entrancelogs | ☼ Arrival; ☼

Entry tags:

☼ Arrival; ☼

Who: Bethany Hawke and [open]
Where: Outside the caves!
When: Now...ish?
Rating: PG-13 for now!
Summary: Yass queen

The Story: Her head was swimming. The battle with Orsino had taken nearly all her magical power, but it was more than that -- seeing him use blood magic to take the corpses of all the mages that she’d known living and working in the circle to turn himself into an abomination -- it was too much. Too much on top of the templars and countless innocent people who had no doubt been killed when the Chantry had been obliterated. Her heart ached as if her mother and brother had died all over again. So much senseless violence because of Meredith, because of the extremist templars -- she squeezed her eyes shut and when they opened again, she was surrounded by a cave of brick icicles. What fresh hell was this?

“Garrett!” Her voice echoed hollowly in the cave and she spun, panicked. “Garrett!” What if this is some sort of last-ditch effort that Orsino learned from that horrible beast, Quentin? Was she going to be trapped in some sort of labyrinth for the rest of her (probably very short, very painful) life? She scanned the room and let out a sob of relief at the sight of the entrance to the cave, scrambling up the incline with little care for whether she was letting the barbs of once-molten stone bite into her skirts. She rushed toward the point of light, awkwardly using her staff to half-vault her toward the ever-growing gleam.

Blissfully, the Circle-mandated wear was spelled to be durable and once she made it to the sunlight, she skidded to a stop and took in her surroundings, staff at the ready.
“Show yourself!” There had to be someone here, there had to be some meaning of this that could be explained. The pain in her heart was too fresh for this to be heaven, and she had been to the Fade -- this was not it. Impatient at the lack of an answer, she slammed her staff down on the ground. A bolt of flame shoots from the spot it hits, landing nearby in an explosion of sparks.

“I don’t have time for this!” She needed to find her brother, because nothing about this place made any sense.

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Glancing at her hand, Fenris takes it after a moment and offers her a very small, barely there smile. It's something of a monumental gesture, trusting a mage this much to reach out and voluntarily touch one, but he's heard too much about her not to be willing to at least try. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance," he says softly, feeling the prickle of her magic along the lyrium.

After an acceptably courteous moment, he releases her and steps back. The smile, such as it is, disappears at the mention of Leandra.

"No, I'm sorry. She was..." He doesn't want to be the one to tell her how Leandra was found. "She was killed by a mage. He's dead. All of his conspirators are dead, but we were too late to save Leandra."

"I only hope I can live to be less intolerable than my siblings may have insisted I am."

She's glad at least that Fenris has heard enough of her (or so she presumes) to trust the handshake. There is an easy smile back, but as his words hit her fully, she lets out a breath of air and looks very much like she's deflated slightly.

"Ah," she nods, lips pursed for a moment, "Then you do not need to give me more details of her fate. It's the same where I'm from." So much for hoping that the place he'd been from was better, but since he'd said that her sister was a blood mage -- perhaps she should stop asking those sorts of questions. Time for a subject change!

"Has it been long since you've come to this place?" He seems to know more than she, so she presumes he's been around at least a bit longer.

He doesn't say that Carver's put her on a pedestal and speaks of her as if she's something too precious to be frequently discussed, as if by sharing too much of her memory with the world it will somehow diminish it. He doesn't say that he's all but certain that her absence is a wound that's never healed. He doesn't say a lot of things. It isn't his place.

Instead, he dips his chin in acknowledgement and focuses on less personal topics. Not the similarity of Leandra's fate. He doesn't wish to speak on that. Rather, his time here is an easier subject to broach. There are no emotional pitfalls into which he might inadvertently stumble.

"No," he shakes his head. "A few weeks, perhaps. Less than a month. I do not speak often with many of the others—" Understatement of the week. He hasn't spoken to any of them save Carver since his arrival. "—but I can show you where they're staying if you wish to contact them."

For as much as they'd fought when they were younger, for as much as she'd known that it hurt Carver that she spent so much time with her father -- she'd be surprised to find that he put her on a pedestal. Perhaps not, though, since she'd found all those memories felt softer once she hadn't heard Carver's voice in years.

The shift in topic seems to be in both of their best interests, so she's more than glad to just follow its natural progression. Predictably, it isn't long until she hears something that's more than a little confusing to her. She's hesitant to bring it up outright, but...

"Not even Isabela?" She pauses. "Where I'm from -- you two were close. You tempered her well." Or they fed each others' vices, either way. "But -- yes, I would appreciate it."

Isabela? His brows knit and his lips thin into a confused frown as Fenris tips his head to the side. He was close with Isabela? Does she mean...? No, he decides a moment later, she can't possibly.

"Isabela and I were acquainted. Perhaps we might have been friends." He sounds unsure on that point, not because of his personal feelings toward Isabela, but because he still isn't quite certain how being friends works and he doesn't want to assume. "But the Arishok attacked the city and Hawke traded her to him for the qunari's departure from Kirkwall."

He shifts his shoulders in a shrug. "What happened to her, I can only guess, for I never saw her again. Not until I arrived here and met the Isabela of another world."

Oh, she does mean that. She won't press the issue, though, all things considered.

"I can't imagine my brother doing that to someone he considered his friend. This Marian must be ..." she shakes her head. "I'm sorry. That you had to deal with her." She doesn't know much, but if she was a blood mage and someone who would give Isabela to the Arishok...

"Garrett dueled him," she says, opting to just clarify the worlds they come from as much as she can. "And won, obviously." What he says makes her think that Fenris at least got along with Isabela before everything that happened, so... "I'm sure she'd like to see you, even if it isn't the you that she's accustomed to." The Maker knew that she had been glad to see him.

Must be a monster, he thinks, filling in the end of that sentence. And it's true. She was. As confusing as all of this is, he's thankful that people he has never known appearing here is all he must deal with. He would rather the whole family, even Gamlen, than to be in Marian's presence again.

"I have been told that others hail from worlds far better than my own," Fenris tells her, tone generally neutral until he continues. Then it slips into a low tone of irritation. "Repeatedly."

It isn't her fault and he doesn't blame her for it, but it does wear on him to hear how much better everyone else has had it. Even those he knows fault their perfect worlds in his face. After a while, it grates.

His voice mellows again. "Perhaps in time. For the moment, acclimatizing myself to this world occupies much of my attention."

Edited 2016-03-24 10:35 (UTC)

She imagines it's probably the same thing she'd feel if she were told more than once that there was a world where her brother survived. She won't tell him that they're likely just trying to reassure him by telling him there are worlds where things work out; she can't argue with the way that he feels, after all.

"It isn't as if it's anything we can change. It must be frustrating."

She nods, opting to take the suggested subject shift to somewhere that would benefit them both in different ways. It's important information to know, so...

"I'd very much appreciate it if you shared what you've learned about this place with me. Perhaps you can help me avoid making too much of a fool of myself." There's a slight, fleeting smile.

Happy to let the subject of their worlds drop, Fenris nods in agreement. He doesn't have much to share about their prison, but what he knows, he'll share.

"I've not been here long enough to know much, but I will tell you what I can." And even the few people he's spoken with who have been here for a time seem not to have too much information. Or if they do, they haven't deigned to share it.

"We're given quarters there." He points over his shoulder toward the mansion. "As far as I know, we may alter them however we see fit. The closets are magical; if you request something from them, it will be provided. Though be cautious in how you word your request, else you might not receive what you actually want."

He starts to reach for his belt pouch, then remembers that he doesn't have the magical box with him. "We're also provided a small magical box that allows us to speak with one another at a distance. It's more complicated than that, there are other aspects of it I've yet to determine, but that seems the point of the thing."

The idea of having to word her requests carefully elicits little more than intense curiosity from Bethany, as does the idea of a closet being able to produce that sort of complex magic in the first place. She lets her head cant to the side for a moment, trying to figure out how that might work.

"A magical box that allows us to speak to one another at a distance?" She pauses, scrunching her nose up in confusion. All these things sounded too surreal to be true, but Fenris really had no reason to lie to her (especially as she'd probably find out after a short time that he was lying). "Like some sort of eluvian?" That's the only thing she could think of, magically, that could allow any sort of distance transportation -- but that wasn't conversation, was it?

"Why would it deign it necessary to give us something like that? Or to give us anything at all, since it's taken us prisoner?"

He wouldn't call it an eluvian, exactly, though perhaps that's as close as they can come to something similar.

"Perhaps a very small eluvian," he concedes, then adds, not knowing if she's ever heard of such a thing, "Or one of the sending crystals the magisters use in Tevinter. It transmits our voices to one another and also our images. This particular device can also send words, though I've no idea what they say."

It's somewhat gratifying to hear his questions coming from her as well. It makes him feel a little less mad.

"I do not know. No one could give me an acceptable explanation when I asked. Whatever this place wants from us, it means to keep us comfortable while it takes it. I do not trust it."

She isn't much of an expert on Tevinter out of a profound concern and fear of the darker sides of magic, but Fenris' explanation of them makes it clear enough what their purpose is.

"No, and you shouldn't." As she was sure that this Fenris knew as well as the one that she was acquainted with, a gilded cage was still a cage. They were still being held here against their wills, being fed on by some -- parasitic world. She pauses.

"Would it be too much trouble to accompany me to the living quarters? I think that's as good a place to start as any."

"No," he answers immediately. "It would not."

Perhaps that's what he ought to have done in the first place. It would give her time to take in the new surroundings in privacy.

Taking a steps backward toward the mansion, Fenris jerks his head in that direction. "Come. It isn't far. If you have any questions on the way, you are welcome to ask." A note of doubtfulness creeps into his voice. "I may not know the answer, but I will try."

She nods as he motions toward the mansion, straightening herself up a little and preparing to follow him.

"I'm afraid I don't know even know what I should begin asking." She glances to the side at Fenris and cants her head. "I suppose whatever you would have liked to know when you got here.

I'm guessing there isn't much progress on how we get out."

Once she's standing, Fenris starts walking toward the mansion at a relatively sedate pace. He thinks over what little he's learned and how he'd felt during those first moments here in Wonderland, but his experience doesn't provide much to help her.

"I'm afraid I haven't many answers to those questions," he replies honestly. "Whether there are few who know them or I simply haven't asked the right people, I do not know."

He remembers the letter he couldn't read that everyone had been trying to show him. "The magical devices that allow us to communication come with a letter of instruction. From what I gather, it seems to possess all of the answers that the people here possess."

The level of organization and long-lasting captivity that it would take to be able to organize a sort of welcome letter is not something she wants to think too long or hard about, but it is good information to have.

"Then I will have to look at it." Fenris not being able to read isn't something she's fully aware of, not really, and she doesn't want to potentially prod into something painful (she's already done that once, after all). "And ask around, using my Hawke-twins-only charm as an advantage." She's teasing, and hopefully the smirk that crosses her lips conveys that well enough.

"As you haven't mentioned the rampant starvation or plagues yet, I assume this place has somewhere to eat as well?" Hawke priorities, man.

That, at least, makes him snort in good humor. He's seen Carver's charm quite a few times, though it's mellowed with time and become less brash and closer to being actual charm as he's aged. From the stories he's heard of Bethany, Fenris is relatively certain that she's got the lion's share of the genuine article. Certainly Marian never had any to speak of.

"There is food. Ample quantities." And perhaps by the wary tone of his voice, it's clear that he doesn't know what to think of it. "The mansion has kitchens that provide whatever you wish. As far as I know, you may eat whenever you like."

He frowns, eyeing the building as they approach. "It is that way with everything. If we need it, it is provided to us through magic. Or something near enough to magic that I cannot tell the difference."

Aha, so he still has at least some of the sense of humor that the Fenris she knew would've responded to. That's good, because re-learning ways to make someone smile was quite time-consuming. Even within her own family of Hawkes, Bethany had been the most sweet and even-tempered of the three children.

Her brows knit together briefly. "All these things provided to us so that it doesn't seem as if we've been kidnapped and taken hostage, I presume." She understands his frown all too well -- being a former slave must've made this more maddening even than coming from the Circle -- and she sympathizes with it.

"Magic on this scale is ... well, it hasn't been heard of in Thedas for years, has it? That's worrisome."

Fenris nods in agreement, biting absently at the inside of his lip. The strength of the magic here is troubling, as is having no clear target to fight. He cannot kill their captors if they never show themselves.

"And it makes us reliant on it. Complacent. Such magic troubles me." Not simply because it's magic, but because if people grow too reliant on it, they might be more easily controlled.

"I am told you are an accomplished mage," he says slowly, glancing over at her in inquiry. "Perhaps you might be able to study it? Find out more about it than someone like I can?"

There's certainly something to be said about relying so heavily on the magic of this place. For one thing, if they don't truly know how it works -- who's to say how consistent it will be, how reliable? For all she knew, the food they were eating was transformed from some sort of mind-control drug.

She returns the nod with regard to the magic. "I can see why it would. I'm not thrilled with the idea of it, either." Then again, she'd always been more likely than other mages to fear magic in the first place -- from what she'd seen in Kirkwall.

At his inquiry, though, she manages to duck her head slightly. "I don't know about accomplished, past being able to teach the basics," which was certainly not true, but she wasn't given over easily to bragging, "But studying it is something I would like to do, regardless." She pauses, though. "But sometimes it's good to have an outside perspective from someone who doesn't do magic, too. I'm sure you'd still be of help."

Fenris accepts that easily enough. "If something requires killing, I will be glad to lend my assistance."

That's where his skills lay anyway. He doubts that he would be any use in true discussions of magical theory and application. He isn't a mage, there is much about the process he cannot understand, and he still hates it too much to be unbiased.

Upon reaching the door to the mansion, Fenris pulls it open and holds it so that Bethany might pass through. There's nothing harmful in the entry way, he knows.

She's been circularly around whether Fenris has any other skills with the elf she's familiar with enough to know that protesting he might have another use isn't going to produce any useful results. "I'm glad to hear you'd be willing to help."

Once the door is pulled open for her, she steps inside cautiously -- her eyes scan the entrance as she walks through it, but she does have enough residual politeness left in her to murmur a quiet, "Thank you," to Fenris.

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☼ Arrival; ☼

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