[OPEN]

[theonly]

WHO: Stannis Baratheon and OPEN.
WHAT: A Knight-Commander wandering and glaring at various things.
WHEN: Two weeks after arriving to Skyhold.
WHERE: Skyhold, various.
NOTES: None.

A - STABLES

He stood in the stables. Stannis thought that he should leave, that he should abandon these fools to whatever horrors should come for them. But he gave his word; he offered his sword. A Templar does not abandon their post regardless of what sense says they should do. He lifted his hand to lightly pat the side of the stallion's neck. Beyond his sword and armor, the horse was one of the few possessions that he had left. If worse came to worse, he planned to let it run free from Skyhold. It was not bound to his duty and word, so why not let it live?

"I continue to be tested and wonder if deities do exist if only to torment." Stannis let his hand drop away as he started to move out of the stables. "And yet, it is I who find them wanting. Such is the way of Gods and me."

B - LIBRARY

A raven had been found to send message to the few that owed him favors. He sought to find where his daughter had disappeared. How could she had just vanish? Or was it that she just joined the list of the unnamed dead? A sobering thought, but he would continue to search for word, for rumor of what had become of her. Until it became too much to do so.

His steps fell heavy as he walked down to head toward the courtyard. He only stopped briefly in the library to see how the process of categorizing the ancient texts was going. Stannis skimmed over the books on the tables and wondered of what would be written about their present tribulations. Would the writers fill the pages with fluff and prose to hide the terror of what really occurred? Most likely. Who would want to hear the truth when a story was better?

A pause.

"Hard in Hardtown." He read the book title aloud as he picked it up where it laid. Turning it over, he knew not the reason but frowned at the smug illustrated look of the author. Still, the novel appeared to be new due to the lack of dust for one, and the name of the author for another. Someone brought this in? Apparently they believed we are missing some piece of literature. A beat in his thoughts. Should have brought the story of Hawke.

C - BATTLEMENTS

Stannis had grown accustomed to walking the battlements. He would watch the courtyard and it emptied and eventually turn his gaze towards the horizon. Like he expected the enemy's army's torches to suddenly appear, cutting through the black. Yet nothing came. Perhaps, Corypheus believes us to not be a thread now that the Herald is dead. But if I were him, I would tear this fortress down before my enemies had the chance to rebuild, before they grew enough nerve to strike. It may be a good thing that he did not become a Red Templar, did not listen to the siren call of the tainted.

He rested against the waist-high stone wall, crossing his arms. There were enough guards to do what he was doing -- or so he had been told once or twice. Turning to rest his arms on the stone, he lifted his hands to interlace his fingers. "Oh Maker, hear my cry: guide me through the blackest night. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked. Make me rest in the warmest of places." These words were spoken, not sung. Stannis let his hands drop.

"As I thought." A pause. "Everyone believed in you, and you continue to let them down. They continue to pray like you care." A God that allowed what has happen to happen was no God. "Perhaps, we should take a page from Tevinter, after all. We should cease believing in Gods that do nothing for us. Perhaps, we would be able to do more if we were not always on our knees."

D

Wildcard.

Comments

[ungovernable]

( she bites back what she might've said to anyone else - that it is good of him to think of her; he never cares to have these things observed aloud, objects even to calling them observations - and with her hands clasped before her, considers what to say instead. )

Too much distance will assure nothing but surprise, if a strike should come,

( she settles on. she doesn't wish for him to feel as if she's dismissing what he says - and it isn't as if she hasn't weighed the wisdom of such a friendship in conjunction with the position she means to occupy here and the way she intends to go about it, how it might put her in positions precisely like this one.

although, she would not have predicted this conversation going quite like this, and that is very interesting. dismissal she was prepared for; his concern is something else again and when she glances up at him, sidelong, it is a girlishness that lacks the appearance of artifice. )

If he is to be here, my lord, there must be someone to whom he speaks.

( why not her? )

[theonly]

When.

[ Stannis corrects. ]

I would rather that he speaks to no one. Why is it that you feel that it has to be you? So that you can keep an eye on him? Do you believe that your magic is strong enough against whatever he has? [ His tone is returning to his usual sharp, stern one. He huffs out something that is like a sigh as he tips his head up to look up at the ceiling. The raven has been sent and that is all that needed to be done as of now for him. ]

Be better that you spend your time talking to those with something of worth to say.

[ungovernable]

( in the face of that sternness, benevenuta is demurely steadfast in the way that stannis is likely coming to be familiar with - she listens when he speaks (when most people speak to her, in point of fact), but when her mind is made up, she is serenely certain of herself in a way that's difficult to touch.

it is rare for her to question herself. it is rarer still for her to let anyone else prompt her to do so - but, equally, there is no heated defiance to her, no inclination to spite him with her certainty. she knows her own mind, and does him the courtesy of believing that it is enough. )

I believe that the work he has done here is worth taking the time to learn about. I did not come all this way to shut myself up in a tower afraid of shadows.

( there is no edge to her tone; a firmness, yes, but she separates disagreement from argument and will not be drawn unwillingly into the latter. )

[theonly]

I believe that the work he has done should be burned to ensure it goes nowhere.

[ But he sounds more tired than willing to carry on this argument. The Tevinter will be watched and ensured that he causes no trouble. Already, he is turning to look where Dorian has gone -- back straight like Stannis may very well reach out to strangle the man should he show his face once more. ]

He is not a shadow. But you say that you walk with caution and that you know what it is that you do. [ A beat. ] I will not take your autonomy away. That is not what the Inquisition has decided for the mages, and not what I said would come of you. [ Stannis lets out a sigh as he looks even more displeased. ] Do not let your observations end in your demise.

I doubt that whatever connections you have in Nevarra would forgive us for it.

[ungovernable]

I know what I do, my lord, ( a bit more easily, now that it's clear he's not going to push her harder than that on the subject - she doesn't smile, quite, but she is satisfied for now and her satisfaction is the same sedate thing as her patient, persistent determination that they should be better acquainted.

she is fond of him, inexplicably, and she is gracious when she gets her way. )

Did you need something here in the library? I have completed the inventory - I know it well.

( and that's that. )

[theonly]

[ He looks at the various shelves, at what it is that he could be searching for. A means to figure out how to unite the Templar and forget their petty prejudices and pride. But he doubts there is a novel that would grant him such insight. What he would do was work the lot into the ground and rebuild them into a force that is willing to unite with the Inquisition. ]

I'm certain that you do. [ What he finally says on both of what she knows and of the inventory of the library. ] These text are quite old. None that would help me in what I need for I do not even know what name I seek -- [ A beat. Ah, who would think that would grant him the insight that he seeks? ] Tale of the Champion. Is that present?

The writer brought in some garbage if the Tevinter is to be believed. Did he bring in something of worth?

[ungovernable]

Tale of the Champion, ( thoughtfully - she begins to move into the shelves, recalling where she'd seen that title. they have it, she is certain.

as for varric, )

Varric Tethras? It is fiction, I believe - I cannot say I've read the work myself to judge. I have done little reading for pleasure, here.

( a bit wryly. )