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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"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."

"Actually we have it in barrels, Lady LeBlanc." Is Norrington's wry response, before he sighed out as the pain started to dissipate from his chest. "We do also have people who resort to it because it is the only way they have to vent their frustrations."

"Then tap your keg, as it seems you are in short supply." Another pulse, another narrow eye'd look- and she dropped her hands entirely. There, all was well. "My frustrations are my own. The offer is....kind. And appreciated. But perhaps another time."

Now that her work was done and they were all seen to the usual tension coiled in her gut. She has made her gestures and now would very much like to rest. Or. Go elsewhere to be anxious rather than loose that in the company of those that do not know her. "Five days, light duty. Two for you, one for you."

"Oh gladly, my Lady LeBlanc." He stated simply, before dropping his shirt. He took the tin cup, and the bottle, and still offered them out to her. "Please take this, with my assumptions that you will enjoy it, as thanks from one and all ... while we ... avail ourselves of all the entertainments you have so vividly described. I myself may just go moon over Varric Tethras."

"Ask to touch the chest hair. It will make him laugh." A beat. "And keep my name out of the conversation."

What, exactly, Varric would think of her giving out such instruction she cannot say, but it seems wise to not let him know in the first place.

Still. Wine is wine- and good wine is more than appreciated. She takes the bottle and the cup, murmuring her thanks.

"Only if he signs my book and tells me I am the prettiest templar." Norrington replies, before one eyebrow raises, "The secret dies with me - and of course the rest of them."

Now he would in fact have to find Varric Tethras, drop himself down and 'moon'. Then ask about the chest hair, before leaving without another word. Just so word would get back to this crisp woman with a sense of humor rather like his own.

He nods, "And feel free to keep the cloak until you find your own. The healer should not catch a chill, after all."

"And leave my patient bereft? I've a room inside the hold where it is warm. You do not." She tucks the bottle into the crook of her arm and shrugs off the cloak, folding it over before offering it back. It is cold, yes, but it is not hers and that invites a depth of obligation she is in no way, shape, or form comfortable enduring. "Light duty. I mean it."

"Yes, but I am stoic. That protects me from the cold, doesn't it?" He states with a completely straight face, before he rolls his eyes, "Yes, yes ... light duty. I shall endeavor to lift nothing heavier than a quill."

"If you fail to keep to it, I shall know." And there will be a reckoning. Or. Well. Bitching. One or the other. One last good look to Norrington and his men before she sweeps back out again, just as imperious as she'd been when she arrived.

"I have no doubt if that, my Lady." Norrington dips his head respectfully keeping her gaze with his own green eye. He only smirks a little as she sweeps out, before turning back to his men.

"Well, all right. So ...everyone get to resting." He stated, as he took his cloak and slipped it over his shoulders, "I, myself am going to get to bed."

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