[ID: a banner with Work in Progress Wednesday written in white font on a background of light blue watercolor texture /END ID]
tagged by @gaysolavellan, time for more tranquil oc fic!
The Breach looks bigger, somehow, as they cross the bridge back into Haven. Maybe it was the time away, nearly two weeks with the Breach only a green smear above the mountains, which altered Wyeth’s memory of it. But it looks bigger.
He doesn’t like the idea that maybe it is bigger. He squints at it, trying to judge.
“There are more than before,” Gwythren says.
Wyeth looks back at them, follows their gaze to the village. Indeed, it seems bursting with people. “While you were recovering, word of the Inquisition was sent out. Seems like the Chantry’s loyal flock is heeding your call, Seeker.”
Cassandra makes a derisive noise.
The general din of the village is certainly louder. He sees Gwythren’s ears press against their skull as they get closer. A figure breaks away from the jumbled crowd, making a beeline for their party. It’s Bryant.
Wyeth jumps down from his horse. “What’s the problem?”
“A riot, Ser,” Bryant pants. “In front of the Chantry.”
Cassandra is close behind as Wyeth follows the Knight-Corporal into the village proper.
A crowd has indeed gathered before the Chantry. Wyeth sees a large number of Templar plate and Circle robes, but there are just as many civilians and Inquisition standards. There are shouts and scuffles in the dense mass of people, with the loudest coming from the center.
Wyeth pushes through. Behind him, Cassandra is yelling for people to disperse, demanding to know where Cullen and Leliana are. In the center of the crowd, a Templar and mage are hurling accusations.
“Your kind killed the Most Holy!” the Templar snarls.
The mage’s grip on his staff tightens. “Lies—your kind let her die!”
The Templar reaches for his sword just as the air crackles with magic.
After a quick glance ascertains that Gwythren isn’t nearby, Wyeth releases a smite. Not a large one, nothing that will cause harm, just a sharp snap of power that lashes around his feet. It’s enough to do the job.
The mage and Templar flinch, their attention wrested from each other. A few nearby civilians stumble back. A last ripple of noise flows through the crowd before silence falls.
Wyeth stalks forward. “What is the meaning of this?”
The Templar looks him over, sneers, “Who’re you?”
Wyeth folds his arms. “The person who just stopped you from doing something irreparably stupid.” From the corner of his eye, he sees Cassandra and Cullen emerging from the crowd. “Would you care to tell me how fighting and killing each other is at all useful?”
The mage is quiet, expression stoic and unrepentant. Wyeth vaguely recognizes him, a senior enchanter who fought during the initial chaos.
The Templar flusters for words before catching Cullen’s approach. “Commander! Surely you don’t expect us to think mages aren’t responsible for this!” He gestures at the Breach.
“We don’t know who is responsible,” the Seeker interjects. The Templar quails a bit under her cold gaze.
“Unless, of course, you have some proof the mages here are guilty,” Wyeth says, brow raised.
The Templars grinds his teeth and glares.
“Stand down, Knight-Templar,” Cullen says.
“Fighting amongst ourselves solves nothing. We are all part of the Inquisition now, and we must be united to achieve our goal.”
“And anyone who cannot do that,” Cassandra says, voice raised to address the crowd at large, “is welcome to leave.” The words linger in the air, weighted with threat.
“Back to your duties, all of you!” Cullen barks.
The Templar slinks away. The rest of the mob slowly disperses; Wyeth sees Alain’s worried face amongst them. The enchanter looks back as he walks away, but Wyeth can’t discern his expression.
Chancellor Roderick saunters forward with a mocking applause. “A very good show from our aspiring leaders.”
“Now is not the time, Roderick,” Cassandra growls.
He narrows his eyes. “I would say the time is rather overdue, as this incident proves.”
“All it proves is that people are angry and scared,” Wyeth says shortly.
“Which is why we require a proper authority to guide them back to order.”
“Who, you?” Cullen snorts. “Random clerics who weren’t important enough to be at the Conclave?”
Roderick bristles. “The rebel Inquisition and its so-called ‘Herald of Andraste’? I think not!”
“If the proper authority hadn’t completely failed,” Wyeth sneers, “the Conclave wouldn’t have been needed.”
“So you suggest I blame he Chantry and exalt a murderer? What of justice?”
“Yes! That’s exactly what you should do!” Roderick takes a step back at his outburst; Wyeth presses on. “You want to talk of justice? You can’t prove Gwythren is guilty any more than we can prove them innocent. But you’ll be happy to put their neck under an axe just to satisfy your own righteousness—”
“You think nobody cares about the truth? We all grieve Justinia’s loss!”
“You can’t even fathom questioning the Chantry, and you think I’ll trust you with Gwythren’s life? The Circles have taught us exactly how little you’ll ‘grieve’ over a Tranquil’s death.”
Roderick sputters, “I think we’re getting off topic—”
Cassandra attempts to put a hand on his arm. “Knight-Lieutenant—”
He whirls on her. “I don’t want to hear anything from you, Seeker.” She grimaces but doesn’t stop him when he turns back to Roderick. “Your talk of justice means nothing under these circumstances,” he says with a sweep of his arm. “None of this would have come to pass if the Chantry knew anything about justice!”
The chancellor is left red-faced, his mouth gaping like a gasping fish.
“Now fuck off. You’re not putting Gwythren on trial for anything, and we have things to do.” To Cullen and Cassandra, he says, “Let’s find the Nightingale and ambassador and get this fucking trip to Val Royeaux taken care of.”
tagging @mrs-theirin, @calicostorms, @fade-and-loathing-in-thedas, @transfenris-truther
