"You fault us for not knowing the Chant of Light, yet you refuse to teach us. It's the same as stealing a man's clothes then condemning him for being naked."
Warden Commander Aeronwyn Suranna was beginning to resemble the scarlet griffon on her tabard. She and the Grand Cleric had been going at it for well over an hour much to the amusement of Empress Celine's court. The only people who were taking the debate seriously were the clerics gathered in one clump, the Ferelden Gray Warden and the elven servants who remained in constant motion. The human nobles in attendance were much diverted.
"It is the duty of the sinner to learn the Chant. If your people had any sense of decency or propriety they would seek out the Chanters and learn as they should" rebutted the cleric.
"How, exactly are we to seek out the Chanters when we must scrabble for every morsel of bread and every bit of cloth? And since when have we ever been welcomed in a Chantry?" Aeronwyn was beginning to take deliberate deep breaths.
"Elven intransigence and ingratitude are the reasons for your people's poverty. The Maker will not bless the endeavours of sinners."
Aeronwyn was suddenly exhausted. She bit back her unspoken thought about Qunarian poverty. It would serve no purpose. She had not come to Val Royaux to play clown before Chevaliers. Abruptly, she bowed to the Empress, bowed generally to the company assembled and made her excuses. She then left. She heard the titters of amused Orlesian break out behind her.
The whole trip had been a farce. The first leg had gone well enough. She had rejoined Shale in Minrathous. The Tevinter mages were presently baffled by her condition, but very enthusiastic in trying to discover if she could ever become a dwarf again. Aeronwyn's attempts to find out why Wynne left had been deflected. She had obtained several fascinating copies of books concerning racial magic, including two in Elvish.
The next night she slipped through the streets of Val Royaux, sticking to the shadows as she had been taught by Zevran and Leliana so long ago. She found the spot she had noted the previous day, a corner in the palace wall that was out of sight of everyone. She lit her lantern, squatted on the ground and opened the second of her books in elvish. It had the wonderful title of "Byddai pam yr ydych eisiau gwneud hynny". The cost of the spell was surprisingly low, all things considered. She drank four potent lyrium potions in quick succession. She had to be quick. She would soon be too addled from too much lyrium consumed too quickly to finish the spell if she didn't hurry.
Her chanting completed, she stood up to finish the spell with a motion of her staff. Aeronwyn reeled from the sudden elevation of her brain, steeling herself, she made the required motion exactly, then leaned against the cool stone wall.
Almost immediately an uproar began. It started with a few shouted comments in rapid Orlesian then spread throughout the whole noble's quarter. She could hear the clash of swords and the wail of discomfited nobility.
As soon as her head cleared, she slipped back through the shadows, dodging the angry mobs of soldiers and elves, back to her chamber with the Orlesian Grey Wardens.
The whole country was in for an interesting time. Practically all of the nobility and higher clergy were in town for the Season. If her calculations were accurate her spell should have effected almost all of them.
She was willing to bet that the Grand Cleric was experiencing a change of heart about the proper place of elves right now. Now that she was one herself. Perspective is a wonderful thing.