Wren notes the reaction faintly — the Winter Palace, the whole bloody reason she'd been sent here — but there's little out of place within it. She isn't so naive as to believe the Dalish head of intelligence hasn't seen battle before, hasn't been hunted, but she's well-aware how unnerving it is: To look to an ally, and find only empty shell. This isn't that. But it's there.
"I believe," Carefully. She's run her mouth too much of Darton already. However toxic the man's association might become, however much she loathes him, his larger family remain nobility of some influence. Thorn had made her feelings known, and guiltily, Wren knows she was right. There's no room for pride. At some point, she'll need to (ugh) apologize. Until then, she needs to stop shittalking him to those whose discretion she can't know. "That you are both right."
Her hands spread upon the table, palms up, ready to placate objection.
"Harriman reacted in a manner presently unacceptable; it would not have been so, in years past." She shakes her head. The problem this time was not an absence of control, but perhaps the wrong breed. Leave it to Cade to create multiple messes. "Seeker Darton acts from the same position,"
The old standard, of blaming it on the nearest templar — but that bitterness won't help here and now. Thorn's frown lingers at the back of her mind, You're too old to act a child,
"Both are outdated. It would be inappropriate to involve the Seeker in the matter any further." Her hands turn over once more, fingers curl. "As for Harriman, all that I may give you is assurance that the Inquisition does not forget those who serve. You will forgive my vagueness; ours is not a life which affords much privacy."
Not that she's given him an ounce of it, herself. It's different, she feels, between brothers. Between no one who's ever sold them out to the bloody Venatori.
"It was well of you to bring this to me, but if you wish details, I recommend speaking with Harriman directly."
There's only a slight reaction to the accusation that Darton was not entirely in the wrong here--a small twist to her lips, eyebrows raised. Enough to make her feelings on the matter clear. But as Wren continues, Beleth relaxes, and gives a small nod, to show that she is willing to listen to the Templar's argument.
The argument itself is sound, though Beleth is sure that it's still wrong. Aleron is still entirely at fault, this entire mess is his fault. The blame rests solely on his shoulders. But her opinion is not warranted, nor wanted, and would do little but create unnecessary hostility. She'll settle for being pleased that the Seekers are now out of the equation.
"I see." The most neutral response she can give, while still acknowledging that she heard what Wren said. "Thank you, then. I will speak to Ser Harriman at the earliest convenience." She pauses. It's a good place to stop, but Beleth can't help but add a little bit more.
"I hope that this helps, and that I don't seem unduly...suspicious. I just want to make sure that the people in charge of helping him understand his situation. If there's anything more that I can do to help, Ser Coupe, you merely need to ask."
She's not entirely sure if this did any good at all, or if she just wasted her time trying to play the diplomat and dance around fancy words and vague statements. But at the very least, Wren will be aware that there are people who care about Cade, who are invested in making sure that he's treated well. It feels like the least--truly, the very least--that she can do for him, but it will have to be enough.
When someone calls out your suspicion, it's generally a better time than ever to be suspicious.
(Advice she might offer if Beleth had taken at all to it before, if Beleth weren't. You know. So damn suspicious.)
"Thank you," She says, and though it's curt, it's honest. This is more information of the situation than she's had prior; that Harriman's Dalish contact is one highly-placed may too be of use. "A friend in one's corner seldom goes amiss."
Until it shoots straight past amiss and into deeply, irrevocably fucked. The dog rumbles to watch her go.
"Non." Wren murmurs, face turned back to her work.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
arlathvhen) wrote2015-02-18 01:05 am
no subject
Wren notes the reaction faintly — the Winter Palace, the whole bloody reason she'd been sent here — but there's little out of place within it. She isn't so naive as to believe the Dalish head of intelligence hasn't seen battle before, hasn't been hunted, but she's well-aware how unnerving it is: To look to an ally, and find only empty shell.
This isn't that. But it's there.
"I believe," Carefully. She's run her mouth too much of Darton already. However toxic the man's association might become, however much she loathes him, his larger family remain nobility of some influence. Thorn had made her feelings known, and guiltily, Wren knows she was right. There's no room for pride. At some point, she'll need to (ugh) apologize. Until then, she needs to stop shittalking him to those whose discretion she can't know. "That you are both right."
Her hands spread upon the table, palms up, ready to placate objection.
"Harriman reacted in a manner presently unacceptable; it would not have been so, in years past." She shakes her head. The problem this time was not an absence of control, but perhaps the wrong breed. Leave it to Cade to create multiple messes. "Seeker Darton acts from the same position,"
The old standard, of blaming it on the nearest templar — but that bitterness won't help here and now. Thorn's frown lingers at the back of her mind, You're too old to act a child,
"Both are outdated. It would be inappropriate to involve the Seeker in the matter any further." Her hands turn over once more, fingers curl. "As for Harriman, all that I may give you is assurance that the Inquisition does not forget those who serve. You will forgive my vagueness; ours is not a life which affords much privacy."
Not that she's given him an ounce of it, herself. It's different, she feels, between brothers. Between no one who's ever sold them out to the bloody Venatori.
"It was well of you to bring this to me, but if you wish details, I recommend speaking with Harriman directly."
no subject
The argument itself is sound, though Beleth is sure that it's still wrong. Aleron is still entirely at fault, this entire mess is his fault. The blame rests solely on his shoulders. But her opinion is not warranted, nor wanted, and would do little but create unnecessary hostility. She'll settle for being pleased that the Seekers are now out of the equation.
"I see." The most neutral response she can give, while still acknowledging that she heard what Wren said. "Thank you, then. I will speak to Ser Harriman at the earliest convenience." She pauses. It's a good place to stop, but Beleth can't help but add a little bit more.
"I hope that this helps, and that I don't seem unduly...suspicious. I just want to make sure that the people in charge of helping him understand his situation. If there's anything more that I can do to help, Ser Coupe, you merely need to ask."
She's not entirely sure if this did any good at all, or if she just wasted her time trying to play the diplomat and dance around fancy words and vague statements. But at the very least, Wren will be aware that there are people who care about Cade, who are invested in making sure that he's treated well. It feels like the least--truly, the very least--that she can do for him, but it will have to be enough.
no subject
(Advice she might offer if Beleth had taken at all to it before, if Beleth weren't. You know. So damn suspicious.)
"Thank you," She says, and though it's curt, it's honest. This is more information of the situation than she's had prior; that Harriman's Dalish contact is one highly-placed may too be of use. "A friend in one's corner seldom goes amiss."
Until it shoots straight past amiss and into deeply, irrevocably fucked. The dog rumbles to watch her go.
"Non." Wren murmurs, face turned back to her work.