A buzz of activity swarmed throughout Skyhold for the first time in what was probably decades, if not centuries. Optimism ran high, and on this particular day, it coursed along with a renewed sense of duty.
"Just think of it, Rob," said Evelyn as they walked into the main hall. "I could do so much more here than at Ostwick. Since the Circle's disbanded, I would now have a purpose; a mission. My presence at Skyhold would also be equivalent to Trevelyan support–"
"Support that Father is not yet ready to give," Robert interrupted.
The two siblings stopped in the middle of the hall, right in between the wooden scaffolding erected on either side. Builders hammered at the stones above them, the clink of their tools as they chipped away or slid in new stones echoing through the spacious hall like a pebbly percussion.
"Hasn't the Inquisition proved itself enough?" Evelyn challenged after a while. "Their presence at the Chantry's capital aside, they've sealed the Breach within a year. What more could Father want? What are we even here for?"
"Do not mistake a show of generosity for a declaration of support," Robert shot back. "The sealing of the Breach, undoubtedly, goes in their favor. But the fact still remains that they are not an organization any Maker-fearing Bann would cast his lot with."
Evelyn frowned and tilted her head in inquiry. "How might that be?"
"They've given their leadership to the 'Herald', a mere girl." He marked the title with an unmistakably appalled emphasis; Andrastian outrage truly died hard. "Unless her strings are kept close, there's no telling what direction she'll take them under. And since she'll have strings anyway, it remains to be seen whose interests she will serve."
"Ahnnie is not that sort of a person," she protested. "She may be inexperienced, but she's no fool or puppet."
"She may share your taste in books, but she's no more qualified for this position any more than the next commoner," Robert replied coolly.
The jab of offense prickled Evelyn most uncomfortably. "Are you implying that I'm backing her simply because I like her?"
"It would seem so."
Heat welled in the young Lady's cheeks. "Then I'll have you know that you couldn't be farther from the truth," Evelyn retorted. "She has potential, Rob – just because she wasn't born into it, or had the chance to learn it, doesn't mean she hasn't the makings of a good leader. True, she will need guidance. But she's a hero of the people, and not only that, she's willing, compassionate, humble; how many leaders can have the same said of them?"
Lord Robert's ice blue eyes flashed with irritation in the musty torchlight. "Challenge me with this in a year's time, when the effects of her leadership will be plain for all to see...though I suspect they will become evident much sooner. If you wish to stay here in the meantime, then you may do so. Just don't go flaunting the Trevelyan name about like a free banner." He turned on his heel and swiveled his affronted back to Evelyn as he prepared to stride back down the hall. "When you have had your fill of this folly, you will be required back at Ostwick."
His footsteps echoed in her consciousness long after they had faded away, as if to stomp on every hope she had cultivated since their arrival at Skyhold. He's lucky he made no mention of Maxwell, she seethed. If he had dared to, just one stray remark...yet she knew that Robert was not so cruel – especially not when Maxwell's funeral still burned fresh in their memories.
It was something she never would have consented to, but supposed it couldn't be helped. Maxwell disappeared without a trace at the Conclave; if not for the vision at the Breach, he would have been given up for dead along with the other attendees. Their family had waited too long for any sign of the contrary and made arrangements with the Ostwick Chantry shortly before the departure to Skyhold. It was a miserable day, as Evelyn remembered: the sun shining bright, without a care for the somber mood; the pretentious well-wishers, dolled up in elegance and crocodile tears; and then the monotonous hymns, followed by the burning of a faux pyre in lieu of cremation to symbolize his soul's ascent to the Maker's side.
The only warm soul in this den of cold, Evelyn remembered thinking. There existed one other person of whom she could say the same, and that was their mother, the late Bann Joanna, whose vibrancy passed onto Max the night of his birth. The Trevelyan household never seemed able to reclaim such sunlight ever since.
Evelyn straightened up at the thought and hardened the resolve in her eyes. This was precisely why she was here, in an old snowy fortress miles away from home. For though she stood in mourning at her baby brother's funeral, she believed wholeheartedly that he wasn't dead and would never stop believing until faced with actual evidence. Let Robert think what he wanted to; she would see this to the end, she would bring Max back, no matter how long it was going to take or who she would have to stand beside.
Thus determined, she caught sight of the Inquisition Commander standing sentinel near the dais, his great back facing her with its mantle of furs; deciding upon that destination, she shoved the residue of Robert's unpleasantness aside and marched over to the man.
"Pardon me," she excused as she drew herself up within hearing distance.
Commander Cullen turned his head and noticed her in surprise, as if seeing her for the first time. "Lady Trevelyan," he then greeted her with a nod. "I apologize; I did not notice you there."
"No need to apologize," she assured. "I've interrupted you, after all." She peered over his arm and saw people arranging torches and a pair of braziers about the dais, in the middle of which sat a dark red throne. "Looks like it's all coming together nicely," she remarked.
Cullen cracked a smile. "Lady Josephine's been rearranging this over the last half hour. She hasn't gotten to the tapestries yet, but once she does...Maker spare us all."
"Truly," Evelyn mused. Turning her head, she spotted the Antivan woman standing a little ways to the side, tutting at a brazier misplaced by a centimeter or two. Then the tapestries were delivered, heaped in a little handcart just waiting to be brought out and hung..."I think I'll take the tapestries. My taste shouldn't be so far off from Lady Josehpine's."
"Indeed?" Cullen raised an eyebrow. "That is kind of you, I suppose, but unnecessary. I'm sure Lady Josephine can handle it."
Evelyn knitted her brows together in concern. "But how could I leave a fellow colleague to do all this work alone?" she asked.
It took a moment before the implication sunk in, as was shown by Cullen's puzzled expression. "You wish to be part of the Inquisition, Lady Trevelyan?"
"You mean 'Lady Evelyn'," she corrected with a smile. "And yes, I do."
He frowned. "You are not leaving in the next week with your retinue?"
"No." Her tone was flat and brewing with displeasure at the very thought. "Robert will be going home alone. I know it is quite sudden, but I had planned this for a long time now. There may be some initial complaints, but they'll blow over quickly, I assure you." Especially after Father sees the usefulness in having some eyes and ears in the Inquisition. Maker-fearing Bann, my ass.
The Commander's confusion turned to curiosity, tinged with intrigue. "I highly doubt you're signing on for the position of interior decorator," he remarked. "What is it that you can bring to the Inquisition besides your noble name?"
Evelyn crossed her arms and heaved a plaintive sigh. "Believe it or not, I'm not seeking to use my noble name to secure a position here. I simply want to contribute to the cause in any way I can. You could ask the Ostwick Circle – or, well...what's left of it – for my credentials. I was just promoted from Mage to Enchanter before the Circle disbanded, and I specialize as a spirit medium; thus, I could aid in any magical research pertaining to the Fade and its denizens."
"What fraternity were you part of?"
Asking the important questions, aren't we? "Aequitarian," was the answer.
"Ah, yes, Aequitarian," Cullen murmured, nodding. "One of the more reasonable sort." Evelyn cocked an eyebrow at this, but made no comment. Returning to his regular volume, Cullen resumed, "I suggest you speak with Lady Josephine or Madame Vivienne further on the matter. I don't mean to be rude, but I'm hardly the man to assist you in such affairs."
And yet he had probed into her intentions. Curiously enough, he made no mention of Grand Enchanter Fiona. "Very well," she conceded. "I do suppose I had been rather hasty. Thank you for your patience; it has been a pleasant talk, besides."
"For me as well," he nodded. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"
She pursed her lips in thought. "Not that I can think of at the moment...once I do, I'll be sure to ask." Then it occurred to her. "But wait; I don't think you're here for interior decorating, either. What, if I may ask, is the special occasion?"
A wry smile played across his sturdy jaw at her question. "You've a sharp eye, Lady Evelyn, I'll give you that. I'm here to supervise the arrival of a prisoner; the dais, as you can see, is being readied for Skyhold's first judgment."
Blights start w/ awakening of Old Gods. Old Gods are [sleeping beings? Dragons? What?] corrupted by darkspawn into Archdemons. Darkspawn drawn to Old Gods by "call". Archdemon + darkspawn = hordes attacking surface. So far, 5 Blights–
Ahnnie paused in her writing and turned back to the history book laid out beside her new journal. She flipped back to the page on the First Blight and wrote up the notes on the five Blights accordingly:
1. Began w/ corruption of Golden City. Tevinter magisters returned as first darkspawn, went underground & tainted Dumat. Grey Wardens created. -395 to -203 Ancient.
2. Darkspawn under Zazikel. Imperium lost Anderfels. Lasted 1:5-95 Divine, Chantry formed, Nevarran Accord signed w/ original Inquisition = Circle, Seekers, & Templars.
3. Toth & darkspawn attack south Tevinter & some of Orlais, then east to Free Marches. Bigger swarm than before. Ends 3:25 Towers after 15 yrs.
4. Andoral in 5:12 Exalted devastate Antiva, then Rivain & Free Marches. Ends 5:24 Exalted. Griffons extinct :(.
5. Started 11 yrs ago. Urthemiel awakened by the Architect, attack Ferelden. Ended 9:31 thanks to Hero of Ferelden – shortest Blight ever.
Knowing this, she tried to piece together a pattern, or patterns; just anything that could help her understand Corypheus better. According to his monologue, he had breached the Fade and claimed to have seen the throne of the gods. He never specified whether it was a Black or Golden City...and he also claimed to have been confused for a millennia...could he be part of the original magisters who corrupted the Golden City? Was that even possible? Whatever the case, he was certainly aware of the Imperium's decline throughout the ages.
And then there was the fact that the pantheon possessed seven Old Gods, not just five – Razikale and Lusacan are left – so which one was this dragon? Was Thedas doomed to experience all the Gods' arrivals? But as Josephine said, no darkspawn had been sighted, and curiously enough Corypheus' force consisted of Red Templars. Also curious was that darkspawn were not considered to possess any sapience...until recently.
The information Ahnnie gleaned on the Fifth Blight came separately from a set of two volumes collectively titled A Study of the Fifth Blight, as it was not only the most recent but also the most disputed Blight due to its short duration. The darkspawn that awakened Urthemiel, the Architect, was noted to have possessed sentience and intelligence. It was able to create Disciples, awakened hurlocks capable of speech and free will...
The Architect sounds similar to Corypheus. But why is Corypheus so different this time? No darkspawn or taint, just...
"Inquisitor!" The sudden call caused Ahnnie to drop the quill in her hand. "Oh!" Josephine gasped, revealing her ruffled frame standing before the desk. "I apologize for interrupting you, but you were not responding."
"Josephine," Ahnnie chuckled, and grabbed a rag to wipe the ink blotted onto her desk's surface. She cleaned off her fingers as well for good measure. "Gee, I didn't know you came in...guess I was just really occupied...so, um, it's time?"
"Indeed," the ambassador nodded. "Come; everyone is awaiting you."
Ahnnie settled the quill onto the rag and closed the inkwell before rising from her chair. Then she followed Josephine out of her quarters for the special occasion awaiting in the main hall, mind dancing from Corypheus' origins to the ambassador's puzzling announcement earlier that morning. Can't be for my birthday. I never told anyone about it, plus June...er, Justinian, is still a month away...
Her destination was the dais, conveniently accessible right upon exiting the door. But rather than the pristine bareness she'd seen before, it was bedecked now with a fancy armchair flanked by a pair of intricate braziers. A series of tapestries adorned the immediate area of the hall around the dais, colorful yet stern in their lines – but it was the chair that arrested Ahnnie's attention. Upholstered in dark red, its back fanned out in a seashell shape with imposing metal spikes jutting from each joint along the ridge; embroidered in dark gold at the head was the sword-pierced Inquisition symbol.
"Impressive, is it not?" Josephine asked her. "Fit for a leader, meant to show influence...and the burden of it."
Ahnnie blinked. "Well," was all she could say. If she weren't mistaken from the dais and the way the hall was arranged, the armchair looked almost like a throne.
"It is where the Inquisition will sit in judgment," the ambassador went on. "Where you will sit in judgment."
"Ah, I see – wait, what?" She whipped her head confusedly towards Josephine. "Judge...judge who?"
Josephine's reply was matter-of-factly, as if Ahnnie should have known this by now. "Those who have done wrong, of course; provided that they survived being brought to Skyhold. You will know of them, at the very least," she added in assurance.
Ahnnie realized her mouth had been gaping and closed it. "I'm...sorry," she faltered a moment later, "but...I think I'm suffering from some role ambiguity...being Inquisitor means judging people too?"
"You are a beacon of law, Inquisitor, as others retreat from responsibility," the ambassador explained. "The Inquisition's sovereignty is derived from the allies who validate it; you are both empowered and bound to mete out judgment." Seeing her horrified expression, Josephine attempted a coaxing smile and assured her that, "This needn't be bloody. Justice has many tools, and if the application is clever, execution may even seem merciful by comparison."
Spanish Inquisition, Ahnnie, she reminded herself. They did pretty much the same thing. Indeed, how could she forget? But luckily for her, this Inquisition worked for a different purpose than the other one. "All right, then," she sighed. "If this is what I have to do."
"It will begin in a few minutes. Do not worry; I will be right beside you in the first few judgments. If you require assistance, simply lean over and whisper to me with a serious expression." Josephine then took up position on the dais' right, a little ways below the throne. "I will be right up there with you soon," she assured a hesitant Ahnnie when the girl still didn't budge. "I must stand here to announce the prisoner first."
"Oh...right. Sorry." With that in mind, Ahnnie mounted the steps of the dais, a dubious eye on the spiny Inquisition throne as she moved close. With a careful hand, she traced the length of an armrest...then, in an equally careful motion, she pivoted on a heel and lowered herself into the dark red chair. Feels comfy, I guess, she thought as her bottom sank down. She next placed a hand on either armrest to adopt the stance of power she'd so often seen in movies and books, before straightening her back and neck to keep her head level. It was then her eyes scanned the hall from her perch and noticed, for the first time, the people gathered about.
Builders paused on the scaffolding to watch the proceedings below; curious civilians fringed the hall entrance; soldiers guarded the doors; recruits, castle staff, Chargers, mages...
Mages.
Ahnnie was no good at counting large numbers of people, but it seemed to her as if every mage in the Inquisition had packed themselves into the main hall. For every one person of another occupation, there seemed to be at least three to four mages. She could even pick out Fiona's small frame next to Vivienne's, standing at the front of the crowd on the hall's right; and then she had a sinking feeling she knew why they were here when she spotted Dorian gazing intensely at her from the head of the hall's left.
A sweeping hush flew over everyone as a pair of guards led the prisoner in. He was haggard and worn, garbed in the most basic of Ferelden clothes for the occasion; basic but going threadbare, upholding just the minimum standard of acceptability. Yet even if he'd worn a full-blown Orlesian costume, Ahnnie believed she would recognize him anywhere.
"You recall Gereon Alexius of Tevinter," Josephine's voice rang out. "Ferelden has given his judgment to us as acknowledgement of our aid. The formal charges are apostasy, attempted enslavement, and attempted assasination." With every word, she mounted farther up the dais until she was, at last, facing Ahnnie within speaking distance of the throne. "Tevinter has disowned and stripped him of his rank. You may judge the former Magister as you see fit." She then shifted her profile by a quarter to regain sight of the crowd, lightly placing herself within reach of Ahnnie as she did so.
The guards pushed Alexius forward and he stumbled, chains clinking, closer to the dais. A light chuckle here and there from the spectators peppered the silence, but if it bothered Alexius, he neither showed nor cared. He simply stood with his head bowed, careworn face hidden from view.
"I-I..." Ahnnie gasped. She did not realize any sound had escaped her throat until she caught Josephine giving her a pointed look. "Ahem. I mean, yes, I saw all of this for myself," she corrected. "You have much to answer for...Gereon Alexius."
When Alexius finally spoke, it was in the most gravelly rasp Ahnnie had ever heard. "I couldn't save my son," he retorted. "Do you think my fate matters to me?"
"Well...your son is not yet dead, and there might be a cure," she pointed out. "That could be something for you."
"You know nothing of the Blight sickness," he hissed, "which goes to show just how ignorant you are. Once a person has contracted it, they are as good as dead."
But Felix cares, she wanted to say, despite the smarting insult. Your fate would definitely matter to him, even if he's resigned to the fact that you're in chains – but was that sort of personal language even allowed in a judgment? She didn't think so, and her indecisiveness kept her mouth shut.
Alexius spoke no further anyway and made no attempt to answer the charges. "Will you offer nothing more in your defense?" Josephine asked after a while.
The former magister let out a derisive chuckle, accompanied by an amused head shake. "You've won nothing," he spat. "The people you've saved, the acclaim you've gathered – you'll lose it all in the storm to come." His hooded gaze traveled each side of the hall as he made his point, before stopping at Ahnnie with something of a challenge in the stony depths. "Nothing you do will change that. Render your judgment now, Inquisitor, while you still can."
As if on cue, Ahnnie felt most if not all eyes turning expectantly to her, and at the same time, the creeping heat of stage fright working its way up into her face. Time ticked by with an agonizing urgency, distorting seconds into eternities and vice versa. She hardened her features into as stoic a mask as possible and leaned, ever so slightly, in Josephine's direction. "So...what should I say?" she whispered.
Josephine tilted her head close, but not too close. "There has been no predetermined judgment this time, as you are now responsible for making them yourself," she whispered back. "But you do have options. Take the crime and the criminal into consideration; execution and life imprisonment, for example, are common sentences to heavy crimes and he would most certainly be eligible for either. And then since he is a mage, there is the option of making him Tranquil, but–"
"Making him tranquil?" Ahnnie murmured, wondering what that meant. Either way, it sounded more merciful than execution or imprisonment. "That doesn't sound bad."
"It...does have its benefits," Josephine nodded slowly. "He will be able to keep his life and live more or less in freedom without fear of danger from his magic."
"Really?"
"Really. Once he is made Tranquil, he will become perfectly harmless. If that is what you think he should undergo..."
All right then. Let's do this. Ahnnie cleared her throat to signal the end of her little conference and moved her head back into position, eyes locked on the expectant prisoner before her. "I have decided, after much consideration," she slowly began, and she could see the suspense mounting in Dorian's posture from the corner of her eye, "that in light of these charges, you, Gereon Alexius, are to be made tranquil."
A wave of shocked murmurs erupted throughout the hall, confusing Ahnnie. The majority of the mages that she could see suddenly recoiled in horror and outrage, and Dorian's olive face reddened in indignation. Only Vivienne seemed pleased, which Ahnnie supposed was a good sign that the Madame had put their argument about Cole past her...
But then why is everyone else so angry?
"Tranquility?" Alexius practically choked. "So be it. Death would be preferable."
His guards began to close in around him as he spoke the last few words. Before they could reach him, however, Ahnnie shouted for everyone to wait. Chest thudding, she turned in a fluster towards Josephine again. "Why is everyone so upset?" she quickly asked.
Josephine knitted her brows together in consternation. "Well, Inquisitor, to render a mage Tranquil is to cut off their connection to the Fade. This takes away from them the ability to dream or perform magic...it also makes them incapable of feeling emotions. Basically, they become more placid versions of their former selves. I had thought you were aware..."
Ahnnie's jaw dropped in shock. WHAT!? I thought it was some form of rehab! Oh my god, I have to fix this, quick! Turning back to the hall, she stuttered to the bewildered masses, "I-I apologize! I made that decision without knowing the, uh, true nature of Tranquility. I take it back. Instead, Gereon Alexius, you are to..." She then paused, realizing that she hadn't yet thought of an alternative. Crap, me and my big mouth...her eyes flitted from Alexius to a confused Dorian and the two baffled Enchanters in a quest to find inspiration, and upon seeing Fiona, it quickly came to her. "You are to help the mages at Redcliffe like you originally promised. Any...anything you know, or own, shall be put forth to the mages' benefit, and from here on out, you shall answer to Grand Enchanter Fiona and Madame Vivienne."
"Is this judgment final, Inquisitor?" Josephine asked aloud, to be sure.
Ahnnie sank back into her chair with a nervous sigh disguised as a breath of finality. "It is," she affirmed a moment later, and clenched the throne's armrests to keep her fingers from shaking.
"Very well. Case dismissed." The ambassador then motioned for the guards to carry Alexius away, and Ahnnie let out a mental sigh of relief as she watched his hunched form recede down the hall; if the former magister had any thoughts as to his new fate, he did not voice them. Then again, he shot her a scathing look over his shoulder as he passed through the middle of the hall.
I don't blame him, she thought. That was...that was bad. The worst, even. Maker, I feel so embarrassed.
"That will be all for today," Josephine announced, shaking her from those thoughts a moment later. "Her Worship has spoken; court is adjourned.
Ahnnie would have been glad for that announcement, had she not been prickled by yet another new epithet. "What did you just call me?" she asked Josephine in disbelief.
The ambassador turned towards her confusedly. "'Her Worship'?" she asked, frowning.
Color rose into Ahnnie's cheeks at the very word. "Please don't. Just 'Inquisitor' is fine. 'Lady Phạm' even, or Herald like...like you did before; just anything but...Worship."
Josephine stood frozen in puzzlement, probably wondering what sort of complication it was this time around. "You misunderstand," she said at last. "It is not 'Worship' as in godly reverence, but is derived from the old Ferelden term 'Your Worthship'. Many positions of law are addressed by the style–"
"No. I refuse it." With a tightened jaw, Ahnnie took a deep breath and rubbed her face wearily. After a while, she said, "If it's possible for me to make rules around here – is it possible? – then not calling me 'Worship' is going to be one of them. Please note that down."
"But–"
"Please, Josephine."
"...as you wish." Josephine turned back to the hall and re-addressed everyone within it: "The Inquisitor has spoken. Court is adjourned."
Dorian later found her sitting alone on a bench in what was steadily being pruned into Skyhold's garden. "Oh, Your Worship," he chirped merrily before sliding into place beside her. "That was quite the scare you gave us all! Did you really not know what Tranquility was? Great Maker, and I was just about furious with you! I–"
"Dorian," she whispered, and when she looked up at him, there were tears in her eyes. "Not now."
The Tevinter mage ceased upon seeing her distress, and then nodded, mirth fading. "It was a rough start to being Inquisitor, I'll admit. I meant no harm, of course. Just...excuse me, but you don't know how relieved I am that Alexius didn't get sentenced to Tranquility. Or anything overly harsh, for that matter. Of course, Madame de Fer was not so pleased at first with the lenient change," he snorted, "but she seemed placated enough being able to take charge of our dear old time mage, even if alongside the former Grand Enchanter. I hear Fiona's mages are already cooking up interesting ways with which he can serve them."
"Yeah," Ahnnie sniffed. "I guess that's...good..." She for one was just relieved that Knight-Captain Denam would not be next; for the first time ever, she was actually quite glad someone didn't survive the journey to Skyhold. Beyond that, there were no more important prisoners for her to judge...for now. At least we'll have a private council from now on before I actually do any judging, she thought, glad for Josephine's sympathy. That was just awful!
"Serving the mages he'd sought to make serve him," Dorian murmured after a while. "There's some justice in that, after what he did to them. Maybe one day he'll realize it." He sighed, then turned back to the despondent girl and gave her an unexpected clap to the back. "Come, now! I didn't go looking for you to make you all weepy. It's over; done; fini – learn from this mistake and make a better decision the next time around."
"I-I know." She sniffed again. "It was just...I mean, so many people watching, and..."
"Pray, don't be so hard on yourself, Your Worship."
Ahnnie immediately glared at him. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"
Dorian couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, it...all right, I admit it, yes...but, you know, it's rather awkward, you'd have to admit, for people so used to calling magistrates and justices 'Your Worship' as is custom, and then suddenly being scolded for it." He raised a pointed eyebrow. "Are you not afraid of people saying you're ignorant of its actual meaning?"
She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head angrily. "If it was actually meant as 'Worthship', then why didn't they just stick to that, for Christ's sake? Anyway...no. They can think whatever they want to think, I..." She trailed off, at war once again with unpleasant feelings.
"You...?"
Ahnnie sighed in exasperation. "Stop teasing me, Dorian, I'm miserable enough as it is."
He held up his hands in surrender. "Easy now. I just wanted to help, is all. If you don't want to say it, then you don't have to..."
The injury in his tone made her pause a little, but when she looked at his face, he appeared anything but hurt. Cheeky bastard. "Fine," she blurted out a moment later. "It's because...my mom was a bitch. There. You happy now?"
Dorian rubbed his chin in thought. "I'm sorry, but I fail to see how having canine lineage correlates with an aversion to being called 'Your Worship'."
"Dorian!" Goodness, this guy. "You know what I mean..."
He laughed once more at her expense before shrugging resolutely. "Point taken; I won't probe further. You have my word..." He then heaved himself off the bench and stretched his arms. "Good Maker, where has the time gone?" he breathed through a satisfactory sigh. As he swung his arms back into place, he added, "I really got sidetracked, now didn't I? Solas sent me – he wanted to have a word with you in the rotunda."
Ahnnie perked up at that. "He does?"
"He does," Dorian repeated. "Do you know the way? It's on the right of the hall, beneath the atrium. First door from the hall entrance; you can't miss it."
She nodded eagerly as she, too, rose from the bench. "Sounds easy enough. And thanks, by the way." She shrugged. "I guess I do feel better, even if you made fun of me."
"That's the spirit," he smiled. "Now wipe that nose clean and go see what he wants! Can't have the Inquisitor a slobbering mess, now can we?"
Ahnnie's mouth tugged into a smile, which she fought from turning into a chuckle by biting on her lip. "Right," she giggled anyway with a sniff. "I'll go do that. See you."
She took some time as she cut across the garden and back into the main hall to let her nose clear up. Using a handkerchief grossed her out and she avoided doing so whenever she could. She was more or less breathing normally through her nostrils again when she finally reached the aforementioned door, squeezing herself into a neat little corridor before being deposited in the middle of a spacious, circular room open to the expansive atrium above.
A desk of plans sat in the center, and slid to one side was a couch. Wooden planks were stacked on the opposite side, accompanied by scattered pieces of old furniture draped by dusty sheets. She found the lighting cozy, especially at a spot where a lantern of bluish light hung from the beams of a wooden scaffold. And it was here that she noticed the giant fresco looming over her.
Painted in dusky oranges, pale yellows, and grayish browns, it was conceived with straight, pleasing lines that angled from bottom and top in an overall diamond shape. The artist attempted to convey an upside-down triangle at the bottom using slanting lines on either side to depict what looked like mountain slopes, and then a reflection of the angles from above with beaming rays of light spreading outwards at the land below, crowned by a halo of light surrounding an angry greenish center. But it was not yet finished, as she could see from the painter on the scaffold still adding details.
"This is amazing, hahren," she called up to him, beaming. "What is it?"
Solas turned around upon hearing her voice and put down his bowl of paint with a smile. "A depiction of the Inquisition's story, starting with the explosion of the Conclave," he explained. "Wait there," he cautioned when she made to join him, "I'll come down; the paint's still wet."
They came together at the desk once he was down, where Solas showed her the measurements and outlines of the frescos he planned to paint on the ever-curving wall. "I plan on drawing a section of your departure from your world. Would you mind drawing me a scene of Earth for reference?"
"I wouldn't mind," she assured him, already thinking of what sort of scenery she would use. The shape of my house might still seem normal to Thedosians, so I guess I'll do a little fibbing and make an urban cityscape. Maybe something like that combined with a backyard. "Do you need it right now?"
"Not necessarily. Whenever you have the time, da'len."
"All right."
She watched him shuffle through the papers for a while, listening happily as he chattered on about the art he would adorn the rotunda with. Finally, however, he came to the point he wanted to make. With a sip of the lukewarm tea on his desk, Solas cleared his throat and looked her straight in the eye. "I believe, da'len, that now is the time when we can start concentrating on your magic again."
Ahnnie nodded. "Of course," she replied eagerly. "I've started up lessons with Hargrave again. It's only fair."
He graced her with a smile. "Good. Would you like to start now, or would you prefer to postpone to a later time?"
"I thought you said now was the ti..." Then she remembered the debacle in the main hall. "Oh. Uh, I think I would like to start now. I want to put that mess as far behind me as possible."
"Very well, then." He busied himself with the papers again, but only to put them in order this time. "Any questions before we begin?"
"Uh..." She frowned as she tried to think of any, and then remembered one she'd been wondering about for a while now. "Well, about my becoming Inquisitor...why did you tell Cassandra I made a sacrifice when I didn't?"
Solas raised an eyebrow at her while his hands worked. "Are you saying that you didn't?"
She pursed her lips. "Um, yeah."
A curious look overtook his face, and Ahnnie couldn't help but add that to her list of oddities surrounding Solas. It sank a moment later beneath a well-timed smile, both reassuring and kind. "Tell me, then, what you said back in Haven two days before sealing the Breach."
"That doesn't count," she protested. "I couldn't have gone back anyway, and there was no other choice..."
"But isn't that it? You understood there was no choice." Solas straightened up and dusted off his hands, finally done. "It was seal the Breach, or leave Thedas to fall to the demons...now imagine if you had a way back. Knowing all that depended on you, would you have gone? Would you have left us – the friends you had made – to a future of doom beneath the Elder One?" When she made a tortured face and no reply, he smiled yet again. "The sacrifice was as good as made, da'len. Believe you me."
"But then why..."
"Now I will not lie; there was something of a personal agenda in promoting you to Cassandra," Solas confessed. "You are precisely what I believe will be a refreshing change to Thedas. Even if not completely, then in partial amounts – baby steps, as I have told you. This world needs more ideals that are less...archaic in nature, if you will."
Is it my dislike of racism? she wondered, but decided not to drag the matter any further. It rubbed her the wrong way hearing all these justifications, as if they were just being fished from the air to cover her ass; not only that, but they served as further salt on today's wound. Clearing her throat of its sudden prickliness, she changed the subject by asking, "So what will we do today for magic practice, hahren? Meditation? Mana focus?"
Solas tapped his fingers together as a playful and knowing smile made its way across his face. "Let's go watch a movie."
A/N: Had to go back and fix Ahnnie and Harding's exchange about funeral rites in Chapter 22 (#24 on dropdown list) after learning that Andrastian rites involve cremation rather than burial. I haven't seen anything that strikes burial off the list, but it is noted that cremation is symbolic of Andraste's burning & may be a preventive measure against demons possessing corpses. Also, "Bann" is synonymous for both male and female nobles, and I got "Worthship" from researching the style's etymology.