Dragon Age Inquisition: Their Wonderful Abnormality

Conquered

Lady Elsa,

I find words exceedingly difficult to gather in such unusual context, none the less, I write to my stranger of a daughter with nothing but good intentions.

Elsa, if you bear your father the merest glimmer of respect, you will read what he has to say.

It has come to the attention of the court here that your involving with various events has caused quite a stir. Your name, as foreign as it often sounds to me is upon many lips and I, with a copious amount of further, more pressing matters, have been receiving many, distracting questions.

If you are still the girl I remember you to be, the girl your mother remembered you to be, you would return to talk with the court and settle these matters. Naturally, an escort would be provided at your earliest convenience and your return much welcomed. Alas, if you are still as stubborn as I remember you to be, you would send word with haste and confirmation of your safety, at least.

Years of your punishments have taught me to accept there is no love between us but I do not ask for your affections nor your apologies, merely your respect for those I loved to the exclusion of all else have been ripped away from me, gradually, and most brutally.

I still hope my words have made you see, however much my sanity doubts it.

 Teryn Vance Trevelyan

 “Bitter lies.”

The paper shook in her fists clenched white.

 “Bitter lies.”

Elsa Trevelyan’s hair hung around her pale face like a curtain as she knelt there, fist trembling, nails digging into her skin to the point of bleeding. She ignored. She clenched all her muscles so violently her entire body shuddered, so taut she fear she may simply snap like a twig. And snap she might.

She wanted to scream. It built up in her stomach, the trapped note of loathing writhed in her gut before pushing up through her throat only to be halted viciously with a the back of a hand she bit down on upon it hard. It came out as a muffled cry but with its realise her back relaxed, failing and giving up on her with a weary slump. The fiery fury turned into a dead, smouldering hate. Heavy and tiring.

 How long had she been at this? How long had this weight in her stomach been there, getting heavier? For as long as she could remember, of course. Except once the weight had not been hate… but fear. She ran a shaky thumb around the edge of the letter. Suddenly, the words upon it blurred. She looked up slowly. Andraste looked back. A golden lady with long flowing fabrics illuminated by the many candles worshipers had placed at her feet among garlands of flowers and dried grass, offerings of fruits and fabrics, herbs and bottles of sweet-smelling oils. Her face was sad despite such gifts yet touchingly beautiful.

 Herald of Andraste... Elsa thought deadly. The Chantry was empty, aside the mice of course who kept themselves busy scratching around for crumbs and clambering over discarded ropes and wood as quickly as they could despite being in no danger. Bats nested in the rafters too, sleeping, perhaps watching and a pair of birds flicked in and out, tending to their chirping nest, now and again with a worm in their beaks.

It was the afternoon after the incident with messenger delivering the note and it had taken a shameful amount of courage to break the seal and unfold the paper, trying to forget the messenger’s face and reading the words before candlelight. Elsa found herself lingering painfully on words just to make sense out of them, a skill that didn’t come so naturally today. Then she reached the final word…