[Open] My Hearth Is Yours

[judgemewhole]

WHO: James Norrington and You
WHAT: Dining with the Commander
WHEN: Throughout Wintermarch
WHERE: The Great Hall
NOTES: Nothing but 'seriously dude, you're hiding something aren't you?'

Even Templars need to eat.

And drink.

Sometimes they have to do a lot of drinking, honestly, but Norrington kept his portions of wine to a reasonable amount when he had it with his supper. He always dined in the main hall, few times with his men, but often times he came in in alone with papers and letters in which he worked upon while he broke meat and bread off and slipped it into his mouth without thinking. His pen never seemed to stop, as he scripted pages and pages of writing -- before tossing some of them aside and grumpily burning others.

Once and awhile, you could catch him with no papers at all, but a book, his head propped up on his hand and his green eyes distant as he read the words on the page and sipped from his glass of wine.

Comments

[samahl]

"An... infant?" Cyril seems shocked by that news. "You take children and... train them into that sort of thing?" He frowns a bit. "Were you a child when you first joined?"

[judgemewhole]

"Those who were without parents were the ones brought in as infants. We do not begin formal training until we are at least eleven or twelve." Norrington stated, before he paused, "I was ... nine. My parents had been lost to me, and I was turned over to the care of the Chantry."

[samahl]

This conversation forces Cyril to re-think a lot about what he thought about templars. He frowns as he thinks all of that over. "What is your training like?" He imagines eleven or twelve year olds holding those massive shields and being taught that mages were evil and it just chills him. He doesn't want to run with that assumption though. He waits for James to answer to give him the truth.