faderift | [Open] The man is non-stop

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[Open] The man is non-stop

WHO: James Norrington and YOU
WHAT: The routine of a Templar
WHEN: Covering all of Cloudreach
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Warnings for dry sarcasm, complete Chantry boyishness, and of course, icky Templars

Training Grounds

It would be easy to find Norrington here - as each day he goes through platoons of the Inquisition's soldiers, training them on how to fight demons and abominations. More often than not, he is running through drills along with his people, and other Templars. A few times, however, he will have brought out charcoal sketches that he has done himself - rather good ones - of demons and where their particular weaknesses are.

There is rumor that he is going to begin sessions on abominations soon, as well...

Courtyard

Every afternoon, Norrington sits at his desk (really an old door that has been put atop two barrels and a chair he had one of the carpenters make), with a stack of correspondence. Most letters bear a Templar seal, and they are being sent to Montesimmard, as well as to various chantries all over Thedas. Some however, are marked with his own personal seal, JLN, and those are all sent to Tantervale.

The only time the pen stops writing is when people come up to him to ask him questions, put forth concerns, or just complain about something Templar related. There, he puts the pen down, and can be seen discussing the matter in varying states of calm -- and annoyance.

The Tavern

Surprise, surprise, one of the Chantry boys actually does spend most of his evenings in said tavern, but don't get your hopes up. Most evenings he sits at a table on the second floor - sometimes with his people but sometimes alone. With him always now are books - not just books about the Chantry, but books on elven culture (what few he has been able to sneak out underneath the scholars). There are books on dwarves, on the Qunari and those who have broken away. There is even a thick volume on Tevinter, past history to recently. Sometimes he is simply reading with a glass of wine. Othertimes, he's taking notes.

Why? No one has yet to ask.

Wildcard
Choose your own adventure, or ping me at OneStarkWren if you want your own thread.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Ale is hardly the reason Merrill tends to go to the tavern, either -- it's the bard, the stories, the company that draws her in. The lower level today, however, has gotten a bit boisterous, and so Merrill retreats up to the second level, bare feet quite against the floorboards. The man reading is glanced at, and Merrill very nearly passes him by before she realizes what he's reading.

"Oh! I was looking for that one!"

It's one of the books on elven culture, one that has yet to be taken to task under anonymous editing. Whether that means it is accurate or simply hasn't been gotten to yet is debatable, but Merrill certainly seems pleased to know that the book exists.

James himself was reading carefully, and this was one of the books that he was taking notes from. A frown, as he looked up from his studies to find a Dalish woman that he didn't recognize standing before him, but she seemed pleased -- at least to see the book.

He held it up, then offered a small nod in turn. "Once I am finished with it, my lady, I shall be pleased to let you have it."

If there is one thing Merrill has faith in down to her core, it's that her friends would help her if anyone decided to attack her simply for being. Whether James is broadcasting the fact that he's a Templar at the moment or not, Merrill figures that she has nothing to fear by his existence. This feeling is only amplified when he's polite, when he calls her my lady, and Merrill giggles.

"I don't mind waiting, so don't rush on my account! I just hope it's accurate -- so many of them aren't, you know."

Or maybe he doesn't know. Most people don't seem to care.

Sooner or later James was going to sit down and explain that just because the armor all looked the same, it didn't mean the person inside was. Still, by just acting in a humane way, he was hoping that point was being made.

Either way, the woman looked about as dangerous as a kitten. She giggled, for Maker's sake. He gave her a slightly warmer smile, before he cleared his throat.

"Well honestly, I really wouldn't know ... I've taken some notes, if you'd like to read them. See if they have things on the right track. I have a few Dalish friends who are trying to teach me more."

"There's so much to learn, too, and some clans do things differently."

Merrill immediately latches on to the knowledge that he is trying to learn, that he considers members of the Dalish his friends, very nearly launching into full-on babble mode.

"I'd be more than happy to look! Better to learn early, right? And then if it is wrong, you'll know to ask when you read other books by that person."

Or, if it's wrong enough, never read books by that other person ever again unless it's to look for whatever correction she and Ellana have put in.

"Really? I did not know that."

Now that was something new he did not know. That clans had different practices. They truly were like small moving countries - or rather like the moving Free Marches.

He gave her his notebook, along with a pen, before he looked around, "Would you like something to eat, or drink, my lady?"

"Part of being so divided, I suppose. And you can only go over so much once every ten years -- and things are lost, or changed, even now."

Their past trickles through their fingers like sand. Even one different word can change a story, a part of spoken history.

Notebook in hand, Merrill is just about to start reading while standing up before he asks about food. "Oh- um. I suppose I should, it is about that time of day, isn't it? What do they have tonight?"

"Huh ... sounds like something the Templar Order should be doing. Meeting up every year, discuss changes, that sort of thing." It actually wasn't a bad idea, all things considered. Perhaps if each cell had more contact with one another, they would have seen the corruption a lot sooner.

He gives her a thoughtful look. "I am given to understand your culture is slipping away from you ... but it doesn't seem that way. Your people seem to be keeping it alive in all kinds of ways, just not one way."

He lifted his hand, to bring over one of the barmaids, thinking, "Some sort of stew, with bread and cheese. There might be fruit, depending on the deliveries. I know the wine is excellent though."

"It's certainly easier to do that sort of thing in person," Merrill agrees, brushing some hair out of her face. "And then people, groups, they can hold each other accountable."

There's a slight sigh. "It's not so much that it's slipping. It's that so much is already gone. What we keep alive are only fragments, like grains of sand in a desert, kept away from the rest so we don't lose them too." They have a culture, but it isn't the culture of old. It isn't what they were, what they could be again.

"Oh! Well, I like all of those things-" Merrill goes to one of the pouches on her belt, digging for some coin. "-have you had any, er- um, ser?"

It's hard to ask for a name in the middle of asking another question.

Norrington pressed his lips together, rubbing his mouth with one finger as he sat back in his chair. "Well, certainly, without a Divine -- or the Knights Vigilant -- it might be wise to start having such a meeting. Of course such meetings in the past have been ... fraught."

He had the distinct feeling that some of his brothers and sisters didn't want their dirty laundry exposed. His jaw tightened. Well, perhaps it was time that it was, before the others. So they would finally be forced to either leave, or start acting in the Maker's best interests, and not their own.

"Hm?" He looked up, then shook his head, "Oh no, please, allow me. I haven't had anything to eat this evening -- which is unwise with such an excellent bottle of wine." A pause, "And I am Ser James Norrington, but as we are breaking bread together, just call me James."

Imagine that. Still, Merrill isn't Anders -- it seems as though James knows entirely too well about the corruption that has run in the ranks of his Order, and she won't twist the knife further. If he hadn't known before, or if he perhaps even thought Meredith was justified, she assumes the Red Templars are proof enough.

Besides, he's offering to pay for her. There's a bit of hesitation, and then a nod and a grateful smile. Merrill has never had a lot, as far as money goes. Besides, it's a nice gesture.

"Well- thank you very much, James! That's very kind of you. And I'm Merrill."

Ta-da.

He had become glaringly aware of it the further he had traveled from Ostwick -- and started to realize just what Lydia and Knight Commander Swann had built together wasn't just cohesive relationships between mages and templars, but in fact something based on the pure principles of the Order and the Circle, and not just using them as mouthpieces on either side.

The Red Templars were just proof that things had gone far, too wrong.

"Merrill ... " Where had he heard that name before? He wasn't quite sure. "A pleasure to meet you." Wait ... "The Merrill from Master Tethras's novel?"

"Well, sort of!" Merrill responds cheerfully, looking back over his notes now that she no longer has to dig for some coin. "I mean, I was a real person, first. But I'm the Merrill who lived in Kirkwall with him and with Hawke and all the others, yes."

Please do not arrest her, you would have to deal with sad eyes and an angry Isabela.

"I thought that I could help here, more; some of the others thought the same." And not just others from the novel, but other elves from the alienage, townsfolk from Kirkwall, all sorts. It was really rather nice, when she thought about it.

Well, look at him running across someone he wanted to speak to, anyways. Of course there were all sorts of strange rumors about the young woman that Tethras had called 'Daisy' but honestly? How was he to belief this woman was some sort of fearsome apostate? And the blood magic rumors? Clearly not anyone who would sacrifice a human life for power.

"...You are very different than how you were described, in rumors from Kirkwall." Was what he finally said, before he stated simply, "You have nothing to fear - we are all part of the Inquisition here."

She supposes it depends on the rumor, but it makes her blink in surprise nonetheless. Cassandra had said she was exactly like Varric had described, while her neighbors in Kirkwall, when asked by Chantry officials, had said that there was no way she could be a blood mage. But she supposes there were still rumors that she used it, as she was an apostate either way, only given as much free range as she had because she was both Dalish and with Hawke. For all she knows, James could have heard rumors that she spat on Meredith's body-turned-statue.

"Well- I hope that's a good thing!" There's a nervous little laugh, Merrill not quite sure what to say as she rubs her hand across the back of her neck. "I'm afraid I haven't heard any rumors about you, but I don't hear many rumors, really -- at least, not that I remember."

Well, James had heard all his rumors from other Kirkwall templars -- and their opinions of mages were very darkly colored by their exposure to Meredith. She had saved the city, though, along with her friend Hawke ... so James had been disinclined to persecute her until he heard the whole story.

"Oh yes ... mostly just conjuncture. However, you must understand, when I came from Ostwick in the ... aftermath of what happened in Kirkwall, people were terrified. It is easy for things to be said in the heat of the moment that mean absolutely nothing true."

One corner of his mouth lifted at that. "I am sure any rumors you hear about me will hardly be flattering, so I am pleased to avoid them."

"Oh, absolutely. I'm Dalish -- we know all about stories that have been blown widely out of proportion, both about ourselves and about humans. And Templars." But it's a factual statement, not meant to barb, and Merrill flashes him another smile.

That there may be rumors is worrying, but more for him than to Merrill herself. There's a slight hum of thought, and then- "If I hear anything concerning, I'll ask you. Then I can hear the truth from you, instead. Would that work?"

Merrill, you just met him five minutes ago.

"I have - as we have been speaking of - been trying to learn more of the Dalish." He paused, and sighed, "I am afraid there are as many different Templars as there are people in the world, and many of them are not living up to the principles of the Order. I hate to say this - but Corypheus might have done us a great favor by removing many of them from our ranks. Still ... there are many more good ones - humans and Templars both - who are good people." He offers a quiet smile in turn. "I hope you meet more of us."

He nods his head, and bows slightly. "I hope you will. I would be pleased to clear up any misunderstandings."

Seriously, it's fine. It's Norrington.

"Sometimes fires help the forest grow," Merrill agrees sadly, at last going to sit down next to him. "All ends can be beginnings, provided there are people left to begin them. I hope that your Order can again be what it was meant to be -- a way to protect."

There's a slight laugh, her fingernails tapping at the table.

"It was one thing I never understood about your Chantry, about humans -- why there had to be an organization that took care of the poor, the sick, the orphans. Among the Dalish they would be a part of the clan and everyone would care for them. But I suppose if something is broken, you try to fix it however you can."

Unfortunately sometimes that cure goes sour, but at least they tried, bless them.

"I hope we do not have to set the entire forest ablaze ... but yes. Sometimes it is necessary to cut out the dead wood. That is true of templars, and of mages." He knew there were bad apples in that bunch, as well as in his own. He wasn't stupid.

He just hoped the mages weren't either.

One corner of his mouth twisted, before he shrugged. "Because humans can't sometimes see the larger picture. I'm grateful for the Chantry - they took me in when I had no place to go - I didn't want to live with my Aunt and Uncle after all. They understood a young man's anger and they forged it into a man's convictions."

"Of everyone, I suppose." Mage, Templar, elf, dwarf, human, Qunar- well maybe better not get into what the Qunari think ought to be culled.

Still, it's touching to hear of how the humans' Chantry helped James. Merrill smiles, a bit sadly -- after all, he clearly knew loss at a young age. Loss and anger, and she perhaps shouldn't ask, but- "May I ask what happened?"

"... That, sadly, is true. There is not a single person in Thedas who has not had pain and suffering brought upon them because of the selfish actions of someone evil." James murmured, "And that person can be anyone, of any creed or religion."

A pause, a definite pause, as James's jaw set and his fingers twitched ever so slightly. "My parents and my older brother were murdered, by blood mages. I should have been next - but the templars came. Along with some trained Circle mages. They saved me."

"Oh- I'm so sorry." One hand flies up to cover her mouth, not to stifle any gasp but to keep herself from babbling out apologies until her brain has a moment to think. No apologizing for other blood mages (not a habit she gets into anyway, but considering she's speaking to a Templar), no asking if he's sure (she is fairly certain that he is Certain), nothing like that.

"It's no wonder you care for the Order so much." There, that's good, isn't it? "But- I am sorry for making you think about it." Talk about it. And... by the Dread Wolf, she's apologized again, hasn't she?

He gives her a tight smile, his hands flexing again, before he lets a sigh. "Thank you ... for your sympathy. And yes, that is why I care so much for the Order. Why I have dedicated so much of my life to it."

He was not going to be bitter that so much of his life had, in fact, been in service to many liars and those who have abused their sacred trust. It wasn't all of them. "It's not your fault ... you did not know."

There's a moment of silence, and then she reaches over to boldly -- though lightly -- pat James' hand with her own. "It can be hard, to believe in one things and have those that are like your family believe another. But I think you'll be able to make more see things your way."

The way Merrill was never able to.

"Now- was there anything especially confusing or that seemed out of place in your reading?"

tavern;

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