in the rain isn't that bad, compared to this. Playing maid-of-work for a few days, that wouldn't be so bad. Scrubbing shit and bloody mud out of a street for a processions, there's good money, in that. Pitching in at the tanners - yeah, even that. She'd prefer dealing with the stench that follows you home for days than deal with another congratulation on getting married.
It's tradition, her da had said a couple hours ago. Trust the elders. He'd paid her dowry, gotten the Chantry permit, and blah, blah, fuck tradition with a rusty poker.
But the wheels keep turning. Shianni hits Lord Vaughan Urien over the head with a bottle, and for all Damaelle wants to grab another bottle, keep hitting until the threat to them all is gone, she can't. She has to let his cronies carry him out. Men like that, they don't like being shown up. You only deal with them by being tougher, but they aren't street-roughs she can take a knife and a fist to. These are shem nobles. Untouchable.
Her soon-to-be-husband is handsome, charming, but Damaelle is only paying half-attention. She wants the day to stop. It's stupid for the wedding to go ahead, today. They need to keep their heads down.
Which, of course, when Soris says, "Don't look now, but we have another problem."
"Anything to put off the wedding for a while," Damaelle mutters.
"Another human just walked in. Could be one of Vaughan's or just a random troublemaker. Either way, we need to move him and his friend along before someone does something stupid."
"Let's just kill him."
Her cousin laughs, but all faint and shaky. Poor Soris, he's never been good around violence. "You really scare me sometimes, you know that?"
Damaelle rolls her eyes slightly. "I'm joking," she says, and they move to intercept the new strangers.
A tall human man, two blades on his back and wearing well-fitting armour. The heraldry is of two griffins, silver on blue, and it rings a bell in her head from somewhere. But before she can puzzle it out, she's struck dumb and still by his companion.
She's an elf-woman, young and beautiful. The kind of beautiful that doesn't happen in the alienage, not with her skin all fair and clean like that, not with the shine to her blonde hair. And her eyes are large and blue, like the sea under the sun where you just wanna take your clothes off and dive in.
For a long moment, Damaelle is too caught up in staring that she misses most of what the shem actually says.
Then she gets an elbow in the ribs.
"-your impending wedding," the shem is saying.
Another congratulation. This one, with that girl staring around like a lost princess from long-lost Arlathan, is too much. No, she doesn't care how rude she's being, to someone so well armoured. Instead of a polite smile, all genuine as an actress, there's a disdainful glare. At the man, not the girl.
"You're not wanted here," she says, coolly. "This is is a private ceremony."
Mildly, oh so mildly, like he's baiting her, the big man replies, "That may be, but I'll point out that it is being held in public. I apologize if my presence has caused a stir."
Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Arse.
"The Alienage just isn't a good place for a human to be." There. That's turning it back on him, it's all for his protection, not that this is the only kind of sanctuary her kind get.
"I'm sorry, but I have no intention of leaving."
Her eyes narrow. "I will ask once more, politely. Please leave."
"And I refuse, yet again. Now what?"
"...Are you seriously looking for a fight?" She'd welcome a fight, but this man has the stench of money behind him.
"Surely it has not escaped your attention that I am both armed and armoured. Any fight between us would be rather one-sided."
Damaelle doesn't cross her arms, doesn't put them on her hips, nothing like that. She just regards him and keeps her limbs loose in the expectation of movement. It'd ruin the dress, a fight, but sacrifices need to be made. "Do you intend on using that weapon?"
"Not unless I'm left without a choice."
"You're not staying, armed or not."
Soris' voice is too high, too frantic. "Try not to die, I'll run for help!"
- so, maybe her tone hadn't been as even and neutral as she'd been aiming.
"No need," the big man says. "I am not here to fight you. Still, I find such bravery most impressive... Do not you not agree, Valendrian?"
Valendrian steps into the group, and sounds old and resigned. "I would say the world has far more use of those who know how to stay their blades. It is good to see you again, my old friend. It has been far too long."
"You know this human, Elder?" Damaelle asks.
"May I present Duncan, head of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden."
"And," Warden-Commander Duncan says, gestures to his mute, lost companion, "this is Laasya, our newest recruit.
She won't be distracted again. She won't. This day is slicing all her nerves to hell. "Why would a Grey Warden come here?"
"The worst has happened: a Blight has begun. King Cailan summons the Grey Wardens to Ostagar to fight the darkspawn horde alongside his armies."
It's not a shock. She works the markets most days, she's heard the news. But it's different hearing it from him, from a warden.
Valendrian is still regarding Duncan tiredly. "Yes... I had heard the news. Still, this is an awkward time. There is to be a wedding -- two, in fact."
"So I see," Duncan says. "By all means, attend to your ceremonies. My concerns can wait, for now."
"Very well. Children, treat Duncan as my guest. And for Maker's sake, take your places!"
Damaelle raises a hand, as winsome as a child sitting cross-legged under the vhenadahl. "It won't start for an hour. I could escort the wardens to your house, so everyone knows that they have your permission."
Valendrian sighs. "I'll talk with Duncan. Soris, you, at least, go attend to whatever is needed. Damaelle... Just, stay out of trouble."
She smiles at him, then turns to face Laasya. Laasya, it's a pretty name. "Would... Would you like to come with me?"
Laasya glances at Duncan, who shrugs and does a sort of half-smile; that's enough permission for Laasya to turn her gaze back at the angry elf girl and smile uncertainly.
"Yes, that... would be nice." She doesn't sound very sure. This place is like nothing she's ever seen before; everyone has heard of alienages, and every elf living in the Circle either comes from one or has heard the horrible stories from their fellow apprentices. However bad the other apprentices made it sound, it didn't quite do the squalor justice. And the hostility- Laasya didn't understand, why would they treat Duncan with such suspicion just for being a human? Humans and elves weren't really even that different; their history was checkered and racial, to be sure, but in the end they put on their robes one sleeve at a time just the same.
This girl in particular seemed like an aggressive sort. For a bride on her wedding day, she didn't seem very happy. Still, as uncertain of the wide world as Laasya is, she feels quite sure that she shouldn't be rude.
So, she extends her hand in greeting. "Damaelle, right?"
There is a brief moment where Dama doesn't want to touch her, doesn't want to muddy her with the dirt and hardness engrained in her skin.
Then she gets a grip on herself. This girl, this young woman, is a real person. Mage, sure, okay, she can recognize the staff now, the style of robe (and there, there's that frisson of something at the knowledge that this pretty girl is that dangerous) but she's still a person. Get her working hard on something all day, and she's stink just that same as anyone else. So Damaelle reaches out and shakes Laasya's hand, relieved at the feeling of callouses there. That staff would rough up anyone's hands.
"That's right. Damaelle Tabris."
Still Tabris. She's not married yet, except then it hits her that she'll be giving up her name as well. Her name, for a boy she's just met.
Maker, she hates this day.
"Have you been a warden long?" Damaelle asks as she leads her past the vhenadahl towards Valendrian's apartment. "Must be more exciting than shut up in a tower somewhere."
Laasya follows Damaelle, occasionally gathering her robes to step over a mud puddle, random pile of manure, or general muck. Despite the fact that she knows it's rude, she can't stop looking around, staring at everything. It's so different than anything she's ever seen before.
"I'm not really a Warden yet," she admits. "Just a new recruit- a few weeks."
A few weeks since she left the best and truest home she'd ever had, all because of a stupid mistake and a betrayal. A moment of quiet lapses between them before she snaps to and recovers the moment.
"It's been- I don't know, I guess it's exciting?" She looks sideways at the other girl, noticing her beauty, though less soft and pampered than the beautiful people of the Circle, and noticing her general unhappiness. Maybe she can understand about feeling out of her depth. "Everything is so... different than the Tower."
Then she sees the vhenadahl, and stops dead. A massive tree, bigger around than any tree she's ever seen in her life (even as a little girl with her clan), growing from the filth and the muck to spread enormously over the alienage like a beautiful green canopy. The trunk has beautiful paintings and it's surrounded by small lanterns, candles, and what look like little offerings. She's entranced, and for the first time since entering this alienage has a look of appreciation on her face.
There are animals, too. Chickens, cats, squirrels, the occasional pig or goat, dogs which have little resemblance to the lineage proud mabari. A little girl with flaming red-orange hair and enormous brown eyes smiles at Damaelle, stares at Laasya, and cuddles the duck in her arms tighter. It is, clearly, her duck.
As she walks by, Damaelle slips the little girl - Eliel wasn't it, Halesta's youngest - a coin. A wedding present is hers to do with as she pleases, right? Right. And that brilliant smile on the child's face is all reward she needs.
Then Laasya stops, and stares. At first, Damaelle is confused, but pleased. All alienages have a vhenadahl, don't they? And of course, theirs, Denerim's, is the best and biggest and most beautiful, but-
Oh.
But the Circle Towers' wouldn't have them, would they? Do they even have gardens? Has Laasya been entirely starved of green, for years?
That seems wrong.
"Isn't she lovely?" Damaelle asks her in a quiet, respectful whisper. "Not even the humans have a tree like her, not for miles of the city." Certainly, not worshipped and tended to like this tree. "You can... it's okay to touch her, if you wanted."
"I can?" Laasya gives Damaelle a wondering, delighted look, then gathers up her voluminous robes like a princess and steps forward.
There's no hesitation, no gentle brushing: Laasya strides up and lays one hand on the trunk like trying to push a door open. Instantly, she feels it. There's something here, something ancient and deep and beautiful that threads through the vhenadahl to touch the entire alienage, and all other alienages. She hasn't done this in years- it's a bit of old magic, taught to her by one of the candidates for First when she was only 7. It's the first bit of magic any Dalish learns; how to feel the roots of a thing, to feel the power and spirit and connections that a tree taps into.
"I can feel it," she murmurs. "She's more than just a tree. Her roots touch every house, every soul within these walls. It's incredible."
The way Laasya touches the tree is- well, Damaelle hadn't been expecting that. There's no sense of exploration with hands and fingers and nose, to trailing fingertips around bark and paint and ribbon. No, instead the gesture is as if she's trying to, to open something. Push something with her hand.
Curious (and a little wary), Damaelle steps up to the vhenadahl herself and touches it.
There.
That.
A something whispering at the edges of her consciousness, like a dream she knows she had but cannot remember.
Maybe she should snatch her hand away, for something in her whispers magic and it's not for the likes of her, but she doesn't. Instead, she just turns wide, wondering eyes at the blonde mage standing next to her.
"The houses fall down, people die," she murmurs, "but the tree stays. We look after her, she... gives us, I don't know. Peace, I guess? A rightness, maybe."
Sometimes, people piss up against it, but that isn't harm. No one would actually harm the vhenadahl. Not without running the serious risk of being sacrificed so their body could be turned into mulch for a replacement sapling.
"Connection," comes the immediate reply. "She has sisters all over Thedas. Which means so do you. The roots run beneath the earth, connecting us all to-"
Laasya pulls her hand away suddenly. What the hell just came over her that she started babbling Dalish nonsense in the middle of an alienage? Using magic in public- shit, she fucking used MAGIC in PUBLIC. How stupid was she? The mage wraps her arms around herself and steps back, looking a touch saddened.
"-To something greater," she finishes lamely. A glance at Damaelle, who was so curious and so unafraid of sharing the magic Laasya just showed her. Maybe the templars are wrong about how dangerous the wider world is. Maybe not all outsiders want to kill them for what they are. "I've never been in a city before. I didn't know it could hold any beauty."
Maybe there's a glance over Damaelle, but Laasya isn't aware of herself doing it.
"I won't tell." It's quiet, barely more than a breath, but she hopes Laasya hears her. And hopes, very much, that she doesn't think that she's trying to hide it from shame. Not that Damaelle thinks most of her fellow elves here would enjoy the sight of magic, she knows they wouldn't. But here and now, this, whatever this is, doesn't feel dangerous or foul or corrupt. It feels like a gift. Something quiet and far-reaching and meaningful. A reminder, too, and maybe... maybe if she remembers Laasya's words, spoken with such reverence and authority, she can get through today without too much bitterness.
Not that that little glance, barely a flick of Laasya's big blue eyes, helps matters.
"Oh, cities can. Might be hiding, but if you know where to look..."
Laasya catches that little whisper, and the conspiratorial look they share brings a delighted if small smile to her face. Cities aren't at all like she expected- yes, they're hard, nasty places, but the people inside have proven to be diverse and even kind, just like people in the Circle. In fact, so far people on the outside are a bit less neurotic than in the Circle.
Their eyes meet, and Laasya feels a slight blush- pleased from possibly making a new friend, she thinks to herself.
"You're nothing like the Circle said people would be."
"Sorry, I left the pitchfork under my bed," Damaelle says, her smile turning into a mischievous grin. "I mean, um, I wouldn't go 'round starting fires or playing with lightning or whatnot, not out here. But..."
She pauses, shifts a little on her feet as she tries to line up her thoughts in order. It's hard to do, when they are wandering all over the place like a bunch of unruly kittens.
"You're nothin' like the mages we normally see in around, either."
Nicer. A person, rather than a figure in strange robes flanked by plated templars.
The sudden intensity of the mage's gaze makes Damaelle blink. But then, it really starts to sink in what her life might have. Shut up in a tower for her whole life, since whenever the Templars had taken her away. Hearing of her own kind being out and about must be startling, Damaelle realises.
"Not often," she explains quickly. "But sometimes they walk around the markets, or in the palace grounds. My second's a gardener at the palace, and she sees them more than we do out here." Here is Denerim, not the alienage. No one comes to the alienage if they can help it. "There's a magical shop a couple streets away from the central market next to here, they often go there. 'Course, the ones in the street always have a templar with them."
It's a form of freedom, she supposes. Like being a dog on a leash.
Laasya nods; the answer isboth less interesting and more vague than she hoped. In truth, she doesn't know what she was expecting. She doesn't know what to expect from anything at all.
Aware that her intensity is a little extra, Laasya dials it back and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
"So, um." Casting about for a topic is difficult, but eventually the elephant in the room has to be addressed. "Congratulations."
She has the sense that she's disappointed Laasya. It's a sense she often gets with people, and often, she doesn't give a flying fig about it all. But here and now, the disappointment stings. It makes her draw back, a little, and her mouth sets into a familiar line.
The change in conversation makes it all worse.
Stiffly, "Thank you. He's an accomplished smith, from a good family in Highever. And I can use my skills as a street-seller, so we should be a good match for each other."
Good-looking, she can tell that much. Maybe she'll be lucky, and he won't go out chasing women and give her something terrible. That's probably unkind. She knows that most people genuinely try with their spouses, because it's not like any of them have a choice, but she wants to be unkind. He could should go marry Shianni, he'd make her happy.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
~fine day for a wedding
Date: 2018-02-17 05:35 am (UTC)It's tradition, her da had said a couple hours ago. Trust the elders. He'd paid her dowry, gotten the Chantry permit, and blah, blah, fuck tradition with a rusty poker.
But the wheels keep turning. Shianni hits Lord Vaughan Urien over the head with a bottle, and for all Damaelle wants to grab another bottle, keep hitting until the threat to them all is gone, she can't. She has to let his cronies carry him out. Men like that, they don't like being shown up. You only deal with them by being tougher, but they aren't street-roughs she can take a knife and a fist to. These are shem nobles. Untouchable.
Her soon-to-be-husband is handsome, charming, but Damaelle is only paying half-attention. She wants the day to stop. It's stupid for the wedding to go ahead, today. They need to keep their heads down.
Which, of course, when Soris says, "Don't look now, but we have another problem."
"Anything to put off the wedding for a while," Damaelle mutters.
"Another human just walked in. Could be one of Vaughan's or just a random troublemaker. Either way, we need to move him and his friend along before someone does something stupid."
"Let's just kill him."
Her cousin laughs, but all faint and shaky. Poor Soris, he's never been good around violence. "You really scare me sometimes, you know that?"
Damaelle rolls her eyes slightly. "I'm joking," she says, and they move to intercept the new strangers.
A tall human man, two blades on his back and wearing well-fitting armour. The heraldry is of two griffins, silver on blue, and it rings a bell in her head from somewhere. But before she can puzzle it out, she's struck dumb and still by his companion.
She's an elf-woman, young and beautiful. The kind of beautiful that doesn't happen in the alienage, not with her skin all fair and clean like that, not with the shine to her blonde hair. And her eyes are large and blue, like the sea under the sun where you just wanna take your clothes off and dive in.
For a long moment, Damaelle is too caught up in staring that she misses most of what the shem actually says.
Then she gets an elbow in the ribs.
"-your impending wedding," the shem is saying.
Another congratulation. This one, with that girl staring around like a lost princess from long-lost Arlathan, is too much. No, she doesn't care how rude she's being, to someone so well armoured. Instead of a polite smile, all genuine as an actress, there's a disdainful glare. At the man, not the girl.
"You're not wanted here," she says, coolly. "This is is a private ceremony."
Mildly, oh so mildly, like he's baiting her, the big man replies, "That may be, but I'll point out that it is being held in public. I apologize if my presence has caused a stir."
Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Arse.
"The Alienage just isn't a good place for a human to be." There. That's turning it back on him, it's all for his protection, not that this is the only kind of sanctuary her kind get.
"I'm sorry, but I have no intention of leaving."
Her eyes narrow. "I will ask once more, politely. Please leave."
"And I refuse, yet again. Now what?"
"...Are you seriously looking for a fight?" She'd welcome a fight, but this man has the stench of money behind him.
"Surely it has not escaped your attention that I am both armed and armoured. Any fight between us would be rather one-sided."
Damaelle doesn't cross her arms, doesn't put them on her hips, nothing like that. She just regards him and keeps her limbs loose in the expectation of movement. It'd ruin the dress, a fight, but sacrifices need to be made. "Do you intend on using that weapon?"
"Not unless I'm left without a choice."
"You're not staying, armed or not."
Soris' voice is too high, too frantic. "Try not to die, I'll run for help!"
- so, maybe her tone hadn't been as even and neutral as she'd been aiming.
"No need," the big man says. "I am not here to fight you. Still, I find such bravery most impressive... Do not you not agree, Valendrian?"
Valendrian steps into the group, and sounds old and resigned. "I would say the world has far more use of those who know how to stay their blades. It is good to see you again, my old friend. It has been far too long."
"You know this human, Elder?" Damaelle asks.
"May I present Duncan, head of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden."
"And," Warden-Commander Duncan says, gestures to his mute, lost companion, "this is Laasya, our newest recruit.
She won't be distracted again. She won't. This day is slicing all her nerves to hell. "Why would a Grey Warden come here?"
"The worst has happened: a Blight has begun. King Cailan summons the Grey Wardens to Ostagar to fight the darkspawn horde alongside his armies."
It's not a shock. She works the markets most days, she's heard the news. But it's different hearing it from him, from a warden.
Valendrian is still regarding Duncan tiredly. "Yes... I had heard the news. Still, this is an awkward time. There is to be a wedding -- two, in fact."
"So I see," Duncan says. "By all means, attend to your ceremonies. My concerns can wait, for now."
"Very well. Children, treat Duncan as my guest. And for Maker's sake, take your places!"
Damaelle raises a hand, as winsome as a child sitting cross-legged under the vhenadahl. "It won't start for an hour. I could escort the wardens to your house, so everyone knows that they have your permission."
Valendrian sighs. "I'll talk with Duncan. Soris, you, at least, go attend to whatever is needed. Damaelle... Just, stay out of trouble."
She smiles at him, then turns to face Laasya. Laasya, it's a pretty name. "Would... Would you like to come with me?"
no subject
Date: 2018-02-17 08:23 am (UTC)"Yes, that... would be nice." She doesn't sound very sure. This place is like nothing she's ever seen before; everyone has heard of alienages, and every elf living in the Circle either comes from one or has heard the horrible stories from their fellow apprentices. However bad the other apprentices made it sound, it didn't quite do the squalor justice. And the hostility- Laasya didn't understand, why would they treat Duncan with such suspicion just for being a human? Humans and elves weren't really even that different; their history was checkered and racial, to be sure, but in the end they put on their robes one sleeve at a time just the same.
This girl in particular seemed like an aggressive sort. For a bride on her wedding day, she didn't seem very happy. Still, as uncertain of the wide world as Laasya is, she feels quite sure that she shouldn't be rude.
So, she extends her hand in greeting. "Damaelle, right?"
no subject
Date: 2018-02-18 02:07 am (UTC)Then she gets a grip on herself. This girl, this young woman, is a real person. Mage, sure, okay, she can recognize the staff now, the style of robe (and there, there's that frisson of something at the knowledge that this pretty girl is that dangerous) but she's still a person. Get her working hard on something all day, and she's stink just that same as anyone else. So Damaelle reaches out and shakes Laasya's hand, relieved at the feeling of callouses there. That staff would rough up anyone's hands.
"That's right. Damaelle Tabris."
Still Tabris. She's not married yet, except then it hits her that she'll be giving up her name as well. Her name, for a boy she's just met.
Maker, she hates this day.
"Have you been a warden long?" Damaelle asks as she leads her past the vhenadahl towards Valendrian's apartment. "Must be more exciting than shut up in a tower somewhere."
no subject
Date: 2018-02-18 04:32 am (UTC)"I'm not really a Warden yet," she admits. "Just a new recruit- a few weeks."
A few weeks since she left the best and truest home she'd ever had, all because of a stupid mistake and a betrayal. A moment of quiet lapses between them before she snaps to and recovers the moment.
"It's been- I don't know, I guess it's exciting?" She looks sideways at the other girl, noticing her beauty, though less soft and pampered than the beautiful people of the Circle, and noticing her general unhappiness. Maybe she can understand about feeling out of her depth. "Everything is so... different than the Tower."
Then she sees the vhenadahl, and stops dead. A massive tree, bigger around than any tree she's ever seen in her life (even as a little girl with her clan), growing from the filth and the muck to spread enormously over the alienage like a beautiful green canopy. The trunk has beautiful paintings and it's surrounded by small lanterns, candles, and what look like little offerings. She's entranced, and for the first time since entering this alienage has a look of appreciation on her face.
no subject
Date: 2018-02-18 10:06 am (UTC)As she walks by, Damaelle slips the little girl - Eliel wasn't it, Halesta's youngest - a coin. A wedding present is hers to do with as she pleases, right? Right. And that brilliant smile on the child's face is all reward she needs.
Then Laasya stops, and stares. At first, Damaelle is confused, but pleased. All alienages have a vhenadahl, don't they? And of course, theirs, Denerim's, is the best and biggest and most beautiful, but-
Oh.
But the Circle Towers' wouldn't have them, would they? Do they even have gardens? Has Laasya been entirely starved of green, for years?
That seems wrong.
"Isn't she lovely?" Damaelle asks her in a quiet, respectful whisper. "Not even the humans have a tree like her, not for miles of the city." Certainly, not worshipped and tended to like this tree. "You can... it's okay to touch her, if you wanted."
no subject
Date: 2018-02-19 02:40 am (UTC)There's no hesitation, no gentle brushing: Laasya strides up and lays one hand on the trunk like trying to push a door open. Instantly, she feels it. There's something here, something ancient and deep and beautiful that threads through the vhenadahl to touch the entire alienage, and all other alienages. She hasn't done this in years- it's a bit of old magic, taught to her by one of the candidates for First when she was only 7. It's the first bit of magic any Dalish learns; how to feel the roots of a thing, to feel the power and spirit and connections that a tree taps into.
"I can feel it," she murmurs. "She's more than just a tree. Her roots touch every house, every soul within these walls. It's incredible."
no subject
Date: 2018-02-19 04:12 am (UTC)Curious (and a little wary), Damaelle steps up to the vhenadahl herself and touches it.
There.
That.
A something whispering at the edges of her consciousness, like a dream she knows she had but cannot remember.
Maybe she should snatch her hand away, for something in her whispers magic and it's not for the likes of her, but she doesn't. Instead, she just turns wide, wondering eyes at the blonde mage standing next to her.
"The houses fall down, people die," she murmurs, "but the tree stays. We look after her, she... gives us, I don't know. Peace, I guess? A rightness, maybe."
Sometimes, people piss up against it, but that isn't harm. No one would actually harm the vhenadahl. Not without running the serious risk of being sacrificed so their body could be turned into mulch for a replacement sapling.
no subject
Date: 2018-02-19 04:18 am (UTC)Laasya pulls her hand away suddenly. What the hell just came over her that she started babbling Dalish nonsense in the middle of an alienage? Using magic in public- shit, she fucking used MAGIC in PUBLIC. How stupid was she? The mage wraps her arms around herself and steps back, looking a touch saddened.
"-To something greater," she finishes lamely. A glance at Damaelle, who was so curious and so unafraid of sharing the magic Laasya just showed her. Maybe the templars are wrong about how dangerous the wider world is. Maybe not all outsiders want to kill them for what they are. "I've never been in a city before. I didn't know it could hold any beauty."
Maybe there's a glance over Damaelle, but Laasya isn't aware of herself doing it.
no subject
Date: 2018-02-19 04:44 am (UTC)Not that that little glance, barely a flick of Laasya's big blue eyes, helps matters.
"Oh, cities can. Might be hiding, but if you know where to look..."
She smiles.
no subject
Date: 2018-02-22 02:37 am (UTC)Their eyes meet, and Laasya feels a slight blush- pleased from possibly making a new friend, she thinks to herself.
"You're nothing like the Circle said people would be."
no subject
Date: 2018-02-23 01:11 am (UTC)She pauses, shifts a little on her feet as she tries to line up her thoughts in order. It's hard to do, when they are wandering all over the place like a bunch of unruly kittens.
"You're nothin' like the mages we normally see in around, either."
Nicer. A person, rather than a figure in strange robes flanked by plated templars.
no subject
Date: 2018-03-01 02:41 am (UTC)"You see mages here? When? We were never allowed to leave the Tower."
Of course, they didn't tell punk-ass apprentices about the comings and goings of enchanters, either.
no subject
Date: 2018-03-03 12:02 am (UTC)"Not often," she explains quickly. "But sometimes they walk around the markets, or in the palace grounds. My second's a gardener at the palace, and she sees them more than we do out here." Here is Denerim, not the alienage. No one comes to the alienage if they can help it. "There's a magical shop a couple streets away from the central market next to here, they often go there. 'Course, the ones in the street always have a templar with them."
It's a form of freedom, she supposes. Like being a dog on a leash.
no subject
Date: 2018-03-05 02:22 am (UTC)Aware that her intensity is a little extra, Laasya dials it back and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
"So, um." Casting about for a topic is difficult, but eventually the elephant in the room has to be addressed. "Congratulations."
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Date: 2018-03-17 03:10 am (UTC)The change in conversation makes it all worse.
Stiffly, "Thank you. He's an accomplished smith, from a good family in Highever. And I can use my skills as a street-seller, so we should be a good match for each other."
Good-looking, she can tell that much. Maybe she'll be lucky, and he won't go out chasing women and give her something terrible. That's probably unkind. She knows that most people genuinely try with their spouses, because it's not like any of them have a choice, but she wants to be unkind. He could should go marry Shianni, he'd make her happy.