faderift | Dream and Idea

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?

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Norrington himself relaxed at that, before he nodded and moved a step forward, offering his wrist in the traditional clasp between Templars. When the other templars came out of the shadows, an eyebrow arched, but he nodded his head briefly and respectfully at them.

"As would I -- but right now the Maker's Will is that we are to be broken down." He gives a tired smirk at that, "Perhaps into something better after we are forged. Only time and the Maker shall tell." He dips his head into greeting.

"James Norrington, Knight-Commander of the Ostwick Circle. Which, yes, has disbanded and our leadership either dead and gone or mad ... but I am still of the Faith." His green eyes flashed, "I will not let those murderers and thieves taken that from me, nor the mad Seeker Lambert."

A sigh of relief is heard but it's not from Alayre. His men were on a little on edge about these newcomers and for good reason. The Hold hasn't been very stable as of late. Between all the infighting, the expeditions and that latest stint with the Abomination, they have a right to feel a little jumpy. However, Alayre is actually feeling more relaxed now that an agreement has been reached between the Mages and Templar. There's still a potential for disaster but Alayre is desperately trying to remain optimistic.

"Indeed, only time will tell." He replies solmenly as he clasps Norrington arm. The two of them are indeed chantry brothers considering how easily they can greet each other in such dire times. "Understandable. I plan to uphold my creed to the Order regardless of situation." He smiles vaguely.

"I'm stubborn."

Behind him, he can also hear exhalations of relief, most of them exhausted but pleased. They had traveled a long way, to find some templars, any templars, that still followed the way of the Order. Sadly, this was the first indication that any of their way of life remained.

Giselle was, as always, the first to step forward to greet the five in the darkness, and Burns soon followed, with the rest moving forward with weary nods. James smirked faintly at the Orliasians immediately sassing Gibbs and Burns from being from Fereldan -- oh that would turn out poorly for them.

He turned back to Alayre, his own weariness finally flashing through his eyes. "'Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written'. So we shall continue to help the Maker's quill. Just not at the expense of our own souls."

One corner of his mouth twisted as well, "Then you are in excellent company. Tell me, Alayre, what is the state of things here? Is it all I have heard?"

The Templar of Pharos are no different than those hailing from Ostwick other than their extreme nationalistic pride and dislike of all things Fereldan. This is why they utterly refuse to speak outside of their native tongue but one of the five is lenient enough to speak with the seven newcomers in the King's Tongue. The one who speaks to Giselle is none other than Delacroix, a thin looking man with hair as black as the night itself. The man is easily recognizable because of his sharp features and almost hawkish nose. He's friendly but dignified with only a hint of mild mistrust of these new arrivals reflected in his dark gaze.

Alayre listens to them speak briefly until he has Norrington's attention again. A small smile spreads upon his lips as Norrington quotes out of the good book. It's been awhile since anyone displayed such good faith to him and it honestly makes Alayre feel somewhat at ease. "Then we are truly well met, brother. It's been too long since I last greeted those like minded to myself. Far too long."

It's then at the following question that the Orlesian let's out a tense sigh. " Indeed, it is." He replies somewhat tersely. "Though there's much that needs to be done before we find ourselves divided by mutual pettiness." There's a hint of frustration in Alayre's quiet tone as he speaks about the Hold. Clearly something is on his mind.

"Tensions are high and the chain of command is still being established after the untimely end of Andraste's Herald. Construction of the Hold is ongoing but I believe it's nearly done for the most part." Alayre dares not mention anything in regards to the mages here. These weary men just arrived to Skyhold, it would be detrimental to scare them off so soon by mentioning the fickle politics that consumes them.

Norrington is carefully Not Smirking when Giselle turns and responds back in the Empire's tongue with a hint of tartness, and Gillette adds in something utterly pithy in return. It does pay to have a multi-cultural group, Pharos Knights. She then returns her attention to Delacroix, giving him a charming smile and a tilt of her head, as if she had not made it clear she was also from Orlais and they weren't getting any language barrier nonsense past her.

Norrington smirked, but put his full attention back on Alayre. The answer was not ... what Norrington had hoped to hear, but had expected. "Well, if we are like-minded then, I can ask you, what have we done so far to start rebuilding the Order? Clearly we need new directives - if they are coming from the Inquisition then I would like to know so I can implement them with my men..."

He trailed off at the death of the Herald, his expression tightening in faint grief. "She was taken too soon. I hope she's found peace, at the Maker's side."

Falling quiet at that, he looks around Skyhold and sighs, "Was she buried here, or at Haven?"

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