Leon started down at his hand, watching it shake with a sort of enforced detachment. If he made himself consider it as though it belonged to someone else, the development was not quite so alarming. But of course, the problem was that it was his hand, and for once no amount of concentration on his part would steady it. He swallowed thickly, pushing a long breath out of his nose. Hanne purred on his lap, blissfully oblivious to his problem, and he supposed that it wouldn't be much of one if it didn't matter so very much what his hands were capable of. What he was capable of.
He rested the other hand—thankfully steady—on her head, stroking down her back once before he shifted it underneath her, picking her up and setting her down on a nearby chair. Dusting cat hair off his trousers, he struggled to slide the glove on his shaking hand and used the other to reach for one of Rilien's potions. Taking the cork out with his teeth for lack of much other option, he downed it in a swallow, sighing heavily and setting the flask down.
It only took about a minute for the shaking to stop, but Leon couldn't help the feeling that his body was already beginning to betray him. He flexed his hand, feeling the pull of old calluses and scar tissue beneath the pliant leather. Pursing his lips, he crossed to his office door, throwing his cloak over his shoulders. The black one, with the Seekers' eye on the back. He'd lost his other one at some point—he couldn't remember where, now.
The Inquisition's templars practiced in one of the main yards, usually on rotations with the regulars the Lions' officers were in charge of. Sometimes, he made them practice together, for cohesion and the learning exchange, but today they were by themselves. Running drills, by the looks of it. He still thought it would be useful to have the mages actually throw spells at them, but he could easily understand why, from a psychological standpoint, it was not the best idea. The last thing they needed was more reason for the groups to clash; the tenuous peace that existed between them here was worth forgoing a few training advantages.
“Captain Séverine," he greeted amiably, offering a mild smile as he pulled up next to her at the fence. As he intended to do himself, she seemed to be observing today; the sergeants could doubtless run the drills fine themselves. “How do they look?"
"Promising," was Séverine's immediate answer, after she'd offered a nod greeting to Leon in return. "Talented. And restless." She smiled, the expression a little rueful. "I wish I knew how to calm their eagerness but... I'm feeling it too." They were a mismatched group, these templars under Séverine's command. All of them were veterans of what had taken place at Therinfal Redoubt. The demon posing as the Lord Seeker there had called all templars to join him, meaning that the ones that were left hailed from a wide variety of homelands and backgrounds. They were united as templars, at least, but almost all had been trained with the regular comfort of a Knight-Commander to look to for leadership. Séverine included.
She didn't lack the looks of a leader, at least. She was tall and proud of appearance, bearing obvious traits of nobility. The most easily seen of those was her hair, a sleek black mass arranged into several braids and more, one secured around the crown of her head. Her voice was loud, clear, commanding when it needed to be, her armor kept in perpetually perfect condition. She stood like a leader, watched over the templars like one.
"It's been too long," she said, looking troubled. "Since we've seen the Red Templars. They might be leaderless, but they were hardly destroyed. My templars... some of them feel adrift, and I don't know what to say to them."
“Waiting is never easy for people trained to act," Leon conceded. And there was no mistaking that Templars were trained to act. Even if that action was just keen observation of their charges, there was always something to do, and training like this usually only a relatively small part of it. The Inquisition was as regimented as it could be, considering the flexibility they needed to maintain, but even a solid training schedule and relatively well-organized command structure could hardly compare to the familiarity of a Circle of Magi.
Gripping the uppermost post of the fence in both hands, Leon watched a line of them practice footwork drills, the basic fundamentals of balance and solidity. Important, to make those instinct instead of thought. “Corypheus will move again, in time. As will the Red Templars. High Seeker Ophelia is close to tracking down the Lord Seeker as well. There will be work enough for them soon—of that, I am quite sure."
"That's good." Séverine crossed her arms, pausing while one of her sergeants sternly corrected a younger templar on the placement of his shield. "I'm best when I know what the target is, and where I can hit it. That's always been true. This... waiting, and teaching, and preparing everyone. I don't know if I really understood what I was getting myself into here." She laughed a little to herself. "Not that I'm regretting it or anything. Maker knows we're doing good work here. But I'm starting to think I'm not the best woman for the job, if it's as long-term as it seems to be."
She didn't seem particularly distressed about these supposed faults of hers she was seeing, instead simply laying them out in front of her with that smile, a little self-effacing laugh. She took her eyes off the practice, glancing at Leon. "So how's it work in the Seekers, then? You were trained by Ophelia, right? She kick you out before you were ready, hope you could learn to fly before the ground hit?"
“Absolutely." Leon shook his head slightly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Granted, I was sent to her in the first place because I was already floundering after the Vigil, but she kept me no longer than she felt absolutely necessary. And then there I was in the field again, people to command and still spinning from all the ways my life kept turning upside down." He grimaced a bit. It had all worked out for the better, he thought, but it certainly hadn't been a lark.
Leon was not naturally gifted in the arts of leadership. Nor, it turned out, in a number of other rather important things about being a Seeker. He'd had to learn to compartmentalize the pieces of himself that were less suited to his job, so that he could do it effectively. Ophelia's training had helped with that in the most literal fashion, but the rest had still been up to him to figure out. “For what it's worth... leaders are rarely made before they actually lead, I find. No one's born with the skill, and it's a rare few who can acquire it simply from following another for a while, even a good one. I certainly didn't, but I don't think it's working out too badly."
"Well, it must've been the rare few that I served under, before coming here." Again, she offered a soft little laugh, before twisting at the waist to better face Leon for a moment, briefly holding out a hand preemptively. "Not that you haven't been excellent, you're just... well, you're a little more mild-mannered than what I'm used to. Hope you don't mind me saying." She tucked her arm back under the other one again. "Say what you will about Knight-Commander Meredith, she knew how to inspire, whether it was fear or loyalty, or both. It inspired me. To the wrong ends, of course, but until then I'd never devoted myself to anything like that."
She smiled a bit wistfully, then. "After she was gone, there was Cullen. I thought he'd be soft compared to Meredith, and maybe he is, but he still didn't have an ounce of patience for my dithering about. He's kept hope for the Order alive there in Kirkwall. And Viscountess Dumar? If there was ever a woman born to lead, it's her." She snorted another laugh, shaking her head. "Even that surly Seeker, the Nevarran royalty, Pentaghast, kept us in line while she was looking into the origins of the mage rebellion. So..." Her words trailed off for a moment, as though she'd almost lost her line of thought.
"I guess what I'm saying is you should come by more often. Your cloak says to me you're still a watcher of the watchmen, in addition to our Commander. And..." She exhaled softly. "I'd appreciate the help, once in a while. I'm not looking for another mentor, but if past experience is anything to go by, I flounder without one."
She had encountered quite the selection of skilled leaders, come to think of it. He certainly didn't think he matched up in any significant way to the likes of Sophia Dumar, but then he suspected he didn't have to. The Inquisition had other leaders, ones that occupied many places on the scale between unseen and prominent. He was lucky to be somewhere in the middle, and in truth his preference would have been to occupy a place closer to Rilien's than Estella's, for example. But he would make do with the demands of his position, just as Séverine was clearly doing her best to make do with hers.
“Truthfully, I'm not in much of a position to mentor anyway," he said with a trace of humor. “But I'm happy to help, where I can. I'll stop by a little more often, if you'd find some use in it." His instinct was to avoid stepping on anyone's toes where possible, but if his presence was requested, that was quite another matter.
"Good. Maybe I'll stop by sometime, myself, when I need some advice." She grinned a little. "And when we find the Reds, I want to be the first to put my boot on their throats. We all do. We'll put the Order back to rights, even if we have to grind every one of those traitors to dust."
He supposed that was a sentiment most of them shared. He could even understand it, to an extent. “Well then... we keep preparing, so our blades are sharp when we make the attempt."
He rested the other hand—thankfully steady—on her head, stroking down her back once before he shifted it underneath her, picking her up and setting her down on a nearby chair. Dusting cat hair off his trousers, he struggled to slide the glove on his shaking hand and used the other to reach for one of Rilien's potions. Taking the cork out with his teeth for lack of much other option, he downed it in a swallow, sighing heavily and setting the flask down.
It only took about a minute for the shaking to stop, but Leon couldn't help the feeling that his body was already beginning to betray him. He flexed his hand, feeling the pull of old calluses and scar tissue beneath the pliant leather. Pursing his lips, he crossed to his office door, throwing his cloak over his shoulders. The black one, with the Seekers' eye on the back. He'd lost his other one at some point—he couldn't remember where, now.
The Inquisition's templars practiced in one of the main yards, usually on rotations with the regulars the Lions' officers were in charge of. Sometimes, he made them practice together, for cohesion and the learning exchange, but today they were by themselves. Running drills, by the looks of it. He still thought it would be useful to have the mages actually throw spells at them, but he could easily understand why, from a psychological standpoint, it was not the best idea. The last thing they needed was more reason for the groups to clash; the tenuous peace that existed between them here was worth forgoing a few training advantages.
“Captain Séverine," he greeted amiably, offering a mild smile as he pulled up next to her at the fence. As he intended to do himself, she seemed to be observing today; the sergeants could doubtless run the drills fine themselves. “How do they look?"
"Promising," was Séverine's immediate answer, after she'd offered a nod greeting to Leon in return. "Talented. And restless." She smiled, the expression a little rueful. "I wish I knew how to calm their eagerness but... I'm feeling it too." They were a mismatched group, these templars under Séverine's command. All of them were veterans of what had taken place at Therinfal Redoubt. The demon posing as the Lord Seeker there had called all templars to join him, meaning that the ones that were left hailed from a wide variety of homelands and backgrounds. They were united as templars, at least, but almost all had been trained with the regular comfort of a Knight-Commander to look to for leadership. Séverine included.
She didn't lack the looks of a leader, at least. She was tall and proud of appearance, bearing obvious traits of nobility. The most easily seen of those was her hair, a sleek black mass arranged into several braids and more, one secured around the crown of her head. Her voice was loud, clear, commanding when it needed to be, her armor kept in perpetually perfect condition. She stood like a leader, watched over the templars like one.
"It's been too long," she said, looking troubled. "Since we've seen the Red Templars. They might be leaderless, but they were hardly destroyed. My templars... some of them feel adrift, and I don't know what to say to them."
“Waiting is never easy for people trained to act," Leon conceded. And there was no mistaking that Templars were trained to act. Even if that action was just keen observation of their charges, there was always something to do, and training like this usually only a relatively small part of it. The Inquisition was as regimented as it could be, considering the flexibility they needed to maintain, but even a solid training schedule and relatively well-organized command structure could hardly compare to the familiarity of a Circle of Magi.
Gripping the uppermost post of the fence in both hands, Leon watched a line of them practice footwork drills, the basic fundamentals of balance and solidity. Important, to make those instinct instead of thought. “Corypheus will move again, in time. As will the Red Templars. High Seeker Ophelia is close to tracking down the Lord Seeker as well. There will be work enough for them soon—of that, I am quite sure."
"That's good." Séverine crossed her arms, pausing while one of her sergeants sternly corrected a younger templar on the placement of his shield. "I'm best when I know what the target is, and where I can hit it. That's always been true. This... waiting, and teaching, and preparing everyone. I don't know if I really understood what I was getting myself into here." She laughed a little to herself. "Not that I'm regretting it or anything. Maker knows we're doing good work here. But I'm starting to think I'm not the best woman for the job, if it's as long-term as it seems to be."
She didn't seem particularly distressed about these supposed faults of hers she was seeing, instead simply laying them out in front of her with that smile, a little self-effacing laugh. She took her eyes off the practice, glancing at Leon. "So how's it work in the Seekers, then? You were trained by Ophelia, right? She kick you out before you were ready, hope you could learn to fly before the ground hit?"
“Absolutely." Leon shook his head slightly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Granted, I was sent to her in the first place because I was already floundering after the Vigil, but she kept me no longer than she felt absolutely necessary. And then there I was in the field again, people to command and still spinning from all the ways my life kept turning upside down." He grimaced a bit. It had all worked out for the better, he thought, but it certainly hadn't been a lark.
Leon was not naturally gifted in the arts of leadership. Nor, it turned out, in a number of other rather important things about being a Seeker. He'd had to learn to compartmentalize the pieces of himself that were less suited to his job, so that he could do it effectively. Ophelia's training had helped with that in the most literal fashion, but the rest had still been up to him to figure out. “For what it's worth... leaders are rarely made before they actually lead, I find. No one's born with the skill, and it's a rare few who can acquire it simply from following another for a while, even a good one. I certainly didn't, but I don't think it's working out too badly."
"Well, it must've been the rare few that I served under, before coming here." Again, she offered a soft little laugh, before twisting at the waist to better face Leon for a moment, briefly holding out a hand preemptively. "Not that you haven't been excellent, you're just... well, you're a little more mild-mannered than what I'm used to. Hope you don't mind me saying." She tucked her arm back under the other one again. "Say what you will about Knight-Commander Meredith, she knew how to inspire, whether it was fear or loyalty, or both. It inspired me. To the wrong ends, of course, but until then I'd never devoted myself to anything like that."
She smiled a bit wistfully, then. "After she was gone, there was Cullen. I thought he'd be soft compared to Meredith, and maybe he is, but he still didn't have an ounce of patience for my dithering about. He's kept hope for the Order alive there in Kirkwall. And Viscountess Dumar? If there was ever a woman born to lead, it's her." She snorted another laugh, shaking her head. "Even that surly Seeker, the Nevarran royalty, Pentaghast, kept us in line while she was looking into the origins of the mage rebellion. So..." Her words trailed off for a moment, as though she'd almost lost her line of thought.
"I guess what I'm saying is you should come by more often. Your cloak says to me you're still a watcher of the watchmen, in addition to our Commander. And..." She exhaled softly. "I'd appreciate the help, once in a while. I'm not looking for another mentor, but if past experience is anything to go by, I flounder without one."
She had encountered quite the selection of skilled leaders, come to think of it. He certainly didn't think he matched up in any significant way to the likes of Sophia Dumar, but then he suspected he didn't have to. The Inquisition had other leaders, ones that occupied many places on the scale between unseen and prominent. He was lucky to be somewhere in the middle, and in truth his preference would have been to occupy a place closer to Rilien's than Estella's, for example. But he would make do with the demands of his position, just as Séverine was clearly doing her best to make do with hers.
“Truthfully, I'm not in much of a position to mentor anyway," he said with a trace of humor. “But I'm happy to help, where I can. I'll stop by a little more often, if you'd find some use in it." His instinct was to avoid stepping on anyone's toes where possible, but if his presence was requested, that was quite another matter.
"Good. Maybe I'll stop by sometime, myself, when I need some advice." She grinned a little. "And when we find the Reds, I want to be the first to put my boot on their throats. We all do. We'll put the Order back to rights, even if we have to grind every one of those traitors to dust."
He supposed that was a sentiment most of them shared. He could even understand it, to an extent. “Well then... we keep preparing, so our blades are sharp when we make the attempt."