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WHO: Nerva Lecuyer and literally anyone who wants in on the fun
WHAT: A Templar escorting two Tranquil arrives at Skyhold
WHEN: From nowish and open to people as they come back from the Mire
WHERE: The courtyard
NOTES: lots of hatred

It was incredibly cold, and getting colder, but the deep fur cloak around her shoulders insulated her armour and kept most of the wind off, so it was bearable. Her charges, however - two Tranquil that she had rescued as she fled from the Templars - were difficult. They would not mind the cold even if it was killing them, so she had to be extra vigilant in checking them over for frostbite every night that they made camp. When they finally made it to Skyhold, her soul was as exhausted as her body, and she only made a very cursory introduction before pleading for a place to lay her head, and for protection for the Tranquil. Once she had both, she slept for a long time.

The next morning was bright and clear, and the air felt warmer in the castle despite the early winter that stormed in the mountains around them. She was at a loss, for a few minutes, as to what she should be doing - the entire Inquistion unfamiliar and disconcerting. So few templars, and so many mages, coming and going freely, with no regulation or safety structures in place...

She would take her concerns directly to the leaders of the Inquisition, once she better understood the situation. Until then, it was time to get her bearings.

Training in the courtyard made things easier - let her take her mind off of everything and focus only on shield and blade. She had to pause, however, as she found that her two charges were watching her, waiting for orders.

"The Inquisition is our Order now," she told them solemnly. "You do not report to me, but I am at your disposal if you are in need of any assistance." She knew that assistance would never be requested, but she would offer it again, when she saw them.

Later, she would spend a long time in the Chantry, trying to find some kind of guidance.

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"They don't want to be in shoes. How would they hear the stones sing?"

Simon had tried countless times to fit her into shoes, and they always wound up missing. Or buried in the courtyard garden. Or as a chewtoy for someone's hound. It had become a game of sorts to see what uses one might have for shoes beyond covering one's feet.

Her toes wiggled in the breeze, as if to prove her point. Every bit as nimble as they'd ever been, if incredibly dirty.

"Stones only sing if you happen to be a dwarf," She said firmly, with the absolute knowledge of someone who never doubted her own senses. "And you are no dwarf. Your feet will prefer to be in shoes than to be withered and dead, I promise you."

What on earth was she doing, even arguing this.

"I won't force you to wear them, River, but you really must come down, regardless. I can't leave you up there. What if you fell, and hurt someone walking by? That would be on my head, now, too."

"Not unless you were under me."

The corner of her mouth tipped upwards, but only for a moment. She would insist on it, and it might cause trouble. The last thing Simon needed was another templar hounding him, given the circumstances.

She was cold and steel and glass, colder than the stone, but she would not hurt her without cause. Unlike the other templar she'd run across already. Biting her lip she finally nodded, reaching down to grasp her hand with her own, and leaping. The earth here was frigid and firm, but still she managed to land light on her feet.

There, that look seemed to say when it rested on her again. Happy?

The humour was completely lost on the templar, but Nerva visibly relaxed as the girl made her way down - her grip upon River's hand firm, but not overly so, and she waited until she was sure the girl was safely upright before letting go.

"There." She said, giving River a good look over now that she was on the ground. "If you wish to sit in high places, you may go up to the ramparts, or to the bridge. There's no need to endanger others in the meantime." It was half scolding and half instruction manual.

She half wanted to ask 'now who's are you?', but given the talk of chains earlier, it did not seem appropriate. "Are you here alone?" She said instead, as she might ask a wayward child.

"Are you?"

One person to another, they ought to be able to speak just the same to one another. This wasn't the Circle, or Tevinter. Roles and functions and social hierarchy were different here...though it was more a curious question than anything else.

She hadn't been alone earlier. The Tranquil could very well still be nearby.

"Yes." It didn't occur to her to not answer the question - after all, it was a simple one, and an answer to it might encourage the same in return.

"I arrived with some others, but I am alone." The Tranquil could hardly be thought of as 'hers' - they were part of the Inquisition's forces, now, and no Tranquil could honestly be considered a friend. So she would worry about them, and check up on them, but could not in good conscience claim to be anything other than alone. Everyone else in the castle was a stranger.

"Together but alone."

River's brow furrowed faintly, but she didn't request clarification. "Never so lost as in a crowd. So much noise you can't help but see the quiet ones," she murmured, though mostly to herself before shaking her head.

"Simon. Simon came for me, came with me, but he has to heal. Help. I don't like the way they sound when they're dying," she added softly, after a moment.

"He's dying?" she said instantly, misunderstanding River's strange, sing-song speech. The concern was immediate. River was not well. If her care giver was dying--

But then it finally seemed to click in, and the concern was placed by a frown. "You mean he is the healer," she murmured, more to herself than to River. Came for her, came with her, chains--

"Did he rescue you?"

She nodded quietly, gaze falling to the grass nearby, watching it flutter in the sharp breeze, stirring the edge of her dress. He'd found her, when she'd been so certain no one ever would, that she was beyond saving.

She hadn't been entirely wrong. Her stomach gives an uncomfortable lurch at the thought.

"Found the pieces the snakes didn't swallow. He's trying to put them together again into a girl, but...it's hard for him."

Mages. She had no idea what the snakes were, but the only kind of power that would tear apart an innocent girl and turn her into this? Mages. An intense kind of empathy welled up - a vicious empathy, a vengeful one. She reached out and grasped River's hand, squeezing it.

"Then I am sure he is the best of men," She said with complete conviction. "But then it is even more imperative that you do not endanger yourself, yes? We would not want you to have to visit him in the healer's tents."

"We're always in danger," she replied simply, though her eyes flickered back up to the templar. In danger of that exact frame of mind, or those who fit it. The conflicting roil of emotions swept through her like a wave of nausea, and she closed her eyes and shook her head slowly.

"Worse things than falling."

There were many, many, worse things than falling - and the steel in Nerva's blood was proof. The result of a thousand wounds, and only few of them physical. Piling up until her heart was made of more scar tissue than blood.

Rage was easy, when you could see yourself in every shadowed look.

"Yes." It was true. They were always in danger, and there were worse things. "But that is why we protect ourselves, from what we can. Why --" what was his name again? "-- why Simon protected you, when you could not."

River stared back at her, glassy-eyed.

"You protect people from monsters."

Her voice was hollow around the shape of the word. Monster. That's what they are, what she is, a threat to the common people. Something to be feared or studied or locked away or put down. But she's not wrong. She's felt their touch on the inside of her head and knows them for what they are.

Nerva was taken aback, for a second, before she realised what she was wearing. She glanced down at the armour, and then back up at River, nodding.

"Yes. Sometimes. And I protect people from themselves - from the magic, and their weakness, and the demons that might pray on it. If I do my job correctly, then I never have to protect anyone from a monster at all."

"But if the monsters became real, you'd stop them. You'd protect the others."

That's almost a relief. She wasn't a danger to those closest if there was someone in the way, someone who wouldn't pity a mage because they happened to look like a delicate young girl. Simon thought templars should be feared, avoided.

River knew better now.

"They're hard to see until they have hold," she pressed on, licking at her chapped lips briefly. "You don't get away. Cages open and feet feel earth moving under them, but they're there. If you turn back to look."

"Yes." She answers, though the phrase 'You'd protect the others' draws a slight wariness into her voice. River continues, and it's impossible to make sense of the words, leaving her at an utter loss. But cages. Cages, she catches. Cages, and a desperate need to escape.

Her brain manages to twist the words into something that makes the most sense to Nerva, even if it isn't what's meant, and she nods again. She squeezed River's hands, still holding them.

"I protect them from themselves, and I protect everyone else if they are overwhelmed and the demons take them. And I will protect you, River, you have my word."

"Too cold in the mountain for snakes," she murmurs, her eyes lowering thoughtfully. "Some came south, but they don't bite. Don't carry poison. They're safe until you make them not be."

The woman's hands are rough, but they're firm. She understands, even if the circumstances are different. She believes she'll try to do good, but the worst can often come from the most well-meaning.

"... The snakes," She finally says, as a piece falls into place. "River. The snakes, are they from Tevinter? Were you - were you held there?"

That vicious empathy vibrates within her, but her hands somehow don't tremble, her voice doesn't waver. The 8 year old girl that wants to reach out and hug River fiercely is long, long gone, and the woman that remains has her shield and sword, instead. But some wounds never heal.

It's then she goes quiet, still. But the haunted look in her eyes says enough. Tevinter. She'd once thought it exciting, exotic. Now it holds nothing but crumbling black statues and bad memories in her mind. And everywhere those banners, the serpent against a white banner.

"Can't...get the poison out. Simon tries, but..." She swallows thickly. "Things aren't right anymore. He shouldn't have to."

"I'm sorry," Nerva says, and there's a wealth of honest feeling there, as she lets go of one of River's hands, only to reach out and brush the hair from the girl's eyes.

"I will not ask you to remember more. I - I understand, better than you know. We do not have to speak of it again."

There was a pause, for a moment, as her hand fell away.

"Will you let me meet Simon? I am not sure... I am not sure that I could help, but I would like to offer it, if it turns out to be useful in any capacity."

River's eyes close for a moment. Rage seethes around this woman, would take her if it knew how, but she's too full of things that won't let them in. Wrong things, old things. She's human, for good or ill.

She's not one they need fear, at any rate.

Quietly the girl nods, lifting a hand and pointing towards the healer's tents. He's there, almost without fail, when he is out looking for her after she's crept away somewhere. Always where he can do the most good.

They've found enough people in Skyhold who pitied River more than feared her, enough for Simon to no longer immediately give in to worried fear when he noticed River was out of his sight. They could be trusted to look after her while he worked...and in the moment he worked fervently. He had an idea that might help her. It involved getting his fingers stained with herbs, working on the right mix that might, at least temporarily, quiet the voices in her head and give her some measure of peace.

Simon was bent low over his work in his tent, one flap left open for those in need. Just because Simon was working for his sister's benefit did not mean he would shirk his duty to the Inquisition. It made him easy to find.

She doesn't let go of River's other hand as she nods - the protective rage not subsided enough to allow the loss of contact - and walks with her back to the tents.

It isn't hard to find him - most of the other healers are already in the mire, she already knows Bruce, and the other two around are women. So she approached Simon with an air of confidence, her hand still clasped around his sister's.

Her templar armour on full display.

"You are Simon, are you not?"

It doesn't look good, from the outside, but River seems calm enough. A little worried, perhaps, but she's not fighting the hold on her hand. Maybe that will be enough to keep Simon from fearing the worst straight away.

Maybe.

Her armor gave her approach away before she addressed him, but Simon's eyes were still on his work until the last possible moment. He was working with a small scale, watching the balance carefully until he heard his name.

"Yes, what can I--" Simon looked up dutifully and then froze in a faintly telling way. His eyes widened slightly at the flaming sword engraved on her breastplate, plus the fact that she had a very firm grip on his little sister's hand...

It was clear that he did not like what he saw, though he did not openly panic.

"What happened?" he asked, rising to his feet and crossing the small distance. Not 'what did she do', so he didn't fear the worst. Though he certainly feared close enough.

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