It's a considerable number of stairs to the griffon eyrie. Presumably, the rest of the contingent flying out will either already be assembled there once they arrive or joining them shortly. This has all been brutally short notice, consisting of a series of urgent crystal messages in the middle of the night, one or two awkward substitutions when no better hands could be roused, and the sort last minute preparations that see this conversation happening while climbing a stairwell rather than behind a closed door.
"Even with the griffons, we've some time between us and Wildervale. Allowing for a reasonable measure of delay based on what Abendroth does or doesn't know regarding Julius' precise location and whatever state he's in, I expect you will have a few days to determine exactly how you mean to direct all of this before we make our way to Rowntree."
Saying something like If we even get that far, would be needlessly pessimistic.
It is happy coincidence, clattering toward the griffon's eyrie with her pack in time to fall into step with the Commander.
She is buckling the silver fastenings on her coat as they walk, and the deft movements of her fingers slow as she fully processes what Flint is saying. How she means to direct all of this.
"Sir?" is prompting as she looks over to him. The worried look on her face only deepens at the consideration of his implications. She's been wearing this expression since she heard Marcus was missing.
Not missing. Taken. There is a difference. Derrica has been fretting over it, as much as she has been fretting over what it might take to retrieve him. It had not occurred that anything more would be expected of her than what she habitually offers: assistance on the battlefield.
The look he throws her in the dimly illuminated passage, their way made clear by the glow stones embedded at intervals, suggests he may have had some inkling that this would be her reaction. Not that he finds it amusing, merely that Flint has prepared for the possibility and so now may meet it with some measure of patience and expectation both.
"We know very little," he says, bowing his head to be sure of his footsteps as they go through the lowlight. "What we do is that the people who have effected Rowntree's capture are, at the very least, playing the role of Templars. Whether that's true or not, it's the story they have chosen to tell and so I see little reason not to err on the side of approaching the problem legitimately."
Meaning? He looks at Derrica, something measuring in his assessment.
Her palm flattens over the last fastening, against the prod of that sharp edge of metal. Feels the prickle of a wholly separate anxiety from Marcus and Julius' situation. How nerve-wracking, to execute her duties in front of her boss.
"You're Commander of Forces."
Not that he needs the reminder, but to highlight the root of her uncertainty. Between them, who has the higher authority? Is it a kind of presumption to assume her decisions should be what guides them as they handle what lies before them?
"Which I would encourage you to use as leverage if convenient. It's likely whoever it is we're dealing with either doesn't know who they've crossed or finds the prospect of being recognized inconvenient. They may be more ready to see reason once acquainted with the specifics."
There's a rhythm to this which is as evenly timed as their pace up the stairs—a methodical sort of momentum as certain and practiced as the hand Flint has at the pommel of his sword in order to casually steer the other end of the sheathed blade from interfering with his ascent.
"Should this turn into a fight, I'll see that we're prepared for it. Until that point, your work would seem to have the most at stake."
There is a certain inevitability to what the Division does. Cleverness aside, there comes a point when a sword, or a lance, or the working of magic is all but required. It's not only defensible for him to wave a sharp stick around at his problems, it's practically required.
A quiet truth: Derrica would like to wave a sharp stick at these problems.
The Chantry has wielded such power for so long. Very little has ever posed a lasting threat to the institution. Derrica isn't under the impression that Riftwatch could ever change that, but it would be nice if for once—
No. It would be satisfying but it would help no one. And worse, it would likely confirm all Byerly Rutyer's reservations about Derrica taking on this role.
"If there is to be a fight, I'd rather they initiate it. And I think we can accomplish that, if the negotiations come to it," she says, snapping that last clasp into place. "But we're not leaving without him."
"Anything else would undermine Riftwatch's autonomy," he agrees.
There had been good reason to break rank from the Inquisition, and at the time of doing so there had been relatively little resistance. Riftwatch may be a necessity in the fight against Corypheus, but it clearly hadn't been one anyone had held great fondness for. And while it's true that the split had occurred before Divine Beatrix had taken the Sunburst Throne, tha seems to be all the more reason to reinforce the Gallows' independence now.
"If this isn't a misunderstanding, then they aimed for this to be done in secret. It's possible,"—has some arch curve to it, sly antagonism masquerading as good sense— "That the most exasperating thing we can do is to bring it out into the daylight."
And worse, it would signal to the Chantry that they would pluck mages from Riftwatch's numbers as they pleased. Who would be next? Kostos had fought in the war, and so had Matthias. Suppose the Chantry turned their gaze there, once they had finished their business with Marcus?
Derrica keeps this fear to herself, tucked in behind her ribs.
"I'm worried that we won't be believed."
If they cannot turn up some material proof—
Her fingers trail the railing as they ascend to the landing, take the first steps up along the next flight of stairs.
"Julius and I had been speaking of treading lightly around the Chantry, to preserve our relationship there. It would help if we had something to show this for what it is, if we have to shine light on their deeds after settling the discussion at sword point."
Not that Flint can help her with this. He might know more than her of the circumstances, where they are headed, what might wait for them there. Derrica doesn't imagine everything has been shared. But he can hold this in mind for her, if some tangible evidence comes to light once they arrive and he is able to catch hold of it in the course of negotiations.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pre-flight checklist;
"Even with the griffons, we've some time between us and Wildervale. Allowing for a reasonable measure of delay based on what Abendroth does or doesn't know regarding Julius' precise location and whatever state he's in, I expect you will have a few days to determine exactly how you mean to direct all of this before we make our way to Rowntree."
Saying something like If we even get that far, would be needlessly pessimistic.
no subject
She is buckling the silver fastenings on her coat as they walk, and the deft movements of her fingers slow as she fully processes what Flint is saying. How she means to direct all of this.
"Sir?" is prompting as she looks over to him. The worried look on her face only deepens at the consideration of his implications. She's been wearing this expression since she heard Marcus was missing.
Not missing. Taken. There is a difference. Derrica has been fretting over it, as much as she has been fretting over what it might take to retrieve him. It had not occurred that anything more would be expected of her than what she habitually offers: assistance on the battlefield.
no subject
"We know very little," he says, bowing his head to be sure of his footsteps as they go through the lowlight. "What we do is that the people who have effected Rowntree's capture are, at the very least, playing the role of Templars. Whether that's true or not, it's the story they have chosen to tell and so I see little reason not to err on the side of approaching the problem legitimately."
Meaning? He looks at Derrica, something measuring in his assessment.
"You're leading Project Haven, aren't you?"
no subject
Her palm flattens over the last fastening, against the prod of that sharp edge of metal. Feels the prickle of a wholly separate anxiety from Marcus and Julius' situation. How nerve-wracking, to execute her duties in front of her boss.
"You're Commander of Forces."
Not that he needs the reminder, but to highlight the root of her uncertainty. Between them, who has the higher authority? Is it a kind of presumption to assume her decisions should be what guides them as they handle what lies before them?
no subject
There's a rhythm to this which is as evenly timed as their pace up the stairs—a methodical sort of momentum as certain and practiced as the hand Flint has at the pommel of his sword in order to casually steer the other end of the sheathed blade from interfering with his ascent.
"Should this turn into a fight, I'll see that we're prepared for it. Until that point, your work would seem to have the most at stake."
There is a certain inevitability to what the Division does. Cleverness aside, there comes a point when a sword, or a lance, or the working of magic is all but required. It's not only defensible for him to wave a sharp stick around at his problems, it's practically required.
Is that true for her office?
no subject
The Chantry has wielded such power for so long. Very little has ever posed a lasting threat to the institution. Derrica isn't under the impression that Riftwatch could ever change that, but it would be nice if for once—
No. It would be satisfying but it would help no one. And worse, it would likely confirm all Byerly Rutyer's reservations about Derrica taking on this role.
"If there is to be a fight, I'd rather they initiate it. And I think we can accomplish that, if the negotiations come to it," she says, snapping that last clasp into place. "But we're not leaving without him."
no subject
There had been good reason to break rank from the Inquisition, and at the time of doing so there had been relatively little resistance. Riftwatch may be a necessity in the fight against Corypheus, but it clearly hadn't been one anyone had held great fondness for. And while it's true that the split had occurred before Divine Beatrix had taken the Sunburst Throne, tha seems to be all the more reason to reinforce the Gallows' independence now.
"If this isn't a misunderstanding, then they aimed for this to be done in secret. It's possible,"—has some arch curve to it, sly antagonism masquerading as good sense— "That the most exasperating thing we can do is to bring it out into the daylight."
no subject
Derrica keeps this fear to herself, tucked in behind her ribs.
"I'm worried that we won't be believed."
If they cannot turn up some material proof—
Her fingers trail the railing as they ascend to the landing, take the first steps up along the next flight of stairs.
"Julius and I had been speaking of treading lightly around the Chantry, to preserve our relationship there. It would help if we had something to show this for what it is, if we have to shine light on their deeds after settling the discussion at sword point."
Not that Flint can help her with this. He might know more than her of the circumstances, where they are headed, what might wait for them there. Derrica doesn't imagine everything has been shared. But he can hold this in mind for her, if some tangible evidence comes to light once they arrive and he is able to catch hold of it in the course of negotiations.