Sisters of Tevinter

Closure

        The Herald of Andraste woke with a raging headache, as if a wild boar had been set loose in her skull. There was this horrible thudding noise. Over and over again, something heavy hit something solid. 

    Maker... five more minutes... She groaned and rolled over, slapping her pillow over her ears. 

      "Jormungandr!" It was Cassandra's voice, clipped and weighty with irritation. 

      What... what is it... In a haze, Jor moaned, the light from the doorjamb stinging her eyes. The floor was cold when she swung her bare feet out of bed, stumbling to the portal and easing it open. 

     Seeing the Seeker's disapproving glare, Jor blanched. "...Sorry..." She wasn't really sure what she was apologizing for. She shielded her eyes against the noonday sun. She must've slept late. Haven was alive with noise, swords, the ringing of anvils, metal, shouts and the hum of conversation. Three robed figures walked by, leaning on their staffs and conversing in low tones. The memory came crashing down on her as they passed, ringing a gong in the scholar's cranium with sickening intensity. "My god-- the Breach!"  

      Cassandra, her arms folded, had evidently been waiting for Jor to reach this conclusion. "Yes. It is time." 

      "Okay.... Okay, hang on," Jor mumbled, turning around to stumble to where her coat and scarf hung from the wall. She thanked the Maker she had pants- and a shirt- even if it was only her thin camisole. Krem must've been very patient with her last night, Maker have mercy. 

        The scholar wound her scarf around her neck, unsteady on her aching feet as she tugged on her boots and stumbled back to the Seeker. "Let's go. We'll go. War Room?" 

        Cassandra turned on her heel, striding for the mountain chapel. Jor staggered after her, her cold fingertips pressed to her pounding temples. Note, never drink with anyone ever again. Ever. Hangovers? Not worth it. Another, funnier thought crossed her mind. I'm going to make history hungover. A grin tugged at her mouth. 

     That humor vanished as soon as Cassandra and the Herald strode into the War Room. 

      Cullen was pacing the floor in a tizzy- he looked to suffering a similar headache situation, gauntlets raking through his crop of golden hair. Josephine was sitting perched on a stool, taking notes as Leliana spoke in a clipped, businesslike manner. "We should approach from the South. I don't want another incident like the pride demon. If we can move fast we can make this as painless as possible for everyone." 

        "We don't know what to expect this time," Cullen said slowly, pausing. Jor noticed him conveniently avoid the patches of candlelight, his voice was laced with something remarkably like pain. Leliana looked up, Cassandra's expression was grim. 

        "Are you well, commander?" Jor asked softly, leaning against the wall. 

       "Just a headache." He swallowed thickly. "Please, Leliana, go on." 

       "...We will take the company of mages-- Cassandra, you will be organizing them?" 

      The Seeker nodded curtly. "Yes. I will require aid from Solas, but we will bring them forward with some semblance of order." She smiled ruefully. 

        "When do we leave?" Jor asked. 

        "Ultimately, that is up to you. But I suggest a time within the next few hours. We do not want to be caught in the mountains after dark." The Nightingale shook her head. 

         "...Then we'll go in half. An hour, half an hour," Jor amended hastily. "The sooner the better. We rip the bandage off." 

         "Good. We will be watching from the foothills. Who will you bring?" Josephine smiled slightly.