There is no need to tell Ellis to keep up. He falls into step without prompting, map clasped loosely between two hands before he tucks it beneath one arm.
"Aye," he answers, without hesitation. "I'd heard rumor that Wardens were deserting. There was disagreement as to where they had gone."
This is where the map might have been useful. No matter.
"Some said they came south to Riftwatch," a brief pause, letting the obvious settle. Two Wardens does not an exodus make. "Some said they'd taken refuge in the Hunterhorn mountains."
And here, Ellis turns an expectant look to Flint. The request feels transparent. The Wardens aren't here. If rumor holds, then perhaps they are there.
He can feel that expectant look like a shadow passing across his shoulder; Flint flicks a glance in Ellis' direction, his features drawn tight against watery daylight as they pass into it.
"How many deserters?" And— "What do you measure might be driving them off?"
It's been years since Ghislain and the consolidation of Imperium and Ander forces. Years since Nell Voss cut the Warden-King's head from his shoulders. One would have thought that might have been the hour to discover one's qualms if nothing else had prompted it before.
Best to be forthright: Ellis only knows that the exodus had been noticeable enough to be the topic of conversation.
But to the second question—
"There are objections to Venatori influence on our Order. No one speaks it with their full voice, but I saw signs of it, and I heard tell of it being a reason Wardens had fled," Ellis says, before tacking on, "The new First Warden is Tevene."
That serves to break his stride. Flint comes to an abrupt halt there maybe a dozen paces into crossing the courtyard, and while it's rare for something like surprise or dismay to work uninhibited across his face both are starkly if briefly painted there.
"Fuck's sake."
Then, visibly checking himself—
"Do we have any suspicions regarding where in the Hunterhorns?"
He might share what he'd told Yseult: the First Warden is not unqualified. She might have risen to the position regardless of outside influence. That there is only speculation and no confirmation (though it's absurd to the point of idiocy to assume there is no influence from Tevinter in her decisions)
None of that eases it.
So, to the question—
"I know the route I would take. If it wouldn't have delayed me further, I'd have looked myself," Ellis tells him. "I imagine with griffins we might make shorter work of it than I might have managed on horseback, if you'd pursue it."
You. We. It's possible this is an unconscious realignment of the trajectory of Ellis' question—a muscle flexed so often in the working of the sort of crew which might, given license or excuse, be prone to imagining their captain as remove and apart from them. Or maybe it isn't. Maybe Flint does it on purpose. Who knows?
"And if you were to find them. What then?" The cast of his brow suggests some other concurrent calculation is being done.
It is not a question Ellis finds comfortable. He adjusts the map in his hands, spins it against the flat of one palm. Considers the question carefully, in the space of but a few moments.
"We can make use of them," is hardly revelation. "As Corypheus comes south, so do his darkspawn. It would spare our company the danger of dealing with them in combat."
And more importantly—
"And they'll know better what she intends. The First Warden. They deserted the Wardens for a reason. They would have more to tell us than the ones who stayed under her stewardship, and they'll speak freely of it."
Does us encompass Riftwatch? Ellis is a Warden first. There are things he has no interest in sharing, but the First Warden under Corypheus' control—
They'll speak freely of it. That warrants a penetratingly skeptical look, Flint's focus briefly sharpening as if he might drill some hole in Ellis and examine the contents of the Warden's thoughts directly.
I doubt that, he doesn't say. Instead, after a moment's stringent examination—
"I've discussed the dissent within the order with the Scoutmaster and the Provost. But not this."
Ellis' hands turn the map, still rolled. This. The location. How far dissent had actually gone.
"It's by your leave I would be taking the resources."
Not that he has any intention of keeping this knowledge from Tony, and how much can anyone truly keep from Yseult? But it would be work done under Forces' heading. It feels like a necessary courtesy, to speak with the Commander first.
For a beat, Flint says nothing in reply and merely studies him there in the grey daylight as if he means to discern some obvious flaw in the Warden, or the concept. It's an unforgiving look, breaking only when Flint's attention finally skips beyond Ellis and back toward the direction in which he'd first been headed before he'd allowed himself to be drawn up.
By the time he glances back, that dissecting edge has receded.
"I doubt I can spare more than four hands, not counting yourself." And sending out more than three griffons begs trouble to find them. "But get me a list of names and how you mean to go about tracking the deserters, and I'll consider lending them."
It stalls him, Ellis' retreat reversing without question.
The map is sealed within a case. Ellis pops the cap, stows it in one pocket before unfurling the parchment in a smooth, expansive motion.
"I came through the Hunterhorn Mountains, once."
By way of explanation, because surely the question would come: upon what have you based your assessments here?
Flint is obliged to take ownership of one corner, so Ellis might sweep fingertips across two seconds, squaring off potential sections.
"If they were fleeing, they would move inward. I would think the northern sections aren't deserving of our attention, regardless of what options might exist there."
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no subject
"Aye," he answers, without hesitation. "I'd heard rumor that Wardens were deserting. There was disagreement as to where they had gone."
This is where the map might have been useful. No matter.
"Some said they came south to Riftwatch," a brief pause, letting the obvious settle. Two Wardens does not an exodus make. "Some said they'd taken refuge in the Hunterhorn mountains."
And here, Ellis turns an expectant look to Flint. The request feels transparent. The Wardens aren't here. If rumor holds, then perhaps they are there.
no subject
"How many deserters?" And— "What do you measure might be driving them off?"
It's been years since Ghislain and the consolidation of Imperium and Ander forces. Years since Nell Voss cut the Warden-King's head from his shoulders. One would have thought that might have been the hour to discover one's qualms if nothing else had prompted it before.
Strange timing, or bad news?
no subject
Best to be forthright: Ellis only knows that the exodus had been noticeable enough to be the topic of conversation.
But to the second question—
"There are objections to Venatori influence on our Order. No one speaks it with their full voice, but I saw signs of it, and I heard tell of it being a reason Wardens had fled," Ellis says, before tacking on, "The new First Warden is Tevene."
no subject
"Fuck's sake."
Then, visibly checking himself—
"Do we have any suspicions regarding where in the Hunterhorns?"
no subject
He might share what he'd told Yseult: the First Warden is not unqualified. She might have risen to the position regardless of outside influence. That there is only speculation and no confirmation (though it's absurd to the point of idiocy to assume there is no influence from Tevinter in her decisions)
None of that eases it.
So, to the question—
"I know the route I would take. If it wouldn't have delayed me further, I'd have looked myself," Ellis tells him. "I imagine with griffins we might make shorter work of it than I might have managed on horseback, if you'd pursue it."
no subject
You. We. It's possible this is an unconscious realignment of the trajectory of Ellis' question—a muscle flexed so often in the working of the sort of crew which might, given license or excuse, be prone to imagining their captain as remove and apart from them. Or maybe it isn't. Maybe Flint does it on purpose. Who knows?
"And if you were to find them. What then?" The cast of his brow suggests some other concurrent calculation is being done.
no subject
It is not a question Ellis finds comfortable. He adjusts the map in his hands, spins it against the flat of one palm. Considers the question carefully, in the space of but a few moments.
"We can make use of them," is hardly revelation. "As Corypheus comes south, so do his darkspawn. It would spare our company the danger of dealing with them in combat."
And more importantly—
"And they'll know better what she intends. The First Warden. They deserted the Wardens for a reason. They would have more to tell us than the ones who stayed under her stewardship, and they'll speak freely of it."
Does us encompass Riftwatch? Ellis is a Warden first. There are things he has no interest in sharing, but the First Warden under Corypheus' control—
Yes, the truth of that should be shared.
no subject
I doubt that, he doesn't say. Instead, after a moment's stringent examination—
"Who else have you told about this?"
no subject
Ellis' hands turn the map, still rolled. This. The location. How far dissent had actually gone.
"It's by your leave I would be taking the resources."
Not that he has any intention of keeping this knowledge from Tony, and how much can anyone truly keep from Yseult? But it would be work done under Forces' heading. It feels like a necessary courtesy, to speak with the Commander first.
no subject
By the time he glances back, that dissecting edge has receded.
"I doubt I can spare more than four hands, not counting yourself." And sending out more than three griffons begs trouble to find them. "But get me a list of names and how you mean to go about tracking the deserters, and I'll consider lending them."
no subject
"Thank you. I'll have the names to you within the day."
Which is surely his cue to leave, now that they've come to this understanding. And so: a step back, map swinging loosely at his side.
no subject
Like a snap of the fingers or some sabre being rattled in its sheath, it's a brisk check. Flint at last nods to the map in Ellis's possession.
"Show me what you have so far."
no subject
The map is sealed within a case. Ellis pops the cap, stows it in one pocket before unfurling the parchment in a smooth, expansive motion.
"I came through the Hunterhorn Mountains, once."
By way of explanation, because surely the question would come: upon what have you based your assessments here?
Flint is obliged to take ownership of one corner, so Ellis might sweep fingertips across two seconds, squaring off potential sections.
"If they were fleeing, they would move inward. I would think the northern sections aren't deserving of our attention, regardless of what options might exist there."