The kind of honesty that may get her in trouble. Laurentius is a mage, yes, but he hails from Tevinter. His outlook is drastically different. It is not a bad thing or a good thing, it simply is.
But she gives him this honesty. Yes, of course her presence in this office is only meant to better the position of mages within Riftwatch.
The look she directs to him is prompting. He has opinions. She knows this.
He does. Obviously he must. Otherwise, what possible reason could he have to venture free of the library or the little room he and his wife share? No one is forcing him to make him to attach himself to the ranks of Riftwatch. And even if there were some requirement that he put his name on the roster in exchange for the security of staying here in the Gallows, there are dozens of members of the company who do their duty without ever setting foot in one of these offices. There's no reason for him to be here if not for his opinion.
Still.
That small finger taps a few more beats on the page, considering, before he volunteers it.
"I have a colleague who works extensively in Seheron. Addressing the native population, countering the spread of the Qun into Tevinter settlements. So on and so forth." Well. He'd had such a colleague. But the point stands. "The lesson I always took from his lectures was that however vulnerable asking questions might make you seem, you usually gain more ground than you lose by asking them. People like to talk about what they know, right?"
This is a hypothetical. He knows that's as true here in Kirkwall as it is in Vyrantium. One might say he'd tested the theory in that basement a few weeks ago.
"But there's another practice of his that I never really had much use for, but I think might be to your benefit. He's always been remarkably good at conscripting people outside of the Chantry to do some of his work for him, in the sense that he focuses on changing one or two minds and then encourages them to talk to anyone they know about it. Obviously it doesn't always work, but I think my point with is that you're right. This is a small company against a few Ages worth of theology saying the exact opposite of what you are. If it were me," isn't strictly delicate, but punctuated with enough of a pause and a significant look to suggest that he's perfectly aware that it isn't. "I might start looking for a few minds to focus on changing outside of it. In addition to doing what the southern Chantry asks. Possibly."
As he speaks, Derrica has straightened in her chair. Tucked her leg more directly beneath her, attentive as he recounts this information. The invocation of Seheron, the Qun. His colleague.
His description of how they might proceed.
"I met some mages at the Conclave, who I think can be convinced," she says slowly, gaze locked onto his face. "And that isn't nothing. But your colleague would want people beyond mages. People with...influence? Who others regard highly?"
"Sometimes, but not always. —Or it depends on what you mean by influence."
Here, Laurentius turns his topmost hand, the gesture carrying something like the spirit of a shrug without getting as far as waggling his shoulders around.
"To be fair, Seheron is an odd case. It's fairly isolated. But I think you could replicate some of the effects by looking for people in communities who are both reasonably influential inside their circles, and unlikely travel or communicate outside of them before your ideas have time to set. Land owners with tenets, or minor magistrates for smaller communities. That sort of thing. They might be willing to expand their understanding of the Chant given good reason to."
A considering pause, before Derrica rises from her seat.
Returns to her desk, where several books are closed and stacked to the side. Freeing up a long curl of parchment bearing a map, which she carries to set between them.
Not to presume that he isn't familiar with the geography. They both hail from the far north. The assistance of the map is good, so when Derrica points, they might both consider the distance involved.
"We do much work within the Free Marches," she tells him. "Where there are such individuals as you describe. It is mostly in the context of settling refugees, but it requires speaking to the leaders of the communities we are dealing with."
Again, Derrica wishes for Holden. He would have known how to present this argument. But she doesn't have Holden, and so she is obliged to admit—
"I know little of the Chant."
Surely not a surprise, coming from a Rivaini mage.
"I didn't want to assume," is at least making a gesture toward being diplomatic about the whole thing despite the transparent look on Laurentius' face that says He Definitely Did Suspect Though.
But yes, he did wonder whether having a proper theologian on hand might be a welcome resource.
"Divine Justinia the Fifth paved the way for you. The New Cumberland translation restored a number of the verses considered too inconvenient to include in the Reader from Seven-Forty-Five. If it were me, I might wonder what people thought of that. It suggests a certain..." He pauses, searching for the right words and studying the map between them as if he might find it there. One of those big bony hands rises so that Laurentius can scratch absently at the corner of a heavy brow.
"Divine Justinia was the one who died at the Conclave, before the rifts opened."
Is more for ordering her own understanding of woman, setting that in context with what he is telling her now.
This too is strange to her. Something understood in theory, but not quiet something she fully understands in practice. The Chant and it's followers are something wholly outside of her experience.
"Do the new verses change what was presented in the text before?"
It's hard to say exactly what Laurentius sounds like when he laughs, as he doesn't actually get very far into that first surprised bark of humor before he's yanking it in the direction of a cough. The whole effect is rather like a man diving to put out a fire bomb before the spark can run fully up the wick.
He clears his throat just once afterward.
"Yes and no. The translation still recognizes the Canticles in question—Silence, Shartan, Maferath—, as dissonant verses, but their inclusion radically alters the context of the rest. Plus, their contents would seem particularly relevant to our current period. The real question is how much anyone in the South is actually teaching those changes, and to what degree the ordinary person knows—Well. Much of anything. About the direct text, I mean."
A small, self-conscious smile crosses Derrica's face. Maybe gathering that the question is ridiculous, or the answer should have been obvious.
But her expression turns thoughtful as he speaks, considering the broader question that rises up in the wake of his answer.
"We might do a survey," she says slowly. "Not every Chantry, but perhaps the bigger, more well-attended ones. Denerim, Redcliffe, Wycome, Markham. Antiva City, if we can be assured of our safety. We can move quickly by griffonback, if the griffons can be spared. Get a sense of what is being taught, and look for people like you've described at the same time."
They do not have any Chantry sisters or brothers who could be conscripted to present this new angle. But they might have some more devout than Derrica who could gently introduce the idea alongside some of their more groundbreaking ideas, if they come across receptive parties.
"And be seen to be renewing our ties to Thedas' Chantries in the process."
Maybe only part of this plan will make it to paper.
"The Orlesian Chantries, in any case," is as automatic a correction as it is mild, thoughtless like the turn of his hands as he Laurentius finally moves to flip further forward through this heavy book he's brought with him.
"I can't imagine it would hurt. I've also drawn up a, partial obviously, list of contemporary Chantry scholars whose work seems complimentary to or is supported by Justinia's academic legacy. The period between her death and Divine Beatrix's ascension is fascinating from a standpoint of publication—"
As if its function is primarily to serve as his personal satchel, Laurentius produces a sheaf of papers from inside the book. It requires some shuffling, sorting relevant wheat from evidently personal chaff as he says, "You may eventually require sympathetic representation somewhere within the ranks of the clergy."
"Agreed. And it doesn't sound like anyone inside Riftwatch is likely to be welcome at a Chantry consistory any time soon. But— Ah, here."
He's finally managed to find all the right pages. Squaring them, Laurentius folds one corner of the make-do packet and leans forward over the heavy book to pass it to her.
"But if they're anything like their northern cousins, you can buy opinions. Sway them."
All at once, Laurentius smiles. It's a crooked, slightly toothy affair when allowed to spread to its full (considerable) width and for the duration of the time it spends splashed across his jagged features, he looks rather younger with it than he does without. Evidently some flash of naughty school boy lurks behind that mournful, highly self-serious miasma.
"No, never. I just thought it seemed like a good idea."
"Honestly, you might not even have to pay some of them. Some will answer to reason. And some of those scholars," he says, absently waggling a finger toward the papers in her possession. "Are already members of the Chantry themselves. I don't have any idea how popular or unpopular they've made themselves with their ideas, but—"
He shrugs.
It's something, isn't it?
"I'll be honest, though," Laurentius says, one of those big hands returning again to scratch absently behind an ear. "This is about as far as I've gotten on the whole idea. And I don't have any idea who should approach them or how. I just thought I should come with some kind of peace offering after that business downstairs."
An unexpected statement. It doesn't bring any uncertainty bristling back to her, but it prompts a pause in the flow of their conversation. Derrica's fingers run across the surface of the paper, observing his penmanship, this list of names that they will make use of one way or another.
"It's a good idea," she tells him, because it feels promising to her. Looking up at him, her head tilts slightly. Studying his face, the work of his hands. "Do you think I'd hold your questions against you?"
"No idea," is briskly rendered. From behind his ear, his hand tilts in the direction of some vague gesture that fills the same slot as that earlier shrug.
"But I thought there might be a possibility given the general tenor of the room that night. Maybe not you, specifically. But maybe someone else took offense." These things, he knows, sometimes proliferate in funny ways. That is not the first meeting of the minds where he's taken it upon himself to ask things that are inconvenient to the night.
"If nothing else, it doesn't hurt to come prepared."
The answer seems to come easily to him—such a far cry from the flickering, guarded looks that question might often be expected to elicit from a considerable portion of the Gallows' resident that Laurentius doesn't so much as shrug or turn his hand in what is evidently a somewhat habitual method for filling space.
"Do you intend to return Tevinter once Corypheus is no longer a threat?"
It is a little bit disjointed, this question. She has not asked what brought him here in the first place, only drawn the assumption that it was motivated by the war. Perhaps by curiosity.
Perhaps he is as dangerous to them as Brother Gideon had been. She wonders a little at that too, though she cannot imagine Yseult had been anything other than thorough in her examination of this man and his wife before turning them loose in the Gallows.
Does the question surprise him? The heavy line of his brow certainly rises by some incrementally degree, and his head tips slightly sideways as if he suspects if he views the matter from another angle that it will become more complicated.
"Obviously there are some considerations for the Venatori and to what extent they can function without their head, and the state of the Magisterium. But yes, of course. Tevinter is my home."
"More or less. No one would openly accuse the Archon of being the instrument of fanatics, of course. Particularly not when the war is going so well for us on paper." No offense, says the look he gives her; it's hard to look at the conflict on a map and not conclude that the Tevinter Imperium is running roughshod over the south.
"But the effect of the Venatori inside Tevinter is hard to deny. Their influence made my work unpopular enough that the safety of my family had become a concern. If things continue in that direction, I worry about the Chantry becoming little more than an instrument of the Magisterium similar to how the one here is compelled by the South's various heads of state. To say nothing of what will happen should the war turn and Divine Beatrix's Exalted March actually come North."
A pause. He drums his fingers on the heavy book in his lap. Then—
"We have three children, and want to protect them from this."
This—the war, Corypheus, what may happen should Minrathous crumble, the influence of the South and its poisonous conception of what a mage is good for. The list seems to get longer every day.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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The kind of honesty that may get her in trouble. Laurentius is a mage, yes, but he hails from Tevinter. His outlook is drastically different. It is not a bad thing or a good thing, it simply is.
But she gives him this honesty. Yes, of course her presence in this office is only meant to better the position of mages within Riftwatch.
The look she directs to him is prompting. He has opinions. She knows this.
no subject
Still.
That small finger taps a few more beats on the page, considering, before he volunteers it.
"I have a colleague who works extensively in Seheron. Addressing the native population, countering the spread of the Qun into Tevinter settlements. So on and so forth." Well. He'd had such a colleague. But the point stands. "The lesson I always took from his lectures was that however vulnerable asking questions might make you seem, you usually gain more ground than you lose by asking them. People like to talk about what they know, right?"
This is a hypothetical. He knows that's as true here in Kirkwall as it is in Vyrantium. One might say he'd tested the theory in that basement a few weeks ago.
"But there's another practice of his that I never really had much use for, but I think might be to your benefit. He's always been remarkably good at conscripting people outside of the Chantry to do some of his work for him, in the sense that he focuses on changing one or two minds and then encourages them to talk to anyone they know about it. Obviously it doesn't always work, but I think my point with is that you're right. This is a small company against a few Ages worth of theology saying the exact opposite of what you are. If it were me," isn't strictly delicate, but punctuated with enough of a pause and a significant look to suggest that he's perfectly aware that it isn't. "I might start looking for a few minds to focus on changing outside of it. In addition to doing what the southern Chantry asks. Possibly."
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His description of how they might proceed.
"I met some mages at the Conclave, who I think can be convinced," she says slowly, gaze locked onto his face. "And that isn't nothing. But your colleague would want people beyond mages. People with...influence? Who others regard highly?"
no subject
Here, Laurentius turns his topmost hand, the gesture carrying something like the spirit of a shrug without getting as far as waggling his shoulders around.
"To be fair, Seheron is an odd case. It's fairly isolated. But I think you could replicate some of the effects by looking for people in communities who are both reasonably influential inside their circles, and unlikely travel or communicate outside of them before your ideas have time to set. Land owners with tenets, or minor magistrates for smaller communities. That sort of thing. They might be willing to expand their understanding of the Chant given good reason to."
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Returns to her desk, where several books are closed and stacked to the side. Freeing up a long curl of parchment bearing a map, which she carries to set between them.
Not to presume that he isn't familiar with the geography. They both hail from the far north. The assistance of the map is good, so when Derrica points, they might both consider the distance involved.
"We do much work within the Free Marches," she tells him. "Where there are such individuals as you describe. It is mostly in the context of settling refugees, but it requires speaking to the leaders of the communities we are dealing with."
Again, Derrica wishes for Holden. He would have known how to present this argument. But she doesn't have Holden, and so she is obliged to admit—
"I know little of the Chant."
Surely not a surprise, coming from a Rivaini mage.
no subject
But yes, he did wonder whether having a proper theologian on hand might be a welcome resource.
"Divine Justinia the Fifth paved the way for you. The New Cumberland translation restored a number of the verses considered too inconvenient to include in the Reader from Seven-Forty-Five. If it were me, I might wonder what people thought of that. It suggests a certain..." He pauses, searching for the right words and studying the map between them as if he might find it there. One of those big bony hands rises so that Laurentius can scratch absently at the corner of a heavy brow.
"Well. A fallible quality to the text."
no subject
Is more for ordering her own understanding of woman, setting that in context with what he is telling her now.
This too is strange to her. Something understood in theory, but not quiet something she fully understands in practice. The Chant and it's followers are something wholly outside of her experience.
"Do the new verses change what was presented in the text before?"
To fully grasp the context of inconvenient.
no subject
He clears his throat just once afterward.
"Yes and no. The translation still recognizes the Canticles in question—Silence, Shartan, Maferath—, as dissonant verses, but their inclusion radically alters the context of the rest. Plus, their contents would seem particularly relevant to our current period. The real question is how much anyone in the South is actually teaching those changes, and to what degree the ordinary person knows—Well. Much of anything. About the direct text, I mean."
no subject
But her expression turns thoughtful as he speaks, considering the broader question that rises up in the wake of his answer.
"We might do a survey," she says slowly. "Not every Chantry, but perhaps the bigger, more well-attended ones. Denerim, Redcliffe, Wycome, Markham. Antiva City, if we can be assured of our safety. We can move quickly by griffonback, if the griffons can be spared. Get a sense of what is being taught, and look for people like you've described at the same time."
They do not have any Chantry sisters or brothers who could be conscripted to present this new angle. But they might have some more devout than Derrica who could gently introduce the idea alongside some of their more groundbreaking ideas, if they come across receptive parties.
"And be seen to be renewing our ties to Thedas' Chantries in the process."
Maybe only part of this plan will make it to paper.
no subject
"I can't imagine it would hurt. I've also drawn up a, partial obviously, list of contemporary Chantry scholars whose work seems complimentary to or is supported by Justinia's academic legacy. The period between her death and Divine Beatrix's ascension is fascinating from a standpoint of publication—"
As if its function is primarily to serve as his personal satchel, Laurentius produces a sheaf of papers from inside the book. It requires some shuffling, sorting relevant wheat from evidently personal chaff as he says, "You may eventually require sympathetic representation somewhere within the ranks of the clergy."
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"That will have to come from outside of Riftwatch. We're lacking such an option here."
Sympathetic is an oddly tall order.
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He's finally managed to find all the right pages. Squaring them, Laurentius folds one corner of the make-do packet and leans forward over the heavy book to pass it to her.
"But if they're anything like their northern cousins, you can buy opinions. Sway them."
Insert her preferred term here.
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Or find a way to pose the request for some in such a way as to avoid raising eyebrows in other parts of this tower.
The papers are accepted, set into her lap.
"Have you ever corresponded with any of these people?"
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"No, never. I just thought it seemed like a good idea."
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"Maybe we'd be better off paying some of these scholars to make our case to their fellows," she suggests.
How else do they get around their near total lack of devout Chantry members?
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He shrugs.
It's something, isn't it?
"I'll be honest, though," Laurentius says, one of those big hands returning again to scratch absently behind an ear. "This is about as far as I've gotten on the whole idea. And I don't have any idea who should approach them or how. I just thought I should come with some kind of peace offering after that business downstairs."
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"It's a good idea," she tells him, because it feels promising to her. Looking up at him, her head tilts slightly. Studying his face, the work of his hands. "Do you think I'd hold your questions against you?"
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"But I thought there might be a possibility given the general tenor of the room that night. Maybe not you, specifically. But maybe someone else took offense." These things, he knows, sometimes proliferate in funny ways. That is not the first meeting of the minds where he's taken it upon himself to ask things that are inconvenient to the night.
"If nothing else, it doesn't hurt to come prepared."
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It is her instinct to take these to someone with more skill at managing people. But she will have to choose carefully.
They will have to choose carefully, she corrects, silently.
"Can I ask you something personal?"
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The answer seems to come easily to him—such a far cry from the flickering, guarded looks that question might often be expected to elicit from a considerable portion of the Gallows' resident that Laurentius doesn't so much as shrug or turn his hand in what is evidently a somewhat habitual method for filling space.
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It is a little bit disjointed, this question. She has not asked what brought him here in the first place, only drawn the assumption that it was motivated by the war. Perhaps by curiosity.
Perhaps he is as dangerous to them as Brother Gideon had been. She wonders a little at that too, though she cannot imagine Yseult had been anything other than thorough in her examination of this man and his wife before turning them loose in the Gallows.
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"Obviously there are some considerations for the Venatori and to what extent they can function without their head, and the state of the Magisterium. But yes, of course. Tevinter is my home."
He isn't a traitor.
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Envy, maybe.
How straightforward.
"Is that all that brought you here? The Venatori?"
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"But the effect of the Venatori inside Tevinter is hard to deny. Their influence made my work unpopular enough that the safety of my family had become a concern. If things continue in that direction, I worry about the Chantry becoming little more than an instrument of the Magisterium similar to how the one here is compelled by the South's various heads of state. To say nothing of what will happen should the war turn and Divine Beatrix's Exalted March actually come North."
A pause. He drums his fingers on the heavy book in his lap. Then—
"We have three children, and want to protect them from this."
This—the war, Corypheus, what may happen should Minrathous crumble, the influence of the South and its poisonous conception of what a mage is good for. The list seems to get longer every day.
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The recitation of politics is not so surprising, even if Derrica is unfamiliar with the nuance of it. But then—
"Three children," is a soft echo. The pinch of worry returns to her brow, as she too weighs up the many threats at play here.
How much safety can be found fleeing south, with so much uncertain? Three children, perhaps mages. What is there for them here?
"Are they safe now?"
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