bakerstreet | No Knight

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When she was young Adelaide had been told and read plenty of romantic stories involving a damsel in distress that was swept to safety by a Chevalier. In the Spire the stories were less about safety and more about freedom, the Chevalier replaced with a patron for their studies or a place in court for those that wished it. Mages did not often find themselves in distress from those that weren't either templars or demons and yet somehow she'd been separated from the rest of the Inquisition's scouting party, had her mana dispelled by a Venatori agent, and is settled not so comfortably with iron shackles about her wrists and settled in a cell.

Her consideration is less if she's going to be saved and more how, exactly, it is they intend to kill her.

Well, Adelaide was now going to have other concerns. Or at least, she would not have to worry labout getting killed as much as she was going to have to get away from the door of her cell, as the sounds of fighting sudden erupted outside. There were screams, and the sounds of magic flying .. and then a shout, and that odd clash when magic is dispersed.

A Venatori soldier suddenly bursts into the cellblock, stumbling backwards before he yells in Tevene, running towards an unseen person at the door. An unwise decision, as the man he charged, charges in turn.

He, however, has the benefit of a shield, and crushes him easily against the wall beyond. The man with the shield turns it, showing the Templar sword in proud blue, and looks around at the other cells, and into Adelaide's. He steps closer to the cell, sword in one hand, shield in another, and then ...

"Are you all right? Did they hurt you?" Comes the male voice, muffled by the full helm on his head. The sword goes back onto his hip, the shield on his back, as he calls out to the hallway, "Lieutenant! Bring the keys!"

Oh, wonderful. Infighting. There'd been scraps of what she could understand of their conversations earlier (mostly the swearing) but it's been enough for her to know whatever was going got come wouldn't be pleasant. That there was the unmistakable snap of magic being dispelled- that has her scrambling away from the door to her cell. More often than not templars meant trouble, and if the Red Templars were here with the Venatori?

She shuddered to think of what might spill over into the dungeon.

But there is light. There is armor. There is a shield and a voice- gruff enough for her to think twice before answering. It's all the more difficult to tell if any one Templar is worth their armor's weight, let alone worth trusting. "I am well."

Enough. Ish. Bruised and cold and weary, but well.

The Templar nodded once, just as another Templar joined him. The newly arrived Templar fired off a quick salute, "Commander, the keys."

"Thank you, Lieutenant -- how is the fighting going above?" The now named Commander started flipping through the keys to find the right one to free Adelaide from her prison.

"Just mop-up, sir, we're done cleaning out the bastards - " A sharp tilt of the Commander's helm towards his lieutenant, then pointedly back at the woman before them. The lieutenant let out an little squeak, "Oh! My Lady, a thousand apologies - I meant the ... er ... Venatori ... unpleasant people. Ahem. At any rate, sir, we're getting the prisoners out, gathering what we can."

"All right, pass the word. Swords up, helms off." He finally found the right key, turned the lock, and true to his own word, pulled the helmet off his head, showing a lean face with dark hair, a dark beard that needed to be properly trimmed, and sharp sea green eyes that fixed on the young red headed man who popped out of the other helm. "We'll set up camp at least a good league away from this cesspool and see what we can do to arrange travel for those who have been kidnapped."

"Yes sir!" The red-headed Lieutenant saluted fiercely, before heading off. Now the green-eyed Commander looked back at Adelaide, and sighed. "If I tell you I haven't touched a drop of red lyrium and I believe Corphyeus is a madman, will you come out of the cell and let me take off your manacles?"

Adelaide watches the full of the exchange carefully, tucked into the furthest corner of the cell. She isn't chained to anything in particular but she is, none the less, chained. If pressed she could use said chain in her own defense but for the one, she's loathe to do so and for the other- well. They have swords. She does not. And she would rather not be stabbed if she can help it.

Her own cool, blue eyes are narrowed. Calculating. Trusting a templar is, as ever, a gamble. One she may not be willing to take just yet.

On the other hand her alternative is to remain in the cell until someone of the Inquisition arrives for certain. For all she knows these templars are theirs. Or they're hunting mages in general. "That depends entirely on whether you and yours are free agents, so much as such things exist, or are partnered with the Inquisition."

Now alone with the prisoner, James looked at her more closely. Clothes torn, but she still held herself up as if she were about to enter any Grand Hall in Orlais. He supposed could call Anamaria, or even Giselle, to come and comfort the woman, but he had a feeling she would scoff at needing to be coaxed out by her own gender. He had seen that look in her eyes before, where they had seen what other Templars could do - had done.
While he had managed to convince others that he and his squad were in fact, Loyal Templars, her question brought him pause.

He considered her for a moment, before he snorted faintly, "Well there, my lady, you have brought me to something of a philosophical quandary. My people and I are pledged to the Chantry, as we always have been, so I would not call us 'free agents'. However, since the home of the Chantry is now with the Inquisition, more or less, and we were on our way to pledge ourselves to the cause ... I cannot honestly say we are part of the Inquisition. Yet."

He tipped his head, "However, if you know where the nearest recruitment center is, we shall happily head there directly."

That answer was slightly dry - but he and his people had traveled a long way and had yet to manage to stumble over anyone who was actually part of the Inquisition.

Edited 2015-12-18 12:12 (UTC)

Dry for dry, and were there not a steady drip of something in the far corner Adelaide would've expected there to be a desert beyond the walls rather than the chilled expanse of a forest in winter. A moment's more consideration for the man, his armor, and her options.

It is not as though she has a great many. With an infinitely weary sigh, she gives her answer.

"Consider yourselves recruited." Whether or not she has that power, well- intent is what matters. If they intend to aid the Inquisition and she might facilitate that in some manner through paperwork and contracts or rescue, she shall. Standing with any manner of grace was a matter of ignoring the bruises on her back and the chill in her bones but at this time? She's had more than enough practice by now and does so, shaking out her skirts with a casual flick as though standing from a chaise rather than a filthy sell floor (Thank you, Vivienne).

"The name of my Knight in Shining armor?" She says, approaching the Templar with all due caution- and none of the usual seriousness. She is weary, she is bruised, she is without her reserves of magic, and she has had enough of this damsel bullshit.

Now it is James's turn to look surprised, and then wary. It cannot be as easy as this - rescue some refugees from the war and find someone who has authority within the Inquisition? Still, she has the air of someone who is in charge. The flick of her skirt is enough to mark her as some sort of nobility.

He will be ... cautiously optimistic.

Taking a step back, and then another one, he puts the keys down on the bench next to the cell, and retreats back another step. She seems the sort who would probably prefer that he did not touch her without permission.

"Norrington. James Norrington. Knight Templar Commander of - well - the Loyal Templar Order." He stated, hefting his helm under his arm, "And I have the pleasure of speaking to ...?"

"Lady Adelaide LeBlanc, of the Inquisition's Council of Magi." Noble born and Spire trained, yes, and most recently trained in appearing as though you are in command at all times by one Madame de Fer. She's been grateful for the instruction to be honest. People question her less and seem to respect her more. Mother had been quite right after all- appearances matter. With as much grace as she can muster she exits the cell and presents her wrists to have the manacles removed with less the posture of a prisoner requesting freedom and more the irritation of a noblewoman having been given the wrong bracelets by her valet. How dare the Venatori shackle her indeed. The chains hardly go with the colors of her dress and cloak.

Whenever he is ready to free her, she is ready to be freed. Provided he did not strike her down for the sin of being a mage.

"I can speak of your work here to the leaders of the Inquisition and see that you are duly compensated, as well as given adequate quarter within Skyhold." That much she can do- she thinks. If not she'll arrange it on her own. Saving her skin ought to be worth something, even if the LeBlanc name is unfamiliar to him so much that he'd assume a great wealth of nobility to back her.

Whatever she was expecting, he would have bet even gold that it was not the look of relief he knew must be on his face. A Circle Mage, a real Circle Mage, not a rebelling blood mage or a lazy apostate. Instead of getting a sword, she gets a deep bow, and he goes to remove the manacles from her wrists. He frowns at the bruises there, before looking at her, "I apologize for not getting here sooner, Lady LeBlanc, but the weather delayed us, and we almost lost the trail. We have a healer here - not a mage but he is competent enough."

When Gibbs was sober, at any rate.

He gestured for her to follow him, giving her his back with complete trust, "Please, follow me. My men are in the rooms above - I'll let them know the good news and then you can rest while we finish up here."

He paused, then, before looking back at her gravely, "We will be executing the men who have done this to you, and the other prisoners, Lady LeBlanc. This is not the first time I have had to execute men and women for acting against the Chantry. I have recorded all of these actions, and if I may, would like to give the scrolls to you to present to Inquisition leadership."

Edited 2015-12-18 20:06 (UTC)

Well...

That is unexpected. But. Appreciated a great deal. She holds till he's finished, peering down at her own wrists. A faint tap back at Compassion shows her connection still too thin a thing to manage mending herself at the moment but she has had worse. They are but bruises, it won't kill her. "I am surprised you were able to find anything with the storm. Have your healer mind your own men, I will be fine."

Time enough for her reserves to replenish and she can mend herself easily enough.

Being shown his back so easily is- she hasn't known a Templar like this in some time. She'd thought she had, in the spire, but- she shakes the thought away. It isn't relevant. Take what you are given and move forward. That in mind, she follows, head held high, stride certain. "They've nothing of value to tell us before they are to be put to death?"

It's a distasteful thing, executions. She'd truly rather not be present for them but- if they've any knowledge of what they were doing here or what Corphyeus was planning...

Adelaide was going to find a great deal more surprises, in the days to come. For now, he is frowning down at her wrists as well, but the Lady had made herself clear. Norrington had told the others they would force no mage to take care from them, but it would be offered and not begrudgingly. "As you wish, Lady LeBlanc."

He led the way up the stairs, and paused halfway to look back down at her, a thoughtful look in his eyes, "We have been questioning them - but honestly I am not sure how much of it is actually of value. We are ... sadly, terribly out of step with current events. I would not ask you to sit in on the interrogations, but perhaps you could give us better questions to ask?"

Honestly he had been flailing here - they had gathered a great deal of intel but they had been up north for so long ... this information could be weeks, perhaps even months out of date.

"Let me tend to them. On occasion a healer's touch and a bit of honey does more for loosing lips than the finality of one's fate." She cannot mend them with Compassion just yet- but poultices and potions and soft hands enough may do some good. If not nothing of value would be lost. Than again she can never be accused of having a honey'd tongue for all that she is a member of the council. It might be best simply to put them to death and be done with it.

Now here he paused, looking slightly alarmed because he honestly did not relish the thought of leaving this woman alone with her own captors. He got to the top of the stairs, frowning faintly, before he waited for her to fall into step with him. "I ... would like to ask, then, if you would have one of my men stationed inside with you. For your own safety. As you well know, the Venatori are dangerous enough without weapons."

A pause, and an internal sigh, "I will however, respect your right not to have Templar protection at all."

"If you've lyrium potions to spare I would be well enough on my own- if not? one stationed with me would be wise." Not entirely preferable, but wise. She has her own reasons for being wary but of the two groups the Venatori is the most recent to attempt to see her dead. She can work around or alongside a templar if need be for this.

There is a more notable pause there - to 'spare' would be stretching it. They are a strict rationing, and it has to be used sparingly because they need it for battle. Most of them, Norrington included, had been feeling the lack.

However, he reached into his own side-bag and pulls out a vial of lyrium, offering it to her in the palm of his hand. "Please, use mine. And ... I will have my man stationed at the end of the hall. He'll answer your call for help immediately, or send out a spell and he will come."

For all he knew, the Venatori might try to strangle her so she could not call out. You had to think of all possible situations.

[Make up a prompt for me to tag or I will edit this later with a prompt b/c 4am and I need sleep.]

[Prompt - one of Norrington's men was seriously injured in an attack by Red Templars, and Norrington is staying with him until he wakes up. Bruce is the one taking care of the Templar?]

[Its a personal policy of Bruce to treat whoever's before him, no matter who or what they were. A patient was a patient and he had a duty of care, despite everything else.

Templars, though. They always tried at his ethics, no matter how much Bruce doesn't want to admit it.

Still, it was a fact that these batch of Templars had saved people, and with Bruce being the only one around that could do any kind of treatment, it had fallen upon him to help.

It's late enough into the night by the time Bruce is done, but at least the Templar was going to be alright. Bruce gives instructions to the other Templars that were hovering around on what to do for the rest of the night as he packs up his things. He'll come back in the morning, but for now his job is done.]

[His lieutenant had come into his tent, where he knelt in prayer for Burn's survival, to let him know that the Healer was done and had given them instructions for the rest of his care -- but it looked like Burns was going to pull through.

James let out a breath of relief, and then looked to the small statue of Andraste on the stand before him] Thank you...

[And now, that he had thanked the higher powers, he had best thank the ones closer than home. He rose to his feet, to find the healer.]

Serah? I wanted to thank you, for all that you have done. If there is anything you ever require of myself, or my men, we are in your debt forever.

[With his things packed up Bruce was more than ready to leave, which was what he had been doing before he was stopped at the entrance by what he presumed was the leader of this band. For a moment he worried over if the Templar did recognize him - the possibility was always there - but it was nothing more than a thanks, and Bruce relaxed slightly.]

It's nothing. [Bruce quickly waves off the gratitude - he doesn't want to anybody to owe him anything, least of all Templars.] It's the least I can do back in return for the people you helped earlier.

[James shook his head.] No, it was the most you could have done. Many would rather spit on us than offer us the least assistance... you came and you saved Burns's life. So thank you, again. You are a good man.

[He moved to turn away, then stopped, turning back to see what Bruce was doing.] Are you ... packing up to leave? It's dangerous out here, after dark. I'll -- [He stopped, then cleared his throat.] ... May I accompany you back to your camp?

[Bruce hardly thinks that he's anywhere near being 'a good man', but of course he keeps that part to himself. Honestly, it wasn't as if it was a big thing - Bruce was only doing what was right, all the stuff about Templars and mages aside. For him, as long as there was somebody who needed help, then he would provide it the best that he was able to.

He continued to make his way out of the cave, but was stopped again when the Templar addressed him once more. At the offer there was an entirely uncertain look that crossed Bruce's face, but it only lasted for a second and soon enough after that he shook his head to turn down the offer.]

No, its fine. I know the area well enough to navigate back myself.

The fireball was accident. Honest. He'd just ... lost control. A little. Forgot where he was. And that he was alone.

Not entirely alone. The others were around. Somewhere. He'd king of snuck off to make the acquisition. And maybe didn't think other people would also be after the same rare book and would maybe ambush him after he'd purchased it.

Hence. Fireball. In pubic. In front of lots of people.

And running.

Maker, he hates running.

The market square, which was really more like a long market mall, was long enough that Norrington and his people really didn't hear the commotion until it was almost on top of them. They were purchasing various supplies - food, flint, and of course lyrium. Norrington had to keep Anamaria from gutting the first dwarf they had approached as he put forth vials of red lyrium. Norrington told her to see to getting fresh water, before turning on the dwarf letting him know he would be informing the local guard captain.

The dwarf had disappeared after that, and he had moved onto the next merchant.

He had just gotten twenty four precious little vials, securing them on his person, when the cry went out, "MAGE! MAGE!"

Screams were coming from every corner, and Norrington looked around, seeing weapons already drawn. He frowned, before he yelled out, "TEMPLARS. FORM UP."

He saw the young man running as if his life depended upon it - and for all they both knew it did. He stepped to the center of the street, pulling his shield and eying the mage. Just a boy, really, looking scared as Hell.

So he called out, shifting just slightly, "You will put up your weapons! NOW! The boy is under the Templar's protection!"

Then he grimly waited to see what the mage, and the crowd would do. The fact that he was no Red Templar should put some points of faith back in his corner, he hoped.

Sal didn't work well under pressure, as evidenced by his current predicament. He didn't know if his magic trick got the muggers to back off. But it did succeed in riling up a mob. And gaining the attention of Templars.

Everything was white noise and his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. He saw the Templars move to the middle of the street and skid to the halt before reaching them. Protection? Did he hear that right?

Bullshit.

He looked desperately for another escape and darted for an alley nearby.

Well honestly, I should have seen that one coming. James thought to himself, but the common folk were still frozen as if waiting for a cue from him. He was considering just letting the boy run - the mob had been stopped, when he saw the rough looking characters pushing from the back of the crowd, making for an intersecting course.

Ah. Right, well. He didn't even stop, just headed sideways into the next alleyway, calling out orders to his men. One group would come up behind the muggers, the rest would follow him, they could catch them in a pincher motion and hopefully keep the mage from being murdered.

He had left his helm back with his horse, but his sword and shield always came with him in public, so he detached the sword while he ran. He skidded to the end of the alley, doing a quick review of where the mage could have gone from here.

Edited 2015-12-18 23:47 (UTC)

Legs burning and breath heaving, Sal came out the other end of the alley to find himself at the back-end of a bunch of buildings tightly packed together. Something of a courtyard. Worse, it was a dead end. There were a couple of doors available, and he could only hope one was unlocked. He made for the nearest.

But he didn't get more than halfway before a shout drew his attention to one of the alleyways, and there were the ruffians who had started this whole mess. He backed away, pulling his staff free and preparing a spell. He'd already outed himself, what did he have to lose now?

And then the Templar appeared and... You know what? This was going down as the world's most shitty day. And he was probably going to die.

James had skidded to a halt to get his bearings, but there they all were. The mage, the ruffians, and of course him. He knew back up was on the way, could hear them pounding up behind him, so he did what he had been trained to do.

He stepped up to the mage's side, lifting his shield to put it slightly in front of the mage, to deflect any incoming weapons, while he growled at the low-lifes before him. "In case I had not made myself clear before - the mage is under Templar Protection."

Under his breath, with his teeth bared, he muttered, "Make for one of the doors. I will cover your escape. They will not follow, reinforcements are on the way."

"I don't need Templar protection." He said it through clenched teeth, though sweat beaded his brow and he shook with exhaustion. Even so, he glanced at the door.

But pride - and idiocy - was not going to let him admit he need a Templar's help to escape a couple of low-life muggers. He shook his head. "I didn't ask for your help."

"You may not need protection, and you may not have asked for my help." Was James's flat reply, "But I am not going to let you die just because you hate the uniform I wear, boy. Now, if you are going to throw your spells - do it now. I'll shield you."

Pride was a fool man's bread, that he could take his fill on until he was buried in his grave. James had no intention of being there any time soon.

He cast a glare at the Templar - boy? - but raised his staff and hand. They could argue later. He could see reinforcements arriving behind the ruffians, so he aimed an explosion just in front of them to drive them back toward the other soldiers.

The ruffians in front of them fled backwards from the fire, but that didn't keep their archers from taking aim. James's shield came up once, then twice, blocking arrows that were aimed at the mage's head,

Then his men hit them from behind, while the rest swarmed forward around the fire. He made a grim, satisfied noise, before he pressed forward, calling out to the mage, "Keep it up, man!"

"Don't tell me what to do," Sal muttered. But, begrudgingly, he was thankful for not getting arrows in his head. He cast Horror on the men pressing forward, letting the fear spirits unleashed fill them terror. It would be a long count before he could throw the next fireball.

Which was fine, the Templars are going to take out the rest of the ruffians. They may be trained professionals, but Templars had taken out much, much worse. And Norrington is right in the middle of it, shield swinging up to block, bash, and ram, while his sword flashed through the ruffians.

He moves back, away from the fighting. All he has for defense is his staff, and it's fairly useless when he's between spells. He could thwack at anyone who comes near, but that won't get him very far. So he inches back, watching the ruffians fall. He will forever deny being impressed by Templar fighting techniques.

He finds himself at the door, trying the handle. It's locked. Figures.

The Templars make short work of the ruffians, and at Norrington's order, went ahead and sheathed their swords. Norrington himself put up his sword, before turned to look at the mage. Who was, of course, trying to escape.

Back in the days when the Circles were strong, Norrington and his men might have had a quiet laugh about this situation later. Waited for the mage to realize he didn't have anywhere to go, and gently would have taken him back to his tower or circle. Norrington would have talked to him about the honor of serving, that mages had abilities that could truly change the world and running away from that responsibility was basically running away from the part of him that was blessed by these gifts.

Those days, however, were long over.

So Norrington slung his shield over his shoulder, and nodded at the young mage. "Good luck to you. I have a feeling you shall assuredly need it." He nodded towards his men, "Move out."

No Knight

The Iron Bull: Dragon Age | Open

James Norrington || DA AU

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Narcissa Black | Harry Potter