Paragon Found

Another crazy set of prompts from the CDMA forum:

characters: Caridin; Sister Petrice
location: The Hanged Man
question: "Are you going to eat that?"

Petrice set down her tankard with a deep sigh and eyed the plate of stew with no small amount of distrust. When Hawke had invited her to the Hanged Man for a confidential chat, she had been less than enthusiastic. This was hardly the place for a Chantry sister to be seen in.

But Hawke had been insistent. "If you want my help against the Qunari, you have to come and meet my on my own turf."

Tabitha Hawke was not a woman to be messed with, so here she was, discussing strategy with a woman who had, until recently, been a common smuggler, and her lover, that vulgar pirate wench. Petrice sighed.

It had been a rough day. For some reason Elthina had deemed it necessary for her to study the history of dwarven paragons. Ever since she'd put the huge, musty volume down, she'd fought back a headache. Her head was spinning with dates and names and deeds. Ebryhan and Erahel, Garen and Gherlon. How was anyone supposed to keep track of those names? And was she supposed to be impressed by someone who had written heathen songs in Dwarvish or saved some subterranean den of vice from the darkspawn? Really, Elthina put far too much effort into understanding those infidels.

She had finally given up when she reached the fifty-page-long entry on Caridin. A creator of golems. Sinfully aspiring to the Maker's own power of creation. But what could you expect from a people who revered their own ancestors, laughing at Andraste's message of love?

"Have some more ale." Tabitha Hawke smiled at her.

Really, the woman wasn't all that bad. Petrice prided herself on her ability to find like-minded people, and Hawke would be a valuable ally against the Qunari filth. Still, that headache wasn't getting any better. She would have to excuse herself soon. Blue and red lights were flashing in front of her eyes, and now someone was walking toward her table, a stout figure clad in a smith's apron. She scrunched up her eyes to make out his face. Could this be...

"Caridin!" She jumped up from her chair. "What are you doing here? You're dead! You've been dead for ages!"

The people at the adjoining tables began to mutter, and she could dimly make out what they were saying. Completely nuts... No wonder... All that praying can't be good... Never listen to those sisters, that's what I say... Remember the one in Denerim, at the market place?

Hawke sat at the table, her face wearing a sly grin, and Petrice realized she was swaying on her feet.

"The Anvil gave me the power to create invincible warriors, but it could not create life." Caridin looked at her with sad, wistful eyes.

"See?" Petrice was screeching, but her voice wouldn't obey her. "See, he admits it. Dwarves! They are an abomination unto the Maker."

The muttering was getting unfriendly now. Suddenly a tall man stepped up and put a gauntleted hand on her wrist. "Sister Petrice. Let me take you to the Chantry before you embarrass yourself any further."

"Ser Varnell?" She was blinking at the Templar, unsure what to reply.

"Atrast nal tunsha, stranger." Caridin smiled at her. "May you always find your way in the dark." Then he dissolved, and all she could see was Norah, the waitress, who was regarding her with a pitiful smile.

Hawke was grinning openly now, and suddenly Petrice realized what the woman had been playing at. "I hope you live a long life, Serah Hawke!" She raised a threatening hand. "Because your judgement before the Maker is likely to be a harsh one."

"There, there." Ser Varnell grabbed her hand and led her off, past the patrons shaking their heads and chuckling.

Tabby turned to face Isabela who was wiping tears of laughter from her face. "You were right. That's the best way to deal with people like her."

The pirate shrugged. "A little drugged ale works like a charm. There's nothing quite like ridicule to undermine a fanatic. Once people laugh about them instead of being afraid, they lose all their power."

With a lazy smile, she pointed to Petrice's untouched plate of stew. "Are you going to eat that?"

Many thanks to zevgirl!