Nostariel glanced again at the summons in her hand, then folded it several times and tucked it into an inside pocket of the leather vest she was wearing, dyed a deep blue but in other ways not at all resembling Warden gear. It wasnāt likely to be Warden business, from the sounds of things, so she replaced all the open supplied on the clinic counter as swiftly as possible and grabbed her bow from where it hung on the hook, slinging the quiver over a shoulder and pulling her boots onto her feet on her way out the door. After an accidental hop to steady herself, she managed to straighten out and flip the clinic sign such that it read CLOSEDāthough many of her charges could not read, they by now recognized that the longer word was the one accompanied by the locked front door. She did leave a few potions in an open box by the door, however, in case of emergency.
Whatever the matter was at the Keep, the summons sounded urgent, and when it was both urgent and from Sophia, chances were good that the fate of the entire city hung in the balance, as it so often seemed to do of late. There was really no reason or excuse not to answer, and so answer she would, even if she left the rest of her work behind to do it. Nostariel hastened up to Hightown, bypassing the merchants with little more than a smile and a nod.
Perhaps it was because of all the things sheād had to wrap up beforehand, but she reached the Keep lastāor at least she assumed she was last, since Lucien and Ash were already present. There might be someone else, but it was not lost on her that the three of them most often wound up helping Sophia with anything that happened to come up. She exhaled gustily and offered a more genuine smile to both before they were summoned up to the Viscountās office by Bran, who followed them in, bringing the total number of people in the room to six, the others of course being Sophia and her father. Judging from the looks on their faces, this was serious. "Qunari, then?ā She almost dreaded the inevitable affirmative.
The Viscount nodded, gravely. "It is apparently not enough that they define my political life. They must also infect what I hold personal." Considering that they'd been called together for a matter relating to the Qunari, it was no surprise that Sophia was already in plate and mail, for both official appearances and to safeguard against the ever present threat of sudden violence exploding from the tense stalemate.
"It's Saemus," she told them, referring to her rebellious brother. "He disappeared in the night, leaving a note stating his intent to convert to the Qun. He's gone to the Qunari compound." She was obviously distraught over the turn of events, more so for the personal reasons than the political ramifications. She'd always known Saemus to despise the way of life in Hightown, to sympathize with a people such as the Qunari, but... this had taken her by surprise. She thought Saemus would elect to remain with his family, even grudgingly. "I should have seen this coming."
"I as well," the Viscount echoed, frustrated. "He nearly lost his life once to this madness, and it hardly changed him. Now he's seeking to squander it again." It was easy to tell that he was quite angry with him, but purely out of a sense of care.
"I'm going to the Qunari compound to convince Saemus to come home," Sophia said, resolved. It was obviously an extremely delicate matter. Saemus would undoubtedly be quite the symbolic prize for the Arishok, a sign that his influence spread even so far as the Viscount's Keep itself. But more than that, Sophia wanted her brother to be safe. Perhaps there was a debate to be had on if an attempt to retrieve him would not only endanger him further, but Sophia was not willing to have it right now. He was family. She had devoted her entire life to the betterment of the her family and her city, and she would not let him slip away so easily. "I'd prefer to have some company for that discussion. I can't say what kind of mood the Arishok will be in today."
The news was no better than heād suspected based on the tone of the summons, and Lucien found himself suppressing a sigh. There was hardly a worse time it could have happened. While perhaps an earlier conversion would have carried little danger for Saemus personally, there was no guarantee of any such thing now. The situation was far too volatile to know anything with any certainty. It could boil over tomorrow or in a year, catalyzed by this or something entirely different. Saemus could find himself completely unaffected or immediately in the crossfire, and very quickly. It seemed unwarranted to clutter the air with questions that could not yet be answered, and so Lucien only nodded steadily. Heād come armed and armoredāthe rest was yet to be done.
The obvious displeasure of visiting the Qunari compound played clearly across Ashton's face, but he made no sound or voiced any of his internal thoughts. They were selfish thoughts that he left unsaid and stuffed in a corner of his mind. The only thing that mattered was that Sophia had asked them to accompany her on a deeply personal-- and familial matter. A request that he was not about to decline. "And you'll have it," He answered, "Let's just hope he's... Well, let's hope he's in as an agreeable mood as he can be." Nostariel nodded her affirmation as well. It was bound to be unpleasant, but there was no question about whether she was willing to do it.
"Thank you," Sophia said to her friends, earnestly. "Saemus is often rash and reckless, but I know he'll listen to reason."
It was a hot summer midafternoon, and they made haste down to the Qunari compound on the docks, putting a light sheen of sweat of Sophia's brow, from the combination of the armor, the beating sun, and the stress of the coming talk. If the Arishok was not of a mind to allow Saemus to leave with her, there would be very little she could do. Attempting anything forceful while surrounded by that many Qunari warriors would undoubtedly result in their deaths. Attempting persuasion would likely be just as difficult. She doubted the Arishok would even allow her to speak with her brother, and the Qunari himself was known to be about as immovable as a mountain. She was thankful, at least, to have her friends with her.
The gate guard grudgingly allowed them to pass, by now recognizing the faces of those entering without introduction. The Qunari were about their business as usual, but Sophia could swear by the Maker that every time she returned here, the mood was a little more foul. Every last one of them had aged years since their arrival in the city, and not all of them had lived that long. Casualties from desertion and hateful zealots plagued them. If they stayed here indefinitely and made no action, they would slowly be whittled away into nothing. Sophia only wondered what that inevitable action would be.
The Arishok seemed somewhat surprised to see them, but granted them an audience nonetheless, taking up his usual seat at the head of the staircase, several of his soldiers gathered about him, watching the approaching humans and elf like hawks, heavy throwing spears in their hands. Sophia ignored them. "Arishok," she greeted, a little more tersely than perhaps was wise. "I'm here about my brother."
"Are you?" Arishok asked, as though this amused him as much as it irritated him. He shook his head, his common disgust filtering into his words. "In four years I have made no threat, and fanatics have lined up to hate us simply because we exist. But despite lies and fear, bas still beg me to let them come to the Qun. They hunger for purpose. The brother has made his choice. You will not deny him that." Sophia was not often told exactly what she would and would not do, and since the matter related to that which she held above all else, she found herself immediately irritated by the Arishok yet again.
"I'm sure you're now keeping my brother from me because you care for him so, and not because of the obvious advantages of having the Viscount's son on your side." She did not often employ sarcasm, but she currently felt that the Arishok was deserving of it. The Qunari scowled back down at her.
"If you understood anything of the Qun, you would know that he is no longer the Viscount's son. Viddathari give up their lives for the certainty only Qunari know. The Qun may demand I take advantage of his former station, but I do not. It was his choice to be educated. He is not my prisoner."
"Then if you'll allow him to see me, I would speak with him myself."
At that, the Arishok seemed further surprised. "He is not even here. You do not know this? He went to see his father. Did the daughter even speak with the father before arming herself and coming here? Surely the Viscount would not send you and a letter both." Sophia was clearly caught off guard by that. She had been with her father for the entire day, and would have known if he had written a letter to the Arishok, or had one sent. The Arishok read her confusion easily, and clarified before she could stammer out a response. "They are meeting at the Chantry. A last, pointless appeal, I assume."
Lucienās breath hissed out from between his teeth, about as close to audible agitation as he ever got. They all knew for a fact that the Viscount had sent no letter, but if the Arishok said heād received one, then he had. The problem with dealing with the Qunari was never that what they said was false. And if the Chantry was the place of the supposed meetingā¦ then Saemusās danger might be even more immediate than heād suspected. āThank you, Arishok,ā he said, but immediately turned to the others. āI think haste would be advisable here.ā
Nostariel tried to believe that this was really just some odd miscommunication, and that there was no ill intent behind it, butā¦ it was incredibly difficult to maintain that optimism. She could read the tension in her friends, and suspected that they must surely be arriving at similar conclusions. "Agreed.ā There wasnāt much else to be said; they could talk as they walkedāor ran, more likelyāif they needed to, but right now, getting to the Chantry was the important thing.
It could be nothing. But if it wasnātā¦
"Andraste's blessed ass," Ashton cursed, a little worse at keeping his irritation hidden. Not from being given the run around-- no, he'd become used to that by now. Instead, what rankled his shoulders was how suspect the entire thing was. He could tell by Sophia's reaction that the Viscount sent no such letter and if he had, surely he would have told them about it. Even so, Marlowe didn't seem like he was about the venture from the keep when they'd left. Ashton cupped his face with both hands and rubbed as he wondered aloud. "Other than the Viscount, who'd do this?"
If they were speaking in terms of Chantry members that would want to interfere in official business between the Viscount and the Qunari, only one name came to mind for Sophia. "Mother Petrice," she said, feeling she was beyond all doubt unworthy of that title if indeed she had her hands in this.
"A suspect in many things," the Arishok said, with disdain. "If she had threatened someone under my command, there is only one response." Sophia was selfishly inclined to agree, considering that Petrice had potentially threatened a member of her family, but she dutifully reminded herself that she was here to keep the peace, not to allow herself to act rashly based on anger.
"I will handle this, Arishok. Taking your men to the streets will only make matters worse." The Arishok shook his head, unmoved.
"If the Qun demands it, it shall be done. This is the last insult I will suffer. I will be watching. Viddathari are of the Qun. This offense will have an answer."
With the Arishok's words ringing in her head, Sophia led them back the way they came. Her legs were burning by the top of the stairs, as Hightown was a long vertical climb from the Docks, and they had only just made the descent. She didn't know what purpose whoever was behind this would have for her brother, but she started to feel slightly sick about halfway through the streets of Hightown. She half-walked, half-ran up the steps to reach the front doors, wondering where the usual throng of Chantry sisters and brothers were.
She pushed the doors open to find the Chantry deserted, which was quite unnatural. It was still late afternoon, and there should have been someone inside. Wary of some kind of ambush, Sophia loosened her sword in its sheath, though she still didn't dare draw steel in the Chantry. Moving further in, she searched for signs of anyone, before she saw the outline of a kneeling figure on the level above, silhouetted against the stained glass of the windows behind him. Broad shoulders identified him as male, and his head was bowed as if in prayer, though his arms hung by his sides, rather than clasping hands in prayer.
"Saemus?" Sophia called, thinking she recognized the shape of her younger brother. Moving around to the side, to the base of the stairs, she recognized that it was clearly him. "Saemus!" She jogged up the stairs and knelt at his side, grasping him by the shoulder. As soon as she did, though, his weight tipped him over onto his left side. "Wha-- hey! Saemus!" She caught him just before he hit the ground, and she pulled him to her, but he was utterly limp in her arms, and alarmingly cold.
It did not take long for panic to set it, gripping around her heart as she remembered what Aurora had just gone through not long ago. She spoke at a feverishly quick pace. "Saemus, hey, I'm here now. I've come to bring you home. You're going to be safe, but you need to wake up, we need to go. We need to go home..." She cupped the side of his face, and he was so cold, and the way his head lolled to the side, his neck was clearly broken, and he was dead, but no, no, that couldn't happen...
"Saemus. Saemus! No, no, no. Come on..." She looked back to Nostariel, tears brimming in her eyes, wildly and desperately. "Don't just stand there, do something! Help him! Can't your magic help him?"
Nostariel lookedāand feltāvery small, standing there. She could not help but be reminded of how sheād been, when sheād woken from her Joining to find him cold and still beside her. There was no spark of optimism in her eyes when she looked at Sophia, only a deep well of empathy and sorrow, a too-familiar understanding of just this kind of grief. She shook her head slowly, her hands tightening and loosening in time with her pulse beside her legs. "There is no magic that may undo death.ā Soft as the words were, they were weighed with leaden certaintyāthe certainty of someone who knew because she once had tried.
Lucienās jaw was locked, caught between the desire to say something and the knowledge that nothing he could say would make any difference. So instead he dealt with it the way heād been conditioned to handle death and griefāby seeking out the cause of the agony. For though it was not his, it was close enough. Petrice would be close; he knew that much by now. And she had too much to answer for. And Ashton would see that she did. He turned with his bow drawn and mirrored Lucien, searching for the cause. He had no words that would comfort Sophia, and even given an eternity he doubt he'd ever find them. It wasn't something he could do, but he desparately wanted to do something. Even if it was something very small.
Sophia knew it, but she was still pointlessly angry at Nostariel for saying it, for telling her the opposite of what she wanted to hear. She clutched her brother's head to her chest, crying freely now. "I'm sorry, Saemus..." Sorry that she hadn't reeled him in earlier, sorry that she had never smacked any sense into him, sorry that she didn't stop him from being such a fool and getting himself killed. "I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you."
She was vaguely aware that Mother Petrice had shown herself down below them, surrounded by armed men and women, more fanatics, and the occasional rogue Templar, their weapons drawn in the Chantry. She was speaking up at them, words that Sophia hardly even heard, something about a repentant convert killed in the Chantry itself, deliberately denying the Maker, the Qunari finally being made to answer... if Sophia had been in control of her mental faculties, she may have been alarmed at how quickly her intense grief turned into an all-consuming rage. That woman down there, or one of her mindless followers, had murdered her brother, her innocent, idealistic, peaceful brother.
She wanted them dead.
Sophia gently set her brother down on the rug. Then, with startling speed, she rose, drew her sword in a flash of steel, and vaulted over the railing. Even with bleary vision, she could see that there was a fool beneath her with a battleaxe, not prepared for battle in the slightest. She gritted her teeth and slashed down directly into his head as she landed, cleaving him in half down to the ribcage in a spray of blood, bone, and brain. Not nearly sated from that, Sophia moved on to the next, not caring how many there were, not feeling when a mace found her back and drove her to the ground. She was on her feet again, delivering her just retribution to any she could reach.
Whatever the matter was at the Keep, the summons sounded urgent, and when it was both urgent and from Sophia, chances were good that the fate of the entire city hung in the balance, as it so often seemed to do of late. There was really no reason or excuse not to answer, and so answer she would, even if she left the rest of her work behind to do it. Nostariel hastened up to Hightown, bypassing the merchants with little more than a smile and a nod.
Perhaps it was because of all the things sheād had to wrap up beforehand, but she reached the Keep lastāor at least she assumed she was last, since Lucien and Ash were already present. There might be someone else, but it was not lost on her that the three of them most often wound up helping Sophia with anything that happened to come up. She exhaled gustily and offered a more genuine smile to both before they were summoned up to the Viscountās office by Bran, who followed them in, bringing the total number of people in the room to six, the others of course being Sophia and her father. Judging from the looks on their faces, this was serious. "Qunari, then?ā She almost dreaded the inevitable affirmative.
The Viscount nodded, gravely. "It is apparently not enough that they define my political life. They must also infect what I hold personal." Considering that they'd been called together for a matter relating to the Qunari, it was no surprise that Sophia was already in plate and mail, for both official appearances and to safeguard against the ever present threat of sudden violence exploding from the tense stalemate.
"It's Saemus," she told them, referring to her rebellious brother. "He disappeared in the night, leaving a note stating his intent to convert to the Qun. He's gone to the Qunari compound." She was obviously distraught over the turn of events, more so for the personal reasons than the political ramifications. She'd always known Saemus to despise the way of life in Hightown, to sympathize with a people such as the Qunari, but... this had taken her by surprise. She thought Saemus would elect to remain with his family, even grudgingly. "I should have seen this coming."
"I as well," the Viscount echoed, frustrated. "He nearly lost his life once to this madness, and it hardly changed him. Now he's seeking to squander it again." It was easy to tell that he was quite angry with him, but purely out of a sense of care.
"I'm going to the Qunari compound to convince Saemus to come home," Sophia said, resolved. It was obviously an extremely delicate matter. Saemus would undoubtedly be quite the symbolic prize for the Arishok, a sign that his influence spread even so far as the Viscount's Keep itself. But more than that, Sophia wanted her brother to be safe. Perhaps there was a debate to be had on if an attempt to retrieve him would not only endanger him further, but Sophia was not willing to have it right now. He was family. She had devoted her entire life to the betterment of the her family and her city, and she would not let him slip away so easily. "I'd prefer to have some company for that discussion. I can't say what kind of mood the Arishok will be in today."
The news was no better than heād suspected based on the tone of the summons, and Lucien found himself suppressing a sigh. There was hardly a worse time it could have happened. While perhaps an earlier conversion would have carried little danger for Saemus personally, there was no guarantee of any such thing now. The situation was far too volatile to know anything with any certainty. It could boil over tomorrow or in a year, catalyzed by this or something entirely different. Saemus could find himself completely unaffected or immediately in the crossfire, and very quickly. It seemed unwarranted to clutter the air with questions that could not yet be answered, and so Lucien only nodded steadily. Heād come armed and armoredāthe rest was yet to be done.
The obvious displeasure of visiting the Qunari compound played clearly across Ashton's face, but he made no sound or voiced any of his internal thoughts. They were selfish thoughts that he left unsaid and stuffed in a corner of his mind. The only thing that mattered was that Sophia had asked them to accompany her on a deeply personal-- and familial matter. A request that he was not about to decline. "And you'll have it," He answered, "Let's just hope he's... Well, let's hope he's in as an agreeable mood as he can be." Nostariel nodded her affirmation as well. It was bound to be unpleasant, but there was no question about whether she was willing to do it.
"Thank you," Sophia said to her friends, earnestly. "Saemus is often rash and reckless, but I know he'll listen to reason."
It was a hot summer midafternoon, and they made haste down to the Qunari compound on the docks, putting a light sheen of sweat of Sophia's brow, from the combination of the armor, the beating sun, and the stress of the coming talk. If the Arishok was not of a mind to allow Saemus to leave with her, there would be very little she could do. Attempting anything forceful while surrounded by that many Qunari warriors would undoubtedly result in their deaths. Attempting persuasion would likely be just as difficult. She doubted the Arishok would even allow her to speak with her brother, and the Qunari himself was known to be about as immovable as a mountain. She was thankful, at least, to have her friends with her.
The gate guard grudgingly allowed them to pass, by now recognizing the faces of those entering without introduction. The Qunari were about their business as usual, but Sophia could swear by the Maker that every time she returned here, the mood was a little more foul. Every last one of them had aged years since their arrival in the city, and not all of them had lived that long. Casualties from desertion and hateful zealots plagued them. If they stayed here indefinitely and made no action, they would slowly be whittled away into nothing. Sophia only wondered what that inevitable action would be.
The Arishok seemed somewhat surprised to see them, but granted them an audience nonetheless, taking up his usual seat at the head of the staircase, several of his soldiers gathered about him, watching the approaching humans and elf like hawks, heavy throwing spears in their hands. Sophia ignored them. "Arishok," she greeted, a little more tersely than perhaps was wise. "I'm here about my brother."
"Are you?" Arishok asked, as though this amused him as much as it irritated him. He shook his head, his common disgust filtering into his words. "In four years I have made no threat, and fanatics have lined up to hate us simply because we exist. But despite lies and fear, bas still beg me to let them come to the Qun. They hunger for purpose. The brother has made his choice. You will not deny him that." Sophia was not often told exactly what she would and would not do, and since the matter related to that which she held above all else, she found herself immediately irritated by the Arishok yet again.
"I'm sure you're now keeping my brother from me because you care for him so, and not because of the obvious advantages of having the Viscount's son on your side." She did not often employ sarcasm, but she currently felt that the Arishok was deserving of it. The Qunari scowled back down at her.
"If you understood anything of the Qun, you would know that he is no longer the Viscount's son. Viddathari give up their lives for the certainty only Qunari know. The Qun may demand I take advantage of his former station, but I do not. It was his choice to be educated. He is not my prisoner."
"Then if you'll allow him to see me, I would speak with him myself."
At that, the Arishok seemed further surprised. "He is not even here. You do not know this? He went to see his father. Did the daughter even speak with the father before arming herself and coming here? Surely the Viscount would not send you and a letter both." Sophia was clearly caught off guard by that. She had been with her father for the entire day, and would have known if he had written a letter to the Arishok, or had one sent. The Arishok read her confusion easily, and clarified before she could stammer out a response. "They are meeting at the Chantry. A last, pointless appeal, I assume."
Lucienās breath hissed out from between his teeth, about as close to audible agitation as he ever got. They all knew for a fact that the Viscount had sent no letter, but if the Arishok said heād received one, then he had. The problem with dealing with the Qunari was never that what they said was false. And if the Chantry was the place of the supposed meetingā¦ then Saemusās danger might be even more immediate than heād suspected. āThank you, Arishok,ā he said, but immediately turned to the others. āI think haste would be advisable here.ā
Nostariel tried to believe that this was really just some odd miscommunication, and that there was no ill intent behind it, butā¦ it was incredibly difficult to maintain that optimism. She could read the tension in her friends, and suspected that they must surely be arriving at similar conclusions. "Agreed.ā There wasnāt much else to be said; they could talk as they walkedāor ran, more likelyāif they needed to, but right now, getting to the Chantry was the important thing.
It could be nothing. But if it wasnātā¦
"Andraste's blessed ass," Ashton cursed, a little worse at keeping his irritation hidden. Not from being given the run around-- no, he'd become used to that by now. Instead, what rankled his shoulders was how suspect the entire thing was. He could tell by Sophia's reaction that the Viscount sent no such letter and if he had, surely he would have told them about it. Even so, Marlowe didn't seem like he was about the venture from the keep when they'd left. Ashton cupped his face with both hands and rubbed as he wondered aloud. "Other than the Viscount, who'd do this?"
If they were speaking in terms of Chantry members that would want to interfere in official business between the Viscount and the Qunari, only one name came to mind for Sophia. "Mother Petrice," she said, feeling she was beyond all doubt unworthy of that title if indeed she had her hands in this.
"A suspect in many things," the Arishok said, with disdain. "If she had threatened someone under my command, there is only one response." Sophia was selfishly inclined to agree, considering that Petrice had potentially threatened a member of her family, but she dutifully reminded herself that she was here to keep the peace, not to allow herself to act rashly based on anger.
"I will handle this, Arishok. Taking your men to the streets will only make matters worse." The Arishok shook his head, unmoved.
"If the Qun demands it, it shall be done. This is the last insult I will suffer. I will be watching. Viddathari are of the Qun. This offense will have an answer."
With the Arishok's words ringing in her head, Sophia led them back the way they came. Her legs were burning by the top of the stairs, as Hightown was a long vertical climb from the Docks, and they had only just made the descent. She didn't know what purpose whoever was behind this would have for her brother, but she started to feel slightly sick about halfway through the streets of Hightown. She half-walked, half-ran up the steps to reach the front doors, wondering where the usual throng of Chantry sisters and brothers were.
She pushed the doors open to find the Chantry deserted, which was quite unnatural. It was still late afternoon, and there should have been someone inside. Wary of some kind of ambush, Sophia loosened her sword in its sheath, though she still didn't dare draw steel in the Chantry. Moving further in, she searched for signs of anyone, before she saw the outline of a kneeling figure on the level above, silhouetted against the stained glass of the windows behind him. Broad shoulders identified him as male, and his head was bowed as if in prayer, though his arms hung by his sides, rather than clasping hands in prayer.
"Saemus?" Sophia called, thinking she recognized the shape of her younger brother. Moving around to the side, to the base of the stairs, she recognized that it was clearly him. "Saemus!" She jogged up the stairs and knelt at his side, grasping him by the shoulder. As soon as she did, though, his weight tipped him over onto his left side. "Wha-- hey! Saemus!" She caught him just before he hit the ground, and she pulled him to her, but he was utterly limp in her arms, and alarmingly cold.
It did not take long for panic to set it, gripping around her heart as she remembered what Aurora had just gone through not long ago. She spoke at a feverishly quick pace. "Saemus, hey, I'm here now. I've come to bring you home. You're going to be safe, but you need to wake up, we need to go. We need to go home..." She cupped the side of his face, and he was so cold, and the way his head lolled to the side, his neck was clearly broken, and he was dead, but no, no, that couldn't happen...
"Saemus. Saemus! No, no, no. Come on..." She looked back to Nostariel, tears brimming in her eyes, wildly and desperately. "Don't just stand there, do something! Help him! Can't your magic help him?"
Nostariel lookedāand feltāvery small, standing there. She could not help but be reminded of how sheād been, when sheād woken from her Joining to find him cold and still beside her. There was no spark of optimism in her eyes when she looked at Sophia, only a deep well of empathy and sorrow, a too-familiar understanding of just this kind of grief. She shook her head slowly, her hands tightening and loosening in time with her pulse beside her legs. "There is no magic that may undo death.ā Soft as the words were, they were weighed with leaden certaintyāthe certainty of someone who knew because she once had tried.
Lucienās jaw was locked, caught between the desire to say something and the knowledge that nothing he could say would make any difference. So instead he dealt with it the way heād been conditioned to handle death and griefāby seeking out the cause of the agony. For though it was not his, it was close enough. Petrice would be close; he knew that much by now. And she had too much to answer for. And Ashton would see that she did. He turned with his bow drawn and mirrored Lucien, searching for the cause. He had no words that would comfort Sophia, and even given an eternity he doubt he'd ever find them. It wasn't something he could do, but he desparately wanted to do something. Even if it was something very small.
Sophia knew it, but she was still pointlessly angry at Nostariel for saying it, for telling her the opposite of what she wanted to hear. She clutched her brother's head to her chest, crying freely now. "I'm sorry, Saemus..." Sorry that she hadn't reeled him in earlier, sorry that she had never smacked any sense into him, sorry that she didn't stop him from being such a fool and getting himself killed. "I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you."
She was vaguely aware that Mother Petrice had shown herself down below them, surrounded by armed men and women, more fanatics, and the occasional rogue Templar, their weapons drawn in the Chantry. She was speaking up at them, words that Sophia hardly even heard, something about a repentant convert killed in the Chantry itself, deliberately denying the Maker, the Qunari finally being made to answer... if Sophia had been in control of her mental faculties, she may have been alarmed at how quickly her intense grief turned into an all-consuming rage. That woman down there, or one of her mindless followers, had murdered her brother, her innocent, idealistic, peaceful brother.
She wanted them dead.
Sophia gently set her brother down on the rug. Then, with startling speed, she rose, drew her sword in a flash of steel, and vaulted over the railing. Even with bleary vision, she could see that there was a fool beneath her with a battleaxe, not prepared for battle in the slightest. She gritted her teeth and slashed down directly into his head as she landed, cleaving him in half down to the ribcage in a spray of blood, bone, and brain. Not nearly sated from that, Sophia moved on to the next, not caring how many there were, not feeling when a mace found her back and drove her to the ground. She was on her feet again, delivering her just retribution to any she could reach.