faderift | Blood Magic

WHO: James Norrington, and YOU.
WHAT: Norrington gets ambushed, for information.
WHEN: Currently
WHERE: Norrington's 'office' (aka the table he's secured outside his tent to write reports)
NOTES: Warnings for blood magic, irritated Templar and probable Mage and Templar politics abounding, as well as people asking silly questions

Honestly, he really should have seen this coming. He was a known Templar Knight Commander - he had been hunting blood mages for nearly fifteen years now. His name were on several papers on Maelficarium, and he had trained Knights all over the Free Marches and even as far away as Orlais and Fereldan on how to properly hunt and kill blood mages.

Certainly, people were going to know of him. Certainly people were going to ask him about his past experiences. It was inevitable.

What he did not expect that was after coming in at the tail-end of an abomination attack to be bombarded by questions about blood magic - from soldiers down to the common folk. They crowded around him now, and you could just hear his voice over the fray of questions, stern and sometimes even caustic.

" -- NO I am not here to execute all the apprentice mages! One of them slipped - one. That does not mean the rest of them are suddenly going to start slicing open their wrists! They are children, they are learning. Is there a danger? Yes, but I sincerely doubt any of the mages here is blatantly teaching them ancient mind control rituals... "

There was a fast murmur of questions and then Norrington's voice could be heard again. "... No. You cannot do blood magic simply by cutting your finger and cursing. If that was the case every cook in the history of Thedas would be a blood mage. There are practices that someone must follow to use blood magic. If not, that is how we get abominations and demons from those failed spells."

Another fast and loud rat-a-tat of questions, and Norrington could be seen rubbing his face, "... No, not every blood mage is a Tevinter. Nor are they all Dalish. No, the Dalish do not practice sacrificing babies with Tevinter magisters -- do you know what the majority of the slave trade is? Yes, then it stands to reason that the Dalish and the Tevinter Magisters are Not In Cahoots. And NO the Dalish are not aiding Corpheyus with their tattoos -- their tattoos are not blood magic!"

Clearly, this is going well. So if you wish to help Norrington -- or just add more fuel to the fire -- please, feel free to stop by.

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He looks at her for a moment, suppressing a laugh, before he states calmly. "In spite of the Chantry, yes. Let us just say ... it is an apology I am willing to make on behalf of the faithful. We took your history away, and now we should be helping you restore it."

She stares at him and wonders when it became more believable to her that a human could be lying just to get in her pants than that a human believes something she honestly thinks anyone with sense would believe. Of course she's sure other humans think that way, sort of, but very few would want to say it. Or maybe she's just being as cynical as possible to try not to get hurt by a romantic partner. He could be too good to be true, or he could be everything he says. Would it be better to dodge a second heartbreak only to find she allowed the first heartbreak to rule her for the rest of her life?

"I...didn't expect that from a human. Least of all a Templar. I thought it would have been harder for a person to come to conclusions that contradict their teachings. It's been difficult for me."

Well, it's fairly certain that she doesn't believe him. She's looking at him like he has suddenly grown another head. He clears his throat, looking away, feeling embarrassed. Of course she probably just thinks it's romantic drivel. Perhaps some of it is just idealism -- but a lot of it was sympathy, and empathy.

Empathy, Swann had once told him, was the most powerful leveler in the world.

"Well, I am not saying I believe that elves have always been in the right -- but anyone who is a true follower of Andraste is never going to accept cruelty for cruelty's sake. We are all children of the Maker, and therefore should show kindness to one another." He paused, and then stated simply, "The Chantry never taught that helping elves was bad, or wrong. They taught us that your Gods were false -- but as we have said before, all of our Gods are silent now. I have heard mine. Why should I not help you hear yours?"

She believes him. Mythal protect her, she believes him. Everything he has said and done has shown him to be a man of integrity. Maybe it is his beliefs that draw him to her now, that allow him to consider an elf to be courtable. The walls around her heart fall a little, yielding to the longing for the love and companionship he is so well equipped to offer.

"Andraste said there is only one god. And yet she freed the elves, and did not force them to worship her Maker. Perhaps the Maker was the only god she needed, and the only god you need. Perhaps the Creators are facets of the Maker. Or perhaps the Maker is the one god favoring humans. I don't know. But I believe you. And...I like you."

Now that ... that startles him as much as she has been startled by him in turn. It wasn't many people who could understand faith like that. Who could see the Maker not just in one place, but many places. That she had such a faith - well. It was startling for one of her people, to accept the Maker and Andraste at all.

He breathed out quietly, looking back at her intently, before he stated simply, "Faith is like water. It doesn't matter what bottle it's in, it still is faith. And ... I like you, as well."

He cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away before he did something reckless, like kiss her. "At any rate -- uhm. Yes."

And that's the moment it happens.

"I like you, too." Yes. She's being silly about a man. Everything just sort of caved, some dam being broken down, her normal reservation and thought processes flooded by sheer he is so adorable when he does anything giddiness.

"I mean--I said that." And he is so cute when he's stammering and awkward. "So...we'll meet with Cyril when? When is a good time? My time is mostly my own. There's a little grove outside Skyhold. I could bring food."

He blinks at that, because well, she had said that. He gives her a quiet, pleased smile as she looks at him like -- well. Without reservation, something that just has his chest tighten and his eyes lingering longer then what was proper.

"Yes, you did." He states quietly, before he clears his throat, again, scratching the back of his head, "I. Ah. I have ... no plans after First Night. We could do something? I mean with the food. And - ah - Cyril. And ... of course the grove." He pauses, and adds, "I also like groves."

Oh Maker.

"...I could bring more history books. Although I am afraid I won't be able to carry both you and Cyril back if you both fall asleep." There, attempt at humor made.

A soft laugh.

"Thank you for that. Looking out for me that night. It was good-hearted of you."

Maker, she had a great laugh.

"You were exhausted, and I am, if nothing else, a gentleman." He cracked a quiet smile, "Beyond that ... you snore adorably."

A fierce blush. "I do not!" she insists.

"Oh yes, you do." James smiled, green eyes glowing with laughter. "And it is absolutely charming."

Blood Magic - 101

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