OPEN | coldest comfort, safety glass

[limier]

WHO: Wren, Anders, Gwen, and OTA.
WHAT: Arrivals at Skyhold & Junk.
WHEN: Post-Winter Palace. Catchall.
WHERE: Skyhold.
NOTES: I'll edit if anything comes up!

Starters in comments. If you'd like a specific starter, or to make plans for later in the month, just let me know on plurk or Discord (oeste #8807).  :)

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[limier]

A great man, Drakon — not a good one. What she's studied of his legacy is as much ruthless pragmatism as it is the fever of belief. But mercy and humility never did hold a nation together, did they?

This is a business of blades, and not lanterns.

"Aye," The Chant used to feel like hypocrisy in her mouth, but that was only vestigial guilt, pushed away with its god. The words remain a common language, rubbed smooth. "It is on this count I must turn to the matter of Halamshiral's reinforcements."

A breath, a short pace apart; a small, conscious attempt to divide the discussion.

"From intelligence recovered of previous strikes, we have established a tentative list of names. Those suspected to be among Corypheus' ranks, matched against those unaccounted for in official record. Such methods remain imprecise."

[judgemewhole]

Alas, they did not. If they had, then Alistair Therrin would be King of Fereldan. He does not know if that would make things worse -- or in fact better in the long run.

Now, his eyebrows raise in surprise. Of all the things he expected to come of this, the Chantry asking his help to find -- desserters was not one of them. His expression became narrowed with dryness.

"So, you wish to have full lists of whom we have here?" He stated simply, "Or are you asking me to ferry out the rest of the 'lost ones'?"

[limier]

"Neither." It's easier to retain a neutral mask for this than it is upon the topic of Anders. She's had more practice. "Your time is limited."

And if time isn't money to them, it remains capital. She might just write the damn thing herself, it'd be as reliable. They already know of those taking fake names to serve. The business of checking those stories will be tedious; a project to be reserved for quieter days.

"But if you are aware of any witnesses to the event — yourself, your men, others who may be able to place names to faces," Provided there was enough face left to judge. She's seen the grotesqueries of late-stage red lyrium exposure. "I am aware the odds are slim, but even one identification could be of potential value in tracking their movements. Determining when their forces might have made contact with the Freemen."

She tips her head in faint watchfulness. If there's a topic they're going to diverge seriously upon, she suspects this may be it.

"And in informing their kin."

[judgemewhole]

He nodded his head once - that in itself is the truth. He has very little time to hunt down every red templar deserter - even those colluding with the Freemen of the Dales.

The further she goes on, though, his gaze goes from amused to thoughtful. He nodded his head slowly, before he glances over at her, "I would be willing to assist, as I am sure my people would be."

There is a pause. A long pause.

"...a cruel thing, for any family to hear." Is his simple statement, "But they do deserve to know what has happened." That - that much he knows. Now, however, his expression tightens.

"There ... there is another resource. That would further your cause, much faster. I am loathe to suggest it."

[limier]

She nods, good. The easier this can be, the better.

"Doubt is its own form of cruelty." It is with Bergier, with Gervais; with all those little lost apprentices, swallowed by a ghost. "We needn't give much detail. The — standard notices might be modified. They will remember the Order more kindly that we granted their blood humanity in death."

His face tenses, and she resists the urge to lift an eyebrow. Norrington’s bloody reputation grapples thus far with a sentimental streak. What’s stirring the waters?

"I would not be loathe to hear of it. The sooner that connections might be drawn, the better."

If she’s right about Bergier's brother, then Reed’s right about what a leak could mean. Quick confirmation will be key.

[judgemewhole]

He sighs, pressing his gloved hands together, as if he is praying right there for guidance from the Maker himself. Considering his expression, he might be. After a moment, he speaks tightly, "We have an ... individual in the dungeons. He would be able to identify the men more easily than any of us."

He gives her a grim look, "However, I am not sure how far his word could be trusted. He is not precisely the trustworthy sort."

[limier]

So I shouldn't buy that bridge in the Mire he's selling?

"An individual," A conscious gentility to the words, prodding. Out with it. "Might tell us much through the omission of fact."

Maferath’s balls, what’s pushed the boy so far? Venatori, or a captured officer — they seem the only likely possibilities. Perhaps they’ve taken a captain off one of the mines. If Reed is any indication, the Inquisition would not preserve the rank and file.

[judgemewhole]

She must not, certainly. It's probably tainted with red lyrium and ancient darkspawn.

He pressed his lips together once more, his teeth grinding together before he stated, "He might do it for his men. A commander would want to see that his people got the proper return to their families."

He gave her a meaningful look, "And he does know all of his men, Ser Coupe." Every last one of them, if James was to take a guess. Samson seemed to be that kind of leader, damn him to the Black City.

[limier]

Oh, fuck.

Her eyes press shut, arms shifting out at a hard angle to — well, she reigns it in, plants them on her hips instead. If her hands grind the plate, at least they're not balled into fists.

She’ll grant herself a moment to recenter, before looking up again.

"How long has he been in Inquisition custody?" Slowly. If she chooses the words carefully enough, perhaps she can avoid losing her temper aloud. It’s not as though Norrington has a damn thing to do with it. She likes this sort of surprise as little as he must like keeping his greasy red mirror in the cells. "The men taken during his capture, what was done with their remains?"

Wren can't think that Samson was unguarded. If Norrington's judgment rings true, he may want to know what became of his soldiers. The disposal of the dead is permissible intelligence, where the fates of the living cannot be revealed.