Summary: The Inquisitor is supposed to bring hope. Her people aren’t supposed to see her cry.
Word count: ~2600 words
Characters: Branwen Lavellan, Cole, Solas
Notes: Mention of death, grief, mourning.
Further notes: Through some unfortunate choices at the war table, it’s possible to get Lavellan’s clan killed. The game never really reacts to this circumstance, but my character sure did. No real spoilers for anything else.
Josephine rose when Branwen approached her desk. That was Branwen’s first inkling that something was wrong. Josephine was always polite, and always kind, but she was also so busy that she often barely looked up from her correspondence.
But this time she stood, and her face was serious, and she held out a folded piece of parchment to Branwen, saying, “Inquisitor, this arrived for you today.”
That was unlike Josephine, too, to dispense with the pleasantries. The smile Branwen was accustomed to wear when she spoke to her ambassador faded.
She reached out to take the missive, her arm moving automatically even though she wanted to stop herself. “What’s this about?” she asked.
“It’s better if you read it,” Josephine said. “I’m sorry.”
The letter had been opened, of course; Josephine’s people opened all correspondence addressed to the Inquisitor. This letter had an unfamiliar wax seal on it, now cracked. It was short, so it took very little time for Branwen to read the contents.
Ambassador Montilyet, I regret that my help for your Dalish allies came too late to be of use. By the time my forces arrived in the area, the Dalish had been scattered or killed, and there seems little left of their clan. I understand your Inquisitor must be feeling the loss of her clan. Please accept these gifts and my promise of future help whenever it is necessary. Yours, Duke Antoine of Wycome
Branwen read the letter again, and a third time.
“I am so sorry,” Josephine said.
“I don’t… understand,” Branwen said. The letter meant nothing more a fourth time.