faderift | OPEN: The Loyal Shield

Entry tags:

OPEN: The Loyal Shield

WHO: Aleron and YOU
WHAT: General Catch All while the Seeker settles in
WHEN: Guardian 24-Drakonis 14
WHERE: Skyhold (varies)
NOTES: Prose or brackets fine. Can also use for any scenes wanted.

It barely takes any time since his arrival for Aleron to resume what has been his daily habits for years now. Being relocated inside the Inquisition fortress has made little difference, beyond a change of scenery. He knows of no other way than the one he's followed most his life. With everything outside the walls in sheer chaos, finding order within his personal habits provides a rock solid foundation to face those challenges.

Chapel
Every morning and evening, before he breaks his fast, before he commits himself to rest, Aleron can be found inside the Chapel, knelt in prayer. He is as earnest in his devotions as he is with the remainder of his life and spends no less than an hour each time praying through sections of the Chant of Light. It is familiar. It is the base of his faith. It is his faith that holds him up, and to neglect it would be unjust in his mind.

Courtyard
During the day, Aleron commits himself to practice and training his weapon skills, though he prefers light leathers to full armor for the exercise. A particularly sharp eye or veteran combatant will note something unusual. He executes moves with precision, clearly well studied, with years of practice. However, he does not excel with the sword, not like a true master or exceptional talent would. Still, every day, he is present in the yard, working on his form, his stance, his skills.

Stables
Most days, he finds his way to the stables, to check after the welfare of his horse he rode into Skyhold. Valiente is a lively mount, but not too aggressive, nor does he seem to mind being quartered with so many others. Weather permitting, Aleron saddles him for a short ride through the mountain passes, enough to keep the horse hale and hearty, but never so much as to risk his health or a broken limb on treacherous footing.

Library
Every afternoon, the Seeker abandons physical pursuits for academic ones. Anyone who's made note of his somber default expression will find him different when engaged in scholarly reading and research. His eyes light as he peruses the shelves, smiles and looks of surprise manifest when he stumbles across some new tidbit of fact or history of which he had previously been unaware. Peculiar to some that a man could become so animated reading titles such as Tales of the Destruction of Thedas or The Essays of Divine Ambrosia II, but his excitement over the material is present and palpable.

Tavern
Of an evening, there is a solitary man seated with a single ale which he nurses slowly. Aleron doesn't engage in games of chance, flirt with the servers, or join in any more raucous singing that happens once the patrons are well in their cups. He sits, listens to the bard, sometimes reads a book, other times a letter. The letters often sit on the table for a considerable length of time while he stares off into the distance, as if deliberating if he wants to open them or not. If the place is crowded, he makes no objections to others joining him.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

"De rien," he replies, although it sounds clunky in his Marcher accent.

Not that he's trying to intrude on her privacy, but he is terribly curious about what sort of research she's engaged in. Anything which takes over an entire table has the potential to be remarkably fascinating. He glances over to the table and spots the maps. Something with geography? He's certain he recognizes a portion of it at the very least.

"That looks interesting. What is this you're working on?"

He's very much inclined to agree with her and approves of her choice. It's a canticle he's come to embrace as very personal and pertinent to himself. The familiar words are spoken reverently, a genuine reflection of faith that carries in his tone as well.

"You have grieved as I have.
You, who made worlds out of nothing.
We are alike in sorrow, sculptor and clay,
Comforting each other in our art.

Do not grieve for me, Maker of All.
Though all others may forget You,
Your name is etched into my every step.
I will not forsake You, even if I forget myself."

There is a slight catch in his voice at the first line of the stanza. There almost invariably is, though so seldom is there anyone to witness how deeply that truth resonates with him. The Maker has grieved as he has grieved. They are alike in their sorrow. Some day he will be able to sing the Chant without feeling the ache of loss pulling at his heart, but it will not be today.

That mysterious disappearance troubles him greatly and is part of what drove him to come. Knowing the Right Hand of the Divine was here seemed the best place to begin trying to decide where all his brethren vanished to while he was seeing his mother relocated.

But such troubling ruminations are shelved for further brooding later. He inclines his head as acknowledgement of her permission for the familiar. Tutoyer his mother would call it. She's been particularly trying of late, pushing at him to conform to her wishes even while complaining bitterly over Ravonild's out of control behavior. Maker though, if she knew Benuta was here...

He can't help himself, the smile twitches up just a little bit more. "It is good to see you again." Truly, he always enjoyed her company, lively and clever, even if he could not be what their respective mothers had hoped for. "You are well?"

There's a crisp nod in lieu of a formal introduction from him, then he comes closer, so to be able to adequately address what he saw. "When you reach the thrust of your rotation, you reach too far and are leaving your flank vulnerable. Keeping your staff closer to your body in that move should correct it."

It's not that he wants to come across as a know-it-all, just be helpful. Unfortunately his bluntness tends to bring out the defensive hackles of many. Either way, she looks rather startled at the interruption and that is something he must needs address. "Forgive me for disrupting you."

Aha! Someone who gets it! And even appreciates the prospects a good history can provide. It animates him in ways that few ever get to witness. So much of his day is spent in attending to what is expected of him, that there's never an opportunity for his true interests to bring him to life. In fact, a genuine smile breaks on his face complete with a soft chuckle. "I believe I read that one."

The volume in hand is remarkably old, from around the time of the founding or Orlais. He points to one of the pages. "Note this passage. The historian is very cautious not to directly name Tevinter, though there is little doubt the Imperium is being referenced. There is a caution present that they might have retaken Southern Thedas. Later historians would never be so concerned with offending a potential conqueror."

It is always a joy and a pleasure to come to the chapel and find others of the faith attending to their devotions. Even in those times when he cannot understand the others, there is a sense of communion in shared belief. While Aleron recognizes the language of the Anders, it's not one he's studied enough to discern which canticle is being recited. Still, he listens, unwilling to disrupt such a sacred moment with trivial greetings or unneeded shuffling about.

It doesn't escape him that she's touching a pendant which seems to have some meaning for her. He's seen them before, always on a Grey Warden. Somehow she doesn't strike him as a Warden, though he could be wrong about that and Aleron knows it.

There is a familiarity in that absent motion though. It takes him some time to recognize why. It is similar to how he absently turns his wedding band on his finger, even after all these years of being alone. A touch to remind him of her, the life they could have had, what he owes to keeping her memory alive.

"It must have seemed like a close call." Pel slides one hand under the book and spends a moment reading the passage. "How frightened they must have been. And how different from the way the Dalish remember things. Our histories contain so much self-serving bias, it's hard to know what really happened without another point of reference."

The Orlesian does sound wrong, and her lips twitch with amusement, though she says nothing. Were this Sam, she would tease him without mercy, because he would tease right back, but this man is a stranger to her and she is always cautious on first meetings.

Her head turns back towards the table and she's pleased to hear her work called interesting. Looking back she then gives a little nod towards her maps and stacks of books.

"Would you like to see?" She returns to it, setting the parchment down. Then she grabs a stack of books and gives an apologetic smile before setting them on the floor.

"Ah, these are not part of it. My studies, for later. But this? I want to understand the red lyrium these Templars are now using. It has transformed them and given them powers, and if we do not understand it and find a way to combat it, we will lose too many good soldiers."

How to phrase this delicately, but at least she didn’t laugh at being offered the volume. “You don’t find it rather...dry? I tried, I thought I should expand my horizons you see.” She shifts the book into her left hand to set it on the shelf so there can be no doubt as to how very different her knowledge pool is.

“The Inquisition is connected to the Chantry,” sort of, but a sizeable chunk of folk talk about the Maker and Andraste plenty so it’s a safe assumption, “and so I thought to myself I would read about the Divines, in their own words. I thought for certain they must be charismatic ladies who would write something of intrigue but what a ponderous thing. You would truly read it for pleasure alone?”

Sussing someone out in a library isn’t quite the same as cards but practice is practice. And she’s almost bouncing a little, that way girls do when they can’t quite believe the answer they might get, grinning in anticipation.

She soon notices the other presence.
"Oh, entschuldigung. Did you need the space?"

The chapel is a little cramped, and she rises from her knees. He's right in that she's no Warden herself. Her clothes are embroidered with the Flaming Sword as mark of her templar status.

Edited (HTML fail) 2016-03-08 22:47 (UTC)

"Inasmuch as any of us might claim to be," she says, easily - the work is hard, the days are long, the people she sometimes wants to strangle. She handles it with the same deft hand and quick, bright laugh that she handled court intrigue and her ambitious dream of the better Nevarra in her home, though, and she wears it the same light way. The weight of it is familiar; it doesn't bear her down.

At least, not mostly. And not now, for the audience of an old friend who she would have see her smiling and glad of him.

"It's been quite the adjustment," after a moment, in a tone of concession.

Belinda is young, and though she's seen war and death, she hasn't yet felt a deep, personal loss that's gnawed at her. She can go from serious to giddy in a matter of moments. It seems there is nothing that can dim her light for long.

It isn't surprising that he might be a man who has grieved quite a lot. The world is in turmoil, and the way his voice catches has her gripping her hands tighter, praying for his faith to ease his sorrow.

"Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,
I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm.
I shall endure.
What you have created, no one can tear asunder."

Kain nods in understanding, knowing well what that feeling is like when starting with a new technique. At least he's not one to give someone a hard time over a new technique. That's what training grounds are for, after all. If he were randomly trying to pull it off in the head of real combat, that'd be another story.

He looks at the sword thoughtfully. Really, he has an appreciation for any sort of blades, though nothing compares to the lance for him. "Not my own primary weapon of choice, though I can tell when someone is skilled... you still move like someone well experienced... even if you're attempting something new."

She blinks again, still surprised, but after a moment a smile blossoms from her lips. "Oh! Thank you, I appreciate that... and no apologies necessary! I'd rather be taught something useful to keep me alive, then be rude and miss an important lesson."

She paused, holding her staff, "Could you, er, perhaps show me how it is done, serah?"

If she was predisposed to blushing, she would find herself flushed at the extent of Aleron's attention. Fortunately, she is not, so instead she folds her hands one on top of the other before fixing him with a smile. "I hope I haven't disturbed you. You needn't stop on account of me."

She takes a step towards him nonetheless, then continues to speak. "However, now that you're here, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about. It regards your family."

Maker, help me. Mention of his family immediately sends the Seeker's mind cringing, even if his face doesn't betray it. Specifically his twin, Ravonild. What has she done now? Does he worry that something has happened to his two more biddable sisters? Certainly. But almost without fail, if someone wants to talk about his family, it's something scandalous his twin has gotten up to. Sometimes some machination his mother has brewing which he's unaware of, but those moments are rare.

"You haven't disturbed me, my lady. I am glad for the break and the company." Aleron adopts a stance of a man bracing for the worst. It's only a shade off his perpetual expression of stoicism and betrayed by a tense posture. "What about my family interests you?"

Please, for the love of Andraste, do not tell him that his sister has been doing something openly immoral.

There's a half nod of acknowledgement from him. "That is my understanding of the methods. Precision and being deliberate." His knowledge only goes so far as having read extensively about the training and having met one or two over the years. Nothing practical, having no opportunity to test his book knowledge against or with a practitioner. Arguably he could shut one down if the need arose as it still remains a magical art. "It's rare to see those skills practiced outside the Circle, or at all. Most mages I've known prefer to stay safe distances away from close quarters combat."

Intrigue takes hold as he considers what he's seeing, weighing out an open apostate learning the skills reserved for the faithful within a Circle. It seems a bold risk. Then he realizes what it is that has been nagging him about this Qunari mage. There are no signs of her mouth ever being sewn shut. Ah. "I gather you are not a follower of the Qun?"

Now he's excited. Someone who's not just willing to suffer an academic debate on histories but actually engaging in the discussion with keen observation. It's like offering a puppy a meaty bone.

"Not everyone has the discernment to recognize the bias present in their own history." He's impressed! "If I may, how do the Dalish preserve their histories now? I've yet to encounter a text that wasn't written by an outside observer. Of those available, I have read what I could, but I suspect no scholar or historian could provide an accurate account of daily practices." At least not without coming across as a complete prig doing field research like the Dalish were some sort of migratory beast. Yes, he's read that horrible book too. "I wouldn't mind a parallel reading of anything you know of contemporary to this time."

For a fleeting moment, the Seeker might actually seem amused by that assessment. The expression is quickly schooled away as unnecessary. Aleron appreciates being acknowledged for the exceptional effort he's had to put into his training. A point of pride which he ought not indulge but it's a rarity in his life; typically nothing he's ever done measured up to the demands his family put on him.

"I've had almost three decades of practice. Get old enough and you can make anything look good." Maker does he ever feel old too. Older than actually is, in fact. From a glance, he'd guess he's got a good fifteen years on the man in the guy in the unusual armor. "What's your preference?"

That gets a laugh out of Korrin, who immediately shakes her head. She's used to such questions, so there's no recoiling in horror for her. Not outwardly, anyway. "Hell, no. I'm a Vashoth; born free outside the Qun, lived free of it all my life. Have you seen a saarebas, then? I saw you looking for scars.

There's something to be said about keeping a good distance, but I tend to forget that lesson and want to close in anyway. At least with this path, it makes a lot more sense to do so." She shrugs, knowing that wasn't always the wisest course in the past, but at least it's lead to something better.

"Only a handful and from a distance. I had business in Kirkwall not long after some Qunari were shipwrecked there." He hadn't paid them much mind, as the Grand Cleric seemed to consider them not a threat. And he'd been rather busy transferring a whole Circle of mages and Templars across the Free Marches. Maker, if he'd only known to look harder at Kirkwall while he was there...

"Anything I know of the practices of the Qunari are gleaned from writings on them and their culture, or histories." He doesn't mind admitting that the bulk of his knowledge comes from study rather than direct exposure.

Would he like to see? Aleron is barely managing to contain his very eager interest. His eyes light as he sees that he does, in fact, recognize a portion of the map. "This is part of Emprise du Lion. I understand the Inquisition is working in the area." He mangles the name which doesn't trip off the tongue like it would from a native Orlesian but hopefully she'll continue to overlook it.

Noting the marks, and what she's using it for, he looks up sharply and intensely. Not the first he's heard of red lyrium being spread outside of Kirkwall, and it's not good news. "They're using it? Maker..." Where were the other Seekers and why hadn't that been stopped by them? Meredith had been example enough, he had thought. "How do you get on?"

And would she accept any help? Because he's got a gut feeling he ought to have a hand in resolving this.

"Dry?" Maker forfend! Aleron shakes his head in emphatic denial of that notion. "Not at all."

Already he is thumbing through the book while he explains, looking for an adequate passage for an example. Clearly she is not as educated in Chantry history if she is researching through the works of the Divine. But this one! What a wonderful place to look. "The Circle of Magi was established in the time of Ambrosia II. The mages protested having no better use for their gifts than to light the eternal flame and barricaded themselves in the cathedral for three weeks. When they exited, they chose to separate themselves out of the Chantry and established the Circle as an entity to study and practice. These details are woven into the Her Perfection's writings."

He points to a particularly salient passage. "See here. Divine Ambrosia II remarks on the duty of all to use their gifts in service to the Maker, but refrains from directly mentioning the protest. It's fascinating."

Andraste save Araceli. Aleron's gone and gotten excited, animated even, talking history and culture and Chantry all in one topic.

Younger he may be, but Kain is still very well experienced, plus trained enough to recognize good skill when he sees it. Or prove himself by showing off, if it comes to it, but he'll just wait until there's a need for that. He draws his lance, holding it up to show the other.

"Lances like this are my favored weapon... it's the most suitable for my fighting style. We dragoons specialize in aerial attacks, so it's especially ideal for that." Over time he's perfected his techniques, too, stabbing and swirling around the large weapon with complete ease.

Ah, Kirkwall. Korrin just shakes her head at that, her lips briefly forming a thin line. She's well aware of what happened there, of course, and how it's made things even worse for her kind. Fucking Qunari. But she manages to hold her tongue on that, for the moment.

As for exposure, she just shrugs. "Your experience isn't much different from mine then. We try to keep the Qunari at a distance, and most of what I know is second-hand, from my parents and mentor and others who were raised in it and decided to escape. I know what my fate would have been with them, so fuck the Qun. They're not my people, no matter how often everyone who doesn't know any better calls me a 'Qunari'." She's not fond of the Circle either, but the Qun? So much worse, as she knows it.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 2 of 5

OPEN: The Loyal Shield

no subject

hng so perfect for him <3

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

for them both! <3

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject