"He's the mage who blew up the Chantry in Hightown, he was only still alive because he was made a Warden and they're..."
A vague gesture of her hand. Complicated. Slightly exempt from the usual rule of law, which is already a more malleable thing in so feudal a series of interconnected and overlapping cultures. Sometimes it's just who yells the loudest with the biggest stick, which is not unrelated to the way the mage rebellion had kicked off with a really big fucking bang.
"A spirit healer, if you can believe it."
That, and not the terrorism, had been her first encounter with him; she hadn't yet known the name of the terrifying mage who'd set the world on its ear, so it hadn't meant much to her when he'd said it, meaning to give her the opportunity to object if she preferred some other pair of healing hands. Nearly a decade ago, now; sometimes they'd been civil, and others significantly less so. She'd learned from him, a bit, and they'd snapped at each other, and she doesn't even recall what specifically she'd decided to never forgive him for.
It doesn't really matter, now. It probably didn't matter all that much then, either.
"Alistair was a Warden, too. The best of them, I think," and if she knew Ellis better then she might have an asterisk, but Alistair was her best friend before Alexandrie was, so, "he was one of the first people I ever talked to about my mother. He was Fiona's son." Elfblooded, too. "I wrote him when she was killed, I don't know if he got it. Sabine must be alive, they've said everyone from here, I don't know if she'd have been at the Keep with him or not. I have to write to her."
no subject
A vague gesture of her hand. Complicated. Slightly exempt from the usual rule of law, which is already a more malleable thing in so feudal a series of interconnected and overlapping cultures. Sometimes it's just who yells the loudest with the biggest stick, which is not unrelated to the way the mage rebellion had kicked off with a really big fucking bang.
"A spirit healer, if you can believe it."
That, and not the terrorism, had been her first encounter with him; she hadn't yet known the name of the terrifying mage who'd set the world on its ear, so it hadn't meant much to her when he'd said it, meaning to give her the opportunity to object if she preferred some other pair of healing hands. Nearly a decade ago, now; sometimes they'd been civil, and others significantly less so. She'd learned from him, a bit, and they'd snapped at each other, and she doesn't even recall what specifically she'd decided to never forgive him for.
It doesn't really matter, now. It probably didn't matter all that much then, either.
"Alistair was a Warden, too. The best of them, I think," and if she knew Ellis better then she might have an asterisk, but Alistair was her best friend before Alexandrie was, so, "he was one of the first people I ever talked to about my mother. He was Fiona's son." Elfblooded, too. "I wrote him when she was killed, I don't know if he got it. Sabine must be alive, they've said everyone from here, I don't know if she'd have been at the Keep with him or not. I have to write to her."
To say what? Come back.