faderift | Dream and Idea

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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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"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.

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."

"No, I might simply be taking the more efficient route of poisoning you all with Fereldan stew and sparing a man already in pain from a worse fate." Her voice was dry and as clipped as an Orlesian accent could ever possibly manage, even and unwavering as she waited for some manner of consensus to be reached. It was impossible to not be aware of them, their swords, their gifts all but surrounding her, what would come if the wry attempt at humor did not quite manage. All was tense and uncertain and not one of them looked all that ready to leave her with their Commander or their injured.

The moment passed.

She knelt, the hand not glowing reaching out to rest on Gillette's hand while the other hovered just above the injury, that cool wash of blue spreading to cover his side and sink in- first to rid him of his pain, then to begin the process of mending. Broken ribs she had done often enough that she could carry a conversation easily at the same time. Even if the line of conversation seemed to verge on the condescending. "You are being quite presumptuous, aren't you? In Orlais we've a saying about assumptions and those that make them."

Making asses out of those that make them, but if he'd spent any manner of time along the border it was likely he'd heard it.

Gillette let out a choked laugh, before Norrington smirked himself, green eyes glinting with humor as he responded. "Ah .. .as we have suffered through Gibbs's stew more often than not, you will find that a hard task, my Lady."

Gillette closed his eyes as the healing began, trying not to breath too hard and cause himself any more pain. Norrington pulled his gaze away from Gillette's tense expression, and moved it to the profile of the cool woman before him.

He pursed his lips thoughtfully, before responding in equal dryness, "I see. So you are so very tense is because ... I will allow the lady to fill in the blank. I would not like to become the part of assumption that is uncomplimentary."

"I am uncertain if you've noticed, but it is cold. And I am in my dressing gown." Which preserved her modesty, to be certain, but wasn't the warmest thing she owned since her good dressing gown was more or less burnt beyond repair with the Abomination attack some time ago.

She wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of his intuition being on point, but she wasn't about to lie.

Better to focus on the patient. "Breathe deeply and hold it until the count of five, yes?"

"You do make a valid point ..." Norrington said, standing up and moving towards his tent, leaving the kettle over the fire to warm the water. There is the sound of rustling as he looks through his belongings.

Gillette nodded his head, dark eyes pained, his pale skin practically glossy as he breathed deeply in, and began to count by tapping his booted foot against the ground.

Something warm was put around Adelaide's shoulders, a cloak in deep black, and Norrington returned to his position by the fire. "How bad is it?"

"Eyes on me. This will feel- well. odd." The blue light and mist brightened, Compassion's healing power lighting up the air between her hand and Gillette's side as well as Adelaide's eyes like a candle. What discomfort there may have been from the breath dissipated- in fact most sensation vanished entirely.

Numbness could be disconcerting but it was better when forcing bone back into alignment. "Exhale-"

The flesh and bone would remain the same distance from her hand, using the force of Gillette's lungs to ease his ribs back into proper shape, magic to hold it, magic to mend it was easy enough. Not startling when the cloak was draped around her shoulders wasn't- but she managed. Barely. "Cracked and out of place- or rather it was. Give me a moment and it shall be as though he was never struck in the first place. All that fine plate mail and you still manage to be rattled about. Did you charge kidney first into the shield or were you preoccupied with something shiny?"

Gillette nodded, looking directly into Lady LeBlanc's bright blue eyes, gritting his teeth as he held his breath. Then he exhaled as she commanded, feeling that there was nothing wrong at all. Norrington, however, could see the bones realign themselves and he was duly impressed, as he set up the tea diffuser.

The rest of the squad had returned, with the stew, the bread, and a tea set that Burns put beside Norrington. He nodded his thanks to his men, letting them sit and watch with curiosity as the Lady LeBlanc shifted Gillette's ribs back into place.

At her statement, seeing that Gillette could not answer and the others were clearly entranced, he answered as he prepared her teapot. "We came across a band of Red Templars on our way across the mountains. One of those ... monsterous ones, twice as big as me, slammed Gillette across the clearing before we were able to subdue it."

He shook his head, his green eyes narrowing, "Why would any man want to become such a monster? Such power for your soul, your very self? Maker, never."

"Now breathe as you would normally." The magic moved with Gillette's ribs as bit by bit bone was knit together, bruising was smoothed away, and whatever pinpricks of damage below the ribs that Compassion could yet feel were mended. It would take some time but not a great deal of focus at this point as the bulk of the work was getting the bone to lay as it ought and making certain it expanded as it should while healing. Having him breathe did that work for her.

Accustomed to the staring- though with more whispering and suspicion, Adelaide ignored it for the most part. She was here to do her work, if there was to be open hostility it would have happened the moment she revealed her magic, all was to be well.

She could be anxious about this later. Right now? She had work.

"Desperation. Fear. War drives men to many strange bedfellows if they think it would offer them an edge. It does not surprise me that there are those that would find such risks acceptable in exchange for power." Adelaide sat back, squeezing Gillette's hand and letting the magic Fade for a moment, though her eyes still glowed bright. "How does that feel?"

Gillette was always as good at obeying orders as breathing, and so breath he did, normally, focusing on some spot on Adelaide's face so he did not breath too shallowly or too deeply. The others remained silent, not wanting to distract the mage with too much conversation.

Norrington sighed, as he muttered quietly, "It does not mean that it is right. To abandon your Maker-given duty to become a monster, for an 'edge' in a war we should not have even been fighting ... " He shook his head, as he went to gather up the tea for the healer.

His lieutenant breathed deeply, before squeezing Adelaide's hand in turn and giving her a bright smile, one that lit up his narrow face. His own accent was thick with gratitude, "Perfect - thank you, Lady LeBlanc."

The templars also gave a quiet round of applause, murmuring in impressed tones, as Gillette went to join his mates. Norrington put the tea tray beside the Lady LeBlanc, and settled himself beside her, "Can I thank you now, or am I still being presumptous?"

"Precious little in a war is right, and yet it is done all the same." A devout, righteous templar. How refreshingly quaint- almost as much as the applause. Her hands dropped away as she gave him one more long look to be certain there wasn't anything else that required her attention before she turned to face the remainder. "You may, and you are welcome. Who is next?"

Gillette had been the worst off to be certain, but there were other bruises and aches and bone deep weariness to see to. One did not battle the Red Templars and travel so far away and come back uninjured.

"True enough. But then war is very rarely ever justice. Merely power against power." Norrington murmured, before he looked around at his people, letting his gaze rest on Anamaria.

She glowered at him, huffed, and limped over to LeBlanc, dropping down before her and pulling off her boot. "Twisted m'ankle, in the middle of a swing. Took the bastard down but I nearly fell down on top of 'm."

She gave Norrington a flat look, "And we all saw the commander take a bull-charge to the chest. He's not broken but I bet he's plenty bruised."

A sardonic twist of his lips, before he rolled his eyes, "I go last, Anamaria. As always."

Burns called out, from where he was making sure Gillette was in fact, eating the Fereldan stew, "We can all forfeit, sir. Most of the rest of us just got ourselves a little dirty." A bright smile appeared at his Commander's glower. "Just saying, sir."

"More manly stoicism. I can see where your man learned it." There's a slight tilt to her head, focus going to the middle distance as Compassion reached out to verify that no one else truly held great injury. Weariness, yes, but nothing terrible. One hand cradled that blue mist to Anamaria's ankle and the other gestured in the remainder's direction. To the ankle, a pulse of soothing warmth and gentle healing.

To the rest? Warmth and rejuvenation, something to smooth away the aches. Compassion's power curled through the air like a warm breeze, faintly blue and vibrant in the light. She did not have to look at them overlong to know that the spell would settle where it was needed, instead turning her focus to Anamaria's ankle. "If being dirty is a concern there are hot springs below Skyhold- one of the guards can lead you to them if you wish."

"Well, they always say in the Free Marchers you learn everything you are from your elders. I suppose that is more assumptions for you." Norrington said with a completely straight face, while his people looked at one another and smirked faintly.

Then they all let out a sigh of relief, as the spiritual magic soaked through them all. Norrington himself leaned back and sighed as the magic ran through his body, easing the bruising and aching pain in his chest.

He put one hand to his heart and breathed deep as did the rest of them. And one by one, the Templars shot Adelaide a quiet, grateful smile.

"You are free to eat, but be gentle with it for at least one day more. That goes double for you." She points to Gillette, eyes narrowing. "It may feel better but rest will do you a world of good. I recommend light duty for the lot of you for at least two days."

With that she rose to her feet and turned, shaking out the skirt of her robe and chemise, dusting off the cloak that their Commander offered- she had to gather it up to move to kneel by him as the difference in their height caused it to pool around her feet. Maker, why are all templars so tall? "You, light duty for four days. Lift your shirt."

Much as she'd managed to ease his pain, the depth of bruising needed to be examined.

"We'll all rest, my Lady, I can promise you that." Gillette gave a stern look around, "Healer's orders. We settle in, no undoing all her fine work."

Anamaria rolled her eyes, but nodded her head as the others did in turn. Norrington hid a smirk behind his hand, before he exhaled heavily, "I am not sure if that will make much of a difference -- but as the healer commands."

He rose to his own feet, pulling up his shirt to reveal his chest. Clearly, the man is a warrior and clearly, he took a shield bash straight on. The healing magic is already doing it's work, but his skin is mottled black and blue.

"You are fortunate nothing cracked." Plate mail did it's work well, apparently. Adelaide rested her hands on the worst of the bruising- touch light, palms warm as the blue glow wells up around her fingers to sink into his skin. The ache already smoothed away, this was to mend the bruising in it's entirety.

"I am a little more well versed on how to take a hit from something larger than me. I did not hit my growth spurt until later in childhood." Norrington stated, and he exhales as he feels the magic slide into his skin from her touch.

He can feel the tingle from the healing, and looks down at her, crooking a half-smile. "If I thank you again, are you just going to think me obnoxious?"

"Yes, because you know how to move with the blow means that they cannot possibly overwhelm you, how foolish of me." She was muttering at his chest- the whole of it being eye level made it simpler than looking up at him proper. Better to focus on the work. Between the hour, the low grade irritation coiling in the back of her mind and the fact that he kept picking, she rolled her eyes and let her mouth run a little. "I already find you obnoxious. Thanking me again won't change that one way or the other."

"Sir is it really wise to keep arguing with the healer? She might take you off duty longer than four days." Came Burn's reply, around a mouthful of stew.

Norrington gave his other Lieutenant a baleful look, before he cleared his throat. "No, we do often get overwhelmed ... and knocked over and rolled. It does not mean we should not stand to take the blow - just that perhaps we should not pick at the healers while they are patching us up."

One corner of his mouth twisted upwards at that touch of sauciness, cutting him off from waxing poetic about a Templar's duty. Instead he cleared his throat and responded in a much more level tone, "My apologies, Lady LeBlanc. I believe the relief from the pain has made me a touch ... slap-happy."

"It is a common enough reaction- which is why I merely find you obnoxious rather than an idiot entirely." One of her glowing hands lifted from the bruised skin to pat him, rather condescendingly, upon the shoulder before she resumed her work. The touch was feather light and darting for all it's exaggerated slowness, a habit she has not yet freed herself from just yet. "Though I am adding another day of light duty. I shall trust your men to hold you to it and inform me should you fail to do so."

If one wanted to win over a group, assist in the wrangling of the leader. A technique she more often employed with students but- if shades of it were still applicable, she would be a fool not to make use of it.

"Well, I am glad I am not at the bottom of your ladder of esteem." Norrington stated, even as he arched an elegant eyebrow at the pat on his shoulder. He could hear his people snickering, and he shot them a dry look. He sighed at her assessment, but nodded, "Very well. I have no idea what I shall do for five days -- my paperwork is light. They'll keep me to it, but I trust you are not asking them to babysit me."

She had already won their trust by helping Gillette. By helping their Commander? Oh Adelaide, you had their loyalty for life.

"Eat, rest, discuss the state of things with the other Templars in Skyhold, scowl at mages, scowl at the scullery maids, skulk about the library, poke the Tranquil, ask insensitive things of the Dalish, trip over the dwarves, fanboy over Varric Tethras, bother the Rifters, place bets on which member of the mage council snaps and blows up a part of Skyhold, put money on which templar will snap and start insisting on the rite of annulment, bother the quartermaster for proper gear and blankets, bother the cook for proper food, read, sketch, take up knitting, practice witticisms, bemoan the lack of a proper barracks." A beat and she dropped her hands away, frowning at his chest. Outwardly everything seemed fine, but the internal damage might take another round of healing. Dry as anything, she finished. "The usual."

Now at that, everyone is going to be staring at the healer mage, then at one another, before they looked at the commander with questions in their gaze. Norrington, for his part, was looking at the Lady LeBlanc with a faint frown of concern, before he looked over at Burns.

"Burns, please get my blue bag, please." It was a calm request, but Burns nodded and jumped to right away, putting down his plate to go into his commander's tent. Norrington nodded at Murtogg, "Get me an iron cup, will you?"

Murtogg nodded, grabbing one of the cups and handing it over to Norrington, who offered it to the mage. After a moment, Burns returned with a blue bag, out of which Norrington pulled out a bottle of Val Foret wine.

"My Lady - you look like you could use a drink. And ... perhaps an open, adult audience to vent at. Would you please do us the honor of joining us for a few minutes?" Is his quiet, respectful reply.

"...Sarcasm. That was sarcasm." She lifted her hands and called forth Compassion's power once more to mend the damage that lay under the skin. It wouldn't take long. "Apparently it comes in short supply in the Marches. I had not realized."

Dream and Idea

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