Sisters of Tevinter

Mother Giselle

          Cassandra was staggering slightly as she walked, her steps uneven. The wound in her head must have been truly painful- more than likely she was concussed. Jor rubbed her arms as the chill night wind stirred her scarf. The group approached the Crossroads slowly, in the distance they could hear what sounded like the rumbling of a storm or an earthquake. 

           Jor leaned over to Varric. "What is that?" she whispered. 

            The dwarf's shoulders slumped. "It's the war. Listen." 

           Jor lifted her head. The rumbling was like thunder, but... every once and a while, she could hear a shrill cry and the clash of steel. She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the sounds that could only be the deaths of thousands. Mages and templars, locked in deadly skirmishes throughout the highlands. Solas laid a hand on her arm. "There is nothing to be done about it now," he said, as if he had read her thoughts. Could mages do that? 

            Jor could only nod. 

            They reached the outskirts of the little village, nestled against a mountain with its small stone bridges and tiny torches along their doors. Tall poles hung low with banners bearing the Seeker's eye in grey and gold. Inquisition banners now, Jor supposed. So this place would soon be occupied. She had been here once before, when she was younger. Maybe... five years ago? But the village had not been so large then. Only a single waystation for travelers. 

              They could hear voices, low and murmuring, from the center of the gathering of buildings. Dark shapes were laid out on ramshackle stretchers. Some tossed and turned- others did not move at all. Others were standing, moving between them, their heads unnaturally stretched by hoods and hats. Clerics? They were doing all they could for the wounded around them. 

               Cassandra laid down her shield and slumped against a low stone wall, her chin dropping to her chest. Varric, hesitantly, sat at a respectful distance beside her. "You still with us, Seeker?" 

                 "I'm fine," Cassandra muttered coldly. But she did not ask him to move. Varric rummaged around in his satchel for a vial of healing tonic.  Solas glanced at Jor. "Will you go alone?" he queried. 

                   Feeling sick, Jor hesitated, glancing at Cassandra with concern. Solas smiled slightly. "Do not worry. She has seen much worse. I will stay. Go." 

                    Jor nodded and walked into the flickering light of the square, rubbing her wrist. She quietly stepped out of the way of the milling healers, who took no notice of the shape in the dark. Jor had a talent for being easily missed. She had no idea which one could be Mother Giselle- 

                 Look for the one with the biggest hat. She grinned at her own joke. Perhaps there was merit to it. A woman in flowing white robes draped in rosy epaulets and scarves wore a sweeping headdress inlaid with gold, sitting beside an occupied stretcher. She was mopping a soldier's forehead with a damp cloth, murmuring soothingly, a dark hand on his bandaged shoulder. 

                  Jor padded over slowly, hesitant. The cleric had her back to the scholar. "Mother Giselle?" 

                   The woman lifted her head. "...Who speaks?" 

                   Jor sat respectfully on the cleric's other side, curling her legs beneath her. "I am Jormangandr Trevelyan. You sent for me?" 

                    "Ah." Mother Giselle turned back to her patient. "Rest now," she murmured. "You need your strength." 

                   "Thank you, Mother," he said hoarsely, his voice was barely audible. 

                    It reached into Jor's chest and strangled her heart. "What happened to him?" she whispered as his head lolled to one side. The poor boy was exhausted. He looked barely Jor's age, the dark shadow of dry blood caked the left side of his face. 

                     Mother Giselle clicked her tongue. "He and his contingent were ambushed." Her voice was low with regret. "The bandits grow bold, the templars do not distinguish between mages and allies." 

                      "...Those are burns," Jor said softly, gesturing at the rent and ashen flesh across the soldier's arm, peaking through his bandages. Giselle's expression did not change. 

                      "And the mages are blind to bystanders." 

                      "Apostates did this?" 

                      "I am afraid this is only the beginning." 

                      Anger, white hot and sudden, flared to life in Jor's chest. This boy had a family. Friends. And some nameless enemy had decided he was worth damaging in some petty skirmish from a hundred years ago. Long standing tradition. "This cannot continue." 

                       "That is why I have called you here," Mother Giselle said softly. "You, unsuspectingly it seems, have wandered into the role of figurehead. The rumors spread fast. You, Andraste's Chosen. Speaker for Divine Justinia. Though she is dead, some say her will gave you that mark on your hand." The cleric's dark fingers took hold of Jor's hand, which began to pulse a soft emerald in the dark. "Others insist Andraste herself has touched you. You have become an instrument of her will. Are you faithful, Jormungandr?" 

                        Jor flushed, embarrassed. "...My mother was. I... I confess, I haven't prayed in a very long time." 

                         Mother Giselle smiled ruefully. "Undecided. How unlucky." 

                         "You're telling me," Jor sighed. She glanced up at the cleric curiously. "Do you believe I've been chosen, Mother?" 

                         "I am not the person you should be asking that question." Mother Giselle shook her head. 

                        "I see."

                        "But, you have reinstated the Inquisition. You have slowed the Breach. You have conquered demons, and from what I have seen of you so far- Andraste would have done well to have chosen a soul like yours." 

                        Jor smiled sheepishly. "...Thank you." 

                        "Yes. Though that is not the only reason I called for you. I understand you lack the chantry's support." 

                       The scholar's expression darkened. "They weren't exactly eager to help us. They call me a blasphemer." She glanced down at her hand. "Hell, they might be right." 

                       "You doubt. That is good. No one should be so certain of power such as yours." Giselle smiled gently. "But religion aside- you must face the clerics. Make your case. Their strength is in their unity and the lies they have been fed. Most believe you are a monster. You must show them you are a woman." 

                        "I do not understand." 

                       "Go to Val Royeaux. If even a single reverend begins to question the idea that you are foolish, or inhuman, or a heretic, the chantry loses its power over you and your Inquisition's reputation." 

                       "...Alright." Jor blew out a long breath. Perhaps she was right. The chantry could not continue to boycott the beginning of this Inquisition that the others thought might help. Help to stop the killing, close the Breach and rid the world of demons. "Thank you, Mother." 

                        "Of course. Now it is late." Mother Giselle turned her gaze to the sky. "You and your companions should rest. You can leave in the morning." 

                       "Alright," Jor repeated, rising carefully. The soldier shifted on his stretcher restlessly in his sleep. Goodnight. Be well. She hesitated for a moment, before turning away to return to Cassandra and the others.