faderift | [Closed] I'm only one call away

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[Closed] I'm only one call away

WHO: James Norrington and Alayre Sauveterre
WHAT: Praying before the Prophet
WHEN: During Godless 9:42
WHERE: The small temple of Andraste, off the garden
NOTES: Templars and faith

Norrington watched with silent dismay as the crystal filled with more and more responses to Alayre's outburst, and his jaw tightened more and more. He started to look to the door to the garden more often, green eyes filled with worry. He knew none here would raise a hand to Alayre, that Beleth and Nerva would be there to at least calm him down. That Cade could be there to protect him -- if such a thing was necessary.

Although all things considered, perhaps it would be best to keep this just to Alayre and James.

Or at least, as soon as he arrived.

Staring at the door accomplished nothing. Worry accomplished nothing. He came here for Alayre, and with Alayre in mind, he rose and opened the door to the small altar of Andraste, reaching her hands up to the heavens. He looked up at her, before he knelt before the altar and took a candle from his cloak. He lit it with one of the hundreds of candles there, and then went to one knee.

The words came easy, as they always had. A balm in the long and tiring hours.

"here was no word
For heaven or for earth, for sea or sky.
All that existed was silence.
Then the Voice of the Maker rang out,
The first Word,
And His Word became all that might be:
Dream and idea, hope and fear,
Endless possibilities.
And from it made his firstborn.
And he said to them:
"In My image I forge you,
To you I give dominion
Over all that exists.
By your will
May all things be done."

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The anger that swelled within him had long since cooled by the time all hell broke loose.

Alayre had put away his disgust for the Inquisition in favor of pity. While he knew his words weren't just, the fool still made quite an uproar nonetheless. His words were dictated by a silent grief that none could possibly understand. Joining the Inquisition was suppose to solve more problems than it made for Alayre. He was suppose to feel invigorated by their march for justice and see hope within their allies who exalt their righteous cause. Alas, he doesn't feel or see anything resembling those lofty examples. At least not in their current fractured state. This is why the Inquisition had lost a fellow Templar much earlier in their creation. This is why they lost Baratheon.

Now contemplating if he too should leave them, Alayre allowed his frustration to show in a moment of poor judgement. Nearly dying out within the snowy lyrium laced fields of Emprise du Lion didn't help things either. So here we are with a man who sees his faith tested and scorned. Only a handful seek to comprehend that he speaks from a place of disappointment and not true scorn. The rest of them merely latch onto anger and nothing more.

Quite ill fitting of these alleged champions, no?

When Alayre arrives here, he is not without shame. Durandal is sent away to the stables before he makes his arrival at the temple. He sees James there as soon as he opens the doors. Alayre listens as he stalks closer towards the altar with muffled steps. Being free of the viscous wilds of Emprise du Lion seemed to free his head a bit. The festering rage he had is nonexistent only replaced by sorrow, grief and an inkling of fear. He takes his place wordlessly beside James and kneels as well.

Now is the time for prayer and reflection. He won't squander it with malice. Besides, James is one of the few who generally seems to care.

When he heard Alayre kneel beside him, James turned to another prayer, one that he knew was made to bring comfort to those who were struggling with their doubts and with their sorrows. Now, more than ever, Alayre needed guidance. Let him find it in the Maker's hands as they prayed.

"O Maker, hear my cry:
Guide me through the blackest nights.
Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked.
Make me to rest in the warmest places.

O Creator, see me kneel:
For I walk only where You would bid me.
Stand only in places You have blessed.
Sing only the words You place in my throat.

My Maker, know my heart:
Take from me a life of sorrow.
Lift me from a world of pain.
Judge me worthy of Your endless pride.

My Creator, judge me whole:
Find me well within Your grace.
Touch me with fire that I be cleansed.
Tell me I have sung to Your approval.

O Maker, hear my cry:
Seat me by Your side in death.
Make me one within Your glory.
And let the world once more see Your favor.

For You are the fire at the heart of the world,
And comfort is only Yours to give."

He fell silent then, letting them both soak in the holy words, to feel the comforting light of Andraste and the Maker. He could feel Her blessings and Her love, even in these dark times. and he prayed that Alayre could feel the same within him.

After a few moments, he rose, pressed his hand to his heart to Andraste, and stepped outside to wait for Alayre.

A world of pain.

That verse struck him hard. He's undeniably in pain. Always has. Life has been anything but kind to Alayre. Even the manner of how he was brought to the Maker's side was a pitiful story. Alayre never had the luxury of a family or anything to identify him with the parents who gave him away. The agony of the unknown mixed in with all the trial and tribulations he faced in the Order scarred him. While Pharos had been a cage designed for mages, it was also a glided cage for himself.

Then, the rebellion came and blood flowed like ale at a tavern. Death became so commonplace that Alayre didn't even take a moment to mourn for the fallen. He merely stepped over their corpses and continued this war anew. He kept fighting until the very last Abomination laid dead. Battered and broken then, Alayre didn't give himself much rest. He continued to press on determined to seek out the Maker's Will himself and challenge those who held authority of it.

He always kept pressing onward until now.

Alayre tasted his blood once before but it was bitter this time at Emprise du Lion. What has he accomplished in his life thus far? If he had died in that battlefield amongst the sickening glow of red lyrium, would anyone even had noticed or cared?

'We're not the heroes in this.'

Those are words he'll never forget. No matter how hard he strives to put behind the devilry of the Order and embrace the coming of change, he'll never be looked upon as a true hero by anyone. He is a Templer and with that a villain. The Order will always be seen as nothing short of villainous but Alayre has no right to mourn when those who betrayed humanity at its very core still lives. Only when Kirkwall and other towers come crumbling down can he be allowed to mourn. Until then, he must find the fire within his heart again.

A quiet sigh leaves Alayre once the prayer ends. He could hear James shift to stand and he does eventually. His stride is a slow one but not a haggard one like earlier. There's bit of vigor left within him still.

He'll see the end of this war no matter what. This is what he promised to himself and many others who hold faith in him. Stepping back into the cold doesn't faze him this time around. In truth, Alayre doesn't even notice the bitter chill anymore. The only thing he acknowledges is the brother before him.

James stood with his hands folded behind him, the perfect stance for a soldier, as he waited for Alayre to rise. He seems to be doing slightly better now - at least he does not look like death warmed over. There is a sadness to Alayre that James has never seen before, a solemnity to his eyes and to the set of the jaw.

He nodded gravely at his brother, his friend, and then spoke quietly. "Alayre -- we shall need to speak of what happened." He paused, then said more gently, "You are having a crisis of faith, aren't you?"

A ghost of a smile lingers upon his lips as he looks upon James. He knew his fellow Templar would be astute enough to read past the anger and see the sorrow. Alayre done well to conceal his sorrows but something within Emprise du Lion grabbed a hold of him and dragged him into sin. His heart is heavy with grief and his very soul riddled with it.

It takes Alayre a moment to will himself to speak but when he does, he sounds so tired and broken. "Yes." Alayre answers quietly with nothing other than grief in his voice. "My faith, my convictions..." Unable to keep his gaze upon James, Alayre averts his gaze. "They feel lost to me, clouded in a sea of doubt. My fears became too much to bear and when I sought for the Maker's presence in that hellish land drenched in red and white, I found nothing." He pauses for a moment as he struggles to explain himself. "Fear leads into anger and anger becomes hate. I don't want to lose myself to that kind of wickedness."

Alayre takes a deep breath as he turns to face James again. The sorrow that clings to him is telling of what lurks within. "I need to believe that the Maker hasn't adandoned us. I need to believe that He's still here in this world and that all of my deeds thus forth haven't been for naught."

He pauses. "I need to believe that if I do die, it be for a just cause." Alayre closes his eyes briefly to block the encroaching tears. "I wrongly took my frustration upon the Inquisition when that frustration lies with myself. We are not where we should be yet but with some faith, we will be. This is what I need to believe in again."

Of course he was -- Alayre wasn't the first one of them to lose their way. He wouldn't be the last. Faith was a hard road to travel, with so many doubters trying to trip you up on the road to begin with. It was the coming back that was the hardest -- and the red lyrium? Clearly hadn't been helping matters.

James considered those words for a moment, listening closely to everything Alayre was saying, to what he was really saying. It was a crisis that simply said - is the Maker out there? Is the Maker there at all? Are my prayers being heard, even a little? He had been on his knees more than once in the past year, wondering the same thing. It had always come back to the same thing. Trust. Trust in the Maker's path. He put one hand on Alayre's shoulder, and turned him around to face the altar. To see all the candles burning.

"Do you see all those candles, brothers? The ones that are lit, the ones that have melted down to wax, and are folded one on top of another, into the stone itself? Those are all the prayers that have gone to the Maker. That is how many people still believe he is there." He clapped Alayre on the shoulder, "One of my prayers is that you would not die, on that snowy mountain. That you and Cade would not succumb to the madness of the Red Lyrium, and be lost to us. Those prayers were answered. Yes, there are naysayers, but there are always more naysayers. The fact that we have lived this long, that we have made it here to fight this fight, despite the odds? How can the Maker's hand not be guiding us?"

He turned Alayre around again, to face him. "You've done wrong. You know it, and I know it. I know you will make things right again, because you're just a good man who has lost his way. It won't happen overnight, finding the light again. But I have faith ... in you."

He paused, then stated firmly, "Your path is hard. You have lost the trust of many. The mages are scared of you now - they want me to stand in for you. I want you to stay on as Chairman, but until you sort yourself, do I have your permission to act as liason as you take on more of the leadership role amongst our own?"

Edited 2016-02-14 16:19 (UTC)

Trust is a fleeting thing sometimes. Alayre trusted in the Maker all his life and had only seen hardships. While he managed to rise overcome every trial he ever faced, this matter of faith seems too great for him to try. However, it's the look of certainty and clarity in James eyes that spurns him to try. There's faith in his eyes, true faith.

It's as Beleth had said, there's those who still believe in him and his cause regardless of the baseless allegations made against him simply because of what he is. Alayre is no butcher and he's no jailer. He's one of the few within the Order that seeks an end to the violence that grips Thedas. He's one of the stalwart dreamers who keep pressing forward. This is who he is and he will prove it.

Turning his gaze upon the altar with reverence, Alayre watches in silence as James speaks. One particular candle on the far right catches his attention because of its flickering flame. Despite most of the wax having melted away, that small bud of a fire still burns within this bitter cold. It burns with a brilliance that matches the sun's rays despite being so small. The flame's resolve is telling, it refuses to die.

"The Maker guides us always." Alayre suddenly says with a conviction that finally returned to him. "Death was determined to claim me but something forced it back. Something else grabbed ahold of me and told me to survive." He turns his gaze to meet James again.

"It was him. It was the Maker."

Alayre smiles somewhat, it's a weak one but a smile nonetheless. "They have a right to be scared after witnessing such a shameless debacle. They will undoubtedly let such fears breed into hatred but I will remain sincere in my apologies. You have my permission, brother, to act in my stead until my faith is rekindled anew. I will see to our brothers as both their guardian and leader."

He tentatively reaches for James' shoulder and grips it firmly. "I trust you, James Norrington, I hold faith in you for you are not only my brother-in-arms but my friend as well. I trust you in a way a man trust the coming of a new day." He let's out a weighty sigh.

"This faith you have in me serves as a balm over my doubts. I will not fail you or our allies again."

James had found that trust was something of a mixed blessing. You could have no trust, and find yourself quite alone in the world. You could have too much trust, and find the world was there to fleece you dry. He spent a great deal of time, learning how to find the right amount of trust - in his friends, in his people, in his faith.

Right now, he was trusting in Alayre to do the right thing, for the right reason. He could see it in the other man's eyes, the way his eyes filled with reverence. He wanted to. He wanted to believe. To reclaim his faith. To atone for his sins.

He nodded his head solemnly. "The Maker works in the moment. When we are able to see the pattern, we can see His plan." He paused, then sighed as he added, "I have sometimes no patience, and sometimes too much pride. I am ... polite, but not political. I cannot promise I will be perfect at this job, but I will do you honor, ser."

A smile, a warm one, before he clapped the man's shoulder in turn. "You are my friend as well. And I will be more than happy to turn this around for you -- it will take some time, but I will see what I can do for you ... on everything."

Sucking in a breath, "And I will do my level best, not to fail you."

"Release these thoughts of 'perfection', James. For no one is asking for perfection. If anything, I'm just asking you to try." He says with a faint smile. "Understand you're not alone in your endeavors. I will still be there and so will your men and countless others. This is only a momentary respite."

His smile fades a little. "My debts grow with legion here and I must do my best to pay them. I will do whatever is possible to appease the Inquisition for comments made unjustly. Sincerity means nothing without action." Alayre is determined to do not only himself proud but his allies as well.

"The fact that you're here, James, already states that you won't fail." He allows his hand to fall from Norrington's shoulder. "It would seem I'm Knight-Commander once more but that title carries a heavy weight that most apostates hate. I will be mindful to wear it with grace." After confessing to Beleth how he believed the old hierarchy of the Templars should change, Alayre is actually debating whether or not if he should even don that title.

"Have faith, we'll see the end of this together."

"Momentary respite ... Maker, is this what this?" He had his sincere doubts on that, but he would do what he had to. For his people, for Alayre's, for Cade and Nerva and Ellian -- even for Cullen and Maria if they had need. Brothers and sisters, always, even if they had put aside the armor and the colors. For they were all part of the Inquisition now.

"I shall see if anything is necessary -- but I think an apology should be sufficient, and a promise to ... speak to me or another Templar before you share something so publicly."

One corner of his mouth twisted, "Where-as, I shall just keep my title as Knight-Commander. Who knows who they might decide to go with after me?" He sighed, "We'll need to figure out a new way, a new hierarchy, once this war is over."

A slow nod. "Faith ... I have in abundance. All I need it to do is help me walk the path before us."

"You think not?" Alayre asks curiously.

He could only imagine the kind of fear mongering is happening behind the scenes now after his tirade. Despite the Mages swaying a majority of the say here in the Inquisition, they constantly fret over the thought of losing the power they've gained. Little do any of them comprehend that no one wishes to take that power away from them, least of all Alayre.

In time they'll eventually realize that, hopefully. "They still treat the Inquisition by factions rather than as a whole. For now, this works well enough but we are two halves of the same whole. Eventually we will have to become one." Alayre states with a wisdom beguiling his old age.

A slight smirk quirks at his lips now. "The apology is theirs to have but I haven't figured if I'm brave enough for the announcement yet." He's quite worried about having another public forum take place. The Templars are hated enough as it is without him causing more problems. However, Alayre will do what needs to be done to ease tempers.

"Why wait so long? Our war may not end for several years." He states quietly with a rather pensive expression. "As we are, the Mages fear the New Order as much as they feared the Old. So mayhaps it's time to think of new ideas for Order before they render us unfit."

"I think we are still in the hurricane my friend. When the true respite comes, we will not know what to do with ourselves." Is Norrington's firm reply. Events were still happening right now, would continue to happen.

Norrington would silently agree. It is very hard to take power away from someone when you yourself had no power to begin with.

He arched an eyebrow over at the other man, before curiosity got the better of him. "Do you mean the Mages and the Templars becoming one unit, one faction, instead of two? That might be difficult -- we are still dedicated to the Maker and Andraste and they are ... clearly going in different directions. We will be dedicating ourselves to the new Divine, whenever she arrives."

If she ever arrived. The future of the world was not yet stable enough.

"Think carefully on your words, brother. Take your time. Apologies should be sincere in their form after all." He stated gravely, before he arched an eyebrow at Alayre. "What do you suggest? Reforming the ranks under new titles?" A thought that had been occurring to him for some time, "Opening them up to elves, dwarves, Val Talashoth? Even the Avaar, if they are willing to accept Andraste as one of their Gods?"

A frown settles on his face. Norrington is indeed right. They're literally at the eye of the storm. It almost feels as if no progress has been made since he arrived here four months ago. Frustrating.

"Perhaps we cannot be become one in that sense but in goals?" Alayre suggests tentatively with a slight sigh. "I don't think our religion suits them, to be frank. The Maker is far too harsh on them." That's the undeniable truth.

The old Templar smiles somewhat at the suggestion of opening their ranks to other races. "Now that's a rather interesting idea I could support. Though, do you think any would be willing?" He sincerely doubt the Dalish or the Valashoth will join them but the choice should still be given.

Norrington knew more than that. They had to get ahead of the curve, ahead of the storm. He wasn't sure how, but he would find a way.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps it is just the Chantry. The Maker has very little to do with what other men and women do on His name. Andraste herself was used by people who took advantage of her goodness." He sighed, looking up to the sky.

He glanced back at Alayre, "Why shouldn't we try? They accuse us of not being able change -- well why don't we offer them the ability to learn how to take down abominations as effectively as we do? There are those who believe in Andraste."

A slight huff leaves Alayre as he ponders more about this possible idea. He's hesitant to believe that the other races will show any interest in their Order but he's willing to try of. "Change often comes in small ripples instead of large waves but too long the Order has avoided change. We must adapt somehow. Therefore, I shall agree to this notion." Alayre states with a nod. It's oddly refreshing to hear such unique and outlandish ideas come from James. Usually it's Alayre often talking off Detlef about some of his ambitious ideas and projects. Alayre is such a dreamer sometimes.

"Though, if we embark upon this righteous path to connect with those of various races--does this mean we limit ourselves from the Chantry?" He asks in mild wonder. "Remember, brother, the Chantry still have full control of our lyrium supplies. They use it as a means to keep us tethered to their will much like dogs to meat." Alayre explains with a frown.

"If we distant ourselves from the Chantry, we best become our own supplier of lyrium."

Norrington pauses for a moment, before a look comes over his face. A thoughtful one, at that, before his lips twitch up at the corners. "Well, as I have heard a very wise lady say - a leash pulls two ways. After all, what is the one thing the Chantry wants now, more than anything?"

He gestured around to Skyhold. "They want some sort of voice here, do they not? To stop us is to stop their voice - Mother Giselle and the other sisters are firm that they are the Chantry, and there isn't a single Sister who has been able to deny them, nor a single Cleric."

"Then we hold the means to bring the Chantry down from their lofty pedestal." Alayre follows up with a slight smirk. "Interesting. I believe there's hope yet. Our ambitious won't be easily subjugated as long as the Chantry bids for Skyhold." He seems rather pleased with all this now. Very pleased.

"Then we can bring change to the Order as we see fit. This will help us propell our numbers and sway public opinion to our favor."

"Precisely so. It is time for the Chantry to work with us, instead of ordering us. In fact, with offering these changes, I think we can step back, and allow the Chantry to learn ... acceptance, under the Maker's Grace." He thought about it. "And more importantly - we are in the same fortress of the Left and the Right Hand of the Divine. If we tell them of our plans - they are the ones who will be supporting the new Divine."

He gave his brother a long, even look. "That Divine ... could be the key to giving freedom not only to the mages, but to us as well."

"That Divine will be the key to granting us our freedom alongside the mages." Alayre repeats with strong conviction. "Thedas is constantly changing and evolving. It's only a matter of time the Chantry will have to evolve as well or get crushed beneath Time's heel." He's absolutely confident about that and he'll dare the Chantry to try and stop this progress.

"I dream of a day when the mages govern themselves and we're nothing more than friendly allies who assist their endeavors. I don't want to rule over them or be a source of fear and intimidation. Enough is enough." Alayre honestly hopes he lives long enough for such a day.

"Detlef, the healer who saved me from the brink of death, has never known freedom and he's not alone." The slight chill in the air finally catches Alayre's attention and he draws in his cloak tighter. "I want him and others like him to know what freedom tastes like before I die. If I can somehow help in this process, then I'll do it." A somewhat morose smile lingers upon his weathered face now.

"I just want all of this needless suffering to end and I want our brothers to know freedom too. I have many 'wants', I know but I believe I 'need' this."

"And at this point, the Chantry is going to need to rethink it's policies or find itself right where it began - in the midst of a war with another Divine blown to high hell by extremists." Was Norrington's firm reply.

He sighed softly, "As would it -- but it is going to take a great deal of time to get us there. Right now I would be pleased if the one third of the Inquisition who despises us doesn't look like they are going to murder us in his sleep."

A blink at that, before he looks solemn, "That would be ... something to see. As long as they are taking the proper precautions." Freedom wasn't just being free. There were responsibilities for that.

"We have many wants, and many needs. We might want to focus on what we can do now, and make sure the rest are long term goals."

"If the Chantry ends up in such a way, that's they're own fault for refusing to adapt."

A slight sigh leaves Alayre. "Yes, yes. I'm certainly getting ahead of myself here." He admits honestly. "Though, someday we'll reach those goals but not on this day." Another chilly gust of wind blows past and Alayre makes a frown. "This has been a long winter. I doubt spring shall cone early this year. It's far too cold."

He glances towards the frozen horizon briefly before turning to James with a look of concern in his grey gaze. "Shall you speak with the advisors soon? I can tell the Seeker is quite crossed with me and for good reason." Alayre is dreading the conversations that will come with any of the advisors, especially with Pentaghast.

"Well, I certainly can't argue with that."

He gave his friend a warm smile, before he patted him on the shoulder. "Not today -- but some day. We all have a long road to travel. Perhaps we will get to it sooner, through the Inquisition." He sighed as he pulled his own cloak closer. "I dread to think of those back in the Emprise du Lion tonight."

He nodded his head soberly, "I will write them a letter, before I head out again. I must go to Montemps immediately - a nobleman has sent me a letter concerning some of his vassals, and possible blood magic."

"Perhaps so. Perhaps not. That is not for us to decide, brother." He looked to the sky, with a sigh. "A higher power, as always, guides us. We must trust in the Maker to know we are on the right path. Surely He will show us otherwise if that is the case."

He arched an eyebrow, before stating dryly, "Just a bit." He glanced off across the fields, and nodded. "Far too cold. The frost will bite deep."

He looked back to Alayre, "Only if they ask to speak to me. Cullen asked me to fix this - so I shall. I'll speak to the other Knight Commanders as well."

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[Closed] I'm only one call away

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