Haven
"They found her! The Herald—she's alive!"
With the silence broken whispers soon turn to murmurs until everybody's voices form an unintelligible mess of words. Suddenly the whole camp is alive and on their feet.
Everybody is eager to witness the return of the great saviour first hand.
Lace Harding stands, too, pushing forward through the crowd. Even the cold is forgotten. The Herald is alive, and perhaps this means that even though Haven is gone, they're not doomed to die out here, either.
She manages to dodge most elbows and inches towards where she hears the Seeker shout:
"She needs rest! I understand your excitement, but please keep a distance!"
Not many seem to listen, however, as Lace feels herself pushed forward with the flow of people and their demanding voices. Just one glimpse of the Herald of Andraste who faced an Archdemon to ensure her people are safe! The second coming is a miracle too important to miss.
They're stretching their necks and pull at each other's clothes. From where Lace stands she can mostly make out people's backs and bottoms, but she is curious as well. So she finally ducks and side steps until she stumbles and falls between the tents of the chantry sisters. Even in all this chaos the faithful servants of the Maker occupy a privileged position.
And granted, their prayers are more needed now than ever.
Lace's manoeuvre came not a second too soon. The crowd gasps and freezes and when Lace looks up she can just make out Cassandra Pentaghast drawing her sword. Her voice roars like that of a lioness protecting her cubs:
"Stay. Back!"
"You are from Redcliffe, are you not?"
A familiar, warm voice makes Lace turn her attention away from the scene.
Mother Giselle was there when the attacks in the Hinterlands started. She helped when the Chantry turned its back on the people of Thedas in order to squabble among their own; she cared for the injured even though it meant facing criticism from her own kind and putting her life at risk.
It seems fitting that her calm eyes watch over Lace now as well. She's towering over the dwarf, her dark skin wrinkled only around her eyes and in small lines at the corners of her mouth.
"Mother Giselle." Lace says, surprised to be remembered. "It's good to see you're still with us."
Mother Giselle eyes her up with an unreadable expression. Then she bends down, picks up a blanket and hands it to Lace.
"You're doing good work." she says. "I'm sure everybody back home is very proud of you."
Accepting the blanket Lace stares uncertain what to respond. Finally, Mother Giselle smiles.
"The Herald has fought a tough battle, perhaps her most difficult yet. And she journeyed through the cold night with no one to accompany, to guide her. Bring her this blanket and tell the Seeker I sent you."
Now Lace is smiling as well and she's fairly certain the blush on her cheeks easily gives away that she'd been hoping for such an opportunity.
She ducks her head and with a "Thank you." hurries to Seeker Pentaghast, who has obviously made an impression on the crowd. When Lace approaches her, the blanket clutched to her chest, only a few people are still waiting for their chance to catch a glimpse of the Herald, and even those stand in a wide half-circle around the camp site of the Inquisition leaders.
"Scout Harding." the Seeker acknowledges Lace. Her face is stone, her jaw is working—only the rings around her eyes tell that she's actually worn out.
No wonder. She was the one who brought everyone together. Lace only heard what other people said and what Chantry sisters are whispering under their breath: The Right Hand of the Divine has turned into a heretic. She left her own order, broke her vows, defied the Lord Seeker himself—all because her faith told her to follow some elf. The Inquisition was supposed to bring the peace the people of Thedas longed for.
Only that now said Inquisition is little more than a failed idea; the people the Seeker rallied find themselves huddled together around small camp fires in the mountains, uncertain if they'll even survive the night. With nowhere to go and no hope in their hearts and with growling stomachs they lick their wounds and turn to blame the one who told them to dare.
Cassandra Pentaghast clenches her teeth and wipes her brow.
"If you wish to speak to Leliana I suggest you wait for the morning."
Lace steels herself. "Actually, Mother Giselle asked me to give this to the Herald."
As soon as the words are out Lace realizes just what a dumb excuse they present.
But the Seeker only sighs and gestures to her left before turning to join Cullen and Lady Montilyet, who have the same exhausted expression on their faces.
They will continue to argue later—over past mistakes and future plans—once they've gathered enough strength to do so.
As Lace approaches the Herald's resting place she remembers their brief encounter in the Hinterlands—so far the only chance she had to see the famous hero up close.
The elf stood tall and proud, her olive skin seemed to glow in the sun, her amber eyes piercing Lace, but the lop-sided grin on her face erased all signs of arrogance. Lace recalls how her heart beat picked up speed at the sight. She also recalls a clumsy remark she made about the Dalish and makes a mental note to apologize.
The scene before her now looks quite differently: The great saviour sits on the edge of her bed, shoulders sagged, face grey, eyes dark. Her short black hair is wet and groomed back—a few drops of water trickle down where her tattoos (what do the Dalish call them again?) frame her face. The tip of her nose glistens as well.
"I have tried changing out of my armour" she says without looking up. Lace remains hovering awkwardly by the entrance.
"But I can't reach around to open the buckles. Everybody is so shaken, I didn't want to bother them by asking for help."
She's still not asking, Lace notes.
Something in her shifts, however. Wordlessly Lace places the blanket next to the Herald and gestures for her to turn around. When she opens the buckles and the chestplate comes off she hears a sigh of a relief and then a restrained moan.
"You're hurt." she says.
The Herald grins. "Turns out I'm not as invincible as they claim."
The sarcasm in her voice causes a pang of guilt in Lace's chest. Before she has time to process, however, the Herald speaks again:
"What I meant to say is thank you—for checking up on me, and for the blanket, and for the help." She's breathing heavily which is undoubtedly due to pain, though her linen shirt hides all potential wounds, if not much else.
"Harding, was it? We only met briefly but Leliana speaks highly of you."
Lace swallows and turns her gaze towards the Herald's face.
"They only say good things about you as well." she says.
"I bet." the Herald all but sneers. Through the thin wall of the tent Cullen's voice booms, making angry accusations. Perfect timing.
"Look", Lace tries again. "You saved a lot of lives when you closed the breach, and then you saved us again when that dragon showed up. We're cold and hungry and desperate right now; that's enough to make anybody angry... but nobody blames you—not truly."
The sarcastic grin on the Herald's face is replaced by something else, something warm. For a moment there is silence between them, then the Herald says:
"They need to blame someone, but I appreciate that you're not among those pointing fingers at me. Right now you might be the only one."
Lace wants to object but the shouting outside discourages her.
"You've done plenty already", the Herald says, finally picking up the blanket and wrapping it around herself. "can I ask you for one more favour? It's nothing big." She's still breathing hard and her dark eyes seem to bore right through Lace now.
Suddenly feeling warm in her scout armour Lace pulls at her own collar.
"Of course." she says carefully.
"Would you call me by my name? Tarin. It would mean a lot."
'Nothing big', she said. Lace can feel her heart pound in her temples. She's sure that this is not how 'nothing big' feels like. Who casually calls Andraste's Herald by her first name?
"Of course... Tarin."
Well, one lucky scout named Lace Harding, apparently.
For the first time Tarin's smile reaches her eyes, clear amber once more. She pulls the blanket closer around herself and opens her mouth as if to say more, but instead she only sighs and gazes past Lace towards the exit.
"I should probably get out there and help plan." It sounds more like a suggestion than a decision, but Lace takes it as a hint.
"And I should probably get back to the other scouts." Lace notes lamely. Of course there's no scouting to be done right now, and sleep is out of the question. Most likely she will spend the rest of the night trying her best to stay warm and keeping the others from drowning in self-pity.
She gives Tarin a friendly nod and turns around, then back again.
"I do have one more question, if you don't mind."
Tarin simply nods. Tersly.
"If you can't reach around to open some buckles, then how did you wash your hair?"
The laughter Lace receives as a reward will echo through her mind, hours later as they travel through the mountains towards a yet unknown destination.
"Very. Slowly."