They left the café with Leon leading the way, Lady Marceline only a step behind him. To get to the Grand Cathedral, they would have to go back over the Avenue of Reflective Thought over the Miroir de la MÚre, the giant reflecting pool that sat under the bridge. It was a beautiful piece of architecture, Lady Marceline had found, and the trek over the bridge was relaxing at worst. Unfortunately, other matters would see that they not reach the bridge. As they made their way across Summer Bazaar, a crowd had gathered.
Lady Marceline had slowed her step to investigate the cause, and stopped outright when she saw the root. The crowd was surrounding a Revered Mother who was flanked by a templar and others of the Chantry cloth. "Ser Albrecht," she said to get his attention, before she pointed toward the head of the crowd. "I believe I have found your clergy." Well, that would make finding them easier, however, she did not particularly enjoy the thought of what the crowd meant.
Crowds could easily turn into mobs, and a mob would not look too fondly upon the Herald of Andraste. Especially if provoked by the Chantry.
Though if she was worried, it did not show on her face. In fact, it was quite even, refusing to betray even the slightest of emotion.
The Revered Mother raised her arms and lifted her voice, carrying it above the murmurs of the gathered people as they wondered what was about to happen. "Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me!" She stepped forward to the edge of the platform she stood upon. It was hastily erected, but effective nonetheless at making the otherwise unimposing woman rise above the crowd.
"Together, we mourn our Divine. Her naĂŻve and beautiful heart silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderers. Well, wonder no more!" She swept an arm out dramatically, pointing it directly at Estella and narrowing her eyes. "Behold, a so-called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell." She shook her head. "We say this is a false prophet! No servant of anything beyond her selfish greed!" Some of the crowd looked shocked at the strength of the accusation, and all looked to the Herald and her allies to see their response.
The sudden charge, perhaps combined with the vehemence of it, seemed to catch Estella off-guard, and she took half a step backward, raising both of her hands in front of her to the level of her shoulders in a placating gesture. âN-no, please Revered Mother, you misunderstand. I donât claim to know the will of the Maker or Andraste, only to have the desire to close the Breach. This isnâtâI want nothing else. We have no other aim.â Her tone was earnest, borderline pleading, and she wore openly an expression that conveyed the same.
Lady Marceline allowed Estella to speak without any intervention from her. Estella sounded earnest in her admissions, far more than she could muster and her agreement would more likely harm than help. She wisely chose to let Estella to continue. They needed to see the Herald, not her.
âShe speaks truly,â Leonhardt said, his tone carrying about the authority one would expect of a Seeker in such a situation. âThe Inquisitionâs sole purpose is to close the Breach before it is too late.â
âIt is already too late,â the Mother replied, gesturing to her left. Most of the heads in the crowd turned, and their eyes fell on a small group of heavily-armored men and women, most of them recognizably wearing the armor of templars. The man in front, perhaps in his mid-forties, had well-tended grey hair and more elaborate armor than the rest, whereas the woman half a step behind him wasnât dressed as a templar at all, though the Seekerâs eye was prominent on the half-cloak that was draped from one shoulder. She was tall, taller even than the man in front, probably of a height with Cyrus, her complexion deep and her face dotted with contrasting white paint. Though the others wore swords and shields, she carried no weapons.
âThe Templars have returned to the Chantry!â The Revered Mother declared this with triumph, frowning down at Estella and the others. âThey will face this Inquisition, and the people will be safe once more!â As sheâd spoken, the group of them had started to advance up the stairs to the platform, and the man in the lead passed in front of her as though she werenât present at all.
The woman behind him wore a scowl, in contrast to his neutral expression, and as she drew even with the Revered Mother, she drew one hand back and delivered an unexpected blow to the clericâs head, catching her in the other arm as she started to fall forward and tossing her limp form at another one of the assembled Chantry brothers, who caught her with a grunt, falling to his knees to break her fall. The womanâs lip curled slightly, and she shook her head with evident disdain, following the apparent leader as he continued across the stage.
From slightly behind her, Marceline could hear a smothered laugh, which quickly became a cough, and resolved itself as nothing more than a clearing of the throat. It appeared the whole spectacle was amusing at least one of the Avenarius siblings, and it wasnât Estella. She threw a hard glance behind her before turning her attentions back forward.
The templar that had accompanied the Revered Mother, a striking woman with long, dark hair in elaborate braids, reacted with surprise to the blow struck against the cleric. Clear anger flared in her eyes, but the leader of the group of templars stepped in front of her, grabbing her sword arm quite firmly above the elbow.
"Still yourself, Knight-Captain," he ordered. "She is beneath us." The templar woman's mouth opened as if to protest, but she seemed to think better of it, pressing her lips tightly together instead, and nodding.
"As you say, Lord Seeker." Her disagreement with him was thinly veiled, but she made no further protest.
"How dare you?" Marceline stated. Her tone was not one of anger, but something far more colder. The even, icy tone continued into her next words. "What is the meaning of this? What do you hope to accomplish by striking the Revered Mother?" The only thing she saw accomplished was a degree of blasphemy unheard of, and from a Seeker no less.
The man finally deigned to react to the presence of another, and turned cold eyes towards them. âHer claim to authority is an insult. Much like your own.â
This seemed to stir Leonhardt to action, and he stepped forward, his brow heavily creased. âLord Seeker, whatââ
âYou will not address the Lord Seeker.â That came from the tall woman, and she stepped down to block Leonhardtâs path. He looked genuinely surprised at this.
âOphelia? You endorse this?â His tone was one of obvious incredulity, and he looked at the woman in front of him as though he were seeing her for the first time, which nevertheless he clearly was not.
Her silence was stony, but the Lord Seeker spoke up. âCreating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andrateâs prophet, to say nothing of the other one.â His lip curled, and looked to Estella as though she were something on the bottom of his shoe that smelled foul. She visibly winced. His eyes found Leonhardt again.
âYou should be ashamed, for you do shame to us.â
He angled himself to better regard the crowd as a whole, for they were watching with rapt attention. Raising his voice, he continued. âYou should all be ashamed! The templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages!â
âThis is ridiculousââ Leon was clearly not inclined to simply weather the words in silence, but Lucius shouted over him.
âYou are the ones who have failed! You whoâd leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear!â He scoffed. âIf you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine.â
âB-butâŠâ That was Estella again, though her tone was much more tentative. It was clear she didnât take being lambasted very well. âThe Breach, itâs so much bigger than this, donât you see? If we donât do something, none of the rest of it will matter.â From his former position some distance away, Cyrus approached his sister, moving up behind her and laying a hand on her shoulder. He didnât physically intercede between her and the Lord Seeker, but his body language was an obvious message nevertheless, and though his expression was still placid, his eyes could have been flecks of stone.
A gust of air slipped past Marceline's lips, sharing what she thought of this Lord Seeker's respect. After her initial indignation, Marceline went flat, unimpressed by this thug in the armor of a Seeker. "Whatever it is you have to say, it will not matter to him," she said to Estella, "He is too blinded by his own percieved destiny to see reason."
The Lord Seeker didn't seem to care what Marceline said, reacting violently instead to Estella's words. "Oh, the Breach is indeed a threat. But you certainly have no power to do anything about it."
The Knight-Captain the Lord Seeker had addressed before stepped forward at his side. She drew the eyes of some of the other templars, but her own were leveled at Estella and her friends. "Do not think you have the authority to dictate the Lord Seeker's path. Or the wisdom to question his judgement." Lucius glanced at her, her words seeming to swell his visible sense of righteousness.
"I will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the void," he said. "We deserve recognition. Independence!" He glared again at Estella, as though she had somehow personally wronged him. "You have shown me nothing. Your Inquisition... less than nothing." He turned to his templars at large. "Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!"
He turned, and led the entire group of them away from the gathering, not once looking back. The templar Knight-Captain, while her expression was still quite stony, offered Estella a brief wink on her way out, before she confidently strode after the departing Lord Seeker.
Estella blinked, apparently surprised, and released a long sigh. âI think that actually managed to go worse than I expected it to.â
"You are within the heart of Orlais, it could always go worse. At least this did not end in a death. Only a headache," Marceline said, rubbing her temple behind the mask.
As the crowd was beginning to disperse, so too were Marceline and the others before the sight of some familiar people caught her eyes. She smiled, though this one was genuine and held a sweetness not yet seen within it. She had thought that she'd meet her family at the gate, but it seemed their distraction had held them up enough for her husband, Michaël and her son, Pierre to catch up with them.
The man was thick, nearly as thick as Leon, but far shorter and not as stout. He wore a mask of similar make and style as Marceline's, though its edges were rounded to not become a liability in battle. He wore a varient of the chevalier armor under a purple cloak, and on his back rode a child, barely a teenager, also wearing a mask. Larissa followed behind them, a clipboard under her arm as she stared at the Revered Mother who still laid on the ground.
"Uh... Marcy, did I miss something?" he asked curiously, pointing at the Revered Mother.
"Yes Micky, you did. I will tell you along the way. Come, we have a long journey ahead of us," She said, reaching to lay a kiss on his cheek. "I do hope that you all brought your coats."
Lady Marceline had slowed her step to investigate the cause, and stopped outright when she saw the root. The crowd was surrounding a Revered Mother who was flanked by a templar and others of the Chantry cloth. "Ser Albrecht," she said to get his attention, before she pointed toward the head of the crowd. "I believe I have found your clergy." Well, that would make finding them easier, however, she did not particularly enjoy the thought of what the crowd meant.
Crowds could easily turn into mobs, and a mob would not look too fondly upon the Herald of Andraste. Especially if provoked by the Chantry.
Though if she was worried, it did not show on her face. In fact, it was quite even, refusing to betray even the slightest of emotion.
The Revered Mother raised her arms and lifted her voice, carrying it above the murmurs of the gathered people as they wondered what was about to happen. "Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me!" She stepped forward to the edge of the platform she stood upon. It was hastily erected, but effective nonetheless at making the otherwise unimposing woman rise above the crowd.
"Together, we mourn our Divine. Her naĂŻve and beautiful heart silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderers. Well, wonder no more!" She swept an arm out dramatically, pointing it directly at Estella and narrowing her eyes. "Behold, a so-called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell." She shook her head. "We say this is a false prophet! No servant of anything beyond her selfish greed!" Some of the crowd looked shocked at the strength of the accusation, and all looked to the Herald and her allies to see their response.
The sudden charge, perhaps combined with the vehemence of it, seemed to catch Estella off-guard, and she took half a step backward, raising both of her hands in front of her to the level of her shoulders in a placating gesture. âN-no, please Revered Mother, you misunderstand. I donât claim to know the will of the Maker or Andraste, only to have the desire to close the Breach. This isnâtâI want nothing else. We have no other aim.â Her tone was earnest, borderline pleading, and she wore openly an expression that conveyed the same.
Lady Marceline allowed Estella to speak without any intervention from her. Estella sounded earnest in her admissions, far more than she could muster and her agreement would more likely harm than help. She wisely chose to let Estella to continue. They needed to see the Herald, not her.
âShe speaks truly,â Leonhardt said, his tone carrying about the authority one would expect of a Seeker in such a situation. âThe Inquisitionâs sole purpose is to close the Breach before it is too late.â
âIt is already too late,â the Mother replied, gesturing to her left. Most of the heads in the crowd turned, and their eyes fell on a small group of heavily-armored men and women, most of them recognizably wearing the armor of templars. The man in front, perhaps in his mid-forties, had well-tended grey hair and more elaborate armor than the rest, whereas the woman half a step behind him wasnât dressed as a templar at all, though the Seekerâs eye was prominent on the half-cloak that was draped from one shoulder. She was tall, taller even than the man in front, probably of a height with Cyrus, her complexion deep and her face dotted with contrasting white paint. Though the others wore swords and shields, she carried no weapons.
âThe Templars have returned to the Chantry!â The Revered Mother declared this with triumph, frowning down at Estella and the others. âThey will face this Inquisition, and the people will be safe once more!â As sheâd spoken, the group of them had started to advance up the stairs to the platform, and the man in the lead passed in front of her as though she werenât present at all.
The woman behind him wore a scowl, in contrast to his neutral expression, and as she drew even with the Revered Mother, she drew one hand back and delivered an unexpected blow to the clericâs head, catching her in the other arm as she started to fall forward and tossing her limp form at another one of the assembled Chantry brothers, who caught her with a grunt, falling to his knees to break her fall. The womanâs lip curled slightly, and she shook her head with evident disdain, following the apparent leader as he continued across the stage.
From slightly behind her, Marceline could hear a smothered laugh, which quickly became a cough, and resolved itself as nothing more than a clearing of the throat. It appeared the whole spectacle was amusing at least one of the Avenarius siblings, and it wasnât Estella. She threw a hard glance behind her before turning her attentions back forward.
The templar that had accompanied the Revered Mother, a striking woman with long, dark hair in elaborate braids, reacted with surprise to the blow struck against the cleric. Clear anger flared in her eyes, but the leader of the group of templars stepped in front of her, grabbing her sword arm quite firmly above the elbow.
"Still yourself, Knight-Captain," he ordered. "She is beneath us." The templar woman's mouth opened as if to protest, but she seemed to think better of it, pressing her lips tightly together instead, and nodding.
"As you say, Lord Seeker." Her disagreement with him was thinly veiled, but she made no further protest.
"How dare you?" Marceline stated. Her tone was not one of anger, but something far more colder. The even, icy tone continued into her next words. "What is the meaning of this? What do you hope to accomplish by striking the Revered Mother?" The only thing she saw accomplished was a degree of blasphemy unheard of, and from a Seeker no less.
The man finally deigned to react to the presence of another, and turned cold eyes towards them. âHer claim to authority is an insult. Much like your own.â
This seemed to stir Leonhardt to action, and he stepped forward, his brow heavily creased. âLord Seeker, whatââ
âYou will not address the Lord Seeker.â That came from the tall woman, and she stepped down to block Leonhardtâs path. He looked genuinely surprised at this.
âOphelia? You endorse this?â His tone was one of obvious incredulity, and he looked at the woman in front of him as though he were seeing her for the first time, which nevertheless he clearly was not.
Her silence was stony, but the Lord Seeker spoke up. âCreating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andrateâs prophet, to say nothing of the other one.â His lip curled, and looked to Estella as though she were something on the bottom of his shoe that smelled foul. She visibly winced. His eyes found Leonhardt again.
âYou should be ashamed, for you do shame to us.â
He angled himself to better regard the crowd as a whole, for they were watching with rapt attention. Raising his voice, he continued. âYou should all be ashamed! The templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages!â
âThis is ridiculousââ Leon was clearly not inclined to simply weather the words in silence, but Lucius shouted over him.
âYou are the ones who have failed! You whoâd leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear!â He scoffed. âIf you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine.â
âB-butâŠâ That was Estella again, though her tone was much more tentative. It was clear she didnât take being lambasted very well. âThe Breach, itâs so much bigger than this, donât you see? If we donât do something, none of the rest of it will matter.â From his former position some distance away, Cyrus approached his sister, moving up behind her and laying a hand on her shoulder. He didnât physically intercede between her and the Lord Seeker, but his body language was an obvious message nevertheless, and though his expression was still placid, his eyes could have been flecks of stone.
A gust of air slipped past Marceline's lips, sharing what she thought of this Lord Seeker's respect. After her initial indignation, Marceline went flat, unimpressed by this thug in the armor of a Seeker. "Whatever it is you have to say, it will not matter to him," she said to Estella, "He is too blinded by his own percieved destiny to see reason."
The Lord Seeker didn't seem to care what Marceline said, reacting violently instead to Estella's words. "Oh, the Breach is indeed a threat. But you certainly have no power to do anything about it."
The Knight-Captain the Lord Seeker had addressed before stepped forward at his side. She drew the eyes of some of the other templars, but her own were leveled at Estella and her friends. "Do not think you have the authority to dictate the Lord Seeker's path. Or the wisdom to question his judgement." Lucius glanced at her, her words seeming to swell his visible sense of righteousness.
"I will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the void," he said. "We deserve recognition. Independence!" He glared again at Estella, as though she had somehow personally wronged him. "You have shown me nothing. Your Inquisition... less than nothing." He turned to his templars at large. "Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!"
He turned, and led the entire group of them away from the gathering, not once looking back. The templar Knight-Captain, while her expression was still quite stony, offered Estella a brief wink on her way out, before she confidently strode after the departing Lord Seeker.
Estella blinked, apparently surprised, and released a long sigh. âI think that actually managed to go worse than I expected it to.â
"You are within the heart of Orlais, it could always go worse. At least this did not end in a death. Only a headache," Marceline said, rubbing her temple behind the mask.
As the crowd was beginning to disperse, so too were Marceline and the others before the sight of some familiar people caught her eyes. She smiled, though this one was genuine and held a sweetness not yet seen within it. She had thought that she'd meet her family at the gate, but it seemed their distraction had held them up enough for her husband, Michaël and her son, Pierre to catch up with them.
The man was thick, nearly as thick as Leon, but far shorter and not as stout. He wore a mask of similar make and style as Marceline's, though its edges were rounded to not become a liability in battle. He wore a varient of the chevalier armor under a purple cloak, and on his back rode a child, barely a teenager, also wearing a mask. Larissa followed behind them, a clipboard under her arm as she stared at the Revered Mother who still laid on the ground.
"Uh... Marcy, did I miss something?" he asked curiously, pointing at the Revered Mother.
"Yes Micky, you did. I will tell you along the way. Come, we have a long journey ahead of us," She said, reaching to lay a kiss on his cheek. "I do hope that you all brought your coats."