Gwendoline Amell

          The bitter laugh that comes from Wyatt’s throat is unintentional. He raises a hand to wave it off. “Apologies. It’s simply that—well—your words ring much truth. Not long ago, I dreamed about fighting in this battle.” Wyatt shakes his head. “Now? Now I wish no part of it.”

The sudden laugh takes her off guard and she turns to look at him with eyes that are slightly wider. She blinks at his explanation, brow raising slightly, "No? You don't wish to stop the blight?" Her tone is slightly incredulous but she lets it go as he continues to speak, head tilting as she nods. All of her knowledge of it comes from books as well.

          “The truth is nothing but the truth.” It’s not stated           rudely, just simply; if Eralyn is growing a little           tolerant of her, maybe just a bit, it’s only tolerance.           Not fondness. Not friendliness.

Gwen's gaze flicks back to Eralyn's face at the comment about the truth and her smile is returns slightly. It sounds like something one of her teachers might have said once, but it rings true. "I guess then, that it's more our reactions to those truths that matter." She shrugs, "I don't think Daveth or the others would appreciate the sentiment anyway." 

          Daveth, so thinks the elf, is something frustrating, something           angering, something that stokes the embers that still burn           viciously enough to cause her to make a face — displeased, and           the slightest amount of hostility in her gaze as she glances over           in the vague direction of the man. Gone, now, but out of sight,           out of mind does not apply here. 

A moment of warmth is gained fireside, the breeze inching the flames ever closer to Raime’s outstretched palms. Her gauntlets lay on the ground next to her feet, placed palm down and side-by-side. A sniff born of dropping temperatures wrinkles her nose, blue eyes flicking up to the Ferelden sky that has been nothing but gloomy and grey since she made the trek over the border. The sun of Navarra is sorely missed as she shivers inside the hulk of her steel shell.

Gwen blinks, taken aback by the way the stranger stiffens. Not that it is particularly surprising, since Ser Jory and several of the other people she'd met have reacted similarly. Logically she knows that it's a normal reaction to meeting a mage outside of the tower, she's been trying not to let herself put too much stock in it. But there's something about the reactions, so similar to the heavy stares of the Templars but still different. 

          She doesn’t jump. She doesn’t jump, she simply moves a           bit more suddenly to look towards the human who has found           her way towards the elf. Eralyn’s anger dissipates in a bitter           confusion then, brows drawn taut together. The only one to           approach her so far has been Duncan. Her surprise is no           doubt written across her face.

Gwen pulls a slight face, she's not overly fond of Daveth. He tends to set her on edge in a way that reminds her of the one Templar that she'd always tried to avoid the most. Which she tries to remind herself isn't fair, it isn't Daveth's fault that Cullen always creeped her out. Although it is his fault that he seems to be unable to keep from alienating the women he meets. 

          Wyatt isn’t doing much in his time of waiting until he and the other recruits are to be sent into the wilds. It bothers him. He’s left alone with his thoughts—thoughts he’d rather not deal with at all. The memory of his mother sending him off with Duncan causes a frown to form on his lips. He wants to scream, to lash out against something. When they finally leave the camp, it won’t be soon enough.

She blinks slightly, eyes falling to his hand and she hesitates for a few moments. She takes it hesitantly, doubting that he's realized who she is, what she is. "I would say it's nice to meet you, but..." She trails off, pulling back and glancing away, "The situation is hardly ideal."