faderift | OPEN: Like the High Tide Takes the Sand.

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OPEN: Like the High Tide Takes the Sand.

WHO: Nerva and OPEN
WHAT: After swearing an oath to Cassandra, Nerva has foresaken her title as Templar, and sworn to serve the Inquisition only.
WHEN: Over the next couple weeks so that whoever is wherever can still come bother her.
WHERE: Either Emprise, directly after her oath, or in Skyhold after they return
NOTES:The Oath, also warning for Nerva and her Opinions....

There is something uncharacteristically quiet about Nerva, these days. A solemn silence where the passion should be, a held tongue instead of the lash. After returning from Nevarra, after trudging through the snow of the Emprise, she retreated further and further into herself.

That didn't mean the passion was gone. Rather it was turned inward - almost self-flagellating in its intensity, ripping through everything she believed, and the things she thought she believed, until her soul was left at it's most raw, most pure state.

She needed a purpose. She needed a path.

And so she made one.

Any doubts she had, she did not voice. Any doubts she had, were gone, after she made her oath.

She did not have room in her heart for doubt. She did not have room in her heart for the wretchedness that had been there, for months. No. She only had room for commitment, for the cause. And if she could not fully live one, she would live the other.

If she could no longer be Templar in word and deed, then she would be no Templar at all.

She would turn herself into a sword for the Right Hand.

Over the next few weeks, her downtime was used to carefully and painstakingly remove all symbols of the Templar Order from her armour, her clothing, her weapons. Everything she had owned, had come from the templars, and she had no funds with which to simply replace them, so she worked. Mostly on her own, removed from others. She had no desire to make a big display. Her faith - her purpose - was her own, no one else's. There would be no announcement.

Just the careful and purposeful continuation of Duty.

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They're symbols. They mean what they want you to. The commander still wore the crest on his bracers, even so far removed from the Order. The Sword of Mercy had a place, a purpose, even if some of the Templars saw it as too literal a weapon.

But River understands the need to peel it away, to be something new and shake off even the semblance of remaining chains.

So she creeps in to watch, head resting on her arms, dark eyes following Nerva's movements as she works so diligently. Would she replace them with watchful eyes instead?

Nerva has never been good with keeping symbols that once meant something else to her. Her first name is all she kept of her childhood, and even that was more out of necessity than anything else. If she is to make herself a new life, she will scrub herself of the old one.

But when she feels eyes on her, and raises her own, a wave of guilt washes over her.

River. A thread left loose, one that she felt a personal responsibility to fix, but -

It wasn't her place. And even when she had thought it might have been, it had hurt her to even dream of actually attempting what was necessary. And now -

Now. Now she had no right, anywhere, to do anything at all.

"Hello, River," She murmured, carefully removing the stitches of embroidery on a tunic.

Today appears to be one of her better days. Her eyes shine when they flick up, regarding her warmly before falling to the busy work of needles and fingers, pulling things free from flesh. No. Fabric. It's different. She's shedding that skin.

Serpent of the North, but not one to be feared. Never that.

"They're afraid," she offers up, after a moment. But her voice is calm, almost reflective. Watching her pluck at the thread is relaxing, in a way.

"Congratulations."

Is the first thing a weary Norrington says to Nerva, as he approaches her from across the courtyard. He is no longer wearing Templar colors himself, but rather the Templar symbol of old on a dark green background. Still, Nerva had found her path through turmoil so deep that he could only imagine.

If he himself wasn't feeling it himself. He gestured to the seat next to her, silently asking if he could sit.

"For what?" Nerva asks, looking up with a frown and a furrowed brow. She had only just arrived back, and she let the pack slide off her back to rest at her feet, giving her shoulders some rest.

She could think of nothing she deserved congratulations for.

"Who is afraid?" She asks, her attention half split - trying to focus on River and not stab herself with a needle at the same time.

She pauses, frowning. "Did something happen?"

"Afraid of change. Of falling. Failing. Seams coming apart with nothing to put them together again."

She shifts to make herself more comfortable, her tone still almost conversational. "Norrington more than most. Doesn't know what he is if he doesn't carry the words, the sword, the shield. He's afraid."

But not of her, at least. That much had been a relief.

The past few weeks in the Emprise have taken a toll on her armor and now that she's in Skyhold once more, Korrin has the opportunity to see it properly mended. There's only so much that can be done at camp, give the lack of resources, material and expertise to be found elsewhere. So as soon as possible, the Vashoth woman will make her way to the Undercroft for repairs. Harritt will grumble, but he's also the only person Korrin will trust with it, so she'll endure that without complaint.

Waiting for him finish, she glances around the area and spots Nerva. The woman is far from her list of favorite people, and doubtless knows it thanks from their headbutting at mage council meetings. She would be content with mutual ignoring, but Nerva's activities catch her eye. The bracers themselves aren't anything unusual, but the fact that she's working on removing Templar symbols from them definitely is. Their lack over other parts of Nerva's armor are then noted, with an increasingly curious gaze. Finally, she can't hold back and comes over to watch her work.

"You don't care for Templar symbols any more?" Her tone isn't passionate or hostile as it sometimes is in the council vault; at the moment, it's purely one of curiosity. Her gaze and arched eyebrow echo that as well.

That made her pause far longer - the fabric coming to rest in her lap, the needle between her fingers forgotten as she watched River.

"... I cannot keep anyone's fear for them," She said finally. Soft, but firm. "There is always Duty. It simply sometimes takes time to see it."

She doesn't say what she wants to, about Norrington. Bites her tongue. Conviction was the balm of her soul - and conviction wasn't something she could give others.

"Everything is changing," She continued eventually, brows pulling into a tight knot, as she turned her eyes back to the needle and thread - as she returned to the slow, but purposeful duty. "... It is not the first time. It will not be the last. I will do what I must."

Despite the dispassionate tone of Korrin's question, Nerva still bristles - as if being caught doing something she knows she shouldn't, and having to answer for it.

Only this time, she is doing what she knows she must.

She raises her eyes - her expression hard, defensive, and her hands still at their work.

"I wear the symbols of my station," She said, tensely. "I will not wear the Templar colours falsely."

"To keep us safe."

That had always been her concern, above all other things. Not herself, not patching the hurts that could be calloused and scar over, but those that were free of the perceived stain. It was the reason she'd never said aloud what she thought - suspected - knew.

River slips closer still, tipping her head against Nerva's shoulder as she works so studiously. "Everything shifts, swirling, slipping away. The eye of the storm is safest. When they become, you become with them. If they stay in the wind's path, they'll be torn apart..."

A distraction is nice, in consideration of... many things. Much, of course, he remarks little on openly.

As always, with him.

What does surprise him is how unnervingly (no pun intended) quiet Nerva has been. It seemed like she'd been to herself during their time in Emprise du Lion, but he had other things to be concerned with.

He's quietly given up on finding his arrowhead at this point.

In any case, it's hard to miss now, and he wonders. In the courtyard, he approaches her, adjusting his hat.

"Nerva. You seem introspective today," Fate remarks, eyes curious.

There was no announcement, but it was impossible not to notice the change. The Sword of Mercy left scars behind, patches of fabric brighter than the rest where it had been embroidered, or metal left gleaming where the symbol had been filed away. All together it was enough to be noticeable to Simon as they each went about their business in Skyhold, enough to get the mage to stop and wonder.

"They didn't kick you out, did they?" he asked without a great deal of tact. He wasn't trying to be mean, he was honestly confused as to why all that trouble had been gone through. Simon also had to admit he didn't know what was involved in a Templar's dismissal. It had never happened during his time in the Cumberland Circle, at least not that he'd seen. He'd think they'd take their armor back rather than having it be stripped of the usual heraldry.

Nerva was carefully scoring leather, the templar sigil now half torn away, scrubbed from existence. She looked up, after a moment, as if both his approach and his words took time to filter through her careful and precise duty.

"I am not." She frowned back down at the leather belt in her hand. "If I seem preoccupied - it is because I have much to do."

It was like poking a sleeping bear with a stick, really, and where Nerva had been quiet and brooding, a moment ago, she now faced Simon with all of her heckles up, and a good, flat glare to go with it.

"I was not kicked out of the order," She said, her voice sharp as a whip crack. "Not that it is any business of yours. I have merely dedicated myself solely to the Inquisition."

That hadn't gone over well. Simon really ought to start learning how to better choose his words... The mage stiffened visibly when Nerva lashed out at him, even though it really shouldn't have been a surprise. He hadn't been trying to poke the bear, more like checking her over for injuries...by sticking himself face-first into her den.

"Good for you," he answered, mirroring the snap in her voice with a skeptical sneer in his own. Because surely that was going to help smooth this whole thing over. "I have to commend your efforts to save the Inquisition coin as well. Though I'd think we could afford at least one new set of armor..."

Well, now. This is a curious position he's caught her in. The mage raises a brow, and slowly meanders his way closer to Nerva, arms folded behind his back.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" Twisted Fate muses, half-grinning. "What's the occasion, hm? Removal of your templar badge. Rather..."

There is a pause, then more seriously he asks, "I suppose I should ask: is this a good occasion for you, or did something happen you did not want?"

It's an automatic reflex - a low sigh, before her head tilts, pressing against River's, though her eyes and her concentration are still on her work.

"To keep you safe."

The you is both plural, and singular.

It is a promise, for a problem unspoken.

River's words, as ever, make little sense, but she tries to parse them as best she can - work them through in her literal, logical way.

"Life is always a storm, River. They will weather it, or they won't." But she did pause, pulling an arm up to clasp around River's shoulders. "I wish I could tell you what would happen, but I cannot foresee it. So I will walk my own path, and do what is best, as well as I can."

The sneer does him absolutely zero favours, and she sets her work aside to draw herself up to her full height - which isn't actually all that tall, but still.

"Did you come here merely to mock me, or do you have an actual purpose?" She asked, her eyes dark and sharp, her mouth a hard, thin line.

The half-grin already has her on edge, the muscles in her neck and her back tensing, preparing herself for the mockery as her defences quickly line up-- But then his tone changes, and the words go in a different direction than Nerva anticipated, and the automatic response of 'Absolutely none of your business' disappears before it reaches her lips. Instead, she stairs down at the scuffed leather, drawing a thumb over it.

"... It is, perhaps, both." She said finally, though her voice was far quieter than it usually was. "It was my decision, if that is your concern." Because that was the odd thing - he actually did sound, in a way that she didn't completely understand, concerned.

Concerned enough to ask, rather than mock.

"Then, I suppose I wish you ... congratulations, if it's what you wanted to do. You always seemed to really embrace the Order, but I suppose things will change."

There had been the moment, the desire to tease and mock, but he doesn't want her ire. The times in which he does, it's either because it's amusing or he'll get something out of it. He would win nothing with teasing her here, not with something she seemed to care so much about.

"So what will you do now? Full-time Inquisition soldier?"

"I don't think it is something worth congratulating," She says, the defensiveness slowly returning - less because of him, and more because of the situation. "The Order was my life, but the Order is dead. I will not continue to whip its corpse. We must focus, or perish, and Seeker Pentaghast is the only one I see who has the focus necessary."

She did look up then, meeting his eyes with a firm, even gaze.

"What I will do is in her hands, now. I have sworn my service - she will do with it as she sees fit."

"Then congratulations."

Twisted Fate crouches down beside her and holds up his hands, his smile returning. Less of a smirk, more of a thoughtful expression as he continues with, "Hear me out: there are still several people trying to drag the Order's corpse through the mud and struggle to keep it alive. I think it's wise to determine when something is over, and move on to what calls to you. Seeker Pentaghast does have focus, and it sounds beneficial for you to serve."

He shrugs. "So good luck with that, Nerva." Which he means. It seems it'd do her some good.

He's mocking her. That's the first thought that crosses her mind, when he offers her congratulations - the anger flickering across her face for half a moment, before he crouches down beside her.

And then, instead, is met with a sincerity that - despite the fact that she's witnessed it from him a few times - she still never expects from him. She doesn't know what to do with it now, the honest good will almost too alien to really wrap her head around, and she stares at him with something between confusion and suspicion for far longer than was probably acceptable. Then a heat, beneath her collar, and she clears her throat to clear it, her frown deepening as she had to pull her eyes away.

He just was glad she was no longer a Templar. That had to be it.

"I will do what I must," She replied, which really was not any sort of reply to anything he said at all, because she didn't have a reply to that.

The reaction is almost too good; it was worth going with the sincerity, seeing her almost become flustered. Fate does smirk now, grinning with his confidence, but says nothing to call it out.

"Oh, I don't doubt you're going to do whatever you feel like is necessary," he agrees. Whether or not she has to, that's another thing. "Do the remaining Templars know?"

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OPEN: Like the High Tide Takes the Sand.

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Coming back from Emprise du Lion

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back at skyhold;

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Re: back at skyhold;

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