Mother Giselle was the type of priestess Elspeth was used to. Warm, comforting, minimising her own needs. But iron-strong beneath, and staggeringly effective when necessary. Elspeth still wasn't sure how she'd made it back to Haven before her.
She'd been on her way to talk to her, but there was a commotion outside the Chantry doors as she approached. Her first instinct was to turn and leave, but Varric was behind her, watching with a knowing half-smirk on his face.
"You'll face far worse in Val Royeaux," he said. "Think of it as practice."
The voices became clearer as they approached.
"This Inquisition is a farce," Chancellor Roderick said. "You're acting against the Maker and his laws."
"So you presume to speak for the Maker?" asked Cullen. She could almost hear the eye-roll in his voice.
"I do no such thing," said the Chancellor. "I simply want to know how you're going to solve all the problems you say you are."
Elspeth hadn't realised she'd slowed almost to a halt until an elbow in the back from Varric sent her stumbling forward.
"Ah," said Chancellor Roderick. "The Herald. Do you have any wisdom from the Maker to dispense?"
She almost took a step back at the venom in his eyes.
"If you have something to say to her, you can say it to me," said Cullen. The green gleam of the Breach on the steel of his armour made her feel almost ill.
"I'm sorry," said the Chancellor. "Does the Herald need an interpreter?"
"Chancellor Roderick," said Elspeth, hoarsely. "I - appreciate your concern, if you would believe it so."
"You appreciate it?" he asked. "Well, how does that help? You need to face the justice of the Chantry. You need a trial-"
"I agree," said Elspeth, bowing her head. "And were there a Divine I should hasten to Val Royeaux to submit myself to her judgment."
"You're not serious," said Cullen. "You won't get anything close to a fair trial."
"I am serious," said Elspeth, turning to look at him. "When a new Divine is chosen I will accept whatever judgment she wishes to pass on me. Until then, however-" She turned back to the Chancellor. "I intend to continue to do what I can to help those that need it."
"And you'll just carry on in the meantime, claiming to be the Herald of Andraste." His voice sounded less vitriolic now, less certain.
She was about to deny it, to shrug off the title like a stifling blanket, but she was suddenly aware of the crowd around her, watching her wordlessly.
"If the Divine disagrees," she said, carefully. "I will face whatever punishment they deem necessary." The words weren't quite right, but they were sufficient. "I am truly sorry, Chancellor," she continued. "For the loss of the Divine Justinia and - so many others. We have all suffered a great loss."
The Chancellor held her gaze for a long moment, then turned and walked back down the hill. Elspeth closed her eyes.
"The rest of you, too," said Cullen. "Back to your duties."
Elspeth took the opportunity to leave, in the opposite direction from the Chancellor.
"You handled that well," said Varric, catching up to her.
"It made me want to throw up," she said.
"Really?" he asked, apprehensively.
She sighed. "Yeah, a little bit. Confrontation. Public speaking. Not really fantastic at either."
"Wow," he said. "Becoming Herald of Andraste isn't really a great career move for you, then."
Elspeth laughed, despite herself.
"I noticed you dancing around that too, by the way," Varric continued. "Not quite an acceptance, not quite a denial."
"I'm not sure it will make much of a difference, in the end."
"How serious about that whole 'trial by Divine' were you?" he asked. "Because you know it's not going to be fair."
"Does it really matter at that point?" asked Elspeth. "If we assume the new Divine won't be chosen before the Breach is closed and thus the threat removed, I won't be essential any longer."
"Don't tell me you're prepared to take the fall for the attack on the Conclave," he said. "For what? There's no point."
"Sometimes it's necessary," said Elspeth.
"You people are real into self-sacrifice, you know that? You remember what happened to Andraste, right?"
She grinned. "Yes, I occasionally have cause to think about what happened to Andraste. It's just-" She stopped, her boots sinking into the snow. "What do you think our chances of surviving to that point are, Varric? High?"
"Uh - wouldn't say that, exactly."
"Then if we go along with whatever's left of the Chantry we get an amount of support - probably nominal - and odds are I won't stay alive long enough for someone to set me on fire." She shrugged.
"Huh," he said. "Interesting. I won't insult you by asking which version of this truth you believe. Consider my estimation of our chances of survival revised slightly upwards."
"So now I'm more likely to get set on fire?" she asked, mock-offended. "Wow. Thanks, Varric, I appreciate it."
"You're welcome," he said. "You can always rely on me for a realistic assessment of the range of unpleasant deaths we're likely to face." He glanced behind them. "And of course I wasn't the only one to notice your little show."
Elspeth turned back to see Leliana picking her way down the path towards them.
"Be careful with this one," he said, lowering his voice. "The sister plays hardball"
"Hard-what?" she asked, but he was already disappearing away from her down the path.
"My lady Herald," said Leliana, raising her voice. "A moment of your time, if you would be so kind."
"Of course, sister Leliana," said Elspeth, waiting for her to reach her.
Leliana smiled, her hair ruffled under her hood, the strands tousled about her face. "I wanted to - apologise for Chancellor Roderick's words. Although, it seems you were able to handle them quite adequately by yourself."
Elspeth returned the smile wearily. "There's no need," she said. "He's - scared. Which I don't consider to be unreasonable, given the circumstances. I'm scared too, in truth."
"There is good reason to be," agreed Leliana. "I - wanted to see how you were adjusting. This must be a very different life than what you are used to, no?"
"Yes," said Elspeth. "You could say that. I've seen - things I never thought I would. Or should." She clasped her hands behind her back. "Tell me, do you ever get used to it?"
"Get used to what, exactly?"
"The smell of bodies that have been lying in the sun for a week." Elspeth had tried to sound strong, defiant, even, but her voice shook on the last few words.
Leliana's face remained serene. "Yes," she said. "You do. And worse. Darkspawn are particularly bad. We had to burn them because of the taint, you see, and after the Blight there were tens of thousands lying in the fields and cities. Denerim itself was particularly bad." She smiled. "Was that the answer you were looking for?"
Elspeth sighed. "I don't know," she said. "Perhaps."
"The people questioned the Blight then as they do the Breach now," said Leliana. "They wonder why it is happening to them."
"The Chantry's interpretation would be that this is a test," said Elspeth, but she could hear the uncertainty in her own voice. She wasn't sure if Leliana could hear it as well, but thought it was likely. "A test of our faith. A test of our ability to respond to a threat. To rebuild."
"Yes," said Leliana. "When a new Divine is chosen I expect that will be the first thing she will say. If the Chantry was not so paralysed by the events at the Conclave they would have issued a statement already." She paused. "As Herald of Andraste," she said. "You could issue it yourself, you know." Her voice was so sweet and light it seemed as if she were suggesting nothing more than a picnic.
"I - don't think so." The idea made Elspeth's insides turn cold.
"Why not?" asked Leliana. "You believe it, do you not?"
"I do not wish to step on the Chantry's toes by interpreting the words of the Maker," she said. "I do not imagine such an announcement would win many favours with them."
"With them, no," said Leliana. "But the Chantry is in disarray. The people, however, would welcome guidance while the Chantry remains silent."
"Are you encouraging me to invent platitudes to win the masses' favour?" asked Elspeth.
"Of course not," said Leliana. "I would do no such thing,"
"Of course not," echoed Elspeth, faintly.
"In any case, you have listened to my complaints long enough," said Leliana, looking down modestly. "After all, I am not the only one who lost someone important to me at the Conclave, am I? Friends, colleagues - family. Do you not agree?"
Elspeth smiled reflexively. "I'm sure nearly everyone in Haven right now will have lost someone important to them," she said, stiffly.
"Undoubtedly." Leliana's gaze was cool and clear.
Elspeth clenched her hands together. "Sister Leliana," she began. "I am sure I must be somewhat more - challenging to work with than the Divine Justinia. Less experienced, less informed. Less well-versed in the ways of politics."
"You have many similarities," said Leliana.
"That is kind of you to say," said Elspeth. "But I must apologise if I seem ungrateful for your advice. There is much I still have to learn."
Leliana smiled as if she'd discovered a secret. "Of course, my lady Herald," she said. "If I may ask - have you heard of the Grand Game?"
"In passing only," said Elspeth, frowning in confusion.
"Of course," said Leliana. "You may be a strong player if you ever decide to turn your mind in its direction. But this is not the time to speak of such things. You have far more important things to concern yourself with, and I shall take my leave. Farewell, my lady Herald."
"Sister," acknowledged Elspeth, inclining her head. She shivered in the cold mountain air as she watched Leliana returned to her tent.