faderift | I. OPEN.

Entry tags:

I. OPEN.

WHO: Dorian Pavus and other less dashing people.
WHAT: Training in a courtyard; other pre-planned threads.
WHEN: Firstfall in general.
WHERE: Skyhold, an open courtyard.
NOTES: Below are some open prompts for those who wish for a run in during Mage Fight Club aka How To Train Your Wizard aka How We Do In Tevinter. Catch him during, before, after. Note that there isn't magic being flung around (yet), it's fairly ordinary. This will also be a general dumping ground for individual pre-planned threads that need a home.

[ There is a courtyard within Skyhold, as dilapidated as the rest, that is one day going to be a garden. For now, it's a good enough retreat for the rebel mages that lies aside from the training grounds often dominated by the less magical. The ground is mud and weeds, and the sky is open above them, and a tree with orange leaves frames the shapes of mountains beyond.

Sometimes, Dorian trains on his own. There is a dance-like grace to the movements of staff and the man wielding it, feet light on the ground and tracking circles in the mud, following the heavy swing of seven feet of solid oak. He follows practiced motions, sans the presence of actual magic. A twirl of his staff over head, the thick sounding thud of the blunt end slamming into the dense earth, and sharper, quicker movements for what would likely be sharper, quicker spellwork. Sometimes he is observed. Sometimes he is not. Regardless as to status of audience, he definitely likes to show off.

Sparring, equally. The clak-clak-thud of wooden staves meeting, locking, scraping together as he and another willing mage practice their more ordinary skills. Sometimes he loses, and often he wins, graceful in victory and defeat.

Unless he is knocked off his feet, or earns himself a bruise, then he might curse their mother.

And there are other times, later times, when he shifts into a role of teacher. Not all mages are trained in combat, after all, and some may like to learn -- even from a Tevinter. (Maybe especially from a Tevinter, but who would admit that out loud?) He demonstrates, slowly, staff work, guides those willing to listen and imitate with a certain educated patience, the occasional funny remark about turning their feet out. Sometimes, these sessions are simply standing about, and he explains with big words and big hand gestures the way one might finesse certain spells in combat situations.

He takes breaks, in between and after, perched atop crumbled stone with one leg across the other -- watching and thinking. ]

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[ He'd considered the place and time of this meeting with a little care. He found it poor form to socialise overly much in the library, for instance, and the cramped confines meant that anything they had to say to each other would be overheard by anyone. The battlements make for a nice view, and even the biting wind coming off the snowy slopes beyond wouldn't have put him off, but instinctive conscientiousness has him compelled not to make their socialising a display to anyone glancing upwards.

The tavern seems common. And full of Templars.

It's under the shade of the tree in the location that might be a garden some day that Dorian summons her instead. Despite his urgency, he suggests a sun down time, when the space is a little emptier, and they might watch some of the rebel mages wander by and huddle amongst themselves. Dorian isn't picnicking on the ground, oh no -- there are a couple of benches already set up beneath the shade of the tree with its orange, wintry leaves, one of which he has straddled as he inspects the bottle of wine he's procured likely through a card game or a victorious sparring match.

There are also a couple of mugs. He isn't a savage.

As she arrives, he is currently summoning an incredibly mild heat glyph, glimmering across the glass under his fingers. Just enough to warm the wine. ]

Edited 2015-11-01 13:08 (UTC)

[ Come urgently- but wait until dusk. It must be some manner of Tevinter peculiarity that made him write that it is urgent, an apology can be offered in writing as much as it can in person but after the past few days? Adelaide is not going to turn down a free glass of wine provided it isn't Fereldan.

If it is she may very well take offense and leave, apology or no.

Between the hour and the tension not only among the other mages but her students in particular a moment's respite and a drink are direly needed- the garden is as inoffensive a place to share it as any. Benches, mugs, and warmed wine? He either feels terribly guilty or terribly thoughtful. ]

I must say this is not what I had expected when you wrote.

[ A corner in the tavern or hurried glass in the library, perhaps, but not anything quite so- well. Considerate. She settles with a tense grace upon one of the benches after propping her staff against the trunk of the tree. Likely she won't be needing it. ]

[ Dorian will accept his being fickle as a mark of his being foreign, and a host of other sins. He'd probably prefer that accusations as to his being considerate be chalked up to that too. ]

Ha, well. Unfortunately, I only thought to extend invitation after the quiet hour had passed at the tavern.

[ He pours them both polite doses, and the scent of spiced wine immediately lifts with steam in the cold air. The heat glyphs gently fade off the glass, gone by the time he lists sideways to set it aside on even ground. ]

And of what we have to discuss, I'd prefer not to shout over bard songs and calls for second rounds.

What is there to discuss? I was under the impression this was an apologetic invitation.

[ Not that she is at all against discussing- well. Anything in particular. For a companion to the Herald she has nothing but time to offer. Besides. Drinking silently does not seem much like something Dorian would do.

She accepts her glass with a lifted salute before taking a sip. ]

Well, I wouldn't like you to think you've been ensnared. An apology warrants several words, at least.

[ But there is naturally something else, or else he might have simply gifted her the spiced wine. Dorian's acts of regret are measured performances, not to be done lightly.

He hefts his glass. ]

My behaviour was regretful. Deserving as that man might have been, you were caught in the middle of it all, which was certainly not my intention. I apologise.

[ He is sincere, if self-aware as to his affectation judging by the smile behind his expression. ]

Now, what are we going to do about all these mages?

[ Wine sip. ]

By words of regret and warmed wine? What a dastardly trap by the 'evil Tevinter Magister' indeed. How ever am I to resist?

[ Dry and not unkind- more amused by those particular rumors than anything else. While he had acted out of anger so had most everyone involved in that scuffle and every altercation that night. Grief makes fools of templars and mages alike. ]

You are forgiven.

[ She can't blame him for taking a swing- truly she ought to have known better than to get involved.

What comes next, though, has her choking on her wine. ]

What?

Edited 2015-11-01 23:32 (UTC)

What are we going to do about all these mages?

[ ...he repeats, with the same inflection. Mercy moves him to explain; ]

Little as I like to agree with anything the Knight-Commander has to say, for he'd sooner see me frog-marched out of Skyhold than not, there's truth in that the mages could use guidance, if not discipline. As of now, if a mage bullies a Templar, they can cry to Baratheon or Sauveterre about it rather than petition to meet with the leadership and be put on their to do list. The mages haven't quite the same support in the reverse scenario, and as such, will behave independently. Or misbehave independently.

You were quite the compelling voice of authority, Lady LeBlanc, before I ruined it.

While I agree that we need some form of leadership- circle titles matter for precious little and any Junior or Senior Enchanter that I've spoken to on the matter has yet to wish to step forward. We remember all too well what happened at the last gathering of the College and how that ended.

[ Blood in the halls, blood in the water. Lips pressed thin she takes another, deeper sip of wine, as though the spiced warmth of it can remove the bitterness of that night. ]

You would have me step forward? What possible authority could I claim? I'm a healer, a teacher- not a leader. [ Knight Commander Stannis had made that much plain- and despite his temperament and his tone- she has to agree. She cannot command anyone. ]

I'm not suggesting we construct a Circle. What a mess that would be! You southerners can't even agree as to what a Circle is supposed to be, and the mages that take up residence here were fighting for the dissolution of that very notion. No, no, that wouldn't do.

[ Dorian's gestures don't seem to ever risk spilling his wine. He has a lot of practice. ]

What would do is a representative at the very least. You may not be a commander, but you're sympathetic, you value their education, and you didn't flinch from Baratheon at his most boorish. You might not be able to claim authority, true, and I'm not suggesting you commence a take over.

But it's worthy of consideration, is it not?

Edited 2015-11-02 01:38 (UTC)

It is a familiar point of reference for those of us that had Circles that worked- that is all. Recreating them would be...Not possible and entirely unwise.

[ Another deep drink. A representative? She can be a point of authority for those she brought from Andoral's reach only because she'd already been their teacher. But these other mages? No. ]

Someone must step forward, perhaps more than one. I cannot imagine Fereldan mages would be pleased to have no voice.

[ Dorian opens his mouth to argue or sass on instinct, but closes it again before he can. Southerners don't really look all the same to him, and maybe a joke to that effect would be ill timed.

His gaze narrows speculatively, suspicious of her backing off, before readjusting his sit on the bench to kick one leg over the other knee. ]

Very well, [ he concedes. ] But you said it yourself -- you've yet to encounter anyone of the rebels willing to do what should be done, and I would be suspicious of anyone who wants to lead this rabble.

We cannot exactly put a request on the bulletin board or hold a meeting over it to place a vote- not without a lot of suspicion and lurking from templars. Which I would rather do without if we are to find our own leader. I suppose your nationality is the one thing that keeps you from offering your experience?

[ Wouldn't that sour Stannis' mood further, if such a thing were possible. She takes another sip of her wine, tipping the empty cup in Dorian's direction. Such a discussion should probably happen sober but there's too much bound up in the last meeting she'd held with mages attempting to govern themselves for her to think on this calmly. ]

As I said- recent history with mages and their leaders makes people weary. There was a vote, it wasn't what the templars or the Chantry wished to hear, people died. I came here to get away from that.

[ Dorian laughs. ]

As much as I'd pay money to see the look on Baratheon's face upon my announcing myself in charge of the mages, no, that wouldn't be wise.

[ But he settles down to seriousness at the next part, a twinge of sympathy about him behind otherwise cool remove. Ah, the south. ]

You came to the right place. I trust Cullen, Josephine, Leliana, Cassandra, all of them, to uphold what the Herald began, and she gave mages their freedom. We aren't ordained by the Chantry, nor beholden to the Templars, no matter what Baratheon pretends. Any attempts to create structure and order amongst us will be welcomed, so long as someone sensible -- like yourself -- is there to start the conversation. It should be posed as an opportunity for guidance and education, not martial law.

I was there the day they were recruited, you know.

[ People seem to forget he didn't just ride a fancy chariot all the way from Tevinter into Haven. He reminds at a nudge. ]

I also don't see why we can't put a message on the bulletin board, or the like. Transparency would be welcomed better than cloak and dagger, wouldn't you say?

They are doing well despite the difficulties presented by having both mages and templars at their disposal. It is for them and the Herald's memory more than anything else that I would like to have this settled.

[ They fought and she had died for this- to see this matter. Fighting amongst themselves is as much spitting on her name as it is endangering everyone else in the hold. ]

I heard a rumor, yes. And...it is less that I would have this be done in secret than it is I would rather not have my name put to this. Whoever is chosen would have to have dealings with not only Commander Cullen and Seeker Cassandra and the rest- but the Templars as well as equals and be able to see them objectively. I cannot. My bias is well known.

Should you put your name to it- your connection to the Herald, the good you've done? May be enough.

[ Dorian's eyebrows lift at her more measured suggestion, although there's no sign of agreement. Still, it is in a little way appreciated, and he ducks a look down at the mug in his hand, watching the particles of herb rest on its glossy surface.

He turns his wrist, swirling the mulled wine slightly. ]

I shan't condescend to remind you all of what my nation represents. I've much good still left to do, and it won't start with me acting exactly as they'd imagine a Tevinter magister to act -- wresting control for myself over others, no matter what my intent. They escaped the rule of one Tevinter already. No, I cannot. There are other ways I can lend my experience, and I intend to, just not in this.

Your bias is cultivated in experience too. The rebel mages would not accept an apologist of the Templars.

...I do hate admitting when I am wrong.

[ It will have to be her to start the discussion, it seems. For this? She most certainly needs another glass of wine, if not another bottle. Adelaide peers into the middle distance, remembered tension attempting to creep up her spine and choke her. Step forward. Be the voice of reason. Be sensible.

Be stabbed for it.

Or strangled by a gauntleted hand for daring so much as to speak or question.

She rubs at her throat with a grimace, recalling so simple a request as wishing to pass without violence all too easily. How it all erupted in nothing but violence and what came after. ]

My bias comes from a rather singular event. Until then...I did not mind them or what they did so long as I was left to my studies. I did not pay enough attention to have an opinion.

Edited 2015-11-02 04:41 (UTC)

[ The neck of the bottle clinks against Adelaide's cup as a second helping is knowingly poured into the container. ]

All that says is that you've seen them at their worst, and at their-- passably tolerable, I suppose. I do hate when I'm levelled with personal questions--

[ Dorian tops himself up too. ]

--but if you did wish to talk about it, you may.

[ Should he continue to be so perceptive and generous with his wine- mostly the generosity- she may very well start to like Dorian. At least enough to make this particular twist of conversation tolerable.

It is personal, it is not so far behind her she might rest easy- but after taking a fortifying sip of the mulled wine and, ha, mulling over it herself for a moment perhaps offering a bit of an explanation for her bias may be of use. ]

Before here my students and I were hiding with many other Orlesian mages in Andoral's Reach- and before that we were of the White Spire. We were there for the conclave, for the bloodshed. Things had been...difficult and strange leading up to the meeting- mages murdered, word of what happened in Kirkwall, whispers of rebellious circles. But we had our place and it was not so terrible of one, the library was massive, we were allowed to research much provided we had a templar in the room to make certain nothing went wrong- it was not perfect but no Circle truly was.

[ They were a place of protection and education- until they became neither. Adelaide keeps her eyes on the wine in her mug, speaking to it rather than looking at Dorian directly. ]

All we did, we did within the laws and rules as outlined by the Chantry, the templars. We were permitted to meet and vote for the Circles- even with the restrictions placed by the then Lord Seeker as to who might attend the last Conclave and vote, we obeyed. We listened. And when we did as we were allowed to choose for ourselves, well. Bloodshed. Only the First Enchanters were in the meeting- the rest of us had more time before the Templars came down on us- we did not know what was wrong, only that we needed to leave.

[ Again her hand rests against her collar, thumb sweeping idly along the skin of her throat. ]

We heard fighting on the way out- saw the blood in the halls. A templar stood in the way- one I knew if not well. He had been present for my harrowing, for much of my research and training as a spirit healer lest I be possessed. [ Her lips twist, a bitter knot in her throat roughens her voice for a moment. ] I'd bring him tea, on occasion. I thought-

I thought I trusted him. Or was right to. I asked to pass, I had children with me, I only wanted to get them away from the fighting and see them safe, I did not know what was happening- he did not listen. I cannot remember precisely what it was he said in reply if he said anything at all. I had turned to gesture to the children, he put his hand on my shoulder, I thought he would let us go.

[ She takes a steadying breath and a deep sip of her wine. The warmth does more for her at the moment than the spices, but it's something to keep her mouth from going dry. This part- this is the difficult part. Divorcing herself from the moment only works so well, voice low and thick. ]

More the fool I, truly. He took me by the throat. Held me to the wall. I've- I've never seen so much hate in anyone's eyes before. For a moment I thought he was going to hold me to cut me down but- he was going to strangle me. In front of the children. And likely do the same to them afterward.

[ Turns out, Dorian is as decent a listener as he is a talker, or at least he is now, and stays quiet as she explains, letting her tale unfold as it may. He isn't sheltered, as far as a Tevinter man goes, and he knows of barbarism in far-flung lands, both the stuff of legend as well as the haunting truth. The Tevinter Imperium is not, Maker knows, the promise land for mage freedoms and safety -- they kill one another as frequently as anyone else would only wish to -- but this is something else.

He imagines, perhaps, that not all of that hatred in that Templar's eyes was for Adelaide or magekind alone.

That isn't something he says -- indeed, he doesn't say anything for a time, taking a deep pull of wine as he thinks. He might have liked the whip-crack in her tone that evening, but he has to understand, too, her hesitation. He thumbs away scarlet moisture off his own lip, before glancing at her. ]

What happened to you was appalling cruelty, and utterly senseless. I'm sorry.

[ He considers, and asks, or prompts-- ]

You defended yourself.

[ Fear is easily masked by anger. The whole of that night- the entirety of the brawl? She'd been terrified of it becoming something more than a scuffle. It takes so little from either side for it all to go wrong, she's seen that. What composure and distance she's held thusfar cracks along with her voice, it's but a rough, wavering thing now. ]

I did not. I could not. More than frozen by fear- there are rules I must obey to keep my partnership with my Spirit. I must not use magic to do harm. Demons, Darkspawn, the undead- these I may strike down.

But a Templar? I could not. I didn't have the breath to cast- I wanted to. Andraste preserve me, but I wanted to.

[ That much she's never admitted before. Wanting to strike back. To not have been so afraid as to be locked within herself. To be bound by a contract that saved too few lives that day. What wine is left in her mug she drains. To sooth or to fortify- it matters little. All that is left are the dregs and she stares down into it rather than look up to Dorian. It's easier. ]

Roul, my eldest student. He defended me with lightening. Killed the Templar.

[ It would be easier for her to bear if she'd killed him herself. Stunned him, froze him, something. Leaving that to the hands of someone she was supposed to protect? It is not unthinkable so much as she finds it disgraceful. ]

Knowing that we would not be spared for anything- I held to my oath. I did not harm any other Templar on our way out of the Spire. But I locked them in place as we passed, much as you saw that night. Other mages struck them down. Apparently even spirits believe in loopholes if given cause, though they took no prompting or excuses from me to be compelled to assist.

I saw templars and mages behave monstrously that day, Dorian. It will not take much for it to happen again here.

[ Dorian does go to top up her cup once she's finished with her last -- it's a polite, more token splash, one last mouthful, before corking the bottle once more and setting it on the bench between them. It is hers to have, after all. ]

You understand the danger. And you see the potential for its ignition in both sides.

[ Oh, he's seen the war. He's done some peace keeping in the Hinterlands and wider Ferelden after the Herald welcomed him into the inner circle, and witnessed first hand the ferocity and the passion and the destruction burning between both sides. It's not a context, nor a reality he's ever had to face previously.

He doesn't like these Templars on principle, but he doesn't hate them. They are foreign qualities, and so are the southern mages, in their way. ]

With any luck, it won't ever blaze. They've all a reason not to let it. It will take, on occasion, reminding.

Luck is not going to keep it from happening, Dorian. Even looking back to what was done will not prevent the hold from exploding.

[ A sensible voice from both sides, some manner of compromise, cooperation. Much as she loathes the idea of trusting them it is something that must be done or else it'll be the Spire all over again.

He is right. He is right and for a moment she hates him for it. All she wants is to do good works, to mind her students, to be safe. Calling undue attention to herself, to them, to any mage has never ended well. And he's implying that she ought to do so because she was sensible. She should have walked on when she saw the scuffle, she decides. But she had not and more the fool she- and now she has his attention.

Why could she never keep her head down?

Adelaide frowns into her mug, finishes the wine and pinches the bridge of her nose. He's right. ]

...this would be easier to ignore if the rumors about you being an evil maleficar were true. Why must you be so reasonable?

[ That earns a laugh -- tame, sedate and heavy from more serious topics that came just before, but genuine. ]

Reason, [ he echoes and answers, and now he rocks forward enough to lever himself to his feet, sensing he has given her enough to think about. ] There's precious little of it in Tevinter, you know. That's why I'm here.

Do enjoy the wine, [ he adds, a gesture towards the remaining bottle. ] But not all today.

I make no such promises.

[ But she sets the bottle aside all the same. Tomorrow, perhaps, or the next day she will delve into it again. But for now? She has had her fill. ]

Try not to get into any trouble between here and the library, yes?

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I. OPEN.

the future garden. adelaide leblanc.

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