Elentari had spent the rest of the day poking her nose into religious matters, only to realize that the more she did, the clearer it became that they were, in fact, political-religious matters.
Throughout the day, she had thought about the apostate mage, wondering how he might have approached each situation and what he would have done about them. Of course, she was aware that she didn't really know him, and any conclusion she reached was merely a reflection of the admiration he stirred in her, but it had been difficult not to think of him. He seemed so sure of himself, with no need to prove his worth to others, as if he knew, without a shred of doubt, that he was indispensable amidst all this madness.
And to her, he was beginning to be... Solas didn't know it, but his way of thinking gave her a quiet sense of security she had lost.
She lacked the proper words to explain it, but for a long time (not just now) she had felt like a fish out of water when it came to matters of faith. She had never been able to express this with another elf, because the few times she tried, Deshanna would explain that such doubts were normal, and it would have been more surprising not to have them.
"Why don't our gods speak to us anymore?" she remembered asking her mother years ago, after Deshanna had told her about Shartan and the crusade alongside Andraste.
"Because Fen'Harel trapped them in the Beyond, my child."
She had frowned in confusion.
If the Creators were the most powerful gods in the elven pantheon, why was the god of treachery more powerful than all of them? How could a single god silence the rest? Wasn't it possible that perhaps the Creators had turned their backs on them too, just like they said the Maker had done with the shemlen? Or was she supposed to accept without question that it was all the Dread Wolf's fault?
She remembered her mother's tender smile and the caress that came with it. She remembered when Deshanna brushed her cheek and, in a maternal voice, said:
"These aren't doubts, my child. These are the moments when you grow stronger and your beliefs become more solid. Our gods ask us to place the fate of our people in their hands and allow them to work through us."
But how? How!?
Deshanna never said...
That's why she admired Solas... and the certainty he radiated before others. She wished she could feel that way. After all, she wasn't just the First of her clan, but also the Herald of Andraste.
Creators! How had she ended up being watched by so many gods?
To add to the day's conflict, Elentari had met Mother Giselle.
And apparently, the duty that fell upon the elf, as well as on the newly forming Inquisition, was to close the Breach (yes) but also to gain the support of the next Divine.
Of course, the Herald was not Andrastian and knew little about the shemlen creed. Still, because of her situation, she had spent considerable time learning about it, often exchanging ideas with Cassandra and Leliana. Now she understood many concepts of the shems' religion.
Unlike Andrastianism, Elentari didn't believe in the power of a single god, but rather in a world governed by a group of powerful elven deities, whom they could invoke through devotion and sacrifice in exchange for protection. Her beliefs didn't necessarily negate the existence of other gods (perhaps the Maker or Andraste did exist) but she simply didn't care.
Mother Giselle had told her that the original Inquisition had formed after the First Blight. Back then, the Inquisitors had been hunters, fanatics who persecuted and killed dangerous cultists and mages. However, when Andraste rose to power, the Inquisition served her and began spreading the Chant of Light by force.
That's right: Mother Giselle had warned her it was spread by force, and that turned Elentari's stomach.
Did that mean she now represented an organization that had silenced its opponents through violence?
Probably...
- But I don't understand something, Mother Giselle... - the Herald of Andraste whispered beside her. - Does the Chant of Light truly hold the message of the one true god of Thedas, to be shared in every corner of the world? Is there no room for other gods?
She noticed the religious woman shift her foot uncomfortably, a subtle gesture nearly hidden beneath the long skirt, but the dalish caught it. She almost smiled at herself, proud of noticing small details she might've once overlooked.
And that gesture said a lot: discomfort, because she was dalish, and because that was the heart of the long-standing conflict between elves and humans...
Silence slipped between Elentari and Mother Giselle.
The inside of the chapel buzzed with distant murmurs that echoed off the high walls. Leliana stood beside her, having joined the conversation near the beginning, and the elf had learned that her spymaster was, in fact, also a sister of the Chantry.
- There's always been a chasm between theological theories and historical realities, Elentari. - Leliana's voice rang warm.
The elf looked at her, noting each of the spymaster's expressions: gentle, affectionate, and not at all intimidating. A mask... Elentari knew it almost instantly, recalling the harshness not just in tone but in the words Leliana sometimes used with her agents. The woman was usually ruthless, and here she was, playing the helpless lamb.
- It seems the supreme power of the cosmos is far too distant and indifferent to our mundane needs. - she continued. - The Chant of Light shares the Maker's words with us... but should we pretend not to notice the discordant verses deliberately banned from the Chant for the benefit of the Chantry and the spread of its teachings?
- Sister Leliana! - the religious woman hissed, but the spymaster didn't flinch.
- The Maker is the one true supreme god, but he loves humans and elves equally. - She turned her gaze back to Elentari and smiled warmly once more. - Your people are as much ours as they are yours. In His eyes, we are siblings. As Andraste and Shartan once were.
Elentari stayed silent, but she didn't like Leliana's words. They had aimed to be benevolent but came off as condescending.
Andrastians had always been more fanatical and missionary than the dalish. The beliefs of the free elves recognized the legitimacy of other faiths and even admitted that their gods neither held supreme cosmic power nor revealed the full truth of Creation (after all, they were now silent gods).
But Andrastian doctrine claimed the opposite: that the Maker was the only true god. Since its beginnings, it had discredited all other beliefs... and sought to strengthen itself by violently eradicating any competitors. Something Elentari's people knew all too well.
Long ago, the elves had freed themselves from the yoke of the Tevinter Imperium alongside Andraste, who had also been enslaved. When the woman rose against the empire, the elves rose with her. Together, elves and shemlen fought for freedom. And as a just reward, Andraste promised the elven people a new homeland: the Dales.
Elves from the edges of Tevinter crossed oceans, deserts, and mountains to claim their promised land. Their city, the first elven city since mythical Arlathan, was called Halamshiral. There, they vowed no human would ever set foot again and invoked their true gods: the gods of Creation in the elven pantheon.
And they were free.
They remained free for three centuries, until the newly formed Andrastian Chantry sought to expand its borders and attacked them.
They called it the "Second Exalted March," a massacre of the elves... a betrayal of the promise that the prophetess Andraste had made to Elentari's people.
And the worst part: they marched in the name of the very woman who had been their ally; they raised weapons against those who had once been her brothers.
And when the elves refused to submit and demanded what was rightfully theirs... their lands...
The humans grew angry.
They destroyed them.
In the name of Andraste, they burned Halamshiral and forgot that, long ago, the followers of the Prophetess and the elves had marched together. They forgot that Andraste had called Shartan "brother."
And now she was called the "Herald of Andraste"... now, apparently, a Dalish elf was the messenger of the Prophetess of the Maker... how was that even possible?
Elentari said nothing. She was unable to open her mouth. She simply looked down at her left palm, the one where the power of the shemlen god resided…
The one who broke the long silence was Mother Giselle:
- Many believe the Chant of Light should only be sung by humans. - she began. Elentari looked at her but remained silent. - But the truth is, this knowledge should be open to all who seek to know about Him. - The priestess's tone was calm and measured, inviting peaceful reflection. - You know that we believe it was the Maker who created us, and that it was humanity's sin that made Him turn away. However, with Andraste's blessing, the Maker will forgive humanity when the Chant of Light is sung from every corner of the world.
Elentari didn't miss that the woman had said He would only forgive "humanity," but she chose not to comment.
- It must be... difficult to follow the Chant of Light, knowing how it was spread. - she remarked nonetheless.
- That is more than true, Herald. - the elder agreed. - I've always believed the Maker wants us to preach by example, not with violence.
Elentari grimaced in disgust.
If the Maker wanted His teachings to be spread by example, not violence, how could His followers have understood the exact opposite? Could it be that, in truth, the Andrastian faithful had understood exactly what the Chantry had taught them from the beginning? A doctrine focused on eliminating opposition, on crushing sister cultures like the elven one, by force...
The original Inquisition seemed like a vivid example of that.
- And why are we the 'new' Inquisition? That's a dark chapter of history to resurrect in these times… - Elentari turned to Leliana this time.
- It was a rather unpopular decision by Her Most Holy Justinia - the redhead affirmed. - When the first Inquisition was formed, there were no Circles, and thus, horrific acts were justified… ones that should never have been justified. But the Inquisition was created for a purpose, one it fulfilled…
- Those were times we have not known, Sister Leliana. - the priestess interjected swiftly, though Leliana stood firm in her stance. - There was no justice or safety from the threat of mages... or abominations...
- That's what the historical record says. - Leliana stated flatly, revealing her disagreement with how mages seemed to be treated within the very structure of the Chantry she served.
Elentari watched the two women, increasingly aware of the complexities within their faith.
- Magic must serve man, not rule over him, Sister Leliana.
- Yes. But context matters too. When Andraste spoke those words, it was during an age of tyranny, where Tevinter magisters ruled across Thedas.
- I agree with your view, Sister. - the elder said, while Elentari's gaze flitted back and forth between them. - Even then, Andraste did not call for the deaths of all mages... She always believed in peaceful coexistence.
And that lie nearly made the Herald laugh.
- The Chantry seems far stricter... - murmured the elf, and now both women looked at her. - I mean... during the Second Exalted March, there was no peace shown to my people. Andraste's 'peaceful coexistence' didn't seem to matter... - She would've preferred to bite her tongue, but she couldn't help it. Asking her to stay respectfully silent was too much. Elentari was angry, not just at Andrastianism, but at the mark upon her palm.
- Your people had taken Montsimmard and threatened Val Royeaux itself. They were not innocent victims. - Mother Giselle replied firmly.
Elentari's fists clenched tightly, and judging by the flash in her eyes, the elder quickly added. - But even then, Orlais was the only nation to provide troops. It can hardly be called an Exalted March of all the faithful…
- No. It was a betrayal of the elven people.
The Herald's response was harsher than she'd intended, but her rage had overtaken her.
Silence settled once more between the three women, until Leliana, with a small smile on her lips, added:
- Exactly. - Mother Giselle turned toward the spymaster with a disapproving look but chose not to say anything, aware of the Dalish woman's frustration. - An Exalted March only succeeds if it reflects the Maker's will… and I, for one, am not convinced that one did.
- An Exalted March is only justified against a real threat to the entire world - said Mother Giselle. Elentari chuckled softly.
- Well... that's enlightening, Mother Giselle - she said with sarcasm. - So the elves were a threat to the entire world, but only Orlais responded... That's... an interesting perspective.
The priestess sighed heavily.
- To use such marches as political weapons or tools for spreading the Chant of Light is an offense to the Maker, Herald.
- Then we can conclude we have offended Him. - Leliana declared.
- More than once, Sister Leliana. Still, I'm not one to make bold claims about times I didn't live through.
- We haven't lived through any of the times we sing about in each hymn, Mother Giselle. - the spymaster countered. - And yet we give them the weight they deserve. Perhaps we just need to stop justifying past atrocities.
- I agree with you, Sister. The faithful should not be converted by blood... - the priestess paused, then added. - I agree with the content of your words, not the context. The Chantry is, without doubt, an imperfect vessel, tugged in every direction by those who wish to steer it. In fact, the templars rebelled precisely because Divine Justinia was not strict enough with the mages. I only hope the Inquisition finds a better path.
Elentari listened to both women and began to notice something: apparently, the "past errors" of Andrastianism had nothing to do with the Chant of Light: the teachings the Maker had supposedly whispered to Andraste, but rather with its preachers, who had "misinterpreted" those teachings and acted on who knows what…
But for the elf, there was one possibility that kept being dismissed in this debate…
…What if, just maybe, the errors were within the Chant itself? Was that unthinkable? Couldn't that book contain mistakes? Was it truly infallible? Perhaps what the preachers were doing wasn't a misinterpretation, but a faithful reading of what was actually written.
The elf grimaced again, unnoticed by the other two. She thought about the supposed infallibility of the Chant of Light and the dogma of Andrastianism, whose god had chosen to mark her left hand, and realized there wasn't much point in debating truth or error in scripture… The Chantry, it seemed, had worked tirelessly since its founding to make people believe its message was sacred and divine, free from error, and that made it undisputable, superior… People like Mother Giselle would always find ways to justify religious failings by blaming the "interpretation" of its members… there could be no debate against an institution that considered itself "perfect."
And so, she chose to yield, but not without marking her position:
- I hope so too, Mother Giselle. - said the elf. - The Inquisition must find a better way.
- Keep this in mind, Herald. - said the priestess, placing a warm hand on Elentari's forearm. - The original Inquisition fought terrible battles, killed and died for their cause… But when the time came, they sheathed their swords. That... is an example that, sadly, is rarely mentioned. - Then the elder smiled. Elentari could not return it. - I like to believe that Divine Justinia was thinking of exactly that when she chose such a controversial name for this new Inquisition: that when necessary, it strikes without mercy. But when the work is done, it sheathes its blade.
- If that's the case, - said Elentari - then I truly hope the same for this organization.
She looked to Leliana.
It was interesting to see how the priestess used uncertain reasoning to justify her faith. Elentari wondered if she herself didn't do the same when thinking about her gods. Because to the elf, it was clear how this elder woman was striving not just to convince Elentari, but also herself, of her words.
Faith had always demanded unquestioning obedience from its believers… but only now, listening to others profess their own beliefs, she started to notice the subtle lies, the whispered deceptions required to keep believing in something riddled with cracks. Was it possible? Did faith demand too much from its followers? Was it even faith what the Dalish placed in their Creators? Or were there differences in how each god was worshipped?
And then suddenly, she felt as though one of her heartbeats struck her like a blow: was this the source of the discomfort Solas always showed toward her people? Because he had once said: "There is no dialogue with faith, only obedience... or rebellion."
Was the apostate's disdain rooted in a faith that refused to question?
But then Leliana's voice interrupted her thoughts:
- If the Inquisition becomes the organization that manages to bring order to the chaos threatening Thedas... it won't be so easy to lay down its arms. And perhaps not wise either.
Perhaps not wise either.
Elentari looked at Leliana, and something inside her stirred with what she thought she understood: the Inquisition's spymaster wanted to amass power through the organization... to keep it.
In that moment, the responsibility fell upon the Herald's shoulders like a weight she could no longer ignore. The Inquisition, the Breach, the battle for Thedas's future... it all depended on decisions that went beyond her... on the fate of everyone. And Leliana had just confirmed that the legacy of this new Inquisition might extend beyond any of her intentions or ideals…
Elentari felt the mark on her left palm now serve as a constant reminder of what it meant to be Andraste's messenger. A symbol towering over her back, and a burdening responsibility tied to a religion that was not her own.
Was this the destiny the gods had prepared for her? Was there any choice, any way to reclaim her future?
Perhaps that's why, even though the night had already fallen, the Herald of Andraste decided to seek the counsel of the wandering apostate.
Uncertainty had overtaken her completely, and if there was anyone she could trust, anyone who understood the burden of truth, it was him.
And so, almost on impulse, she apologized to the women and left without much courtesy.
She hadn't realized it, but she'd been overcome by an oppressive feeling as if something far too vast was taking shape around her… and Elentari didn't fully understand it. She needed to give words to her emotions but didn't know how. She only hoped, perhaps, that Solas would help her let the swirling sea of uncertainty flow free again... and return to her that serene certainty that had always consoled her.