faderift | OPEN: this will be a better year

OPEN: this will be a better year

WHO: Everyone
WHAT: First Day
WHEN: Wintermarch 1 (forward-dated)
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Scouts from both the Western Approach and Emprise du Lion are welcome (but not required) to have returned to Skyhold in time for this event.

There have been better First Day feasts, and less crowded ones, and cheerier ones. It isn't a good year for many to look back on, and this one isn't starting any better. Reports from both Eastern and Western Orlais are grim. Many in the Inquisition can't afford to take more than a few hours away from their work, if that.

But for those who can, the ambassador does her best. At lunchtime some tables, hot food, and finery are reserved for visiting nobility and wealthy pilgrims--cause for grumbling in some quarters, perhaps, but they're the people filling the Inquisition's coffers, and allowances must be made--but there's plenty of stew, bread, and ale for everyone, even with the soldiers and refugees who stay outside the fortress invited inside for the holiday. The recently repaired garden and its carefully tended plants aren't off limits, but anyone noisy and holding a drink will be stopped at the door; the battlements, with their potential for deadly falls, are blocked by Inquisition guards. But the courtyards brim with people, most of them happy despite the possibility that the world might end before another First Day arrives.

If the courtyards are too full of tipsy visitors for comfort, there's also the valley beyond the fortress, expansive, barren, and covered in snow. By the river the soldiers help the refugees make a bonfire larger than would ever be allowed inside Skyhold's walls, and some lend their shields to use as sleds down the embankments. A group of scouts start the most intense game of hide and seek Thedas has ever seen, with snowballs to the face for whoever is found first. In the camp, a refugee girl with her hand wrapped in a green scarf chases other children around the tents, shouting raaar, I'm from the rifts!

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For all that he seems easiest to engage with professionally - he hadn't looked like the smalltalk type, and she is happy to tailor her ongoing mission to collect all Templars into her small pocket to their preferences - she is friendly enough, her manner at ease, warm. Dorian is a pleasant subject (for her, if not for all of the Inquisition) and Norrington is a pleasant enough man to speak with, so far.

It is promising. That she proceeds not to clarify further Dorian will inherit his father's seat in the Magisterium - and the title of Magister along with it - when the elder Pavus passes has less to do with caginess about her Tevinter friend than it does to do with what a sensitive topic Halward Pavus is with his estranged son. She is protective of her friend, and of his hurts - there is no need to bandy Halward Pavus's name about the Inquisition. The politics of the Imperium and Dorian's place in it are more complex than can be properly addressed in one casual conversation, so -

Better not to address it. It harms none.

"The Magisterium is a part of the governing body of the Imperium," she explains, instead. "Members of the Imperial Senate are far fewer than there are mages in Tevinter - though I imagine for as many are exasperated by the confusion, there must be some who might be pleased to let the mistake stand," a little wryly.

It's easier for him because he's not a man for speeches that mean absolutely nothing. Small talk is absolutely too small for him. Still, he does ease some as she is easy. Unafraid of him, and warm to her subject. He listened thoughtfully to her explanation of the Magisterium, making note of it for later.

"Yes, well, I have heard a great deal on the dangers of assumptions and generalizations lately ... I believe I shall meet Altus Pavus before I make up a mind if he's an 'evil mage from Tevinter'." Is his faintly wry response, but his expression is amused and not biting.

It is a very rare thing indeed, to see Lady Thevenet blink. And in the heart of Skyhold, in these revels - no, she has no fear of Templars, here. Indeed, she has little fear of them at all; not for Benevenuta, the uglier abuses of the Circles of Magi. Her experience of her Circle had been a pleasant one, her acquaintance with Templars unobjectionable, and her place in the Nevarran court and with the Mortalitasi giving her a life with more independence and privilege than even the average Nevarran mage might hope for.

It is not merely that it's easier for her to work with Templars than it is for those mages who suffered at their hands, at the hands of men and women who look like them and had worked alongside them - it is her responsibility to do so because they might not. Blamelessly, of course; she could not fault their reluctance. But it must be done, and if she can do it with a smile, with a genuine interest in their work and their lives - then she must, and so much the better if she is pleased to.

And so she will quite reasonably insist if and when Dorian becomes exasperated with her and tries to divert her attention to marks less likely to suppress her magic and push her off the battlements for being a damned nuisance.

"I think you will find him well worth your time, Knight-Commander," she says, with that aforementioned smile. "The work he has already done for the Inquisition is invaluable, and for my part, I am pleased to count him among my friends." He is, arguably, her only friend. If ulterior motives do not disqualify her from claiming Adelaide as the same, then the slightly better of two. "And I hope to be able to say the same of Knight-Captain Hill, in the future - I intend to be among those training with them."

Well, wasn't it fortunate for the both of them that Norrington had no intentions whatsoever to pushing anyone off the battlements, unless they were blood mages or in fact, Red Templars. Norrington had a lot of blood rage, it was true, but it wasn't aimed towards the mages here. Not the one who were coming together to try and find a new way, a better way. Together, rather than at each other's throats.

As long as Councilor Thevenat was on the same page at that, she would find a partner in James Norrington.

"Then I shall delight in meeting him." As long as the man didn't hiss like a cat in his presence. "You have the fortune of knowing one of the most sensible former Templars I know, outside of Rutherford." He dipped his head respectfully, "And I hope we shall be able to work together as well, Councilor."

For the simple fact that he is already so much on that page, Norrington is unlikely to be the focus of her efforts; she is more interested in gently working on someone like Nerva, for whom working with mages is more of a challenge. It is good, though, to know where her allies in this are, and she values them highly.

And he is not bad company, once she gets past that frown.

"I am certain that we shall," she says, warmly. And then, a little playful - no intent behind it beyond seeing if he'll either take her up on it (likely to be enjoyable) or fluster (guaranteed to be amusing), "Perhaps we might begin with a dance?"

Since it is a celebration.

It is fairly clear that Nerva was going to be a challenge for both sides - mages and Templars. On that, perhaps they could come and together and work something out in the near future. He himself would prefer not shaking Nerva until she was sensible.

The frown becomes a startled look instead, before it becomes faintly ... wry.

"I shall be delighted, Councilor." He offers his hand, looking a bit red about the ears, so take your combination of both. A pause, "Just - do not be too surprised."

"You have my solemn word, ser, if I must be complimentary I shall not be at all condescending," she says - very brightly - and if she is assuming he means to surprise her with his skill then she's arguably already paying him such a compliment, sly.

It is surely no surprise to find a court-bred thing like Lady Thevenet moves as gracefully as she does, in the meanwhile; the dances she had learned as a girl and indulged or performed as a woman are not quite the same as those common to southern lands, but she is quick to learn with a skilled partner to lead her and her deftness serves her well when she must mae up the difference.

"I appreciate the distinction." He stated simply, if not with a touch of sardonic humor. He leads her to the floor, grave and straight, and listens to the music to make sure that he catches the beat, before he sweeps her into a formal gavotte.

For all that they are both in the South, James Norrington is a born and bred Northern himself. The Free Marches were considered quaint by most of their brethren, but that did not mean they did not know how to angle their feet just as prettily. Norrington attended more formal dances than he had care to, as a member of the Templar Order and the scion of a powerful merchant family. Pride dictated he showed the scion of Nevarra a thing or two.

There are a great many things here in Skyhold that she might describe as quaint before even a Free Marcher - for the time being, she laughs, delighted, at the more familiar steps. At his skill, which as promised she keeps any surprise about to herself, sparing him only a sly glance up from beneath her lashes as she falls into the rhythm of the dance, easy as breathing.

Observe the civilized North, doglords.

(She would never.)

(...out loud.)

Well, come on. They were in Fereldan. Everything was more quaint here - not to mention smelling heavily of dog. His only response to that sly glance was a faint smirk of his own which is stilled into an expression of absolutely seriousness.

The movements precise, the dance courtly and telling all at the same time. Fereldans had passion, but they never really mastered precision.

(He wouldn't either.)

(Probably.)

In the steps of the dance, they make a well turned out couple, fast footwork and the flattering sweep of her gown, her air as light-hearted as ever in contrast to his solemnity. When they come to a stop, she performs a gracious curtsy and does not, however tempting it may be, begin to slowly applaud him.

She did promise not to be surprised.

"Well, Knight-Commander," she says, instead, "I shall remember you if I have need of a dance partner in future."

Norrington dipped into a formal bow in turn, before his lips twitched up at the corners at the applause. He straightened, offering his arm to take her off the floor.

"And I shall remember the honor, Councilor. You are incredibly graceful."

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OPEN: this will be a better year

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