[ Marcus offers no response to this answer he did not really want, ensuring instead he has this list in full. None are Enchanters—not that Starkhaven had a great deal of Loyalists to boast about, nor is it surprising, given Redvers' occupation. Still.
He says, all in the tone of fact-stating, ]
You're a mage-hunter, unwillingly posted here, forced to work alongside those you'd see imprisoned or dead or worse. A dedicated servant of the Chantry, [ he lifts the corner of his notes, indicating the list of names there, ] even while so far afield of it. It's those dedicated servants that have endangered our ranks, damaged our reputation. Caused the death of an innocent man.
[ He lets the page corner drop. ] I wouldn't wait for another attempt against myself or any other mage to worry about your standing.
If it weren’t my sword arm, I’d let you cut it off yourself, [ is confirmation of his unwillingness.
Honest, too. He’s given serious thought to it—how he could maybe rig a shield to a stump and learn to fight with the other arm. But he’s getting old. Only so many more years of use in him, before the lyrium has its inevitable way. He doesn’t want to squander that time trying to learn to be half as effective as he was before.
As for the rest. ]
I don’t see why the Chantry would want to interfere with you while you’re trying to stop that monster and his legions. [ He pauses to get a shred of plant fiber out of his teeth with his tongue. ] Maybe they think you’re up to something else.
[ Marcus doesn't smile back. He does, briefly, entertain the fantasy of what it might be like to bloody that smile, and maybe there is something in the fixed point of his regard that implies it. ]
My connections aren't under scrutiny, [ he says, a seamless transition into, ] Who are your direct superior at the time of your leaving for Riftwatch?
Knight-Captain Evrard, [ is easy and even friendly, save the touch of extra emphasis on the r, as if Marcus might have forgotten in the last few minutes. ] Knight-Commander Rohesia Donnet, above him.
[ Information volunteered with the comfort of righteousness, like I pay my taxes. He doesn’t have anything to be sorry for. ]
I don’t write to her— [ a serious woman, formidable during the war with the mages, not much for making friends with her underlings or anyone else ] —but if I tell Evrard anything interesting, I’m sure she’ll hear about it.
[ This is noted down. He considers, in silence, this web of communication, and all that could spread along its lines. In the back of his mind, he is well aware that there is nothing for it, and never has been, and Riftwatch functions as it must, understaffed and desperate and easily exploited. That attempts to close these things down would be a kind of strangulation.
Maybe he can justify reading his mail.
A pivot, then; ]
Of these, are there those you consider personal, and not only professional? Close friends? Romantic partners?
[ The corner of his mouth almost twitches. Very close to an expression that isn't pure contempt.
Marcus spends the time to ensure he has each Circle correct, assigned to the right name. He ascertains, what he can get out of Keen, the status and whereabouts of these people. It is a doggedly thorough mapping out of Redvers' existing sphere of influence (and influenced).
At some stage, when there is quite a lot written down, Marcus sets the book down on the desk, turns it, and pushes it to the opposite edge, for Redvers' review. He should not like to misrepresent him.
[ Redvers' flippant cooperation with this thorough inventory has continued unabated, mostly, save for a deepening slouch of his shoulders—he might be caught giving the chair he declined a longing glance, once, if Marcus looks up at the right moment—and increasing brevity as his patience wanes. ]
Rift,
[ is only his wheels sticking in that pattern of brevity. He's distracted, too, leaning over the desk, braced on his arms in a welcome change of posture and weight distribution, to scan Marcus' notes.
He unsticks, after a moment. ]
Not far from Montfort. A little one. It's still there, but it's out of the way, and it's only spitting out wraiths. They sent us to have a look, [ is all the truth, and he'd be a poor liar even if he were trying to mask the change in his tone and arch of his eyebrow as he adds, ] and I missed you so much, so I stuck out my hand, and—
[ A catching gesture, as if the anchor were lofted to him underhand. The same hand then reaches for Marcus' pen. ]
Mostly because it is unexpected, when there'd been distance maintained, but in the split second he has to decide, he decides perhaps the man is making a correction, and so. It doesn't prevent Marcus from a twitched look of aggravation, both for the action and the arch joke at the end. ]
[ He is making additions, more than corrections, reinvigorated by the change of pace into adding Johana’s first Circle, before Starkhaven, and a note that Berta is now in Orlais. ]
Bernie, Wallace, Geri were there.
[ Speaking of. He adds “Bernie” in parenthesis near Knight-Corporal Bernhard. ]
Some others. A local scout.
[ He slides the paper back. Checks the pen for signs of nibbling, because that would be fantastic, before setting it on top. ]
If you want a roster, you should ask the Knight-Commander. He’ll get a kick out of that.
[ There's probably at least one scrape of a tooth mark there. Only semi-fantastic.
Marcus takes his pen back along with his notes, drawing them to his side of the desk. He nods at this suggestion in a way that perhaps there will indeed be such a letter sent, and then spends a moment trying to consider whatever stones he has left unturned. Back down at the page, turning it back around so that he can see these new pen marks. "Bernie".
He pushes it aside to let the ink dry. ]
If there is more needed of you, I'll send word. You can leave.
[ Redvers answers that with a long pause, head creeping into a tilt. A silence that substitutes for I didn't need your permission with a touch of I was there to see your voice change and your face get spotty, serah.
He says, ]
Thanks.
[ Dry. But obliging. He shuffles out without further delay. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He says, all in the tone of fact-stating, ]
You're a mage-hunter, unwillingly posted here, forced to work alongside those you'd see imprisoned or dead or worse. A dedicated servant of the Chantry, [ he lifts the corner of his notes, indicating the list of names there, ] even while so far afield of it. It's those dedicated servants that have endangered our ranks, damaged our reputation. Caused the death of an innocent man.
[ He lets the page corner drop. ] I wouldn't wait for another attempt against myself or any other mage to worry about your standing.
no subject
Honest, too. He’s given serious thought to it—how he could maybe rig a shield to a stump and learn to fight with the other arm. But he’s getting old. Only so many more years of use in him, before the lyrium has its inevitable way. He doesn’t want to squander that time trying to learn to be half as effective as he was before.
As for the rest. ]
I don’t see why the Chantry would want to interfere with you while you’re trying to stop that monster and his legions. [ He pauses to get a shred of plant fiber out of his teeth with his tongue. ] Maybe they think you’re up to something else.
no subject
[ blandly, barely slanted into being a question. ]
no subject
[ A one-second flash of a smile. ]
Who do you keep in touch with?
no subject
My connections aren't under scrutiny, [ he says, a seamless transition into, ] Who are your direct superior at the time of your leaving for Riftwatch?
no subject
[ Information volunteered with the comfort of righteousness, like I pay my taxes. He doesn’t have anything to be sorry for. ]
I don’t write to her— [ a serious woman, formidable during the war with the mages, not much for making friends with her underlings or anyone else ] —but if I tell Evrard anything interesting, I’m sure she’ll hear about it.
no subject
Maybe he can justify reading his mail.
A pivot, then; ]
Of these, are there those you consider personal, and not only professional? Close friends? Romantic partners?
no subject
He pauses. A first stumble. Ten points to Marcus. ]
Not sure how that's relevant.
no subject
We're dealing in the potential for corruption, Knight-Lieutenant. Influence. Such forces don't only travel through strict hierarchal obligation.
no subject
[ He's sleeping with none of them, in fact, so this is not a particularly useful hill to die on. ]
no subject
Marcus spends the time to ensure he has each Circle correct, assigned to the right name. He ascertains, what he can get out of Keen, the status and whereabouts of these people. It is a doggedly thorough mapping out of Redvers' existing sphere of influence (and influenced).
At some stage, when there is quite a lot written down, Marcus sets the book down on the desk, turns it, and pushes it to the opposite edge, for Redvers' review. He should not like to misrepresent him.
He asks, as he does so, ]
What happened? To get your shard.
no subject
Rift,
[ is only his wheels sticking in that pattern of brevity. He's distracted, too, leaning over the desk, braced on his arms in a welcome change of posture and weight distribution, to scan Marcus' notes.
He unsticks, after a moment. ]
Not far from Montfort. A little one. It's still there, but it's out of the way, and it's only spitting out wraiths. They sent us to have a look, [ is all the truth, and he'd be a poor liar even if he were trying to mask the change in his tone and arch of his eyebrow as he adds, ] and I missed you so much, so I stuck out my hand, and—
[ A catching gesture, as if the anchor were lofted to him underhand. The same hand then reaches for Marcus' pen. ]
no subject
Mostly because it is unexpected, when there'd been distance maintained, but in the split second he has to decide, he decides perhaps the man is making a correction, and so. It doesn't prevent Marcus from a twitched look of aggravation, both for the action and the arch joke at the end. ]
And who all was 'us'.
no subject
[ He is making additions, more than corrections, reinvigorated by the change of pace into adding Johana’s first Circle, before Starkhaven, and a note that Berta is now in Orlais. ]
Bernie, Wallace, Geri were there.
[ Speaking of. He adds “Bernie” in parenthesis near Knight-Corporal Bernhard. ]
Some others. A local scout.
[ He slides the paper back. Checks the pen for signs of nibbling, because that would be fantastic, before setting it on top. ]
If you want a roster, you should ask the Knight-Commander. He’ll get a kick out of that.
no subject
Marcus takes his pen back along with his notes, drawing them to his side of the desk. He nods at this suggestion in a way that perhaps there will indeed be such a letter sent, and then spends a moment trying to consider whatever stones he has left unturned. Back down at the page, turning it back around so that he can see these new pen marks. "Bernie".
He pushes it aside to let the ink dry. ]
If there is more needed of you, I'll send word. You can leave.
no subject
He says, ]
Thanks.
[ Dry. But obliging. He shuffles out without further delay. ]