faderift | Never An Uneventiful Day

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Never An Uneventiful Day

WHO: Alayre Sauveterre & whomever joins
WHAT: Sometimes doing a little bit of busywork does wonders for the mind. Alayre hopes that will be the case for him.
WHEN: Mid-Haring
WHERE: Various locations at Skyhold (Courtyard, Stables and Library)
NOTES: Both current and new CR greatly welcomed, also negative and positive CR is more than welcomed. ~~Happy Holidays, btw~~

Stables

It's not uncommon to see the former Knight-Commander wandering about throughout the Hold, but it is a bit of a rarity to see him attending to his horse at the stables. As of late, Alayre been far too busy for his own liking. Of course his horse hasn't been neglected by the stable-hands here but Alayre missed spending time with Durandal. That's while he takes it upon himself to spend time with the white mare today and brush her coat. Now that winter has arrived, Durandal is a tad shaggier than normal. A common trait of a horse hailing from the north but that makes brushing Durandal more of a task than Alayre bargained for.

Courtyard

After spending one too many hours at the stables, Alayre makes his way towards the courtyard for the sake of relaxation. There's something truly rewarding about being surrounded by such tranquility, even if there's a few telltale reminders of the chaos that brews. An afternoon stroll through the gardens is a always next on his agenda followed by a brief visit to the library later.

Library

The library doesn't win over Alayre's interest for long due to the absence of a certain cheeky mage. It's somewhat awkward for him to be rummaging through the aisles in search or a good book; especially with the librarian glaring death his way. While it shouldn't be much of a surprise that rumors have begun about him and Salvatore, Alayre is silently mortified.

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Ariadne was dozing again. After falling through the Rift, one would have thought she'd learned her lesson about napping in the high branches of trees. But really, it wasn't the tree's fault that she'd fallen through the way she did. At least, she didn't think so. Anyway, even if it had turned her Human in body, she was still Alastrian at heart. And Alastrians had a hard time sleeping in low places.

As so often happened in that place between sleep and awake, her mind was wandering. She was lazily drifting it the memory of her early days with Aunt Lysia, learning how to do things like open and close doors, bathe inside the house, wear sandals, and eat at a table. At the time, it seemed like an insurmountable amount of new information. She never thought she'd be able to remember it all. But she'd managed. Somehow.

She was back in that place again. She had to relearn an entire world. And in the moments when she wasn't being aggressively optimistic, it threatened to overwhelm her.

But she had to figure it out. Somehow. Because it seemed like she was going to be in Thedas for a long while.

As Alayre strolled through the courtyard, he allowed his thoughts to stray a little. Try as he might to keep his worries at bay, Alayre couldn't help but worry some. The Inquisition is at a precarious position as of late some which is blamed upon their growing ranks. Besides the thought of a spy being concealed with this influx of newcomers, there's the constant arrival of Rifters that give Alayre reason to be concerned. As it stands, the Inquisition is not yet battle ready and there's a slew of issues that still need to be dealt with. However, Alayre shan't trouble himself with any of it today. If anything, he's only worry lies with a certain cheeky mage who've managed to win his affection---and the strange woman sleeping up in a nearby tree.

Alayre couldn't help but stare when he spots her, a full grown woman sound asleep on a tree branch like an overgrown feline. It's awkward to say the least and quite too curious for him to ignore. Not even the elves take to the tree tops like this, so why is she up there? That's the burning question Alayre has as he approaches.

"...Surely there's enough beds in the Hold." He grumbles as he peers up at the woman. "Is this some sort of jest? I'm surprised she hasn't fallen." Uncertain whether or not it's truly safe to leave her there, Alayre looks for a way to get her down.

It was hard to say which Ariadne caught first, his scent or his muttering. Probably his scent. She was used to people marveling at her quirky habits. But the scents of Thedas were still new to her. She was managing to master the basics. It was easy to tell a Human from an Elf, after all. But there were more subtle differences she still needed to work through. Mages, she'd learned, smelled differently from others.

To say nothing of the ones with horns.

She kept her eyes shut until she was absolutely sure that he was upon her, and then slowly opened them. Airy had bright gray eyes, like smooth, silver coins. They--like her voice--seemed oddly younger than the rest of her. "I'm afraid I'm not very good at jests," she said, light and airy as a breeze. "I've tried to tell jokes before, but no one ever laughs."

Norrington should not be surprised to see Alayre there, and he is not. He himself is carrying his currying kit for Dauntless, and when he spots Alayre already grooming his horse he whistles softly to get the man's attention but not to startle the animals.

"Well met, brother. I see that you had the same idea of seeing to your mount." He clucked at Dauntless, offering him an apple while he removed the blanket from him. He was pleased to see his manager filled with hay, and his stall clean. Master Dennet was truly a master of horses.

Down one of the aisles, leaning against the wall and staring balefully at the shelves, is Lenneth, her face a warring combination of defiance and defeat.

After turning to the next aisle, Alayre pauses once he spots a familiar face nearby. It's not often than he sees Lenneth roaming about in the library like this, so he welcomes the young woman with a pleasant smile before noticing how harrowed she appears. It's then that he turns his gaze towards the row of books upon that shelf that seemingly won the maiden's scorn.

"Ah, not able find what you're searching for?"

Alayre turns his gaze in the direction of the whistle only to find his fellow Templar standing there. Norrington is a welcomed member of the Inquisition that Alayre truly endorses. Out of all the renegade Templar who've ventured to Skyhold, James Norrington is the only one to truly win his favor in a long time. This is why he greets Norrington with such respect and near reverence. He's gladden to see his Templar brother settling in well to Skyhold.

"Greetings to you, Norrington. I certainly hope the day has been kind towards you." Alayre says with a faint smile.

He turns his gaze towards Norrington's steed briefly as he works out some of the knots in Durandal's hair. "Is that one yours? I suspected so since its one of the newest arrivals."

Just as he picks up a willowy stick to poke the woman with, Alayre is greeted by a strangely familiar gray gaze that eerily matches his own. "Is that so?" He questions with a hint of humor in his quiet tone. "Well then, I suppose you and I suffer from a similar malady then." No one understands Alayre's sense of humor. No one. He's quite the odd one already for a Templar and his sense of humor is always deceptively bland. Seen as quite stern and unyielding most of the time, no one really knows of Sauveterre's more comedic side. Except for maybe Taashath. Only the qunari has seen him drunk.

"I feel quite terrible for ruining your rest but wouldn't you feel more comfortable in a proper bed?" He asks while idly wondering how she managed to get up there. Alayre sometimes like high places too but he doesn't go out of his way to climb trees.

Well, it is nice to find those of like mind. Especially when it comes to matters of faith, and where the Chantry should go. That they needed to rebuild, and not just ... give up. Giving up, Norrington had found, was what poisoned so many of their brothers and sisters.

"It has been. I am still on light duty." Sigh, five days of light duty. "But I am here, and I am alive. The Maker shines on this day." He nods, returning that faint smile with his own.

He begins to curry the glossy coat of Dauntless, who cheerfully munches on his apple. "He is - this is Dauntless. A finer horse I could not ask for. He's carried me the length of Thedas, twice over."

Thankfully, Alayre won his freedom today and is free from his usual duties for now. Today is a day of much needed relaxation and hopefully nothing else. He plans to venture out for a ride later in hopes of seeing something new out there within the icy tundra. Alayre is admittedly a tad stir crazy here in Skyhold.

"The Maker shan't forgot your efforts today or any other day if you do them well." He replies with a grin. "The same goes for those we deem as our peers."

Alayre pauses momentarily as he takes another glance at Norrington's horse. "Has he? Quite a feat! How old is he? My Durandal is close to seven years old now." He speaks fondly of the mild-mannered white mare before him. When Alayre comes across another snag, the horse lets out a grunt and turns to nudge her rider's hand.

"Oh, my apology." Alayre whispers as he pats Durandal's cheek. "Seven years old and still as fussy as she was as a colt, I think." Something's simply will never change.

"She is Durandal, named her after a fabled blade from a book I once enjoyed."

Ariadne sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the branch, using her arms on either side for support. "I wouldn't dream of taking up a bed someone else could use," she replied, entirely honest and earnest about it. She'd grown accustomed to sleeping in them, of course. But why sleep in a bed someone else could use when she was perfectly content as she was? When there were refugees involved, they always came first.

Breathing in deep to feign a little yawn, she studied the man's scent further. Not a mage, she decided. They had a sort of ozone aroma hanging around them.

"Is this your tree? I can go somewhere else. I didn't mean to intrude or anything."

Norrington has appreciated the peace and the quiet - a chance to sit and think. He has had quite a lot of soul searching to do, as he waited for a chance to go on full duty and speak with Commander Cullen directly. So for him, this time is a time to prepare. To reflect.

Right now though, it is simply time with his horse.

"I sincerely hope so. I am always one for doing things competently, including earning the Maker's blessings." He smirked faintly, as his brush began to move with a swifter, more even hand. "And I trust all here are doing the same."

He patted Dauntless's rump, "Four years old, if he is a day. I purchased him the day I became Knight Captain." He looks over at the white mare, nodding his head approvingly, "She's a sweet thing. Even if she is a touch fussy."

Dauntless nickered, and Norrington dug into the bag at his side, presenting Dauntless with another apple, "You shall have to run this all off later, my fine fellow."

One corner of his mouth lifted, "I have always enjoyed such tales - more the factual versions, but still. Dauntless is named after an attitude I hope I can continue to cultivate."

The girl's reply is a tad strange but Alayre thinks nothing of it. If she truly feels more comfortable up in a tree than in a bed, then who is he to judge? He chuckles at her question regarding the tree and shakes his head.

"Of course not. I would unfortunately break my neck if I tried to climb up there." Alayre answers honestly as he places the offending stick down beside the tree. Makes no sense to poke the woman now that she's wide awake now. "I was merely concerned. Not many people I know would sleep in a tree." That most certainly is the truth.

"Is this common practice for you? I always assumed the Dalish would be fond of trees but you seem quite human."

She certainly seemed that way. Ariadne had not yet been quite able to get over the shock of looking down at her hands and seeing them all pinkish and bland. She still expected her skin to be green. And as many times as she might have wished to be Human back home, she had to admit that now that it had happened against her will, she felt more than a little lost.

Just one more new thing to adjust to in this place.

"Dalish," she said carefully, the word still foreign on her tongue. "Those are Elves, right?"

The compliment certainly reaches Durandal's ears since the horse spares Norrington a glance. Fussy or not, Durandal is indeed a sweet and gentle girl. It's almost hard to believe that those gentle mare is a war horse. Durandal is a veteran at this point, she's seen battle most of her life but no one would be able to tell judging how well Alayre cares for her.

"Careful, she'll charm you out of apples as well as your Dauntless does." Alayre says as he eyes the stallion. "Only four years old? Quite young but strong. Typically a horse is about five years in before it can be ridden." He briefly turns his attention back to Durandal when she nuzzles his hand again. The poor dear simply wants his attention today.

"Are you truly so fearless, Norrington?" Alayre asks curiously. "There's plenty who believe they are but seldom is it true. Although, I do feel incline to believe you." There's a hint of subtle playfulness in Alayre's tone that might be easily noticed by Norrington. Despite always seeming so grim, the Hero of Pharos does have a lighthearted side to him.

He gives a nod. "Aye, the Dalish are the tribal elves who've separated themselves from human society." Alayre begins while recalling all that he learned and read about the Dalish. "As one would expect from those who are oppressed, the Dalish possess no fondness for men and much rather stick to themselves. They're usually nomadic but we have a few tribes here seeking sanctuary at the Hold." Alayre has only met a handful of Dalish Elves here at Skyhold and most of them are indeed unfriendly towards shemlens. All except one elf who gifted Alayre this beautiful silver brooch he wears upon his cloak.

"This-" He gestures to the brooch. "Is typical of Dalish craftsmanship. They're quite fond of all things that represent nature, especially the twisting vines and branches. The one who gifted me this is no different."

Edited 2015-12-24 18:26 (UTC)

Normally, Alistair doesn't ask permission to touch the horses in the stables. Or to feed them. He knows horses--almost as well as he knows dogs--and he knows he isn't doing any harm if he brushes out their manes or slips them bits of apple when he passes by, however much the stricter hands might complain about spoiling them.

But this particular horse has a person already attached to it. Alistair stops outside the stable door with a cut of apple ready in his hand, poised to give her, but when he's being watched, at least, he's polite enough to ask first: "Can she have a bite?"

He holds up the apple slice to illustrate.

Norrington gave the white mare a small smile, before Dauntless chuffed at him, and he patted the horse again, "Down boy. You know I would never stray."

He ran the brush in circles, wondering if he should work on the mane or the tail next, when he answered Alayre's question, "We grow them slightly heartier in the Free Marches - what with all the varying beasts around that can kill you - it's better to have a horse you know can stomp even on a giant spider, if need be."

And that statement has Norrington stopping altogether, "For my faith? For my brothers and sisters? Absolutely. I will face any challenge. There, I am always resolute in following what I consider to be the true path of the righteous." He smirked, before he continued, "Now if you ask me if that applies to personal situations ... well. We are Templars. I do not know a single Templar who has not turned red about the ears at a pretty smile from a pretty woman or man."

Wryly, Ariadne supposed it would have been more appropriate for the Rift to turn her into such an Elf than a Human. But she'd never once tried to pass for an Elf back home.

Tucking the branch behind her knees, she swung down off of her perch, hanging upside down until she grabbed hold with both hands and pulled her legs free. Neatly, she landed on the ground in a soft crouch and stood up. Hardly an impressive feat of acrobatics for her. But hardly a necessary one either, she supposed.

She walked over to the stranger, offering him a little curtsy before she turned to curiously examine the brooch. "It's beautiful," she said, sincerely.

Almost too wrapped up in his fight against the tangled knots in Durandal's mane, Alayre almost hadn't noticed the new arrival to the stables. He glances over at the young man and nods his consent while the mare tries to voice her answer through her doe-like gaze.

"I believe Durandal would be quite cross with me if I declined." Alayre answers with some humor in his tone. Like every handler, he's quite strict about his horse's diet. However, he's not cruel. Durandal can have an apple or two. The sweet lady deserves a treat from time to time.

"I take it's been you who've been caring for her in my wake." He's seen Alistair only briefly in passing but the two has never met until now. Alayre is almost certain that's King Maric's son but he doesn't want to presume. Besides, it's not his business nor does he wishes it to be.

"She would be furious," Alistair agrees--speaking not to the man, but to the horse, with the sort of tone people sometimes take with dogs and babies when they aren't being completely gooey and ridiculous but are still, you know. Talking to animals or preverbal children. There's a certain self-aware rhetorical tone one has to take even if not succumbing to ridiculous baby talk.

He lets her have the slice and rubs her nose while she swallows it. She is beautiful.

"Oh, no," he says. "Not regularly. The horsemaster has a strict schedule and a dozen spotty stable hands for that. I only like to come by sometimes--I was a stable boy when I was young." And until recently he'd been sleeping here in the stables, for the familiar smells and sounds. It helped with the nightmares. He still looks underrested now, but alert despite the circles beneath his eyes, and friendly, even when he's looking the older man over and saying, "You're one of the Templars, aren't you?"

Edited (ipad keyboard :c) 2015-12-25 20:11 (UTC)

Well, Durandal certainly loves the tone he takes up with her. Especially since she's finally given the attention she deserves. Like any horse, she certainly loves apples and is quite pleased with herself now. She nibbles on the apple slice daintily at first before just snatching it out of the warden's hands. This brings back comedic memories of the dainty mare nearly biting Alayre's fingers when she was younger. Durandal is not a graceful eater.

"Ah, my mistake then." Alayre says as he pats his horse's sturdy neck. "The horsemaster has my gratitude for his hard work, the same for the stable hands. I plan to give them each a bottle of Orlesian Red." He's speaking of wine, of course.

The sudden question wins a glance from Alayre but he's not offended. Like everyone else, he's definitely new to Skyhold and quite unfamiliar to most. "Indeed, I am." He answers a nod. "I'm Knight-Commander Alayre Sauveterre of Pharos. To whom I owe the pleasure of speaking with?"

Edited (Grrr, my iPod sucks) 2015-12-25 22:08 (UTC)

The girl's a charmer.

There's a unique bit of playfulness in the young woman demeanor that somewhat makes Alayre smile. Maybe it's the polite little curtesy at the end of her elegant climb down that wins him over. She seems so elf-like or least like the elves he read about in books. That otherworldly elegance is nice meshed with a playfulness that one would typically find in children. It's a somewhat odd mix but it works for her.

"Why thank you." He answers in regards to the brooch. "I think so as well and I'm still shocked that a Dalish elf would craft such a thing for a Templar."

Giant spiders? That certainly doesn't bode well with Alayre. The Free Marches are quite known to him but still harbors a great dislike for the local fiends, especially those disgusting spiders. Alayre almost makes it a point not to venture there alone.

"Ah, so there's a limit to your fearlessness to some degree." He chuckles quietly. "Alas, I understand. For sake of the Order itself I'm without fear as well but personal matters are quite...different." How different? Alayre's not telling. "Although, I wonder if a Templar could truly become adjusted to living life outside of the Order. We are not common folk, you and I." He gives Norrington a quick glance.

"I wonder how a man such as Rutherford managed to adjust so well since his heydays at Kirkwall but I don't dare ask."

"How am I to know?" She almost snarled in frustration, whipping her head around to glare in the speaker's direction before seeing who it was. Her eyes widened slightly as she found it to be Alayre, and effected a small bow of respect. "Knight-Commander. My... apologies."

Lenneth sighed and rubbed a hand across her brow. "What I could be searching for may be directly before my eyes," she said, running her fingers down the spine of one of the books, "and I would never know. I cannot read the script here. None of it is familiar, even in the least. I saw runes, once, that looked similar, but still they made no sense to me.

I find myself unable to learn anything not taught to me directly, but I am but a soldier here. It is wartime, and I warrant no tutor. Yet," she said, her chin lifted with stubborn pride, "I will not be ignorant of this world. I simply..." she trailed off, pride slowly deflating.

"I am not sure what recourse I have."

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Never An Uneventiful Day

Courtyard

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Stables

Library

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Stables!

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