Chapter Text
Shisui wakes from a deep, deliberately dreamless sleep, feeling refreshed and lighter in heart than he's felt in--well. A long damned time, really. Since the last time he spent a day in the woods playing with Itachi and Sasuke, a lifetime ago.
Yesterday had been fun. Truly, genuinely fun, long talks with Leliana aside. After dinner, he had taken her off again, and finished the briefing he started--including what Hell Future Leliana had asked him too about Solas' suspiciousness, and, after some internal debate, his ability to use those powers of the Templars that he has seen--Smite and Spell Purge.
"As far as I'm concerned, you're the head of ops," Shisui had said to her, as she looked at him with wide eyes, genuinely surprised. "You decide who needs to know." Relying on her like that--feels right. She knows the situation better than anyone else, he thinks, and he thinks it eases something in her, that he trusts her with those decisions.
In the end, she had decided to, for now, keep that ability of his under wraps, a decision that Shisui agrees with. It'll out eventually, but for now, best nobody knows it. Enough of their enemies are mages that he knows he'll have to, sooner or later.
In the meantime, it's a sunny day outside, bright enough that Shisui wishes he had dark glasses--well, he can manage an approximation with genjutsu, but it's not the same. He'll ask around; they have printing presses, they're not completely primitive here. (He can't, he thinks, hope for polarised lenses.)
He needs to have breakfast, find out where the laundry is--he's on his last clean clothes--spend some time training the troops, and then maybe--
There's a knock at the door.
"Milord Shisui? I've a delivery from Lady Josephine," comes from the other side. Shisui activates his sharingan, and seeing only the paltry flicker of civilian chakra on the other side, he calls:
"I'm decent!" A neatly-uniformed boy--maybe around Itachi's age, or a little younger--comes in at his call. He's carrying a canvas-wrapped bundle, which he offers to Shisui.
"Lady Josephine said you might be likin'--liking--some clean clothes, and I'm to take everything you want to the laundry after," the boy says.
Shisui takes the bundle, and lays it on the table to open it. Inside are two shirts in the Uchiha style, one in indigo, one in a dusky grey-violet, similar to what Leliana wears, but several shades darker. There are also a pair of pants in soft leather--charcoal grey, and double-seamed for hiding senbon--and some knitted leggings in the same colour, which are just so soft. Whatever the thread is, he needs to get some back to the craftspeople at home. Auntie Mikoto will get the best New Year present ever, and he will firmly cement his place as Favourite Nephew.
There are also two pairs of socks, and a note.
Shisui--
We thought you might like something warmer. As you monopolised the bulk of the indigo wool, we only had enough on hand for one shirt. We considered black for the second, but decided on ash violet instead. We were able to secure enough raw silk for the linings, but unfortunately, it is undyed. It can be removed and processed at a later time, if you like.
Hoping that everything suits,
--Josie & Leliana
It's so thoughtful, it makes Shisui smile as he folds the note away.
"I'm going to try everything on," he says, not that he doubts that it will all fit, perfectly. Leliana had taken his things apart and put them back together again in pursuit of hidden weapons. "I don't care if you stay, but you can step outside if you want. Uh--what was your name?"
"Callum milord," the boy replies. "I'll stay, if that's all right," he adds, hopping up on one of the crates. "It's warmer in here."
Shisui gives him a thumbs up, and quickly shucks his summer-weight layers, and changes into warm wool, and after some consideration, the leather. He's curious about how they move, and the answer, when he does a few squats and stretches, is very well. They're also silent as a whisper, and he figures he can get that to 'as the grave'--
"You know you're s'posed--supposed--to wear the hose under, right milord?" Callum asks, gesturing to the soft leggings.
"Actually I had no idea," Shisui admits cheerfully. "It makes sense though, for insulation and everything." Leather on its own isn't exactly warm in the kind of cold outside right now, so he shucks it, and gets re-dressed, this time with the leggings--hose--between his skin and the leather. It's much more comfortable actually, and still allows him decent freedom of movement. It'll do.
He adds the rest of his kit, and does a couple ceiling flips, before he gets his dirty laundry out of his scroll (Callum's eyes bug, but the boy doesn't make a sound, good kid), and puts it in one of the empty storage baskets, and then presents said basket to Callum.
"Tah-dah! Thanks, by the way. I hate doing my own laundry," he confides to the boy. His eyes widen for a different reason.
"You do your own laundry milord?" he asks, sounding mildly scandalised.
"Of course. Where I come from, we're all expected to be able to take care of ourselves," Shisui replies, shrugging. "And that means chores like laundry, and weeding, and picking up messes..."
"Everyone?"
"Even princesses!" Shisui confirms. "...Well, civilians might do it differently," he allows. "But not my clan, and not the other noble clans, either."
"Mending?" Callum asks. "Carrying water? Scrubbing latrines?" That last makes the boy wrinkle his nose, and Shisui grin.
"All of the above," he says. "And it's normal in the field, too, that anyone who can help, does. Unless you're sick or injured, you pitch in. Sometimes you pitch in even if you are sick or injured, but that's a good way to get tied to a bed by the medics next time you get brought in." He winks, and Callum grins, just for a moment, before hesitating again.
“There aught else I can do for you milord?” he asks after a moment.
“Yeah, actually, gimme a sec—“ Shisui grabs a quill and paper (since they’re right on the table), and writes a quick thank you note to Josie and Leliana. He folds it into an origami shuriken, and adds a quick doodle to the outside before handing it to Callum.
“There. Give that to Josie or Leliana, please and thanks.”
“Yes milord, of course,” Callum replies, before he takes the paper shuriken, the basket of clothes, and heads out.
Shisui follows after taking the time to slip senbon into those double seams--so thoughtful, he really appreciates it--to go in search of breakfast. He doesn't have to go far--Varric waves him over from where he's sitting by one of the fires, and the wind shifts to carry the smell of sausage and something vaguely sweet from that direction, along with a strong (slightly oversteeped) black tea.
Varric continues to prove himself Shisui's favourite by virtue of handing him a fire-warmed mug of tea without even asking, along with a bowl of porridge of... some kind. Not rice, and not oats, but that's all he can tell. The whole thing has melted into some kind of undifferentiated beige sludge.
"Morning Fluffy," Varric says. "Don't worry, it's not so bad once you add some jam--a lot of jam," he says, offering a dark pink clay jar next. There's a raspberry shape moulded onto the front of it, advertising the flavour. Not a bad idea, if you don't have mass-produced glass.
"How much can I use?" he asks, eyeing the contents. There's about a third of it left, he thinks.
"As much as you want," Varric says. "But keep in mind, I'm still not sure when we'll have more."
"Mm, I remember." Taking care of the bandits and calming things down in the Hinterlands had opened up their supply lines again, but it was still winter in the mountains, and early spring down below. And the people here don't have anything like the logistical capabilities of people back home.
Shisui tips half of the remaining jam into his undifferentiated beige sludge, and not for the first time considers the ramifications of writing a few storage scrolls and handing them to Leliana and Josie. It would absolutely change the supply game, for the better. He just needs the supplies.
"You're thinking pretty hard there kid, don't forget to eat." Varric's voice cuts into his thoughts.
"I won't," Shisui says, and belatedly stirs the jam into his sludge. A bit of hot water from the kettle over the fire, and it's basically edible. He washes it down with tea, and when he's halfway done, Varric passes him the sausage he's been smelling this whole time. It's spicy, and a little sweet, like there's some kind of fruit in it, and it's much better than the jammy sludge.
He polishes it off--and the rest of the pot of tea--before he speaks again.
"So, Varric," he says. The dwarf immediately marks his place in his journal--or rough draft notebook? Both?--and arches an eyebrow at him. "You know my storage scroll?"
"Yeah. Handy little thing," Varric replies. "Hey now," he adds sharply. "I thought you weren't planning on upending the economy."
Oh, he's sharp. Yes, Varric is still is favourite.
"I wasn't thinking of that. Just a few for us," he says.
"What's this about upending the economy?" Zevran asks, dropping from a nearby roof into a comfortable slouch on one of the logs serving as seats.
"It's something that I'm not planning on doing," Shisui says.
"At least not until all your friends are positioned to take advantage of it," Zevran says, grinning at him. Shisui laughs.
"Maybe. But I'm aware that that might take a long time--the knock-on effects of the kind of change I could effect are..." Shisui trails off, considering it for a moment. He is in no way ignorant of the way that storage scrolls alone could impact the economics of the world--it's within the lifetime of Sandaime-sama and his cohort, after all, that hidden villages had formed, and allowed ninja to do more than just fight endlessly. The economic impact, and the importance of ninja transport had been part of the... fourth year curriculum, at the Academy, Shisui thinks. (The details of what topic is covered in which year is a bit vague to a boy who went through it as quickly as Shisui.)
Prior to the alliance between Uzushio and Konoha, and the subsequent proliferation of sealing technology, only the wealthiest and best-positioned had been able to afford to either buy scrolls of their own, or hire usually Uzumaki or Senju to seal and transport--and protect--the goods themselves.
Now, storage scrolls are common, at least among the rich and powerful. Transport of goods from distant lands is relatively swift, for those who can afford it, and truthfully, the price of transport and opening of a scroll is usually just a C- or even D-rank. Not remotely out of reach, unless you're really poor. Or stingy.
"It could completely change the world of trade in a about three generations," he finally says. "Maybe fewer, depending on the circumstances." He shrugs, and continues, "That's about how it happened back home, anyway."
"You've really thought about it, huh?" Varric asks, eyebrows arched a little. "Guess there's more than fireballs and backstabs in that fluffy head of yours."
“Just a bit,” Shisui allows, pinching his fingers together. “It wasn’t that long ago that my people started using them on a wide scale. We learn about it in school,” he adds.
“What else do they teach you?” Zevran asks, curiously.
“Well… a lot of basics, you know? Taijutsu—uh, hand-to-hand, unarmed combat—kunai- and shurikenjutsu—how to use these-“ he produces one of each “-and occasionally other weapons, if someone shows a talent for it, and they don’t have a clan to teach them. History and law, mathematics—trigonometry is very important—tactics and strategy, the basics of logistics, disguise, tracking, survival…” He trails off as he tries to remember anything else. “I knew most of what they teach going into it though, so I wasn’t there for long. Just a couple of years. Anyway,” Shisui continues. "Before I went off on a tangent, I was going to suggest that I get the right materials, and make a couple scrolls just for our use. Strategically. And for a few things to make life in a frozen village more bearable, I guess."
And having a few more scrolls on hand would not go amiss when it's time to move everyone to Skyhold.
"But mostly, you just want a better breakfast," Varric says wryly. "I get it, I really do, but don't we have other priorities?" He gestures toward Shisui's left hand, and. Well. Between his own work and Solas', they have it so well-contained and sealed that he's managed to ignore it. He flexes his hand, and then turns his eyes--and carefully hidden sharingan--on the glimmer of colour in the sky.
"Yeah," he allows. "We need to take care of that mess, and also prepare for the Venatori and their Elder One... All things considered though, it does seem like they're connected."
Zevran doesn't arch an eyebrow, but he does very much give the impression of having done so, in the tiny shift of his chin and shoulders. His apparently-habitual grin is about as readable as an ANBU mask, so he treats it as such. Varric does level a pointed look at Zevran, before looking back to Shisui.
"All things considered, you're probably not wrong. So on an unrelated topic, Zevran Arainai, companion of the Warden-Commander who ended the Fifth Blight--got any scandalous tales about our Nightingale?"
"Of course!" Zevran laughs, and leans forward. "But I will not risk myself like that without compensation."
"Don't worry," Varric says, turning his notebook to a new section. "I always compensate my sources--it's good business."
Shisui sticks around for a story, and another cup of tea--brewed himself this time, and shared around the fire with appreciation all around--and then departs with a wave, and wanders off down into town.
He's not trying to sneak, but with all the gladhanding, he kind of feels like he should have; it would have made things easier. ...except for how it really kind of wouldn't, given that the point of this walk is to see how people are doing. And the answer to that question is, 'remarkably well'. They aren't prosperous, and supplies are low, but scuttlebutt has it that a big hunting party is due back today, which should help with that, a little.
The rich assholes are, of course, rich assholes, bitching and moaning about having to do without to anyone who'll give them half an ear--including to the quartermaster, when he wanders by. As far as he knows, Threnn (a name he knows from asking Leliana) can handle herself, but he leans against a bit of woodwork outside the yelling noble's field of vision, but inside the quartermaster's, just in case someone needs to intervene.
He doesn't like throwing his rank and status around, but he will without qualm if he has to. Threnn has half a head of height on the masked noble--the same one who Shisui had relieved of her pocket change a while back, actually--who's demands continued unabated, and included a new featherbed, extra carpets, a room in the Chantry, regular food service, a room in the Chantry adjacent to her own for her maid ("She is a lady's maid, not any of this common scullery swine!" Advocating for her minion gets her a couple of points with Shisui, disparaging the Inquisition staff does not.), better cuts of meat with her meals--
"Okay, I've heard enough," Shisui says, striding over to Threnn and the Dumbass with his best Yes I Am An Uchiha, You Inferior Lifeform face. Usually he uses it to make Sasuke and the other kids giggle. This time he's putting it to more serious use.
"Lord Herald, not to worry, I have this in hand," Threnn says, at the same time as the Dumbass says,
"Finally! Someone has come to put you in your place!" Shisui resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, and sigh. It's not like he doesn't knows where the family stress-lines come from, it's just he'd rather have his from honest combat than this kind of mess. He holds up a hand--the left one, and lets his control of the flickering green light ease enough to show through the wrapping.
"What do you miss...?" Shisui trails off, tilting his head slightly.
"Baroness Mathilde Conradiens, monsieur," she replies.
"Shisui Uchiha," he replies. "Of the Uchiha clan, high nobles of Hinokuni. No, you've never heard of it, and no, I don't care. Actually, I would rather have kept all of that out of it, but since you brought it up, and I've been told that you still care about foreign titles around here..." He shrugs a what-can-you-do shrug, and carries on, "So like I said: What is it that you, Mathilde Conradiens, baroness of somewhere in Orlais, do?"
"Obviously I provide culture and leadership to this grim backwater--made all the grimmer by the death of our beloved Divine," she adds, as two robed priests walk by. "I also drive what little economy there is--do you think than even one merchant would remain after that travesty, were it not for myself and a handful of other diligent souls like me?"
"You obviously have no idea how much money an army can spend," Shisui says before he can think better of it. Mathilde scoffs. He gives it a 7/10; pretty good, but not as good as Cassandra's scoffs.
"What money? What army? I see little of either. No, I, we noble pilgrims to this once-hallowed place are the drivers of trade here. It is our continued presence that brings what pittance you can afford," she continues. Visibly looks him over, and corrects, "Well. What the Inquisition can afford."
"And yet, here you are, trying to wrest some of that 'pittance' away from my quartermaster," Shisui says softly, meeting her eyes through the mask. It's clever, the eyeholes covered with a very fine cloth, both to block the glare of the sun, and to prevent anyone seeing in. It wouldn't stop any Uchiha, even a little one with no sharingan.
Behind the mask, her eyes widen slightly.
"Quartermaster Threnn," he says, looking to the heavily-freckled woman. "As of now, all supplies besides clean water are cut off from the Baroness. She can use her financial might to see to her own needs from now on. And nobody who doesn't work gets any meat, featherbeds, or any other luxuries from us," he adds. "And send any nobles who give you lip about it to me."
Threnn snaps a salute.
"Yes, Milord Herald," she says. He lets the title go for now, as the Baroness is still about, and the mantle of authority is useful.
“While we’re on the topic, Quartermaster,” Shisui continues, shifting slightly, a clear dismissal of the Baroness. “I’d like to know what our meat stocks are like—and other proteins, like beans-“ please have beans “-eggs, and so forth.”
“A moment, I’ll get the ledger,” Threnn replies. She takes up a wood-covered book, the kind loosely bound so that papers can be added and removed as needed. It’s similar to the style used by the Senju and their allies back in the Warring Clans and early Village eras, he notices, though it lacks the hum of chakra under his fingers that characterise those particularly made either from Hashirama trees, or by the Shodai Hokage himself. (There are a few of the latter in the Uchiha archives, marked by the Uchiwa, and full of script in only one hand—Uchiha Madara’s. Shishui has only read one, research notes about a particular jutsu. There had been fingerprints scorched here and there into the wood, despite the chakra that still hums in it. He’s still not certain what that says about Uchiha Madara, or Senju Hashirama, or both.)
It takes him just a minute of leafing through the pages to get a more complete picture of the supply situation, and while it’s not as bad as he feared, it’s still… not good. He wrinkles his nose, and the quartermaster's lips quirk up a little.
"That's about the size of it," she says. "Not bad, but could be worse. We have a hunting party out now, so it should be better soon."
Shisui nods, and fishes a pencil out of one of his pouches to makes a few notes in the margins of the ledger.
"For now, prioritise children and combatants," he says, handing it back. "I don't care what their species is, everyone gets the same, understand?" He meets her eyes, watching the denial, uncertainty, and stubborn consternation flicker through them, before she finally nods.
"Understood, milord," she says.
"Good," he replies, grinning. "Now, mages are to be treated as combatants, and healers are to get anything they ask for--within reason. I trust you'll inform us if anyone is abusing the system."
"Aye," she agrees. "I'll send them right to you, same as the nobles." Shisui's grin widens at that, and he nods his agreement.
"I look forward to it. Please keep me informed if anything changes," he adds, before heading off into the Chantry; he can't just make sweeping changes to supply without at least informing the others.
Josie just takes a pre-printed form, fills in some blanks, and hands it to him to stamp. Four times.
"I'm used to filing paperwork in triplicate, but this?" he asks, a little incredulous.
"One for Quartermaster Threnn, one for Leliana, one for the Commander, and one for the records," Josie explains neatly. "If I end up needing more copies, I'll have you come stamp them, but this should suffice."
He stays long enough to share some tea and snacks with her, and let her explain the different budgets of the Inquisition--General Supply, Payroll, Diplomatic, and Discretionary--and the way they're used. It's easy enough to understand.
"The wealth you confiscated from the Magister, and the other things you have come by, have been added to the Discretionary fund for the moment," Josie tells him. "A number of individual pieces are being evaluated for addition to Diplomatic, as gifts when such things are warranted. Once the rest have been liquidated, the funds will be reallocated as needed."
"Would it be better if I continued to deliver spoils to Leliana, or should I bring them to you?" Shisui asks.
"Leliana, if you please," Josie replies, and that's that. He takes the orders with him when he leaves, since he's going to check in with them anyway.
Leliana first, since she's in the raven tent right outside the Chantry--she nods, her lips quirking up in amusement.
"Well done," she says, and adds, "I hope you are prepared for the consequences." Shisui just shrugs.
"Nobody likes being pushed around, high-ranking civilians least of all," he says. "But they need it more than anyone, sometimes. I'll be fine."
He doesn’t say that he can handle the potential political fallout; he doesn’t need to. Leliana understands without him needing to say a word, and that’s what he likes about her, honestly.
“All right then. Is there anything else?” she asks.
“Come find me when you finish reviewing the intel I brought you,” he says. “So we can go over things.” A shift in his posture and a couple of glances in certain directions, where certain people might usually be found is enough to tell Leliana that it’s not just the intel he wants to talk about.
He made a promise to her, after all.
“Perhaps we could discuss things as I review them,” she suggests. “You did bring me an awful lot to read.”
"That might be a good idea," Shisui allows. And, he's no sensor, but he'd have to be senseless to miss the presence of an eavesdropper. Wow, someone's bold. His fingers briefly describe an offer to catch the culprit--more pantomime than sign--and hers offer an even briefer negation; a known agent, then. All right. "I have to deliver the other copies, but my day is mostly open. I'll inform you if something comes up."
"And I will do the same. Thank you," she says, and returns to her reports, a clear, if casual dismissal. Shisui leaves her to her eavesdropper, and after delivering a copy of the order to Threnn--and getting a grimly satisfied nod in return--he heads down to the training grounds, the probable location of Commander Cullen.
And then the wind changes, and he is struck by a smell. No--a veritable aroma. Rich and dark and familiar, it makes the hairs on his arms stand at attention, and if someone wanted to lure him into a trap right now, this would be the way, because he follows it unerringly to its source: a small pot sitting atop a brazier glowing with a variation on the delightful not-seal Dorian had used in the field.
Beside the pot, are Dorian, an unfamiliar Templar in only half her armour (the other half sits on a crate nearby, hastily discarded), a short woman--no, dwarf--and a tall man maybe five years older than Shisui, built as broadly as the Raikage, and sporting a pair of horns that curve elegantly back over his head, and flare out to the sides, just enough that Shisui bets this guy isn't a side-sleeper.
"--ive you for bein' a 'Vint, since y'had coffee," the man is saying when Shisui approaches.
"And I forgive you for being Qunari--"
"--Vashoth," the horned man interjects, answering the question that nobody actually asked. Thanks Dorian! They can scratch that one off the intel to-do list.
"Vashoth, a slightly less unforgivable sin," Dorian picks up without missing a beat. "Since you have a coffee pot."
"And I've got the sugar, and Maker only knows how, but Malika rustled up some fresh cream," the Templar says, a little impatiently. "No, really," she continues, when the dwarf opens her mouth to, presumably, offer an explanation. "I don't want to know. Leave it between you and the Maker, and I won't feel obligated to say anything to Commander Cullen, or Sister Nightingale. Hello Lord Uchiha," she adds, looking directly at Shisui with rather striking blue-green eyes. Her lips quirk up a little. "Will you be joining us for coffee?"
"Yes please, Ser...?" Shisui replies. She stands to attention, and offers a salute with a little bow.
"Evelyn Trevelyan, Knight-Lieutenant formerly of Ostwick, currently of the Inquisition," she says. "You might have met my brother Max--he was an Enchanter there. Now he's a mage here. This is Malika, my best menace," she adds, nodding to the dwarf.
"We met when I saved her ungrateful ass from a fiery fuckin' Rage demon," Malika says. "And then she saved my ungrateful ass from a Terror, so I guess we're even. Been stuck with her an' Max ever since."
"Kaaras Adaar," the tallest member of the coffee party says. "Of the Valo-Kas company."
"Mercenaries," Dorian puts in. "Good ones, too," he adds, a little grudgingly. "They have an excellent reputation, even in Tevinter. A friend-of-a-friend tried to hire them once; it would have been delightfully scandalous if he had succeeded."
Kaaras snorts, something between derision and laughter.
"I remember that. Shokrakar asked for a solid block of gold the size of a house, and a seat on the Magesterium." He nods his thanks as Dorian starts handing out coffee. "She would've followed through if he paid up."
"I know," Dorian replies. "It was almost as scandalous that he didn't succeed, honestly."
After coffee, cream and sugar get passed around, and Shisui has his first sip of caffeinated bliss in what feels like an eternity.
His sigh of contentment is echoed around the circle.
“Max is going to be sorry he missed this,” Evelyn states. “He likes coffee almost as much as I do.”
“Serves him right for sleeping in,” Malika replies smugly. She and Evelyn exchange smirks.
Shisui hops up onto a crate, and sits there, communing with the lifeblood of every ANBU member since the beginning of the division.
For several minutes, they all sip in a silence punctuated only by hums of appreciation and agreement.
"It's just 'Shisui', by the way," Shisui says, once his coffee is halfway done. "Lord Uchiha is my uncle." Evelyn laughs.
"Lord Trevelyan is my father," she says. "And I have two older siblings between me and inheriting. Which is part of why I was allowed to become a Templar, if I'm honest. Hypothetically speaking, I'm also between Max and inheritance. He's the baby."
"Free Marchers don't let mages inherit any more than anyone else," Malika puts in, before Shisui can do more than wrinkle his nose. "'Cept the 'Vints, anyway. Word is, it's different where you come from, but you oughta get used to things being the way they are, here."
"Could be worse," Kaaras puts in, finally. "Could be the Qun. Even the clusterfuck in Kirkwall was better than the way they treat us. Shackles, chains, mouths sewn shut--it's disgusting." He takes a deep breath, and lets it out, before sipping his coffee again. Dorian gives him a pat on the shoulder.
"He's right, you know," Dorian says, meeting Shisui's eyes. "I've seen them before, at a distance anyway, and all of us well-bred little magisters-to-be are told horror stories of how the Qunari treat their mages. Naturally, by the time you're studying at a Circle, you think it must have been an exaggeration--such things often are, you know? Imagine my surprise to find that the truth was worse." He drains the last of his coffee, and sighs. This time, Kaaras pats him on the shoulder.
"So Evelyn--can I call you Evelyn?" On getting a nod, Shisui continues, "As a Templar with a mage for a brother, what do you think of the idea of dedicated suppression units for enemy mages?"
"Oh, you mean like a Templar and a mage who knows Mana Alteration spells like Mana Drain and Clash and the like, working together to capture or kill maleficars? Or whatever, these days, I guess," she adds, shrugging a little. "It's a good idea, in theory, but I don't think most people would go for it. The rift between Templars and mages is too wide. Too much damage and ill-will between us, especially on the Templars' side. I can't see most of us trusting mages enough to work with them like that."
"You don't seem to have that problem," Shisui observes.
"Most Templars don't even meet mages until they're well into their training. I grew up with one--my own brother. Maybe it makes a difference."
"It does," Shisui replies. "Make a difference. I wouldn't call myself an expert in--" He cuts off, realising abruptly that the concept of psychology doesn't exist in this language. It does in Solas', but he somehow doubts that anyone here would know it. "An expert on the way the mind works," he settles on. "But it's pretty common knowledge that people are more likely to regard kin and clan as actual, real, people." The silence grows uncomfortable, and so Shisui hops down off the crate, and says, "Anyway, this is a bit too deep for a coffee break. I feel like doing some light training, anyone in?"
"And by light training you mean...?" Kaaras asks, arching an eyebrow.
"A bit of stabbing, some light dodging, a throw or two, and of course, stuff blowing up," Shisui replies. For the first time, Kaaras grins, showing off teeth that belonged in a magazine advertisement.
"I'm in."
"Not as though I have anything better to do in this forsaken backwater," Dorian agrees. "And we do need to refine that combo, Shisui."
The memory of it makes Shisui grin with all his teeth. That was a big boom.
Evelyn and Malika exchange a look, a couple of eyebrows, and a shrug, before Malika says,
"We're in. Evie's gonna tip Max up first, and then meet us."
A quick discussion is had about where, exactly, they're meeting--out on the frozen lake, an idea declared by Dorian to be the worst he's ever heard--and when: thirty minutes. It gives everyone a chance to get whatever gear they need, for Evelyn to wake her brother ("I'll just tip water on him if I have to. It's only fair, he conjures miniature blizzards over my head," Evelyn had said. Dorian had laughed so hard that Shisui ended up supporting his weight as he tried to stand), and for Shisui to deliver the new order to the Commander.
Dorian ends up tagging along with him, and he gains another shadow along the way as Zevran appears very neatly beside them only slightly less abruptly than your average ANBU. He's really very good.
"Is that coffee I smell? Trust the handsome altus to bring a taste of home to the benighted south," Zevran states cheerfully.
"Shame you missed it, Antivan, we had a wonderful conversation about how horrible the Qun is.”
“For mages, yes,” Zevran agrees. “For everyone else, well, much like everyone else, they are not without their virtues.” Dorian gives him a look like he thinks Zevran might be insane, which, fair. Zevran, so far as Shisui can tell, is nearly indistinguishable from an elite shinobi, and they’re all a bit cracked.
“I would not join them myself, not for all the gold in Tevinter,” Zevran continues. “But I can understand why someone would.”
Shisui leaves them for a moment, to go to where he can see Commander Cullen helping a young man with his shield form.
“Bring it up, just like this,” Cullen says, demonstrating as he does. “And plant your feet, toes forward, knees bent—ah, Herald, would you be willing to help me with a demonstration?”
“Sure,” Shisui replies easily, grinning at the young man—a fresh recruit for sure, even baby genin have less ‘new flat’ smell on them—as he looks on wide-eyed. “Am I attacker or defender?”
“Attacker. With a two-handed sword, if you please,” Cullen replies, gesturing to where a selection of practice weapons are racked. Shisui selects one, and gives it a few swings, just to gets feel for the weight, before moving into a tall stance with the blade held high, his arms squared, knees slightly bent. Cullen blinks in momentary surprise, and then smiles slightly.
“A warrior as well, Herald?” he asks, as he takes a matching stance with sword and shield.
“Of course. Pay attention to Commander Cullen now, recruit. If you’re learning sword and shield, you need to watch his moves.” And then he attacks, very slowly, telegraphing his moves as he bring the blade to bear on the Commander. Cullen meets the blow by hardening his stance, raising his shield, and pushing into the blow, just a bit. Shisui doesn’t fight it, and lets the shield bounce the blade, and throw off his stance a bit, providing an opening for Cullen to get a blow in. It’s slow and deliberate and with his chakra circulating, it barely even registers on Shisui. But it’s right on his stomach and side, just under his ribs.
“On someone as lightly armoured as the Herald here, that would have been a killing blow,” Cullen explains. A couple more recruits have gathered around, and Shisui guesses they’re doing this.
“But even on someone armoured like Commander Cullen, it’ll probably still wind them,” he says. “You have to be ready to take the next opening, and strike aggressively.” He hefts the two hander, and gestures for one of the recruits to take it, and points another to a double-edged practice sword about the length of a katana, much like the Commander's, and a shorter blade, a little longer than a tanto. Once he gets them, he tilts his head at the Commander, and gets a nod, and a faint hint of a smile in response.
They fall into their stances, and this time, Cullen attacks first, slowly, telegraphing the move for the benefit of their audience. His footwork is deliberately sloppy, and after deflecting the sword with his short blade, Shisui takes the obvious opening, and sweeps Cullen off his feet.
"What should I do next?" he asks the onlookers.
"Disarm him!" comes the first suggestion.
"Hm. And how should I do that?" It's slightly surreal to be treating a group of people older than he is like a bunch of Academy kids, but that's about where they are right now.
"Kick his sword away?" comes the slightly more hesitant suggestion. He meets Cullen's eyes, and gets a nod. A certain slyness glints in his eyes, and it gives Shisui the chance to brace for hitting the ground, and getting pinned by well over a hundred kilograms of armoured man, and the edge of said man's shield in his throat.
"A shield," Cullen says, "Is as much as weapon as it is a defence. This is the true core of fighting with a sword and shield. You are never unarmed so long as it remains in your hand." He rolls to his feet, and offers Shisui a hand up. He doesn't need it, but he takes it. Cullen blinks in mild surprise.
"You're heavier than you look," he comments.
"Despite appearances, I'm not actually unarmoured," Shisui replies, not at all offended by his remark. "Which is another thing you have to watch out for," he adds, to the recruits. "Don't be surprised the first time your blade glances off of what looks like cloth--they're partially relying on that, and ignoring it gives you an advantage." Turning back to Cullen, he says, "Anyway, this is for you," and hands him the order.
“They’re going to hate this,” Cullen says, after a moment to read it.
“Feel free to send anyone who bitches to me,” Shisui offers.
“I’ll take you up on that,” Cullen promises.
“On an unrelated topic, I might just have the seed of a suppression team,” Shisui says. “What do you know about Evelyn and Maxwell Trevelyan?”
“Ser Trevelyan has a sterling reputation,” Cullen says. “Dedicated and devout, but not without kindness and humour. Known to be protective of her brother, Maxwell. With good reason, if his reputation is anything to go by. Quiet,” Cullen continues. “Scholarly, more than anything else, though I admit that most people would be reluctant to tell me anything about the particulars of a mage’s abilities these days.”
Shisui nods thoughtfully; that makes sense.
“Think she’d be willing to Smite me?” he asks.
"You may be the first mage I've ever heard ask to be Smited," he says. "But if you asked her, I'm sure she'd oblige."
"I need to learn how to work through it if I'm going to be facing Templars in the field," Shisui points out. "Even if I can't cast anything, it shouldn't stop me from stabbing someone, or kicking their teeth in, or, you know, the usual." He gestures around the training field. Cullen gives him an appraising look, and then nods, before turning back to the recruits, and shouting for them to get back to drills.
Shisui does not miss drills.
(They’re necessary. His last drills with ANBU were less than a week before he failed to kill himself. They’re still painfully boring.)
With that not-dismissal, Shisui gives a lazy salute, and shunshins the rest of the way to the lake, fast enough to beat the others there. Dorian doesn't even blink; neither does Zevran. The others range from a mildly-impressed arch of an eyebrow (must-be-Max) to flagrantly rude staring (Malika) and exchanging of currency (Malika and Kaaras).
Shisui lets his grin spread wide, and then just a little wider; Zevran's eyes flick in a rogue's nod of approval.
"Let's get started."