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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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The Tranquil were horrifying, a glimpse of what might have happened, what still might. They would never hear the songs pressing through the Veil, never see or touch or taste in any sense but a practical one. They were empty, echoing and hollow, and she shied away from them quite visibly.

Which might have explained how she'd gotten up onto that stone ledge in the first place, bare feet dangling near the edge of a banner. It was a good view of the training ring and the soldiers passing through it.

There was a new one today, a woman with severe features and a terrible darkness clinging to her. They liked her, but couldn't touch her. She was too full of the other thing, solid as stone, and couldn't be filled or taken or touched.

Not anymore.

Her dark eyes followed the woman's movement as she swung her sword, hefted her shield, but neither weapon was as impressive as the sharp steel under her skin.

Rachette was not a fan of the cold. She'd barely encountered it in the cozy depths of Orzammar, chills running through the darker tunnels and in the deep abandoned places where darkspawn never slept, had tried to get used to it on her time on the surface. So this whole cold and winter thing? Not a big fan of it.

But she wasn't about to let that show. If she was going to be effective for this whole Inquisition, then she'd have to suck it up and get used to it. Which meant being out and about.

It also meant, in this case, watching some new face talking to two other people with extremely blank, calm faces. They unnerved her with how they seemed to have no reaction to anything around them. She kept watching from a short distance, squinting as if she might discern something more about the situation. At some point when they had gone, slow and distant as ever, she had to poke around.

"What's wrong with them?"

Nerva's focus was intense - working through the training routine without a spared thought for the world around her. All that existed were shield and blade. Unknowing, she reached for the other and solidified reality around her. Stone and steel.

It wasn't until she finished that she gave in to the creeping feeling that she was being watched. She set down her shield against the training dummy - nearly as tall as it was - and scanned the training area for the source of the feeling. She almost would have missed the girl, save for the glimpse of bare feet. Nerva shot a look up to the girl on the edge, her brow furrowing as the hair raised on the back of her neck.

She sheathed her sword and walked over.

"That is not safe," She said firmly, "And if you should fall, you endanger others." She managed to stop before simply commanding the girl to come down - after all, she did not have the authority to do so - but the unspoken words clipped against he teeth like iron.

Nerva turned to the voice, glancing down to see the dwarf. That, at least, explained why she did not know - and for good reason. Dwarves were free of the curse of magic.

"They are the Tranquil," She explained simply. "Former mages who have forsaken nearly everything, for protection and peace. There is nothing wrong with them - they are what they are."

If you should fall, you endanger others. More true than she knew, at a glance. Layers that almost brought a smile to her face, but instead only brought a mild twitch to her lips.

"Not safe," she repeated softly, feet swinging, heels gently bumping up against the cold stone as they bumped backward. Her skin had started to goosepimple in the chilly breeze, but it was a secondary sensation.

And she hadn't so much as blinked at Nerva yet.

Nerva stood, solidly, waiting for a second thought to follow the first, but instead the girl just stayed where she was, openly defiant. Well - perhaps defiant wasn't exactly the word. It was disturbing, none the less. Nerva pulled in a breath, wishing not for the first time that she was back in the circle. At least there, if someone were acting strange, she knew why. But the girl could be anything from a wayward refugee to an assassin to an insane mage, and not knowing which was making the pulse behind Nerva's eyebrow twitch.

She stepped closer, holding up an armoured arm. So much for not having the authority. If it turned out that the girl somehow outranked her, she'd apologize later.

"Come down."

Instead, she drew her feet up, arms hugging around her knees, peering out from over them at the sternly commanding woman like a cat up a tree. Perhaps not the best option. She would not be happy being ignored.

"Hand missing the leash, certainty of chains to replace the ones that were, too familiar to leave forever." River's shoulders hunched, throat bobbing in a silent swallow. "Not tethered. Not again. Never again."

The girl was babbling, and it didn't help Nerva's nerves - she felt as if she were the cat, instead, all her fur bristling, her spine arcing. But in truth, she merely stood, her hand extended, as solid as an oak. Chains. A slave, perhaps? Unless she was taking the babbling too literally. (Of course she was - it was babbling.)

"I am not here to tether you," She said firmly, "But you must come down."

Nerva had never had the greatest bedside manner, save for those facing tranquility, and that had also been a very specific instance. She held back the urge to simply be more demanding - because obviously that would end well - and forced herself to let out a hard breath, instead.

"I am Nerva." She offered. That was friendly, right? Names? Less likely to end in people crashing from high places.

Bedside manners were manners, usually a way of lying or softening the harshness of truth. Blunt might have been better, and the woman wasn't being unkind. Just very demanding.

Simon hadn't wanted her to get into trouble. She'd just wanted away from the Tranquil. She uncurled at last, slow as a pillbug, eyeing the ground and then the woman again.

"...River."

"River." It was a strange name, but not so strange that she didn't find it oddly pretty. Even if she found the girl herself incredibly unnerving.

"You have no shoes." The longer she spoke to her, the more convinced she was that something was wrong - that she must be someone's charge, here, someone had to be responsible for her. Surely the Inquisition was not just opening its doors and letting any madman wander around? "Your feet will be cold, and if they grow too cold, you will lose them. Come down, and we will find you shoes."

"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.

Ah, good. It's always wonderful, seeing a few Tranquils; nothing quite like a sobering moment of running into people robbed of magic and emotion.

An old, sturdy log is positioned in the courtyard, and it's an excellent makeshift bench for one to use. At the moment, Twisted Fate had been content to observe everyone else while dabbling through a novel he's giving partial attention to. The Dalish elf's eyes only glance up when he watches the templar arrive with said Tranquils.

Well, at least she isn't a lyrium-depraved idiot waving a sword around.

No time like the present to play nice. Putting on a smile, the elf shuts his book and places his hat onto his head as he approaches.

"Welcome to Skyhold." The grin remains. "Don't suppose you need to be pointed anywhere?"

"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."

The Dalish always put her on edge. It wasn't just how many apostates they created - and either kept, or let loose on an unsuspecting world - but in general how much they flouted the rules of society. The structure. She was surprised, to see one here at all, and her brow furrowed, lips turning downward.

Why was he grinning at her? Was he mocking her?

"I have been given instruction," She said with an oddly formal clip to her voice, the Orlesian accent readily apparent. "I am looking only for refuge for my charges."

It's almost hilarious how much his smiling seems to put people off here. Though it makes sense; she's clearly a templar, and Orlesian to boot. A wandering, grinning Dalish elf would be a thing, wouldn't it?

When he smiles now, it's somehow almost wider.

"What, the Tranquils?" He tilts his head. "Not planning on sticking around, then? What a shame. Love the accent."

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