» You ought to know where I'm coming from

[stumbledfromtheashes]

Iona is exhausted, hurting, and splattered heavily with blood (which, not all of it is hers, so that’s something), and all she wants is a few moments to herself where she can strip off her bloodied armour and soak in the hottest water she can gather in a tub. A few moments where she doesn’t have to be the Herald. The one person with the power to stop whatever it is that the Elder One has planned.

Unfortunately it’s not quite to be.

Cullen catches her before she’s made it more than a few steps towards where she's bunking in Haven. “Inquisitor, there’s something pressing that requires your attention.”

Of course there is. She sighs softly and nods. “I’m going to clean up a little and then I’ll meet you in front of the Chantry.” Because whatever it is that needs her she’s not facing it covered in blood. She’s giving herself that, at least.

It takes her a little bit of time to clean the blood off, and then she’s making her way quickly to the Chantry where Cullen is waiting, pacing back and forth. “Good, you’re here.” He inclines his head to indicate that they should walk and talk, and Iona falls into step beside him. “We have a new arrival.”

“A new arrival? Where is he from?”

“We’re not sure. We don’t know how he got here. There was no rift for him to arrive through. There was a flash of light and when it passed... there he stood. Looking as surprised to see us as we were to see him. He’s human. And armed with weapons the likes of which I’ve never seen before. He didn’t have time to draw them before we apprehended him.”

“And you’d like me to... what, exactly? I’m not exactly an expert on what to do with strangers who magically appear in the middle of town,” she responds, amused. “Other than... you know. Being one.”

“Just talk to him. Perhaps he’ll respond better to you. And then we can determine what to do with him.”

“No pressure.”

And then they’re walking down the steps into the Chantry basement. That the Chantry has cells in the first place never ceases to creep her out a little. Why did a place of worship and faith need something like jail cells? Let alone so many of them.

They reach the cell where they’re keeping their guest, and Iona reaches for the keys, to let herself inside. Cullen puts his hand on her arm.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hisses softly. “Are you mad?”

“You wanted me to talk to him, Cullen. I’m going to talk to him. Inside the cell. I refuse to have a conversation through the bars.”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at her wryly. “I would attempt to talk you out of this but I know better.” He can’t hide how worried he is, though, and she smiles fondly and reaches out to touch his arm.

“I’ll be fine. I promise. In the grand scheme of what I’ve faced in the past few days, an unarmed human is almost refreshing. And we don’t know why he’s here." She can't help but smirk up at him a little, teasing and reassuring all at once. "If he IS here to kill me, you’ll be right outside.”

Drawing the gracefully curved dual-bladed daggers from where they sit on her back, she sets them aside. Followed by the daggers in her boots and on her hips. Then she’s opening the door and stepping into the cell, long leather coat billowing behind her.

Comments

[derolo]

It says a lot about his choices and circumstances in life that the inside of a dungeon is a familiar setting, but nonetheless it is.

Percy is ... he's calm, despite the strangeness of the situation. Strange is fine. Strange he's dealt with quite a lot of, and he's getting quite good at dealing with it. The men and women who brought him here - in the brief glimpses he'd gotten before they'd forced a bag over his head - all had the same insignia emblazoned on their armor. An eye with a sword through it.

It wasn't familiar heraldry, which left him with questions to be sure, but it gave him something to work with. Heraldry meant leadership, and nobility and military brass he knew how to handle from years of watching his family's court unfold. Whenever someone appropriately high up the food chain arrived he could--

As if on cue, the door swung open to reveal an elf. Blonde, confident swagger in her step, well-made armor that's well-worn enough to show that it isn't ceremonial ... He's going to guess she's in-charge. Or close enough.

"I do hope you'll be more talkative than your friend," Percy says to her, nodding past the door towards Cullen, "Because this is whole circumstance is nothing more than an unfortunate misunderstanding, Lady ...?" He trails off, hoping that his visitor will feel inclined to introduce herself and he can start building a rapport from there.

[stumbledfromtheashes]

“That’s likely, in all honesty,” Iona replied with a smirk. She studied him thoughtfully for a moment. White hair, spectacles, a long coat that wouldn’t be out of place here. And calm, too. Apparently he deals with the strange and unusual on a regular basis, if appearing without warning somewhere else and being tossed in a cell fazed him that little. Creators, she knows how that goes.

“Iona Lavellan. Just. Iona Lavellan. None of this ‘Lady’ nonsense,” she tells him. Because she isn’t. No matter how much everyone around her might act like it. She’s not nobility. She’s not human. “The Herald of Andraste, if you’re being technical. And annoying.” She manages to not roll her eyes at the title, but it's there in her words. There’s a muffled, choked noise from Cullen outside the cell that might almost be an amused, horrified laugh, and there’s almost a flicker of a smile on her face at the sound of it. She’s an elf, what does he want? She might be doing her best to live up to the title, but it doesn’t mean that she’s above making a comment or five. Or that it makes any sense to her.

[derolo]

"Iona, then." He replies, eyes briefly darting in the direction of the indignant sputtering before returning to her, flickering with amusement.

He can work with this.

He holds out his hands - his attempts to offer a cordial handshake somewhat undercut by the clinking chains of his manacles.

"Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski De Rolo III," He introduces himself. "You can call me Percy."

[stumbledfromtheashes]

Iona frowns slightly at the manacles as she reaches out to clasp his offered hand; she remembers all too well waking up somewhere unfamiliar in a pair of her own after the Conclave. Her instincts... are saying that he’s not a threat. Not to her, not to the Inquisition. Unless they forced the issue. She’s pretty sure that he would be very dangerous, then.

Even without his unusual weapons.

But her instinct is to let him go. To give him a chance. He’s somewhere completely unfamiliar through what is, she suspects, no fault of his own. She feels for him. She's been him, to a degree.

“Well, that’s certainly a mouthful, Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski De Rolo III,” she replies with a laugh and a thoroughly amused grin, his full name falling easily and gracefully off her tongue. “I see why you go with Percy.”

[derolo]

He blinks, caught by surprise for a moment before the smile returns. Oh, he likes this one.

"I'm genuinely impressed," He chuckles, nodding his approval. "There are some people that I've known for years who can't get through all of that."

[stumbledfromtheashes]

He smiles, and she can’t help but smile back. The longer she speaks with him, the longer she’s sure her instincts are right.

Cullen is going to kill her.

She shrugs, looking amused. “You haven’t heard the elvish language. And I have a general rule to try and get people’s names right. It’s only polite.” She gives a look to the cell surrounding them. “Particularly when they’re sitting in a cell in the Chantry.”

[derolo]

There's a part of him that wants to show off his fluency in elvish, but he decides against it. There is such a thing as restraint, and while he's fairly certain that Iona likes him, he doesn't want to push is luck too far.

Yet.

The bit about 'The Chantry' though, that is useful information.

"And finally, I have an answer as to what this place is." He says, following her gaze around the cell, sounding pleased for the bit of clarification.

[stumbledfromtheashes]

It’s probably a bit early to be pressing his luck. Iona might like him, yes, but she doesn’t trust him. That requires a little bit more than sass, a sense of humour and a pretty smile to earn.

“Do you have any idea what the Chantry is, though?” she asks him curiously. “Or where you are, outside of it?” She needs to know if he’s from Thedas. Or if he’s from... somewhere else. If that’s even possible. But she can’t completely discard the possibility. He hasn’t stepped through a rift, not like she had. His appearance had been markedly different. Which leads her to think it’s a separate incident.

“How did you come to be here?” She should probably attempt to do what it is that Cullen had wanted her to do. And she needs to make sure he poses no threat to the Inquisition before she does anything like set him free.

[derolo]

"I haven't the faintest," He admits with a curt shake of his head. the word 'chantry' is familiar, but he didn't know of any organization - presumably religious - that operated by that name.

"As for how I got here ..." Percy spreads his arms and shrugs, "I wish I had an answer for you, but magic is a little bit outside of my purview. Some sort of gate spell if I had to make a guess."

[stumbledfromtheashes]

“Then I suppose you’re unfamiliar with Andraste as well, then. And the Maker.” Iona doesn’t bother mentioning Mythal, or any other of the elven gods. He’s human. Even if he IS from Thedas she doubts he knows more than passing mentions of them. “Tread carefully. They might try and convert you. If they don’t simply dismiss you as a heathen.” There’s a touch of amusement to her words but they’re all painfully and frustratingly true, as well. “You are in a small village in the Frostback Mountains known as Haven.” She hesitates to mention the Inquisition until she’s surer of him.

Well. That’s that, then. She doesn’t know of anything resembling this gate spell that Percy’s mentioned, but given her recent... unpleasant experience with time travel, she refuses to rule anything out. “Then you may be here for a while. I’ve never heard of such a spell. I’ll speak with Dorian, though. He may know more on the subject. Or perhaps Solas.”

[derolo]

He stares at her, nodding along until she finishes before saying, "I'm terribly sorry, but aside from pompous religious orders, none of that meant anything to me."

And perhaps that's pushing his luck, but everyone has a few opinions they're not particularly good at concealing.

Back to the matter at hand, though, Percy makes a deferential gesture, "I'll happily bow to the wisdom of whatever arcanists you happen to have on call. They'll know more on the subject than I do."

[stumbledfromtheashes]

It might surprise him that that, of all things, earns him a thoroughly amused grin. “It doesn’t mean much to me, either, and I’m their bloody Herald.” She’s reminded them that she’s an elf, multiple times, and it doesn’t seem to matter. “It does confirm my suspicions, though. There’s no way for you to avoid knowing of them, if you were, in fact, from Thedas.”

She nods, studying him thoughtfully. “Were I to release you from your shackles, would you swear you mean no harm to the Inquisition or its people? I have enough people attempting to murder me and I quite frankly don’t need to add another to the list. And I cannot risk harm coming to the Inquisition as a whole. We have a bloody world to save.” She. Has. The Mark is on her palm, she is the one with the ability to close rifts.

It falls on her.