Artober Day 9 : Magic
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She’s learned it was beautiful. She thought _ even if she wanted to convince herself otherwise _ that magic was control. That magic was just power. That it was a battle of will.
But he’d shown her otherwise.
Magic could be used by many just as a show of power. As a means to an end. But in the end she learned to see magic as something else entirely.
Magic was a language.
Both universal and unique to each individual that could speak it. It could be soft and harsh. Loud and whispered. And like any language it was forever being constructed and modified by its speakers.
It was an exchange, an understanding. There were rules, known to every speaker, but also so many accents and variants. Some words were forbidden, but still whispered in secret by some.
Amala was proud of her analogy, and it made Solas smile to see her come up with it. For everything, no matter how complex it could be, she had a way of making it simple. He could spend hours on end talking to her, at his desk, in the garden, even in the kitchen after the staff had gone to bed. They’d speak of history, of his adventures with the Inquisitor across Ferelden and Orlais, of her daily chores and the gossip she’d heard. They’d speak of the Fade and of magic, and then she’d listen more than she’d spoke. He knew it was on purpose. He knew she knew more than many scholars on those subjects. But she’d let him speak more, let him get lost in monologues and memories.
So what if she couldn’t speak that language herself ? What if its grammar and conjugations eluded her ? She had a magic of her own, one not many spoke nor could understand. A language many chose to not even learn.
She spoke the simplest of languages.
It was a language of love and caring. She’d let him speak through the night about magic because she cared. Because she loved.
He could never teach her the language of magic.
But he’d let her teach hers.
