Mastery of the self is mastery of the world.
Loss of the self is the source of suffering.
Suffering is a choice, and we can refuse it.
It is in our own power to create the world, or destroy it.
—Extract from the Qun, Canto 1
Loss of the self is the source of suffering.
Suffering is a choice, and we can refuse it.
It is in our own power to create the world, or destroy it.
—Extract from the Qun, Canto 1
Once more Asala found herself taking the flight of stairs that led atop Skyhold's wall, toward one of the towers that dotted its perimeter. Her particular destination was one that Cyrus requisitioned for his own personal workshop. It was where he scheduled many of her regular lessons, the ones that did not require flagrant displays of experimental magic. Granted, she wished he had chosen something on ground level to turn into his workshop, as the stairs grew tiring after the fourth or fifth time she had taken them, and now as a necessary evil in order to continue her lessons.
They'd returned to Skyhold from Crestwood a few days past, leaving the care of the fort in the capable hands of the forces who remained behind. Vesryn's Dalish friends had also stayed behind, but from what she understood would be also visiting Skyhold in about a week or so. In the intervening time, she had been doing some research of her own. Even now, she carried a small stack of books in her arms as she climbed the stairs, some Cyrus had transcribed for her, some she had asked for from some of Aurora's mages, and one journal that held all of her hand written notes. Of course, she still had to talk with Cyrus first.
Finally, she'd arrived to his tower and knocked gently on the door. Had it been one of their predetermined appointments, she would have entered afterward, but she was relatively unexpected for the moment.
The first sound after she knocked was a rather plaintive meow, something she recognized by this point as Cyrus's cat's attempt to get his attention. He did have a habit of drifting off somewhere in his own head, so it probably helped.
Sure enough, a few seconds later, she caught the low murmur of his voice as he verbalized some response or other, and then the soft sound of footsteps. He pulled open the door towards him, raising his eyes the couple of inches they needed to meet hers. He smiled, a relaxed expression with only a small hint of his customary mischief. “Asala." He stepped back inside, leaving the door open for her to follow.
The workshop itself was cluttered as ever; Cyrus perpetuated some sort of organized chaos that meant no one else was likely to know where anything was, but he never seemed to have trouble finding what he wanted. His bookshelves were full near to bursting, his walls still lined nearly floor-to-ceiling with architectural sketches and watercolors. He must have been working on a project recently, because he looked much the same as the room: his hair was considerably askew, falling over his eyes periodically in spite of his futile efforts to keep it away from his face, and his meticulous wardrobe reduced to a plain shirt and trousers. Pia, the cat, sat nested comfortably on a haphazard stack of parchments, all in Cyrus's small, neat handwriting.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of an unannounced visit?"
"I did not interrupt anything, did I?" she asked, curiously. It was honestly difficult to tell.
He snorted. “If you were interrupting anything I didn't want interrupted, I wouldn't have answered the door." Lifting his shoulders, Cyrus held his hands out, clearly volunteering to relieve her of the burden she carried.
Asala thought about it for a moment before she nodded, accepting that as an answer. Truthfully, if he had been in a position to be interrupted, then she doubted that he would've even heard her knock. She gratefully handed off most of the books she carried in her hands, though she did keep her thin journal on hand. Relieved of the books, she entered into the workshop more fully and gently scratched Pia behind the ear. She would have to remember to bring Bibi next time so that they could play.
"Oh," she added, remembering he had asked her a question. "I wished to speak about... Spirit Healers?" she asked, rather than explained.
Cyrus did not look too surprised by this revelation, moving back over to his desk with the stack of books and quickly sorting them into two piles: one for those that belonged to him, and one for those that did not. The latter, he left on the desktop, shelving the former with an absent sort of efficiency. “Of course. Have a seat." He gestured vaguely at the squashy armchairs about the room, apparently giving her the choice of what part of the workshop she wanted to occupy. A plate with a half-eaten sandwich rested on the edge of the table nearest the door, she noticed, evidence that Livia had been by, probably.
After a moment, Cyrus turned away from the bookshelves and back towards her, bringing his hands together with a muted clapping sound. “Now... what would you like to discuss about Spirit Healers, hm?"
Somehow, she had managed to find a pencil amongst all the other bits in his office before she took a seat in one of the nearby chairs. She paused for a moment, wondering where to go from the rather broad question he had asked. "Hmm," she began, thinking, "I wish to know more, I suppose," she said, before glancing at the books remaining on his desk. "The details, I mean. I understand that spirit healers derive their power from the aid of a, uh, spirit--" she hesitated for a moment, wondering just how redundant that had sounded, but forged ahead regardless. "And that the relationship somehow amplifies restoration magic."
She then tilted her head a little, "However...", she began, flipping her little journal open before continuing, "What I have read also stated that the calling is a... dangerous one."
Cyrus sank into the chair nearest hers, crossing an ankle over a knee and bracing his elbows on the armrests. He slouched a bit when he did, the normal grace in his posture receding. “Well... yes." He touched his fingertips together for a moment, then folded all his fingers down except the pointers, bringing those back to rest at his chin. “Anything that depends on a spirit is dangerous, to some extent. Whenever spirits come into contact with mortal beings such as ourselves, there is always a risk that our negative emotions will twist them into demons. And in turn, a risk that those demons will use those negative emotions to manipulate and possess. No demon can enter without an invitation, but the invitation need not be wholehearted. Only a slip is required."
He tilted his head slightly at her, raising a brow. “A spirit healer makes a bond with a particular spirit of Compassion. This allows them to perform feats of healing that other mages cannot, but it does come at a price. One must always be vigilant: if ever vengeance, rage, or other such feelings are allowed to taint the connection, the existing bond makes possession quite an easy matter, for the demon that results."
Asala was writing as he spoke, and when he came to a stop, her pencil lingered on the last letter as she slipped into thought. "Is there anyway to guard against it?" Asala asked, finally glancing up from her journal.
“Well, for one, most avoid contacting the spirit during battle, especially if they also have to do harm in one. Better not to risk the mixed messages. Spirit healers in training are rarely allowed to try drawing on the spirit's power outside of very controlled clinic settings." Cyrus shrugged. “Other than that, it comes down to mental discipline and personality. When healing, it is important to focus on your own compassion, your desire for the patient to live. It requires a certain... clarity of demeanor. And a certainty of purpose."
A wry look crossed his face. “Needless to say, I could not teach anyone the advanced techniques they would learn that way. I'm certainly in no position to be bonding to a spirit of that nature myself." His eyes met hers, and held them. “You though... you might well have what it takes."
"And... what is... that?" she asked, unsure which other question she should even ask. When he spoke of feelings of rage and vengeance, she could not help but think about how she felt when she saw the blighted dragon again. Now that it was far away elsewhere, where it would hopefully stay for a long while yet, she was calmer when she thought about it. However, there remained a twist in her chest when it came back to mind.
Cyrus pushed a short, soft breath from his nose, but when he replied, he seemed perfectly serious, eyes slightly narrowed and tone sincere. “A good heart."
Asala blushed and buried her face in the notes. Well, if he believed then... "So, uh..." she began, stammering. "If I, uh... wished to go through with it," she said, dragging her face back out of her notes to finally look vaguely in his direction. "How would I--how would we... start?" she asked. The books she had read that the mentor was also involved in a prospective spirit healer's tutelage--and though he was not a spirit healer himself, Cyrus knew of spirits.
As was typical, her reaction amused him more than anything, clearly, but his expression sobered again soon enough. “Well, the tricky part is forming the bond with the spirit. For you, learning the advanced techniques will also be a complication, but I'm sure if the Inquisition learns you're taking on the task, they will find someone who can pass those on. As for the spirit, well... you have no senior healer to help you with that. Fortunately, what you do have is better." He grinned there. “You have me."
He stood from his chair, crossing back to the bookshelves and pulling down several tomes she did not recognize, stacking them on the desk over the top of whatever he'd been working on when she came in. “Give me... three nights. I'll find you a spirit, and help you through whatever trial it has for you." He paused, glancing back at her over his shoulder.
“When you come back, bring some friends. I'll take care of the rest."
"Oh, yes. Of course," Asala said, rising to a stand as well. However, she paused for a moment and thought.
"And Cyrus? Thank you."
They'd returned to Skyhold from Crestwood a few days past, leaving the care of the fort in the capable hands of the forces who remained behind. Vesryn's Dalish friends had also stayed behind, but from what she understood would be also visiting Skyhold in about a week or so. In the intervening time, she had been doing some research of her own. Even now, she carried a small stack of books in her arms as she climbed the stairs, some Cyrus had transcribed for her, some she had asked for from some of Aurora's mages, and one journal that held all of her hand written notes. Of course, she still had to talk with Cyrus first.
Finally, she'd arrived to his tower and knocked gently on the door. Had it been one of their predetermined appointments, she would have entered afterward, but she was relatively unexpected for the moment.
The first sound after she knocked was a rather plaintive meow, something she recognized by this point as Cyrus's cat's attempt to get his attention. He did have a habit of drifting off somewhere in his own head, so it probably helped.
Sure enough, a few seconds later, she caught the low murmur of his voice as he verbalized some response or other, and then the soft sound of footsteps. He pulled open the door towards him, raising his eyes the couple of inches they needed to meet hers. He smiled, a relaxed expression with only a small hint of his customary mischief. “Asala." He stepped back inside, leaving the door open for her to follow.
The workshop itself was cluttered as ever; Cyrus perpetuated some sort of organized chaos that meant no one else was likely to know where anything was, but he never seemed to have trouble finding what he wanted. His bookshelves were full near to bursting, his walls still lined nearly floor-to-ceiling with architectural sketches and watercolors. He must have been working on a project recently, because he looked much the same as the room: his hair was considerably askew, falling over his eyes periodically in spite of his futile efforts to keep it away from his face, and his meticulous wardrobe reduced to a plain shirt and trousers. Pia, the cat, sat nested comfortably on a haphazard stack of parchments, all in Cyrus's small, neat handwriting.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of an unannounced visit?"
"I did not interrupt anything, did I?" she asked, curiously. It was honestly difficult to tell.
He snorted. “If you were interrupting anything I didn't want interrupted, I wouldn't have answered the door." Lifting his shoulders, Cyrus held his hands out, clearly volunteering to relieve her of the burden she carried.
Asala thought about it for a moment before she nodded, accepting that as an answer. Truthfully, if he had been in a position to be interrupted, then she doubted that he would've even heard her knock. She gratefully handed off most of the books she carried in her hands, though she did keep her thin journal on hand. Relieved of the books, she entered into the workshop more fully and gently scratched Pia behind the ear. She would have to remember to bring Bibi next time so that they could play.
"Oh," she added, remembering he had asked her a question. "I wished to speak about... Spirit Healers?" she asked, rather than explained.
Cyrus did not look too surprised by this revelation, moving back over to his desk with the stack of books and quickly sorting them into two piles: one for those that belonged to him, and one for those that did not. The latter, he left on the desktop, shelving the former with an absent sort of efficiency. “Of course. Have a seat." He gestured vaguely at the squashy armchairs about the room, apparently giving her the choice of what part of the workshop she wanted to occupy. A plate with a half-eaten sandwich rested on the edge of the table nearest the door, she noticed, evidence that Livia had been by, probably.
After a moment, Cyrus turned away from the bookshelves and back towards her, bringing his hands together with a muted clapping sound. “Now... what would you like to discuss about Spirit Healers, hm?"
Somehow, she had managed to find a pencil amongst all the other bits in his office before she took a seat in one of the nearby chairs. She paused for a moment, wondering where to go from the rather broad question he had asked. "Hmm," she began, thinking, "I wish to know more, I suppose," she said, before glancing at the books remaining on his desk. "The details, I mean. I understand that spirit healers derive their power from the aid of a, uh, spirit--" she hesitated for a moment, wondering just how redundant that had sounded, but forged ahead regardless. "And that the relationship somehow amplifies restoration magic."
She then tilted her head a little, "However...", she began, flipping her little journal open before continuing, "What I have read also stated that the calling is a... dangerous one."
Cyrus sank into the chair nearest hers, crossing an ankle over a knee and bracing his elbows on the armrests. He slouched a bit when he did, the normal grace in his posture receding. “Well... yes." He touched his fingertips together for a moment, then folded all his fingers down except the pointers, bringing those back to rest at his chin. “Anything that depends on a spirit is dangerous, to some extent. Whenever spirits come into contact with mortal beings such as ourselves, there is always a risk that our negative emotions will twist them into demons. And in turn, a risk that those demons will use those negative emotions to manipulate and possess. No demon can enter without an invitation, but the invitation need not be wholehearted. Only a slip is required."
He tilted his head slightly at her, raising a brow. “A spirit healer makes a bond with a particular spirit of Compassion. This allows them to perform feats of healing that other mages cannot, but it does come at a price. One must always be vigilant: if ever vengeance, rage, or other such feelings are allowed to taint the connection, the existing bond makes possession quite an easy matter, for the demon that results."
Asala was writing as he spoke, and when he came to a stop, her pencil lingered on the last letter as she slipped into thought. "Is there anyway to guard against it?" Asala asked, finally glancing up from her journal.
“Well, for one, most avoid contacting the spirit during battle, especially if they also have to do harm in one. Better not to risk the mixed messages. Spirit healers in training are rarely allowed to try drawing on the spirit's power outside of very controlled clinic settings." Cyrus shrugged. “Other than that, it comes down to mental discipline and personality. When healing, it is important to focus on your own compassion, your desire for the patient to live. It requires a certain... clarity of demeanor. And a certainty of purpose."
A wry look crossed his face. “Needless to say, I could not teach anyone the advanced techniques they would learn that way. I'm certainly in no position to be bonding to a spirit of that nature myself." His eyes met hers, and held them. “You though... you might well have what it takes."
"And... what is... that?" she asked, unsure which other question she should even ask. When he spoke of feelings of rage and vengeance, she could not help but think about how she felt when she saw the blighted dragon again. Now that it was far away elsewhere, where it would hopefully stay for a long while yet, she was calmer when she thought about it. However, there remained a twist in her chest when it came back to mind.
Cyrus pushed a short, soft breath from his nose, but when he replied, he seemed perfectly serious, eyes slightly narrowed and tone sincere. “A good heart."
Asala blushed and buried her face in the notes. Well, if he believed then... "So, uh..." she began, stammering. "If I, uh... wished to go through with it," she said, dragging her face back out of her notes to finally look vaguely in his direction. "How would I--how would we... start?" she asked. The books she had read that the mentor was also involved in a prospective spirit healer's tutelage--and though he was not a spirit healer himself, Cyrus knew of spirits.
As was typical, her reaction amused him more than anything, clearly, but his expression sobered again soon enough. “Well, the tricky part is forming the bond with the spirit. For you, learning the advanced techniques will also be a complication, but I'm sure if the Inquisition learns you're taking on the task, they will find someone who can pass those on. As for the spirit, well... you have no senior healer to help you with that. Fortunately, what you do have is better." He grinned there. “You have me."
He stood from his chair, crossing back to the bookshelves and pulling down several tomes she did not recognize, stacking them on the desk over the top of whatever he'd been working on when she came in. “Give me... three nights. I'll find you a spirit, and help you through whatever trial it has for you." He paused, glancing back at her over his shoulder.
“When you come back, bring some friends. I'll take care of the rest."
"Oh, yes. Of course," Asala said, rising to a stand as well. However, she paused for a moment and thought.
"And Cyrus? Thank you."