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((15 Guardian, 41 Dragon; Haven, Late Afternoon; Sati Adaar ))
Josephine moved along the dirt paths of Haven as swiftly as she dared. Eyes followed her progress, and too much haste would give rise to concern, which would give rise to rumors, which might give rise to panic. The Inquisition remained balanced upon a knife’s edge, and those who would grieve, were the fledgling movement to founder, were few. Revered Mother Giselle had sent word to Val Royeaux, hoping to persuade the surviving officials of the Chantry to grant an audience that would not end with Sati and whoever accompanied her in chains. No reply had yet been received.
But the Grand Clerics were undoubtedly paying attention, and the Herald’s accomplishments had been noteworthy. The warring mages and templars that had been wreaking havoc in Ferelden’s Hinterlands had been neutralized, the combatants either joining the Inquisition or being slain. The denizens of that area had been given food and blankets against the last few weeks of winter, most of the rifts in the area had been closed and the groups of bandits that had thought to capitalize on the chaos had been dealt with swiftly and with a finality that sent a clear message to any others who might be considering the same.
It had without doubt been a collective endeavor, but the one who had unwittingly become the face of the Inquisition had fulfilled her role better than any of them had dared hope a few short weeks ago. Sati Adaar was a courageous and skilled fighter, a gifted tactician and a surprisingly adept diplomat. She had been fearless when confronting the demons to close the rifts, utterly ruthless with the bandits preying upon the farmers and townsfolk, and while she offered mercy to the mages and templars who surrendered and swore fealty to the Inquisition, those who refused to stand down were treated as harshly as the bandits.
But she showed compassion, as well, responding to requests for even the most menial favors from the desperate folk that thronged the settlements, from coaxing a stubborn druffalo back to its pasture to picking herbs for a healer to returning a lost wedding ring to a grieving widow (after she had killed the templars who had murdered and robbed the poor woman’s husband). Even Cassandra had begun to thaw toward her, while Varric had dubbed her ‘Lucky’ (tongue firmly in cheek), and if Solas still seemed to view her more as a specimen for research, there was increasing respect in his demeanor.
But while she fought alongside them, she held herself apart the rest of the time, the hurt in her so palpable that it hurt Josephine to watch her, and the reports from their latest excursion …
She reached the simple hut that Sati had claimed as her own, glanced down at the missive that she carried. She had intended to give it to the Herald at the war table, but Cassandra had come alone, her mood grim, to report that Sati had gone to her quarters immediately upon returning.
She lifted her hand and knocked upon the door. “Your -” She glanced around, ensuring that no one was close enough to hear. “Sati? It is Josephine.” The Vashoth still treated her with a cautious formality, though the ambassador sometimes caught the violet eyes watching her, the expression in them unreadable. “May I come in?”
Josephine moved along the dirt paths of Haven as swiftly as she dared. Eyes followed her progress, and too much haste would give rise to concern, which would give rise to rumors, which might give rise to panic. The Inquisition remained balanced upon a knife’s edge, and those who would grieve, were the fledgling movement to founder, were few. Revered Mother Giselle had sent word to Val Royeaux, hoping to persuade the surviving officials of the Chantry to grant an audience that would not end with Sati and whoever accompanied her in chains. No reply had yet been received.
But the Grand Clerics were undoubtedly paying attention, and the Herald’s accomplishments had been noteworthy. The warring mages and templars that had been wreaking havoc in Ferelden’s Hinterlands had been neutralized, the combatants either joining the Inquisition or being slain. The denizens of that area had been given food and blankets against the last few weeks of winter, most of the rifts in the area had been closed and the groups of bandits that had thought to capitalize on the chaos had been dealt with swiftly and with a finality that sent a clear message to any others who might be considering the same.
It had without doubt been a collective endeavor, but the one who had unwittingly become the face of the Inquisition had fulfilled her role better than any of them had dared hope a few short weeks ago. Sati Adaar was a courageous and skilled fighter, a gifted tactician and a surprisingly adept diplomat. She had been fearless when confronting the demons to close the rifts, utterly ruthless with the bandits preying upon the farmers and townsfolk, and while she offered mercy to the mages and templars who surrendered and swore fealty to the Inquisition, those who refused to stand down were treated as harshly as the bandits.
But she showed compassion, as well, responding to requests for even the most menial favors from the desperate folk that thronged the settlements, from coaxing a stubborn druffalo back to its pasture to picking herbs for a healer to returning a lost wedding ring to a grieving widow (after she had killed the templars who had murdered and robbed the poor woman’s husband). Even Cassandra had begun to thaw toward her, while Varric had dubbed her ‘Lucky’ (tongue firmly in cheek), and if Solas still seemed to view her more as a specimen for research, there was increasing respect in his demeanor.
But while she fought alongside them, she held herself apart the rest of the time, the hurt in her so palpable that it hurt Josephine to watch her, and the reports from their latest excursion …
She reached the simple hut that Sati had claimed as her own, glanced down at the missive that she carried. She had intended to give it to the Herald at the war table, but Cassandra had come alone, her mood grim, to report that Sati had gone to her quarters immediately upon returning.
She lifted her hand and knocked upon the door. “Your -” She glanced around, ensuring that no one was close enough to hear. “Sati? It is Josephine.” The Vashoth still treated her with a cautious formality, though the ambassador sometimes caught the violet eyes watching her, the expression in them unreadable. “May I come in?”