#chantlight

@chantlight

Dawn breaks over the Frostbacks, crowning the mountains’ peaks with wreaths of light. A new day, but the end has never felt so close at hand. The Breach cracks like thunder on a cloudless day as he is led from the the Inquisition camp, escorted within the shadow of the hills as though he is the Seeker’s secret shame. It is, after all, not so long ago that they had addressed him as an enemy. His wrists still bear the impression of their welcome, red rings pressed into his skin by iron shackles, and the looming threat of execution still hangs above his head as they reach the outskirts of Haven.

“Are we to mount an excursion to the Breach?” he asks, breath suspended in the air before his face.

“A smaller rift should suffice for this experiment of yours,” she answers.

He fights to keep the conflict from his expression, uncertain how he should take her response. The Breach, the centre of this chaos, is perhaps the last place any person would ever hope to be. Even how as his eyes skirt the horizon he wonders how much distance he could hope to put between it and himself, were he to run now. The vast wilderness of the Frostbacks have never looked so inviting as they do now, he thinks. No doubt Cassandra senses the impulse, for her hand has not left the hilt of her blade since they passed beyond the Chantry doors.

But more than threats keep him here. A chance at finding the focus would be more than worth the risk, and to find it now would put an end to everything. Once reunited even the Seeker’s sword could not hope to stop him.

“Seeker—” Their party comes to a sudden halt, summoned by a voice he has heard before, but never had a name to go with it. In the short time he’s been in their midst, he has never seen him in anything other than Chantry robes. Who he is is of little import, of greater concern are the people he arrives with: soldiers in common clothes, barmaids and pilgrims, the beginnings of a mob, although they lacked the rope to hang him with. “Is this the order you vowed to restore? Gallivanting into the wilderness in the company of an apostate, while the Chantry falls around our ears.”

“There will be no order so long as the threat of the Breach remains.” Cassandra speaks through a clenched jaw, severe brow drawn low above her eyes. Steel glints from the hips of the soldiers, and her hand does not leave her hilt. “These past days have offered precious few answers, I will not turn away help when it offers itself.”

“The hedge mage may destroy us before the Breach has its chance.” A few murmurs of agreement move through the small audience behind him like the chorus in a play.

“He has surrendered his staff and consented to every request we made of him, if he—”

“All token gestures, Seeker, surely you must see that.”

“Be that as it may,” she looks to Solas as she speaks, eyes locked in the same hard gaze they had given the Chancellor, “we are running short on time and low on opportunity. If this apostate offers any answers, he will have done more than most." Something dangles unspoken from the end of her sentence, but from the pinched expression upon the stranger’s face its meaning was imparted clearly:

More than you.

Silent in the face of this discussion of his own fate, he steps forward now, snow crunching beneath his heel. “Seeker,” he speaks in a voice quieter than the slow rage that builds inside him begs, a deliberate answer to the Chancellor’s shrill demands. “We are wasting daylight.”

anonymous / @chantlight​

If you really loved holly you'd write Anthony :/

*Quickly hides the edit I already did after they mentioned a faceclaim for him under a read more*

meme. // accepting.

      “Does the Chantry teach you all how to be this DRAMATIC, too, or is that just a human thing?”

      She sighed (she seemed to be doing that a lot lately). She didn’t mean to be this rude or uncaring; she was just tired. It was like everyone around her was realizing what she had known all along; the Maker didn’t CHOOSE her. She wasn’t ANDRASTE’S Herald. Neither Chantry figurehead had sent her to be their savior; she was just UNLUCKY.

POSITIVITY MEME | always accepting

we can celebrate the good that we've done .

Unreal Unearth Prompts || Accepting

Rook stood there off to the sides of everyone celebrating in the large chamber housing the Sunken Star deep within the Necropolis. The Watchers who had gone to the fight in Minrathous had returned, and after some experiments to make sure the Veil was indeed strong and steady, decided to throw their own celebration.

Looking over at the High Inquisitor with her words, perhaps she had noticed her inability to fully join in the Jubilations. Rook offered a forced smile with a slight curl of the sides of her lips. "It's just hard, imagining everything we've lost to win." While Harding was a month gone, to her it had been less than a week, her time in the Fade Prison distorting the passage of time.