Dream and Idea

[judgemewhole]

WHO: Norrington and You
WHAT: Norrington and the Seven dwarves Templars arrive at Skyhold
WHEN: Beginning the 3rd week of Haring
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Warnings for the Chant of Light. Because Templars.

Night had fallen on Skyhold when the guards at the gate spotted seven soldiers mounted on horses, with another driving a car behind them, riding across the stone bridge to Skyhold proper. The call-out did not occur until the watchman on duty spotted the templar armor. The templars in Skyhold were many, but not so many that the watchmen didn't know who they were dealing with.

When they arrived at the gates, the man in front dismounted, and with a promptness that surprised the gate guards, gave them travel papers and proper identification. The man was clearly weary - his green eyes were red-rimmed with exhaustion, but he held himself up right and straight.

The guards sent word ahead, to anyone who might be up and still in charge, and then opened the gates to let the templars in. They pointed them to the well, and to the stables, while they got someone to ... well.

They didn't look like red templars. Were they rogues? Were they spies? They were watched quite carefully.

For their part, the templars themselves seemed rather subdued. Taking care of their mounts, talking amongst themselves. Except the tall, dark haired man with sharp green eyes. He muttered something to the red-headed templar, before starting to walk around Skyhold itself. It was clear the man was looking to get the lay of the land.

...Or perhaps to figure out just what the hell he had gotten himself into.

Who was to say it could not be both?

Comments

[equanimiti]

There's literally nothing that escapes Sauveterre's notice, especially in the late hours of the evening. Internally worried about the threat of attack and the constant conflict within the Hold between Mages and Templar, the former Knight-Commander is indeed present once these newcomers make their unannounced appearance. While Rutherford might be a tad lax in regards to Skyhold's. security, Alayre is not. The last thing the Hold needs is another troublesome group of brigands amongst them, especially rebels hailing from the Order.

Eyeing the newcomers with a hint of scrutiny within his grey gaze, Alayre pauses once he catches a glimpse of their supposed leader. A frown settles upon his weathered face as he regards the tall man with an impassive glance. There are many within the Hold who might find the sudden arrival of these Templars to be worrisome. Alayre is no different in that mindset as he slowly approaches.

Still dressed in the silver and red armor of the Order, Alayre does lack some of the usual trimmings that announce his former title as Knight-Commander. He indeed looks a little like a rogue with that dark crimson cloak draped across his shoulders and the twin swords at his hip.

"Not many venture to Skyhold under the dead of night without purpose." His tone is wary but kind. The accent alone gives away his Orlesian heritage but it's not overly snobbish.

"Therefore, shall I ask the purpose behind your untimely arrival?"

[judgemewhole]

Norrington turned from reading a notice about the building around Skyhold - he had to admit that Lady Montiliyet had a way with words - when he heard someone speaking to him. Orlaisian, to be certain, and as he turned he glanced towards his people. They were all looking warily at the new ... person, but Norrington raised his hand. The Inquisition would not let anyone through their gates who had not been thoroughly vetted.

Like they were being now.

He eyed the man, one eyebrow lifting over cool green eyes. "Well, luckily we are not without purpose then. My men are here to join the Inquisition and I -- I am here to throw myself upon their mercy."

[equanimiti]

Up here within the harsh embrace of the Frostback Mountains, the nights here are quite frigid and dark. Despite the Hold being well lit by a dozen or so torches, the shadows of the night still encroach upon this sanctuary built in Andraste's name. Had Alayre not announced himself, he doubts that the Templars would've ever known his presence. They look upon him with a similar wariness that he has for them. He could literally see the agitation and slight inkling of trepidation within their gaze as he steps into the light of a dimming fire.

His gray gaze linger on them briefly before meeting with their commander once more. "Throwing yourself at our mercy?" A dry humorless chuckle escapes him as he regards the nameless commander with more uncertainty.

"Depending upon the deeds done, wouldn't it be wiser to ask the Maker for mercy?" He asks.

[judgemewhole]

Norrington made sure to keep his hand well away from his sword, so he could face the man. Some sort of military commander - perhaps even a former Templar Captain himself. He faced the man squarely, not avoiding his gaze and speaking firmly.

"Yes. And believe me, I have ... but since this is now the home of the Maker's Will?" He lifted his hands together. "This is where we have come to rebuild all that has been broken." Trust. Faith. The sense that the Templars were there to protect, and not to terrorize. But first?

"I have had to make many hard decisions, brother," let us just see if he reacts to this, this mysterious figure in the crimson cloak, "And this was without the Chantry's blessing, or the Seekers sanction. I do not regret these decisions, but I will be held accountable for them."

[equanimiti]

"Brother?"

A hint of surprise lingers upon Alayre's face momentarily before being erased with a brief smile. It would seem that their both are men of the Order after all. The tall one's reply wins Alayre's favor enough to gain a little of his trust. He pulls back the hood of his cloak to reveal more of his face in a sign of trust. These two should not be enemies, not at all.

"I would much rather the Inquisition to be an extension of the Maker's Will but that is my own opinion." He replies with a somewhat morose tone. "Nevertheless, I bid thee welcome to Skyhold, the home of the Inquisition." Alayre raises his right hand to signal towards the others who dwell within the darkness. Five others step out, all of which are Templars who've all sworn their allegiance to the Inquisition.

"I am Alayre Sauveterre, the former Knight-Commander of Pharos Tower. As one would expect, I'm one of many hailing from the Order."

[onlyhymns]

A lone figure watched from the battlements as the Templars made their entrance. Cade felt a surge of hope upon seeing the telltale flaming sword insignia on their armor, but held back for the time being, not wanting to get in the way of their settling in.

It was later, when the leader of the unit began to make his way about, that Cade felt it time to approach. He descended the steps toward the Templar, giving a sharp wave of greeting, and made his way over to him once he was on ground level.

"It is heartening to see more of the Order arrive," he said in his quiet, eternally courteous tenor, "Knight-Lieutenant Cade Harimann at your service, ser."

[judgemewhole]

James was examining one of the testing dummies, an almost fond smile on his face. He had many memorable hours, training with ones such as these. They clearly had taken quite the beating. Clearly someone had some anger to work through, and he wished them silent luck.

He caught the wave out of the corner of his eye, and looked up. Green eyes narrowed, but then became more thoughtful than anything else. He had seen the look on this young man's face. Naked relief, to see another one of his brethren. Norrington offered a nod of acknowledgement in turn

"It is heartening to be welcomed. As you can imagine, things have not been particularly ... pleasant, thanks to the madness of others." He offered his hand, in the templar clasp. "Knight Commander James Norrington, a pleasure, Lieutenant. Are you one of Alayre's men?"

[onlyhymns]

Cade clasped Norrington's hand with a respectful incline of his head. "No, ser," he replied, "I served under Knight-Commander Meredith in the Kirkwall Order. Now I am at the Inquisition's disposal." He wasn't sure what that meant yet, but he was slowly learning.

[judgemewhole]

"Ah." And that Ah, took a lot of meaning in one word. That would explain a lot about the young man's ... well. He looked light he had been through quite a bit. "Yes, I suppose that is what we are all here for. To serve, whatever way we can."

He offered a quick smile at the young man, before he tilted his chin. "Do you know your way around, Lieutenant? I find myself in need of a tour."

[nofury]

Maria was on the ramparts when the group arrived. Not standing guard or training or doing anything of use as she'd like to be, but simply clearing her head in the cool air. As the group road in she didn't run down the stairs or find a ladder, rather she simply leaned over the edge and called down to the leader.

"Where do you hail from, Templar?"

[judgemewhole]

Norrington looked up, into the darkness, where he could hear the voice calling out above his head. He arched an eyebrow, before he responded back, "Ostwick, Mysterious Female Voice. And you?"

[nofury]

"Kinloch Hold. But that was some time ago. A moment."

Ostwick. Not one of the more trouble options available. But interesting enough she slips into one of the many (decaying) stairways to climb down to where the group of Templars are.

"Maria Hill. Well met."

[judgemewhole]

Now Norrington's eyebrows are going to rise straight up into his hairline. Kinloch Hold had been one of the better defended Circles, after the abomination attacks in 9:30. The reports there made him respect the First Enchanter's guiding hand even more.

He waited until she came down, before he offered his hand, "Knight Commander James Norrington. A pleasure." He looked at her keenly, as his people milled closer out of curiosity, "You no longer serve, then?"

[fleurdesel]

In the interest of keeping relations in the Inquisition positive- or at the very least civil, in the interest of being present and available for those that would have need of her no matter the hour, Adelaide long since informed Cullen that her skills are at the Inquisition's disposal. Said word trickled down among the scouts that- should someone horribly injured or weary pass through the gates and a healer was required as soon as possible, she could be sent for no matter the time of day.

It was late. She was stripped to her chemise and dressing robe, hair bound in a loose braid as she went over another sheaf of notes she'd made on the Spire's techniques for the Creation school of healing when the runner found her. Sent her to the gate.

Weary but obligated to fulfill her duty, Adelaide followed the runner down to a lovely little contingent of Templars.

Marvelous.

Back straight, head held high, she strode among them as though she were fully dressed in her Enchanter's robes rather than a mere dressing robe, seeking out the injured party immediately. Not a word to their commander, not a thought for the remainder- it was the injured party she swept up to look over. "On a scale of 'an ant bit my thumb' to 'I've found every beartrap in the Hinterlands with my face", how much pain are you experiencing?"

[judgemewhole]

The Templars had finished setting up their tents, and bedrolls, and were sitting around the fire warming up food when the woman came sweeping in. Norrington himself had been seated on his cot, going over his reports when the woman moved past him as if he wasn't even there, and went directly to Gillette.

Who froze, and gave a baleful look around the camp fire, where he was not, no not at all, nursing his right side. He spoke, his Orliasan accent thick, "It is nothing, my Lady - I - "

"Took a shield to the side of his ribs." Norrington called out, dryly, "And we would appreciate it if you made sure that his ribs are not about to pierce his lungs, my lady."

He had taken off the armor, leaving him in his black undershirt and leggings, a scroll in hand as he eyed the healer coolly. "Do you need anything from us, outside of space?"

[fleurdesel]

"Ah. Manly stoicism, my favorite." The wryest possible twist of her voice and lips spoke to how it very much wasn't her favorite at all, the disdainful flick of her fingers to bid him to turn so she might see the injured area better did the rest of the work for her. Soldiers and their inability to answer simple questions about pain or injury. She'd almost missed it in so much that she hadn't missed it at all.

At least the farmers and the other members of the Inquisition were honest and thorough in describing their pains.

"Tea, if you would, and send to the kitchens. Tell them Lady LeBlanc requests a cauldron of stew be brought here for you. If they can spare a hunk of bread that would be all the better." Appearances matter. First impressions matter. She would win no points for gentleness or kindness but she would make the best possible impression that she could. Even if her shoulders were tight as magic pooled in her hand, blue and wispy.

[judgemewhole]

Gillette winced at the tone, and then winced again when her hand started to glow blue. He was not the only one - and worry suddenly etched the faces of the other templars. They looked to their commander, who simply raised his hand and said tartly, "I don't think she is going to hurt Gillette for being a templar, everyone. It seems ... somewhat disingenuous to kill him and then feed us at the same time."

Burns nodded, before he jerked a chin at the others, "Come on, then. These things don't carry themselves, people." He glanced over at the Commander, who was moving to put a small kettle over the flame, arching an eyebrow.

Norrington looked over at Burns, then over at their simple camp ware, before he snorted softly, "Yes, I think bringing a tea tray down would probably be best. Tell them we have the tea and the sugar, though."

"Yessir." Burns issued a salute, slapped Gillette on the shoulder, which made the man wince in pain again, and headed off to the kitchens.

Norrington then put his attention back on the woman, as he went to get out his own personal tea. So - a mage - a spirit healer no less. It made something in him ache in memory. Gillette himself was biting down on his lip in pain, closing his eyes, so Norrington knew it was up to him to be ... well. Sociable.

He took a seat by the fire, while he waited for the kettle to boil, and commented quietly, "We are grateful for the attention, Lady LeBlanc. I realize someone has put you in an awkward position, and I realize you are angry with the Order. That you do this for a group you hate proves the Inquisition is filled with good people. So ... I thank you. Personally, for my man."

He eyed Gillette with a dry smirk, "And he will thank you too, once he stops being manly and stoic."

[mythalenaste]

Pel hasn't stopped working since she got back from Highever. She has found a shady spot in the garden and brought a traveling desk. Her feet are flat and bare on the moss and she chews at the end of her pen. And occasionally pauses to draw something idly on the surface of her arm.

After a while she looks incredibly glassy-eyed and turns her gaze away from her writing. There's an acorn on the ground. She picks it up, squints at it, and before long, a green sprout emerges. She digs a hole into the ground with a stick and drops the acorn in before covering it up.

[judgemewhole]

With four days of light duty looking ahead of him -- and no idea when he would hear from the councilors of the Inquisition -- Norrington had taken wandering the place. Gathering books, meeting people, familiarizing himself with the lay of the land. There were quite a few stories to pass around. The one that had chilled him to the bone was the Abomination -- but things seemed to be ... well. Tense, if not clear.

Even the garden seemed to be back to rights. He liked to wander there, after he prayed at the statue of Andraste.

He's seen the Dalish woman before, of course. He has never disturbed her - she is always writing and he has heard the Dalish are skittish about Templars in general. Still, today, as he comes out of the small altar, he spots her. Bare feet - in this weather! - looking completely at home as she writes. It's an appealing picture.

One that turns surprising, as she plucks up the acorn, eyes it, then it ... well. It grows. She popped it into the dirt, and continued, as if nothing had happened.

Except, of course, she now has a Templar Commander gaping at her.

[mythalenaste]

It takes her a while to sense that, the tall man standing and staring. She peers up at him without moving, wary and calculating just how many steps are between them, as well as the distance between her and the door. Is anyone else looking? Does she have witnesses who can prove she did nothing wrong? Where is Sina? Sina is way more impressive at Keeper magic than Pel is and she works in the gardens, people have to know it's benign by now.

"May I help you?"

[judgemewhole]

Oh, and now she's looking suspiciously at him. He looks around himself, hoping to the Maker someone is going to appear in a moment. He doesn't want to ruin his men's chances of getting commissions by looking like he was harassing a mage - a Dalish one, no less.

Maker's Breath, did no one wander the gardens this time of evening? Not even a couple looking for a private place? He sighed, and put his hands up, keeping his distance.

"My apologies, my lady. I ... have never seen that sort of magic before. It is, ah, Dalish in origin, is that correct?"

[dairsmuid]

The Inquisition goes through practice dummies like a pirate goes through liquor--a comparison that Elian, as a Rivaini, is in fact qualified to make. And lacking any professional practice dummy makers, at the moment, the Inquisitiom relies on its men to keep it supplied with new fodder.

That's why Elian is on his knees in the courtyard, surrounded by the carnage and spilled hay innards of a half-dozen straw-and-burlap men, using their remains to stuff new sacks and lash them into something human-shaped. He's mouthing silently to himself while he does it, silent but continuous and rhythmic enough that someone familiar with the Chant might recognize the shape of it.

He looks up when someone passes close, down again at the rope in his hands, and up again once the man's uniform sinks in. Elian's own Templar armor is in storage; today he's in work clothes, but if he were to wear armor, it would bear the Inquisition's symbols instead. But he still considers them his brothers.

"Ser," he says, in greeting.

[judgemewhole]

Norrington is trying to make good his promise to explore the entire area, and his men are curiously going around and looking at all the training equipment. Once they are off light duty, they are ready to resume their training outside of 'practical experience', so Norrington wants to get a better idea of the training grounds himself.

He watches the young man with the dummies for a moment, his lips quirking up a little at how much carnage there is, when he notes the man is muttering the Chant under his breath as he does so.

Walking closer, he greets the soldier with a nod, "Good day - going through the Chant to help the work go faster?"

[dairsmuid]

"To make it less boring," Elian says, head ducked down in shy counterweight against the fact that he's complaining, and in some roundabout way almost boasting, like he's too good for this sort of thing. He isn't. It's just not very mentally demanding. He ties a knot and dusts his hands on his thighs before he stands up to--not salute, no fist to his shoulder. But he almost does. He posture is squared up and attentive. "May I ask where you've come from, ser? Were you at Therinfal Redoubt?"

[judgemewhole]

"Handy work is never less boring, even with interesting material ... but at least the time goes by faster." He folds his arms behind his back, giving the young man a curious look. Now this was a young man with some military training - perhaps another former templar?

His suspicions grew at that question, and he shook his head, "No, I never joined the malcontents at Therinfal Redoubt. I am from the Ostwick Circle, in the Free Marches. I have been hunting the apprentice who murdered our First Enchanter, and our Knight Commander."