Leonhardt awoke with a small start, looking down at the parchment heâd been writing on and sighing. He supposed he could be forgiven for dozing, considering heâd barely slept in the last week. Predictably, attempting to run the logistics of an Inquisition was extremely difficult, even for someone with not-inconsiderable command experience. This wasnât quite the same as leading people to battle, after all, and for the past four days, heâd let the three Lions' lieutenants run the drills with the troops and shut himself in this side office, taking care of not only his own tasks, but most of those that would be better suited to someone with a more diplomatic bent.
Rilien had helped some, of course, but the Tranquil was busy with his own matters, those involving espionage, the scout regiment, and who knew what else. Leonhardt trusted the fellow, to a point, but it would be foolish to believe that the elf had been completely straightforward with him. He was, after all, a Bard, at least of a sort.
Frowning down at the ink-splattered draft letter heâd been working on, he crumpled it up and brushed it off the desk into a garbage receptacle, and started again. If all went according to plan, he could at least leave answering all the inquiries from curious nobility to someone else, starting as soon as possible. But in order to do that, he had to arrange to rendezvous with the person whoâd be taking over that task.
Lady Marceline,
His hand remained steady even with the sudden knock on his door, but he sighed again and put the quill back in its inkwell. If this was about the supplies againâ
âLord Albrecht, you have a, uh⊠visitor.â That was Reed, one of the guards on shift for the Chantry building at the moment. âAt least, I think theyâre here for you.â
Leon felt himself make a face. How, exactly, could that be uncertain? Setting his current work aside, he stood from his chair, unsure what to expect, but also undeniably curious.
âAll right, Reed, send in my mysterious guest.â
The door swung open, to reveal that Reed was wearing a very skeptical expression, mixed with a bit of caution, as though he werenât quite sure what was going on, which wasnât entirely unreasonable, considering that the visitor marched in right after him, looking not entirely put-together in any recognizable fashion. They were quite short, wearing a scarlet cloak with a large, cowl-like hood, and some kind of steel mask fastened over the lower half of their face, with several small, vertical slits, presumably to allow them to breathe. Their armor was a strange assortment, clearly scavenged from several different sets, leather and chain and a few plates, scratched and scuffed with use.
The swordâif it could be called thatâon the figureâs back was held there with a series of straps rather than a proper scabbard, and appeared to be bladed only on one side, but very thick on the other, giving it the appearance of a rather large, oddly-shaped cleaver more than anything properly used as a tool of warfare.
The figure stopped not more than two feet from the edge of his desk, and from the flash of white visible in the gaps of the mask, they were grinning, tipping their head quite far up to meet Leonhardtâs eyes with peridot-green ones.
âThat Maker of yours must really have liked you, because it looks like he could have made two people from the same stuff instead.â The voice was feminine, though not especially so, and carried a certain rasp to it. She reached up towards her face, unhooking the mask and pulling it away from her, making it evident that she was tattooed over the whole of her visage, in the distinctly-Dalish fashion.
âIâm here to volunteer for your Inquisition thing.â
Whatever heâd been expecting, thisâsheâwas not it. âMyâŠ?â It admittedly took him a second to process all of this, from her strange appearance to the incredibly blunt way sheâd stated her intentions. He supposed he could appreciate that, in a certain way, but he wasnât quite sure what to do with the comment about his height; surprisingly, it was not one heâd received before, probably because of politesse.
âRight. The Inquisition.â After a few secondsâ delay, Leon got his wits about him and resumed his seat. He would have offered her one as well, but he didnât really have anything else by way of office furniture, so that tactic was not an option.
Theyâd received a few volunteers over the past week, often those drawn by rumors of the mysterious abilities of the so-called Heralds of Andraste. Apparently, the popular interpretation of the story Romulus and Estella had told was that the woman in question was the Bride of the Maker, and though he didnât think they should endorse such speculation, silencing it was all but impossible, and probably detrimental to the cause, so theyâd left it be. But this woman didnât seem like the kind of person whoâd be here for a reason like that.
âIf I may ask⊠what is your name, and why do you want to volunteer?â
She scrunched her nose, almost the expression a person would make if theyâd smelled something foul. âKharisanna Istimaethoriel. But if you could do me a favor, donât ever tell anyone that, and just call me Khari.â She pulled her hood down, apparently quite content to make herself more comfortable despite the lack of seating, and yanked a long, almost equally-red braid out from underneath it, throwing it over her shoulder.
âAnd I want to volunteer because the massive spooky green thing in the sky is a big deal, and you lot seem to be the only people doing anything about it. Itâs really not complicated, is it?â She shrugged, and placed her hands on her hips, though it didnât seem to be an attempt at aggression, merely a way she felt comfortable holding herself.
âIf youâre worried about me being useful, youâre welcome to put me through my paces. Wouldnât mind fighting a guy like you.â She grinned, jagged and feral, and it brightened her eyes.
Somehow, he had no trouble at all believing that. Leonhardt gave it some consideration, but the truth was at this point they were so desperately in need of manpower that they were taking farmers with pitchforks, if they wanted to join. Everyone was put through some training, anyway, so it wasnât really her ability to fight that he was worried about. He had a sense that she knew what she was doing in that respect, but they were in need of more than just soldiers, and he wondered if she might not serve some other purpose just as well.
âI⊠donât believe that will be necessary,â he replied, though part of him did wonder if it might not be worth it just to get himself out of this office for a little while. âThat said, if you have any particular training I should be aware of, that might make a difference.â She was clearly Dalish; perhaps she knew some of the things they were traditionally known for? She didnât look much like someone to put under Liaâs watch, but appearances had fooled him before.
If possible, her grin widened. âSpecial training? Yeah, Iâve got some of that. My mentorâs a chevalier-errant; I know a lot of what they do. Oh, and I get mad and hit things, in sort of an⊠organized way, I guess. Like those nutty dwarves in the whatsitâthe Legion, or something. I dunno. Iâve only ever actually met one dwarf, and he was drunk at the time.â She waved a hand, as if this were unimportant to the point, then suddenly seemed to realize something.
âOh. Oh. Youâre talking about elfy stuff, arenât you?â There was a pause. âThatâs not really my area. I can survive fine, and find a trail if I have to, or move⊠kind of quietly. But none of that sneaky-sneaky arrow business, no.â
Leon supposed this was a very good lesson in not supposing too much from what he could see. Still, chevalier training was definitely unusual, even from an errant one. Still, it was just believable, though heâd definitely have thought her insane if she claimed to have received instruction at the Academie. He considered her for a moment, then nodded to himself.
âAll right then. I donât see any reason to decline your offer of assistance. Iâd normally tell you to go see the Quartermaster about the standard kit and a bunk somewhere, but actually, if youâre amenable, I think there might be something youâre better suited to.â That would indeed require a bit of testing, but if she proved up to the task, he thought sheâd do better working outside the rank-and-file. There was a distinct sense of⊠independence about her, and he wasnât sure how well sheâd fit in with the main body of the army.
âOf course, your wages would be scaled appropriately.â
Khari snorted. âAs long as I have something to eat and somewhere to sleep, I donât care about that stuff.â She shrugged carelessly, her demeanor wholly reflective of her words. âBut as long as Iâm out in the field, you can put me wherever you damn well want, uh⊠ser? Milord? Serah? Sorry, Iâm not good at the title thing.â
Now that was something he could sympathize with, and Leonhardt smiled slightly. âIf you have to use one, Commander is fine, but youâre welcome to just call me Leon, Miss Khari.â He held out his right hand.
She shuddered. âAs long as you donât call me âMissâ again, you have yourself a deal, Leon.â She gripped his hand with surprising strength for one so small, and nodded, the solemnity broken when her grin reappeared.
âBut Iâm serious about that field test. Anytime you feel like a sparâŠâ
âWell, Iâll keep that in mind, but I think Iâll throw you to our Lions, first. After that, weâll see. Welcome to the Inquisition.â He settled back into his desk as she left, unable to keep the slightly bewildered half-smile from his face. Either heâd just found them a diamond in the rough, or he was really, really going to regret this conversation. He found that he was actually looking forward to discovering which. He shook his head and returned to his writing, quill scratching mindfully across parchment.
Maybe he was getting used to this Commander thing, after all.
Rilien had helped some, of course, but the Tranquil was busy with his own matters, those involving espionage, the scout regiment, and who knew what else. Leonhardt trusted the fellow, to a point, but it would be foolish to believe that the elf had been completely straightforward with him. He was, after all, a Bard, at least of a sort.
Frowning down at the ink-splattered draft letter heâd been working on, he crumpled it up and brushed it off the desk into a garbage receptacle, and started again. If all went according to plan, he could at least leave answering all the inquiries from curious nobility to someone else, starting as soon as possible. But in order to do that, he had to arrange to rendezvous with the person whoâd be taking over that task.
Lady Marceline,
His hand remained steady even with the sudden knock on his door, but he sighed again and put the quill back in its inkwell. If this was about the supplies againâ
âLord Albrecht, you have a, uh⊠visitor.â That was Reed, one of the guards on shift for the Chantry building at the moment. âAt least, I think theyâre here for you.â
Leon felt himself make a face. How, exactly, could that be uncertain? Setting his current work aside, he stood from his chair, unsure what to expect, but also undeniably curious.
âAll right, Reed, send in my mysterious guest.â
The door swung open, to reveal that Reed was wearing a very skeptical expression, mixed with a bit of caution, as though he werenât quite sure what was going on, which wasnât entirely unreasonable, considering that the visitor marched in right after him, looking not entirely put-together in any recognizable fashion. They were quite short, wearing a scarlet cloak with a large, cowl-like hood, and some kind of steel mask fastened over the lower half of their face, with several small, vertical slits, presumably to allow them to breathe. Their armor was a strange assortment, clearly scavenged from several different sets, leather and chain and a few plates, scratched and scuffed with use.
The swordâif it could be called thatâon the figureâs back was held there with a series of straps rather than a proper scabbard, and appeared to be bladed only on one side, but very thick on the other, giving it the appearance of a rather large, oddly-shaped cleaver more than anything properly used as a tool of warfare.
The figure stopped not more than two feet from the edge of his desk, and from the flash of white visible in the gaps of the mask, they were grinning, tipping their head quite far up to meet Leonhardtâs eyes with peridot-green ones.
âThat Maker of yours must really have liked you, because it looks like he could have made two people from the same stuff instead.â The voice was feminine, though not especially so, and carried a certain rasp to it. She reached up towards her face, unhooking the mask and pulling it away from her, making it evident that she was tattooed over the whole of her visage, in the distinctly-Dalish fashion.
âIâm here to volunteer for your Inquisition thing.â
Whatever heâd been expecting, thisâsheâwas not it. âMyâŠ?â It admittedly took him a second to process all of this, from her strange appearance to the incredibly blunt way sheâd stated her intentions. He supposed he could appreciate that, in a certain way, but he wasnât quite sure what to do with the comment about his height; surprisingly, it was not one heâd received before, probably because of politesse.
âRight. The Inquisition.â After a few secondsâ delay, Leon got his wits about him and resumed his seat. He would have offered her one as well, but he didnât really have anything else by way of office furniture, so that tactic was not an option.
Theyâd received a few volunteers over the past week, often those drawn by rumors of the mysterious abilities of the so-called Heralds of Andraste. Apparently, the popular interpretation of the story Romulus and Estella had told was that the woman in question was the Bride of the Maker, and though he didnât think they should endorse such speculation, silencing it was all but impossible, and probably detrimental to the cause, so theyâd left it be. But this woman didnât seem like the kind of person whoâd be here for a reason like that.
âIf I may ask⊠what is your name, and why do you want to volunteer?â
She scrunched her nose, almost the expression a person would make if theyâd smelled something foul. âKharisanna Istimaethoriel. But if you could do me a favor, donât ever tell anyone that, and just call me Khari.â She pulled her hood down, apparently quite content to make herself more comfortable despite the lack of seating, and yanked a long, almost equally-red braid out from underneath it, throwing it over her shoulder.
âAnd I want to volunteer because the massive spooky green thing in the sky is a big deal, and you lot seem to be the only people doing anything about it. Itâs really not complicated, is it?â She shrugged, and placed her hands on her hips, though it didnât seem to be an attempt at aggression, merely a way she felt comfortable holding herself.
âIf youâre worried about me being useful, youâre welcome to put me through my paces. Wouldnât mind fighting a guy like you.â She grinned, jagged and feral, and it brightened her eyes.
Somehow, he had no trouble at all believing that. Leonhardt gave it some consideration, but the truth was at this point they were so desperately in need of manpower that they were taking farmers with pitchforks, if they wanted to join. Everyone was put through some training, anyway, so it wasnât really her ability to fight that he was worried about. He had a sense that she knew what she was doing in that respect, but they were in need of more than just soldiers, and he wondered if she might not serve some other purpose just as well.
âI⊠donât believe that will be necessary,â he replied, though part of him did wonder if it might not be worth it just to get himself out of this office for a little while. âThat said, if you have any particular training I should be aware of, that might make a difference.â She was clearly Dalish; perhaps she knew some of the things they were traditionally known for? She didnât look much like someone to put under Liaâs watch, but appearances had fooled him before.
If possible, her grin widened. âSpecial training? Yeah, Iâve got some of that. My mentorâs a chevalier-errant; I know a lot of what they do. Oh, and I get mad and hit things, in sort of an⊠organized way, I guess. Like those nutty dwarves in the whatsitâthe Legion, or something. I dunno. Iâve only ever actually met one dwarf, and he was drunk at the time.â She waved a hand, as if this were unimportant to the point, then suddenly seemed to realize something.
âOh. Oh. Youâre talking about elfy stuff, arenât you?â There was a pause. âThatâs not really my area. I can survive fine, and find a trail if I have to, or move⊠kind of quietly. But none of that sneaky-sneaky arrow business, no.â
Leon supposed this was a very good lesson in not supposing too much from what he could see. Still, chevalier training was definitely unusual, even from an errant one. Still, it was just believable, though heâd definitely have thought her insane if she claimed to have received instruction at the Academie. He considered her for a moment, then nodded to himself.
âAll right then. I donât see any reason to decline your offer of assistance. Iâd normally tell you to go see the Quartermaster about the standard kit and a bunk somewhere, but actually, if youâre amenable, I think there might be something youâre better suited to.â That would indeed require a bit of testing, but if she proved up to the task, he thought sheâd do better working outside the rank-and-file. There was a distinct sense of⊠independence about her, and he wasnât sure how well sheâd fit in with the main body of the army.
âOf course, your wages would be scaled appropriately.â
Khari snorted. âAs long as I have something to eat and somewhere to sleep, I donât care about that stuff.â She shrugged carelessly, her demeanor wholly reflective of her words. âBut as long as Iâm out in the field, you can put me wherever you damn well want, uh⊠ser? Milord? Serah? Sorry, Iâm not good at the title thing.â
Now that was something he could sympathize with, and Leonhardt smiled slightly. âIf you have to use one, Commander is fine, but youâre welcome to just call me Leon, Miss Khari.â He held out his right hand.
She shuddered. âAs long as you donât call me âMissâ again, you have yourself a deal, Leon.â She gripped his hand with surprising strength for one so small, and nodded, the solemnity broken when her grin reappeared.
âBut Iâm serious about that field test. Anytime you feel like a sparâŠâ
âWell, Iâll keep that in mind, but I think Iâll throw you to our Lions, first. After that, weâll see. Welcome to the Inquisition.â He settled back into his desk as she left, unable to keep the slightly bewildered half-smile from his face. Either heâd just found them a diamond in the rough, or he was really, really going to regret this conversation. He found that he was actually looking forward to discovering which. He shook his head and returned to his writing, quill scratching mindfully across parchment.
Maybe he was getting used to this Commander thing, after all.