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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Norrington never lies about manners and a lady is always a lady until she proves herself otherwise. He would point her to Anamaria one day as a reference.

And ... she blushed. At him. Uh, well. He cleared his throat, and then offered his arm to her.

"Is there any area you particularly like to wander?"

There is an arm now. An arm. She has read about gestures like this. If it weren't for Araceli's coaching, she wouldn't know what to do. This is a courtly gesture, isn't it? As in, behavior among people of a court, or in a court setting. Formal. Civilized.

Her hand rests in the crook of his elbow like a butterfly, prone to fly away at the least disturbance.

"I like the garden. We could take a few turns about." Stay in public, make sure there are witnesses. Although if there are witnesses, there will be witnesses. People will talk.

All the better, actually. Maybe seeing a mage and a templar getting along will calm some people down.

Naturally. He had come from a wealthy merchant family, and then he was in Templar training. Even with his sharp edges, First Enchanter Lydia had taken it upon herself to have him walk with her. Courtesy was ingrained.

He nods, relieved that she did not say the ramparts. He wasn't quite sure if this was a ruse - she was a brilliant actress if she was - or if she really was just an uncommonly pretty elven woman with attractive blushes.

Still, it had been some time since he had just ... walked with a woman. Much less a mage.

Hm, and now a conversation to start ... ah yes. "So, tell me, what field of magic are you working on mastering?"

"I'm...actually a researcher." He must think all mages are like Circle mages. She tries to be as gentle about correcting him as possible. "Among the Dalish, it's...yes, we study constantly and work to improve our magic. But it's not only that. It's also hard work, every day, using everything we can to survive, whether with our magic or with our own hands."

Her hands are so dry and rough and cracking. He must notice they are catching against the fabric of his sleeve.

"So the purpose of our day isn't learning, it's living. Moving forward, protecting our own."

Now he is surprised again, but this surprise melts to open approval, and a firm nod of his head, "Then the Dalish have learned something I wish all mages knew, be they Circle or apostate. You have your gift, but you don't just use it for fancy fire balls. You use it to help your people, and you do not ignore other hard work because of it.

He has, of course, but it would be unquestionably rude to ask a lady why her hands were rough. Now that he knew ... well. They were seen with a new light.

"You have a creed I have a great deal of respect for, and try to live up to in my own way."

"Mages kept in towers can't learn that lesson. Not till they've been set free to be of use."

She glances up at his face for his reaction. Her tone was gentle, but her words direct.

"Even then, they need time to learn a new way of life."

He sighs at that, before he looks at her, "Mages were not kept in the towers to be cruel, my lady. We have a sacred duty to protect people from the dangers of magic -- but to protect mages from the people. You fear what the templars will do to you - I fear what some idiot yokel will do out to a seven year old with a fireball."

He pauses, and another sigh escapes his lips, "However ... you are not wrong. There must be a new way. The old way is choking us all to death."

"I know. I'm not arguing that, I--"

This is the good kind of templar. The kind she needs on her side. She takes a deep breath, gathering her confidence.

"I'm on the Inquisition's Council of Magi. You caught me working on a proposal to the Council. It may not look like it, but we are working to find a new way. We're working hard for it. So please...don't discredit the other mages."

Edited 2015-12-24 05:00 (UTC)

He falls silent, and listens. It was one of his best qualities, First Enchanter Lydia had always told him. An ability to listen not only with his mind, but with his heart and his honor.

Well, that is a surprise, and a welcome one. That the Circle was willing to accept a fully Dalish mage in its ranks meant this Council was looking to be open. He pauses, and turns a little so he faces her seriously, "I sincerely hope you can find one. Truly. I just want to live in a world where if mages are free then they use those talents to help, and not to harm."

He tips his head a little, "And the only mages I truly discredit are Magisters ... and Blood Mages."

"Even magisters and blood mages have knowledge. Knowledge isn't corrupted by poor morality, only its use." A faint smile. "The Chantry has banned a number of texts I need for my research because they were written by magisters, or disagree with the Chantry's stance about discrediting elven heathens."

Now this ... this was something he hadn't considered before. He frowned, and sighed, "Then I suppose my view is tainted as well, because I have only ever seen it used for selfish and cruel purposes." A faintly dry smile, as he led them to walking again, "And since the Magisters continue to state that Andraste is not the Bride of the Maker, you'll forgive me if I don't exactly trust them on matters of faith. Matters of magic, I leave to the better trained."

He looked over at her, before shaking his head, "Yes, but you believe. This is why I despair for the Chantry -- it should not matter what you have faith in, as long as you have faith. Our Maker is not so petty that he would forget any of his children, nor would he ignore their pleas while their own Gods are locked away. We have gotten so lost in proving that we have faith in our beliefs that we have forgotten that the Maker left us because we were arrogant to think we could define that faith."

"I thought the Maker was no more present than the Creators." Her grip on his elbow is less tentative, more casual. "It seemed a strange resemblance between our faiths, that the gods have all disappeared."

"Just because he is not here, does not mean we cannot feel him in our actions." James responded immediately, before he gestured, "Do you not feel your Gods in everything you do?"

One corner of his mouth twisted, "Which perhaps means there are even fewer reasons why our people should continue to be at odds, eh?"

"Yes," Pel agrees softly, to both statements. Her hand lightly squeezes his elbow. "I feel Mythal. I pray to them all, but I feel her, as if I am called to her. As if she calls me from the Beyond to protect the People while she is locked away. I know it sounds completely mad, but--"

She stops suddenly and looks up at him, having surprised herself.

"I never thought I would tell that to a human. But I believe she hears. I believe I must do her work, while she is gone."

"It's not mad, my Lady, it is faith. You hear the call of your Goddess just as I hear the call of the Maker. We are asked to take on the charge of a higher purpose, for the betterment of our people." It made perfect sense to him - it was what he knew he had to do after his family had been killed.

He crooks a smile at her.

"Well, I never thought a Dalish understood perfect faith - so we are both surprised today. Pleasantly, I hope."

That gets an answering smile from her. This is oddly comfortable, this companionship, and she doesn't even know his name.

"What is your name?"

Ah, she has a very pleasant smile. Of course, when she speaks he realizes he had been talking to her this entire time without a proper introduction. Tch, Norrington.

"My apologies, my lady. Please forgive my poor manners for not offering a proper introduction." He turns to her, putting a hand to his chest and bowing slightly, "Knight Commander James L. Norrington, at your service. And you are?"

Humans have so many names.

"Pel of Clan Ashara." And Ghilan, she wants to add, but it would make him ask what she means.

Part and parcel of having so many traditions themselves.

He bows again, before offering his arm once more, "Well then, if you would continue to do me the honor, Lady Pel?"

A substantial blush. Only Zevran treats her so, and with him, it's a playacting thing they do.

"I'm not any manner of lady," she says, taking his arm again to continue their walk.

Well, he is no great flirt so he is guessing she has rarely had the pleasure of being treated in what he considers a courtly manner. At least if those blushes mean anything.

"A lady is not made by birth, Lady Pel, but by demeanor and carriage. Something my mother sank into me at an early age." He stated simply, "I have found it a philosophy that is generally agreed upon."

She bites down on a smile. "You mean I walk like I'm going to kick someone's arse. It's a self-defense mechanism."

Now that surprised a laugh out of him, and he choked for a moment before he cleared his throat, "...Well. It is quite an effective one. I fully believe you will kick my arse."

Now she's laughing too, with less reservation. "Only if you deserve it. Kick a dog or take the last cream cake and you'll have something to worry about."

"I would never kick a dog." He stated firmly, before he smirked again, "I make no promises about the cream cakes. I am ... fonder of cookies, though."

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