faderift | open: something grabs ahold of me tightly

open: something grabs ahold of me tightly

WHO: Inquisition Forces
WHAT: Inquisition forces cross the mountains into Orlais to deal with Emprise du Lion
WHEN: Wintermarch 25 onward
WHERE: EMPRISE DU LION
NOTES: This is a mingle-style log for the Inquisition camps, local tavern, and general/open Inquisition work, etc.

This time they hike down to the west, but the trip through the mountains is no easier. The snow is heaped up about the road where wagons have pushed it aside, stomped into slippery pack beneath the feet and hooves that have gone before. Of the main track it is ankle deep at best and in places it drifts, waist-deep on a tall man and enough to bury a dwarf who hasn't come prepared with snowshoes. Everywhere the wind howls, biting cold, and the sky hangs low, a pale flat grey that makes it difficult to judge distances. Those who know winter weather call it a snow sky, and near-daily squalls prove them right.

They set up camp in Sahrnia, across the broad expanse of frozen river that has trapped the villagers here upstream. Tents pop up in rows and in the shells of tumbled-down buildings, fires blazing and thawing the ground to mud. When the supply wagons roll in they re-open the local tavern, brightly lit with flaking paint on the walls that might once have been colorful and patterned tiles on the floor that seems to swim like an optical illusion after too many glasses of the cheap red wine that fills the cellars.

Even deadlier reds hold the hills: Red Templar sightings have been frequent and it is said they are operating in several locations in the region in significant force. Some of these men and women have become hulking, crystalline beasts. Many others are in the earlier stages of corruption: red-veined and -eyed, aggressive and superhumanly strong, but still visibly human and coherent if spoken to. Red lyrium is even easier to find, jutting out of the ground or cliffsides, filling caves-- the Tower of Bone, a fortress that has stood for centuries, now threatens to split from the inside out. The area's wildlife was none too friendly before, but now the wolves and bears have begun to be corrupted by the lyrium and many will attack on sight, without provocation. (The snofleurs that bumble harmlessly around the river seem unaffected.)

Everywhere there are ruins: broken bridges, crumbling colosseums, and the great hulking mass of Suledin's Keep tucked between the distant hills. Scouts reported that Red Templars hold it as well.

RIFTER ARRIVAL - SAHRNIA - THE HILLS - TOWER CAMP - A HANDY MAP

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[ Cassandra is similarly bloodied, having dispatched the last standing templar with a vengeance. She cleans her sword efficiently, sliding it into its scabbard as she moves to stand quietly beside Leliana. ]

The Chantry, and the Maker. [ She knows it's true. Once, they had been united under one banner, all serving a single, worthy cause. Once. But no longer. She shakes her head slightly. ]

Perhaps He will be able to grant them the mercy that we could not.

[ Not did not, could not. Cassandra may relish the vitality she feels during battle, but she never rejoices at taking a life - particularly not the life of someone who once was an innocent, who once served the Maker. But she does not question or regret her actions. They had done what needed to be done. ]

( Mercy, says she. Justinia herself has said that mercy was an integral part of Leliana, and now Cassandra speaks of mercy that they could not give. It is not a deliberate strike, that she knows, and yet it cuts deep as if Cassandra had taken careful aim. )

Perhaps. He has taken them to his side. That is the greatest satisfaction he can take.

( An edge of bitterness, there. He takes so much, always, all those at the Conclave, Justinia, and that is without taking in consideration all the sacrifices they made within their lives. Abruptly Leliana stands, moving through the snow and away from the scene. )

There is nothing more to be done here.

[ Not deliberate, no. Cassandra would do nothing to hurt her friend intentionally. But Leliana stands too quickly, moving away, and Cassandra looks up, staring after her in bewilderment for a moment before following. ]

Leliana?

[ Something is wrong - something had changed, and she does not know what. ]

( She is sharp, she is more akin to a knife than a person, she sometimes feels. A tool, a weapon, a thing with a set purpose, and that purpose is to wound and to kill. )

What?

( Her tone is not harsh so much as cold. )

[ Well.

Cassandra isn't skilled at reading people, but even she would have to be blind not to hear the chill in Leliana's single-word response.

That doesn't make it any easier to determine just what the issue might be, however. She tenses, her brows drawing together in confusion and - almost - hurt. Drawing in on herself slightly, ready to put up her own walls at a moment's notice. ]

If I have - offended you in some way -

[ Cautious, stiff, awkward. Feelings what are feelings why can't they get back to killing things. ]

( A quiet laugh, at that, though it is not terribly pleasant. ) You have caused no offence, my friend. I promise you that.

( No warmth makes its way into her tone, and she keeps her gaze locked ahead as she trails her hand over the roughened, charred bark of a tree. ) Do you never wonder? That the Maker demands so much death.

( Her voice drops low, closer to a whisper, to something barely audible; ) Whether he relishes it. If that is why so many lives were claimed at the Conclave? Is death truly the greatest mercy there is?

[ And yet something is wrong, all the same. She moves to Leliana's side, watching her with quiet concern, and then -

It is near blasphemy, what she says, and Cassandra's heart rises to her throat, choking her. She wants to deny Leliana's words immediately, to reject them outright, and yet she finds she cannot, not with the conviction she might wish for. ]

No -

[ She swallows, her voice shakier than she wants it to be. ]

The Maker takes no joy in death. He demands - He demands nothing but our faith in Him.

[ Tentatively, she reaches out, covering Leliana's hand with her own. No. She is wrong, she has to be wrong. The Maker would not have rejoiced at the massacre of His children, he could not. ]

The Conclave - that was not the Maker's will, Leliana. It was not part of His plan. But perhaps how we react to it is.

[ She squeezes Leliana's hand gently, her voice soft. ]

We must not despair.

( And if the Maker takes no joy in death, than her service to Justinia? All that she did to fulfil the Divine's vision, her interpretation of the Maker's will, of what the Chantry could do and Thedas could be. Another condemnation against her, and Leliana feels the weight of all that she does and has done drag at her all the more. She, too, takes no joy in death. What is to be done will be done cleanly, efficiently, and to the very best of her ability, relishing the success but not the loss of life.

The Maker might not see the difference. She found his light and the guidance of Andraste, and she was redeemed, and perhaps if she had been stronger, or her faith more pure, she would not have walked the path once more, all the worse for knowing the sin for what it was. )

'Only faith' makes it sound so simple. So easy.

( Raising her chin, Leliana lifts her gaze to meet Cassandra's own. It calls to mind the verse of the magisters facing the Maker's judgment. Those who killed and spilled blood in pursuit of power, of their own goals. What was the verse?
"No more will you bear the Light.
To darkness flee, and be gone from My sight!"

And she wonders if it would ruin Cassandra, in some way, to know what orders the Left Hand had to carry out, to support and enable and reinforce the actions of the Right. She cannot tell her. She cannot rob her faith in the Maker, nor in Justinia - not one who believed and fought and dedicated her very life to the Chantry. )

You are right. We cannot falter. ( Her voice sounds, perhaps, a little too even. ) Forgive the moment of weakness.

Faith is never easy.

[ The idea is simple, perhaps, on the face of it, but finding faith, keeping faith - no, that is not easy, and Cassandra would never suggest that it was.

She studies Leliana's face, still worried for her friend. For they are friends, despite their differences, the only two who could truly understand each other, in many ways. But there are many aspects of Leliana's life and her work that are a secret even to her, Cassandra knows. Cassandra is the sword in the Divine's right hand, seeking justice and bringing truth to light; Leliana is the knife in her left, slipping through the darkness and rooting out corruption wherever it takes hold, and while they each complement and enhance the other's work, their paths are by necessity separate.

Or so it had always had been. Now there is no Divine at all; there is only them, and she wonders, briefly, if it is possible for the Left and Right Hand to go on, without Justinia to guide them.

In the end, she decides, they have no choice. Cassandra moves her hand to Leliana's shoulder, giving her what she hopes is an encouraging look. ]

We must be each other's strength, now.

[ I am here for you. ]

( It is so tempting, in that moment, to say more. To speak of what is troubling her more openly, to spill her concerns. It would be such a relief to beg another's opinion on so much of what she has done, or what she believes their next steps must be. Fortunate, perhaps, that Cassandra's hand grasps her shoulder when it does, and that her look forces Leliana to focus, beckons her back into the present. )

And we shall be.

( She does not immediately know how to respond to the hand at her shoulder - lay a hand over it, in turn? Simply let it rest there a moment? The first seems too much, when their interactions so rarely require contact, and neither of them has sought it out, and the latter seems like it might be too cold. Still, she opts for the latter, even as she musters up the barest shadow of a smile. )

What of you, Cassandra? If we are to lend one another strength, you are free to impart your worries to me.

( Not, mind, that she has any intention of voices hers to Cassandra. Not the truth, those that are like termites, chewing and gnawing and slowly compromising her, a great oak being destroyed by countless, monsters little worries that should be so easily crushed, and yet persist. Cassandra can have the official worries. Not Leliana's. )

[ Cassandra does not often reach out to others, physically or otherwise. She had felt that it was necessary, in this moment, but Leliana does not react to the touch, and she finds herself second-guessing the gesture. They are the both of them very self-contained people, after all, and for all their years of friendship, physical contact between them is rare.

She lets her hand fall after a moment, trying not to appear too awkward. ]

My worries?

[ She blinks, shaking her head. Cassandra has plenty of worries - too many to count, much less name aloud. But she had already admitted to far too many of them of late; to Malcolm, and then to Leliana herself. She paces a few steps away, twisting her hands together in an old, anxious gesture. ]

I - I would hardly know where to begin. But then, they are nothing much of note. [ She turns back to Leliana with what she hopes is a reassuring smile. ] You do not wish to hear such trivial worries, I am sure.

If it crosses the mind of a dear friend, and the one who declared with her own voice the Inquisition reborn? ( There is a note of gentle, friendly incredulity there. ) I would not discount it as trivial.

( She forces a slight smile to quirk the corners of her mouth, and turns so they can keep on walking. That might make this easier. Cassandra is a woman of action, she thinks. Lingering never seems to suit her well. )

Besides, I am Spymaster. You know how we are about secrets.

( Whether she means finding them out or keeping them... well, her tone leaves it up for debate. She can keep this vaneer of good temper, and set Cassandra better at ease. That is for the good of the Inquisition, at least, even if her earlier moment of weakness was not. )

[ It does help, to be moving. Cassandra falls into step with a certain air of relief, her lips twitching up at Leliana's teasing. Both interpretations are true, she knows. There is little enough, Cassandra suspects, that she could admit which would truly come as a surprise to the Spymaster - and yet she would trust her, beyond anyone, with her darkest secrets. Leliana would never tell. ]

It is only... [ She sighs. It is so difficult to put into words, and she had been telling the truth before - she has a thousand worries, and it is difficult to know, sometimes, which are frivolous and which are worth the weight they press on her mind. But there is one that has been pressing ever more heavily as of late, and she shakes her head, as if to clear it of the tumult of thoughts and focus on one singular concern. ]

- Being here. It is as you said, it is so difficult now to get away from Skyhold, and yet - a month away, no more. There is so much to do here - so much to do everywhere. I had thought - I had judged my time best spent here.

[ Here in the Emprise, where the people are enslaved and starving. Here, where dragons darken the sky and red lyrium litters the land with an unhealthy glow. What better use of her time and her talent than to be here? She can fight, she can make a difference. She can help people, and see clearly the fruits of her labors.

And yet. She glances to her friend, and now the worries she had so quickly dismissed can be read clearly in her expression. ]

A rift opened, in Skyhold itself. Such a thing should not be possible.

I - I should be there. Not here. If I cannot keep our own people safe, if demons and abominations continue to plague our own fortress...

[ What kind of leader does that make her? They had already lost Haven, and too many people along with it. And the stakes are so much higher now. So many refugees. So many people counting on the Inquisition. On her.

As the Inquisitor - as Evelyn had, before she had died. Cassandra curls her hand into a helpless fist at her side, her voice low. ]

I have to keep them safe.

I know. ( Of course she knows. Of course she should have anticipated that this was the matter gnawing at the Right Hand. Cassandra could not stand a problem she could not face head on, that she could not solve with the strength of her voice and her body, just as Leliana despises problems that she cannot solve with her wits and her secrets.

She waits a moment before replying, mapping out her response and consideration the terrain it must wander, how the message will travel. )

And the sky has been torn open. The world is rich with impossibilities.

( But there is concern in her voice, worry that can not and will not be denied. After a moment longer, ) You are more valuable in the field than I.

( Leliana is dangerous, oh that she knows, but she is more valuable still in her tower. ) I will return to Skyhold first thing in the morning, and begin a... soft investigation of some of the rifters and shardbearers. They need the Right Hand here. The Left can steady Skyhold.

( The leadership falls to them both, to all the advisors, in the absence of an Inquisitor. Her voice is clear but very soft, the words spoken only for Cassandra to hear. ) Do not take so much upon yourself. You are not alone in this. We will them safe. We will protect all of Thedas, Cassandra. Have faith in that - in our Inquisition.

[ Cassandra falls silent, staring at the ground before her as she walks and listening to the the soothing, familiar sound of her friend's voice. Leliana understands. That much is not surprising - she knows that the Nightingale cares as passionately for the Inquisition and its people as she herself does - but it is a comfort, all the same, to hear it spoken aloud.

She glances up quickly at the Spymaster's promise to return to Skyhold, the hope evident on her face. She would not have asked, but she cannot deny the way the thought puts her heart at ease. ]

You will? Truly? [ She smiles, a real smile, gratified and relieved. ] Oh - yes. Please. We must - we must investigate, ensure the people's safety, and -

[ Yes. Yes, this will work. Cassandra nods in eager agreement with Leliana's soft words, halting her progress to turn and face her fully. ] Thank you, my friend. Thank you. I do have faith. In - in us. In our Inquisition. [ She smiles again, softer now, and clasps Leliana's hand in her own. ] Together, we will not fail.

Edited (wrooooooooong icon) 2016-02-17 08:20 (UTC)

Of course. No thanks are necessary, I promise you. I feel as you do.

( For all that she is the Right Hand and a fearsome warrior, so many forget that Cassandra is very much a human being. A woman of great passions and great heart, and that is exactly what allows her to fight with a ferocity and determination that others lack. It is one thing to be strong or vicious, but it is another to care, and it is her caring that makes Cassandra great. Leliana always has and always will admire that, even when they disagree (and they have, and do, and will.)

This time, she responds when Cassandra clasps her hand. It is easier because she anticipated it, and the Nightingale is able to respond even if Leliana would be left as a small animal in bright light, in a world where contact and closeness is just a window for violent opportunity. Her hand grasps Cassandra's, in turn, and she rests her free hand on her friend's shoulder. )

Together it is. Just as we have always been, even in our differences.

( They worked in counterbalance, and in unison, even if the nuances of their work took them down separate paths. )

Edited 2016-02-20 07:30 (UTC)

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open: something grabs ahold of me tightly

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