Simple Gifts [Closed] - Part 2

[laurenande]

WHO: Galadriel, Thranduil, Solas, Myrobalan, Merrill, Kitty, Lakshmi, Teren, Marcoulf, Jang, Obi-Wan, and Anders
WHAT: A trip to a perfectly normal Chantry in the middle of nowhere.
WHEN: Current.
WHERE: The Island of Alamar, Ferelden.
NOTES: Current warnings, to be updated: Mild Gore

The Abbey on the White Cliff

Around noon on the fourth day, Brigette and the other sisters gather up the people of the Abbey. Everyone who can walk, who can stand, is urged to join them in the auditorium--the doors at the end of the main hall are thrown open and the people welcomed in. Today Reverend Mother Alvar will be enacting her final miracle and, in the grand tradition of this Abbey, the people are invited to behold and take joy in the sight of it. They are encouraged to be there for the end of the previous Reverend Mother's life, just as they are encouraged to welcome the new Reverend Mother, Luca, as she assumes her new position.

The auditorium is a wide, stepped chamber that drops downward into an open forum and stage. The roof is high and domed and was once constructed of the same grey stone as everything else on the island. It was caved in at some point, destroyed by a falling tree, but it has been patched over with wood and canvas. The extensive scaffolding speaks volumes of how much effort has gone into restoring this room, but all of it stands still and empty in preparation for the ceremony.

Above the center of the stage, in the very middle of the room, visible from all angles, there is a great green tear in the veil--a massive rift cleaves the room in two. It churns sluggishly, ebbing and twisting, muted under the weight of whatever pall hangs across this Abbey. Around the rift there is a golden arch--the wood is carved into flames and swords and papered over in hammered gold leaf. Behind the rift there is a triptych depicting scenes from the Chant and each is lovingly painted and framed in gold.

The room is filled with chaos, but not of the sort one would expect in the shadow of a rift. The people who meander in, the pilgrims who take up the seats near to the stage at the base of the steps, all of them are smiling, all of them are happy, some are weeping tears of joy or remorse, but all of them are entirely unsurprised by the rift's presence. They take no issue lingering near it. Praise is heaped upon the carpenters for their diligence in finishing the arch, songs are sung softly as everyone gathers, and eventually the room is prompted to recite from the Chant as Alvar comes to the center of the stage. She is frail and those who spoke with her earlier will see how she has aged--twenty years in a day, it seems--and she leans heavily on Luca until she moves apart to stand on her own.

Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.
From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.
Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.
In my arms lies Eternity.

When she speaks the Chant, for a moment, her voice sounds youthful again--no older than Luca's--but it is fleeting and before the end she is breathless and thin once more.

OOC:

Hey everyone, this is part 2! I will be posting an initial thread for this scene that will be a free for all, but feel free to start a thread beneath the Ceremony Header if you want. Below I will be reposting the updated areas and people links, same as the previous post.

New Top-levels are welcomed, as always, but if you have questions please hit me up.

This section will contain the rest of this plot, unless we skyrocket to too many tags for me to keep them straight.

Comments

[dirth]

"There is not much that can be done, other than giving them some peace." His powers are limited as well and even then there was very little that he could offer these people. Traditional healing would not be enough and magical healing would do little for them, not when there was so much pain and suffering. Solas wishes that there was more that could be done, more help he could give, but it is not that easy.

He shakes his head, the frustration obvious as he swallows it down, swallows the anger and the hurt and the fury.

"There are no miracles here," he says, finally, voice scathing. "There is no saving. Whatever is done beyond these walls is not enough - and will never be enough. Not when people who do not deserve to suffer do so."

[justice_is_blond]

It's refreshing, hearing the anger and scorn. Validating, too, to know that he's not the only one feeling like that, thinking like that. This place is a sham. A show. People will pour their faith and money and hope into it, give everything, and struggle in return for what?

"Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow," he recites bitterly, but quietly. There's no need to upset the patients. "Maybe that's why fire can't stay alight. There is no true blessing to be found here, only mockery. Andrastianism always hurts those who can afford it least."

Like the woman before him. There is nothing left he can do and she doesn't have much longer. He might have saved her, elsewhere. Anders gently puts her blanket back around her.

"She could use the sleep spell, if you know it. There is nothing I can do."

[dirth]

Why should he respect people who are unable to treat those who are ill? True, Solas can appreciate that they are short staffed, that they do not have the same number of healers or medically trained surgeons that the Inquisition might have, but that does not excuse how they have been treating the people here. With so many 'miracles' being performed beyond the realm of the infirmary... It's not something he can just accept.

"It must have something to do with the strangeness of this place," Solas says, voice soft. His frustration is not entirely based around the infirmary itself, but also because of Galadriel, because of Myr, because of everything tangled up in everything leading him to feel snappish and unsure about his place here.

Breathing out, Solas looks down at the woman before them, feeling the desolation prickle at him.

"I can." A sigh. "It should not be necessary, but... I will do it."

[justice_is_blond]

"It should not be," he echoes. But at least she'll pass peacefully. Anders rests his hand on her unburned shoulder for a moment, taking her face in, before moving to the next bed and checking the next patient. He'll remember her as he remembers every person he's lost.

"The enmity against spirit magic is absolutely part and parcel of this." That's not quite what Solas means, Anders figures, but he's not going to be vocal about how every patient in this room is suddenly dying at a greater pace than before and there's no hope for them. He can't do that to them - death is one thing, but a death without hope is worse.

"I don't know how to sort it out, though. I don't know how to get to the bottom of it. I could hope Brother Estmond would have a suggestion," and he glances in the direction of the door in case the brother returns, "some idea, some insight, but most here seem disinclined to speak of what's going on. They don't want the mess to be over while they can still profit off of it."

[dirth]

Solas should not remember each and every face, he thinks, but that is not how it works. When your life has spanned as long as his has there is no choice, no options; they haunt him as surely as his mistakes do. There's no undoing it, no turning it off, and he sighs as he lets her fall into her sleep, letting himself move and step away from her before he feels the mourning take him.

It's too much. Perhaps he ought not to be here; perhaps he ought not to have allowed himself to have hands coated in blood once more. He had been a healer once, he had removed pain and suffering from his people. Time is not as it was and he knows that he cannot turn it back, no matter how much he wishes he could.

"I do not think he knows what to do either. The Sister did not know how to treat them and there is little I can do for them either." He sighs, frowning. "I do not think any of them wish to say anything against the Mothers here, not when there are so many miracles to be performed."

[justice_is_blond]

He exhales heavily, shaking his head.

"One thing that ever Circle mage has been taught is that one should always, always ask questions. One should wonder what the price is, and find that out first before..." Anders waves a hand at the abbey. "I can't imagine they did that. Was it sloppiness? Or fear, or pride? Did they agree to all of this devastation so long as their name was praised among the faithful?"

Despite his attempts to be quiet and calm, there's some anger there. These people paid so the 'reverend' mothers could gain acclaim, just as people have always paid so the Chantry can gain praise and adoration. He resents it. He resents how much suffering always comes at their hands. Again he exhales.

"I don't know what to do, but that's the story of my life anymore. I'll wager you're at a loss too. If Estmond returns soon here, I'll see if he can give us anything, though I doubt he can. He seems the best of the lot. If he doesn't, maybe when I need a break I'll see who I can find in the halls."