Chapter Text
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Francesca Weingart was born to her two Nobel Orlesian parents, her father Victore Weingart and her mother Annette LeBeau. She was the youngest out of her seven elder siblings. She had four elder brothers and three elder sisters. Francesca and her siblings all grew up in the ancestral Weingart estate in Jader in Orlais, it was one of the other major cities in Orlais but also the rumored birthplace of Andraste. Although, that was just the one claim on top of the many others in Thedas.
Francesca was born in 9:05 Dragon the same year as the little Ferelden princeling Cailan. Of course she would be born in the same year as an influential Ferelden of all things. That notion beyond irked her Orlesian parents. They remembered when King Meghren invaded Ferelden and tried to take the dog lovers throne for Orlais. They remembered how badly he failed at the task. To a mere child of all things… Meghren was weak and desperate, relying heavily on his advisors and on his mage Severan. Victore and Annette were happy to support Meghren's cause in the beginning, but the more they saw Meghren's inability to stop Maric Theirin's rebellion they drew back their support much like the rest of Orlais did back then.
Francesca was what you would call an… accidental babe. Her parents were well into their fifties when they had her and were by all means done having children. Or so they thought. She came wailing into this world with all her might like being born on silk sheets and in a warm room was a slight upon her. Of course that was never the case. It became very clear in the years following that Francesca loved her lifestyle. She showed it in the way she dressed, did her hair, and even which jewelry pieces she bought. Most outside Orlais would have considered that behavior snooty and privileged and mayhaps it was but Francesca never saw it as such. She was just a girl who wanted her little stray cat and her pretty gowns. What else did she have besides that? Siblings that verbally assaulted her for every "odd" thing she did? That was their only opinion of her anyways. It was simpleminded of them, how did they not see it? And every time there was an inch of hope of their parents finding out how Francesca was treated by her elder siblings they quickly acted right and pretended to dote on their "sweet little sister". They had their mama and papa fooled… they did not think of Francesca as their sweet little sister. Anything but that.
Her parents tried their best, they really did, but they were done raising kids so Francesca often ended up forgotten or mostly cared by the maids. She was closest to her papa, he included her in things he should not have like the games that would occur at Orlesian balls or political discussions. Victore thought if he exposed his daughter to these things she would not be so different from the rest of the children they raised. Though that did little to help Francesca's oddness, she had more than fun at balls wearing a mask and listening to gossip others had for every secret and detail Orlais had to offer. As for the political factors she paid more attention than her father thought she would but once in a while she ended up drawing some noble sitting across from her father. Her father stopped letting her come to political meets after that.
It was 9:14 Dragon now and she had just turned nine in the calendar month of Matrinalis. It was quite the big age difference between her elder siblings, her sisters were twenty and one, twenty, and nine and ten. The two eldest, Callista and Laurent were wed to some minor Orlesian lords Annette's family knew. Callista was already expecting her first babe and if you can believe the rumors of the Orlesian court, Laurent and her husband hadn't even started trying. It was no different with her brothers, they were thirty and two, thirty and one, twenty and six, and lastly twenty and four. Maker, her eldest brother Brandis was married to the nicest noble lady their parents could find before he was three and ten.
It was not the least bit surprising to the elder children how they did not get along with their little sister. Despite the obvious fact Francesca's siblings did not like her around their estate or anywhere she liked it here in Orlais. She got to see all kinds of expensive and exotic art, jewelry, theater plays, and she had fun at other nobles' balls. It was the only life she knew after all.
The candles in Francesca’s bedroom had long guttered out, leaving only the silver wash of moonlight across the embroidered carpets and carved Orlesian furniture in her chambers. She often slept with her curtains or her window open even though her parents advised against it. What if an Orlesian Bard came by one night and came into their estate through her window? Though it had happened to others, it was not like anyone would ever hire a Bard to assassinate this child of nine. The last born and forgotten daughter that would inherit little to nothing from her parent's wealth. She would have to marry rich if she wanted to have this lifestyle the rest of her days… If a Bard ever did come into the estate they would have been there to spy or sabotage not to kill.
Francesca laid curled beneath her silk and fur blankets, clutching her stuffed fennic to her chest as her pet stray cat lay at the foot of her bed sleeping. Nougat was what she named it. He was an old cat, gray and white was spread in his black fur and he had the slightest cataracts in his yellow eyes. She had found the old guy wandering in the courtyard by the water fountain looking up at the trees for birds two years back. When she tried to approach the cat she scared it off and she watched as it jumped on the colored stone wall. She tried to follow after it but she stopped by the estates gates when the cat jumped off the wall and went further onto the main city streets. Francesca later asked a few of the guards and servants if they had ever seen the cat before, The servants had little to say as they had no time to entertain Francesca and had many duties to attend to. The guards on the other hand mentioned seeing the cat long before Francesca was born. He had always been a stray, the guards had no idea where the skittish thing came from, but they often left out fish for it. Francesca asked the guards if she could feed the cat instead and they obliged. Slowly Nougat became accustomed to Francesca's presence and followed after her when she spent time outdoors. Then at night the cat would sneak into her room and sleep at the foot of the bed. Francesca drew Nougat often in her notebook as well as other things around Jader, like statues, people, ships, or actors in theater plays. She loved to draw. It was one of the things she could do to pass the time when everyone else in the family was busy.
Francesca shivered slightly under her sheets as a gust of wind came in through her open window. It was cold and snowing out on this particular evening. It was the middle of winter and this one was particularly harsh. She had not minded the snow, she was as used to the seasonal weather just as any other person would be. In fact she had just made what was supposed to be a lion snowman the other day with her father. One of his more showing activities of his devotion to his little Franny.
Sleep had come to Francesca quickly. The entire family was supposed to see a winter theater play on the morrow, it's why the estate was full for once. Full of her siblings, their spouses, and eldest children Save for Olessa who was nine and ten yet not wed to anyone and Edmode who stayed at home with his wife rather than leaving.
What followed her that night was not sleep. She tossed and turned all night, sleeping but not finding the rest in it.
It was three hours from dawn when a warmth bloomed at the foot of her bed. It was soft at first, like the heat of fire from the hearth in her chambers. Then it burned brighter, like they said the summer heat did in the Western Approach. Then the heat was blinding causing Francesca to jolt from her sleep with a gasp. Blinking as she slowly sat up in her bed Francesca rubbed the sleep from her eyes trying to ignore the bright light from the fire. But it could not be that… The fire always had gone out in her sleep. Looking at the light at the foot of the bed Francesca stared at the woman who stood there. It was not a woman it was thee woman. Draped in light, her long blonde hair was like a living flame, her gray eyes full of a sorrow so vast it made Francesca’s heart ache. Francesca had been to the Chantry in Jader before. Her parents took her for monthly ceremonies and events during the holidays. They, like many others in Orlais and Ferelden were of the Andrastian faith. Because of that Francesca saw many statues of Andraste, even paintings of her, so she knew how Thedas portrayed Andraste's likeness. Never did she actually imagine she would see her in the flesh. Certainly not with her own two eyes…
“Andraste…?” Francesca's voice trembled.
The figure stepped closer to the side of Francesca's bed. The room seemed to bend around her presence like it knew of the holy being in its walls. “Little one, you must go where I call you. The path ahead is not here.” Andraste said. Yet it almost wasn't spoken. The way she spoke, it felt, like a song, like a Chantry Hymn vibrating through Francesca's bones.
Francesca clutched the plush fennic in her hand tighter as she shook her head. She was usually so afraid to speak to strangers but with Andraste she felt like she could speak freely and without worry. “But… this is my home. I belong here, don't I?”
A flicker of pain and sorrow crossed Andraste's face. Did she look like that when she was burned at the stake by Archon Hessarian on the order of Maferath? Or had she looked like that when she saw all that was incorrect with her and the Maker's world? “Orlais is your home. That is where you belong. Here in this estate, that is not home. Home, family, they should be a place of gentleness. Yours is not. You have endured more than a child should.”
Francesca frowned as she looked at Nougat sleeping softly at the foot of her bed. He was sleeping so soundly for someone who had little love in his life till recently. That notion made her think of her brother and sisters' sharp tongues, the way they all mocked her without anyone being the wiser.
Andraste reached out for Francesca's hand, not yet touching, but offering. “You are meant for the Chantry, child. For a purpose greater than the cruelty of others. Go to them in Val Royeaux. They will shape you. And you will then shape the world.”
Francesca wanted to take her offer but as she reached for Andraste's hand the light the woman was emitting swelled around her filling every corner of the room. Francesca raised an arm to shield her eyes and woke up from her slumber with a cry. When she looked around her room was dark again. No warmth was there to fight back the bite of the cold. No figure of Andraste. All that was left was the echo of her voice humming in her veins.
Francesca scrambled out of bed, startling Nougat enough that he too scrambled out of bed after her hiding underneath Francesca's dresser as her bare feet echoed down the hall. She burst into her parents’ chamber, breathless. She had not dared to climb into their bed yet, not till one of them was awake. “M‑Mother, Papa please, wake up. I must go to the Chantry. Andraste came to me. She was here. She told me I must go.”
Her mother blinked sleepily as she tried to get her bearings but she had woke already frowning. All her children had been past waking them up in a frenzy in the middle of the night. It always passed her mind that Francesca had not been the same. “Francesca, it is the dead of night. What is it?”
Her father on the other hand was the opposite of her mother. He wasn't ready to scold her; he was trying to figure out what the issue was. Slowly Victore sat up from the covers on the bed, studying his youngest daughter with a seriousness she had only seen when he evaluated political things. “Franny,” he murmured, “tell me what you saw.”
With those words she climbed into her parents' large and tall bed using the baseboard to help her up. She was but nine years of age and still she had not grown to be as tall as her siblings were and she suspected she never would. "Andraste was here, she came to me, in my room. She was so bright… so draped in light that she glowed. She talked to me. Or I felt her words in my bones like a song rather than hearing them" Francesca explained as she sat on her heels clutching the hem of her nightgown tightly. "She told me about my place… It's not here, papa. It's at the chantry. Let me go, please" Tears pricked at the edge of her eyes as she looked at her mother than her papa.
Her mother had this look on her face like she could not believe Francesca was making up this big of a lie that Andraste, the bride of the Maker herself had actually spoken to her. "Francesca, darling. You're not supposed to lie, you know that, don't you?"
"But I'm not lying, mother! It is true, I swear of it" Francesca begged as she turned her tear brimmed eyes over to look at her father hoping he, by some small hope, he listened. And he had. He had listened to her. Truly listened.
“If Andraste has spoken to you,” Victore said softly, as he brushed a tear falling from Francesca's eye with his thumb. “then we will not ignore it.”
Francesca threw her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. For the first time in her life, she felt certainty settle inside her. She felt like she was heard by her own family rather than people they hired. She felt happy that would be allowed to go. She would follow this vision from Andraste and she would become what Andraste asked of her even if she didn’t yet understand what that meant.
It had been two days since Francesca had that vision from Andraste, and two days since her father sent a letter to Val Royeaux. Her siblings stayed in the estate just long enough to see her off, though it was more for enjoyment than their feelings of missing their little sister. Francesca stood in the grand foyer, clutching the family ring in her hand. She had taken that family ring without anyone knowing. She was told in a letter from the folks who watched over the Chantry in Val Royeaux that she was allowed to take little with her so she took this family ring. It was always meant to go to the youngest Weingart child and Francesca was it.
Her siblings approached her one by one with kind touches and fake words to fool their parents but their words underneath it all were as harsh as ever. Callista swept in holding a hand to her swollen belly as her silk and jeweled gown rustled behind her. She always moved like she was on a stage, like she was one of those expressive theater performers Francesca liked seeing. Though she did not like seeing her sister so… performative… “You’re doing this for attention, aren't you? ” Callista declared low enough just for Francesca to hear, "Being mama and papa's youngest child is not enough?"
Francesca just looked up at her sister with wide eyes and a pout. She always looked confused when they spoke to her like this, she never knew why. Francesca was long accepting of the verbal abuse being thrown at her. It was just… how it was with her siblings and part of her found that normal. She also felt something meaner deeper down in her heart. With the hate and neglect she was given from everyone in the family; the neglect coming from her parents and the adults rather than her siblings; and the hate coming from her elder brothers and sisters. It was only fair that hate grew in her heart too, was it not?
Callista put on her fakest smile as she pulled off the mask on her face and kissed the top of Francesca's head. "Good luck, sweet little sister. May the Maker guide your path" She said as she pulled the mask back over her face.
Their father smiled under his mask hearing those words from his eldest daughter, ever proud of the woman she was. She would make a good mother since she handled Francesca so well, he knew of it. But he was missing that performative tone to Callista's words, that mocking tone meant to insult everything Francesca saw in her chambers.
Jehan walked over next with his wife on his arm. For a moment all he did was simply stare at Francesca with a mixture of suspicion and fear, as if she might burst into holy flame at any moment. When she offered him a small smile, he stepped back. "You always were strange, Francesca, but this is dramatic even for you.” Jehan sighed as he bent down and looked at his sister's face with pity in his eyes. “Maker help the poor sisters who must deal with you.” That one stung more than the others did. He was making mockery of the Maker, and he, like all the rest of the family, had his faith. To the Maker and Andraste, so why must they mock her so?
Olessa was the last to approach, she did so slowly with her arms crossed. She wasn’t as cruel as Callista, but she had never understood Francesca’s softness. “You really believe this,” Olessa murmured, studying her face. “Don’t you.”
Francesca nodded as she stared at her sister's masked face, those green eyes staring right back at her.
Olessa sighed. “Then… I hope the Chantry knows what to do with you. We certainly didn’t.” Olessa's emotion was unreadable as she pulled a ring off her pinky and handed it off to her sister. It was a gold ring and carved onto the flat surface was the letter 'W'. W for Weingart… "Good day, Francesca… be… well"
That gift, that little action that had much deeper meaning than Francesca realized, it was so she would remember where she came from. Despite the fact the ring was meant to remind her of home, it was the closest thing to kindness she’d ever received from any of her siblings.
When the family carriage arrived at the estate, her siblings stood in a loose cluster by the estate's front door all impatient to return to their usual routines and lives. They wanted to get back inside before this winter's bite became any worse. The bite that hurt Francesca the most was seeing none of them step forward to hug her. They didn't even look to be looking her way either. This was the last time she would see her family for a long, long time. She thought they would say goodbye or someone other than her own parents would… But it was not so.
Victore lifted Francesca into the carriage himself settling her inside with a fur blanket and one of her handmaids. She was just there to make sure her journey to Val Royeaux went well, Annette wanted to insure her daughters safety especially in this harsh winter. The sea was an unpredictable thing and with so much of it between Jader and the capital city something could go wrong and Annette wanted none of that. “Remember, franny,” he murmured, “visions or no visions, you are never alone.”
Then her mother stepped into view. There was no face for Francesca to memorize just the dark green color of her eyes and her thin lips. The rest of her face was covered by a mask, her mother's favorite. A pearlescent white mask that covered all her face but her eyes and mouth, on top of the mask was a metallic material in filigree designs studded with quartz gemstones. "Listen to Sidona, and don't cause trouble for anyone in the Chantry, do you understand?" Annette's tone was firm, scolding. Besides ensuring her daughter's safety she needed Francesca to uphold and keep a proper image, even if she was not going to be a "lady of Orlais" any longer.
"I understand, mother," Francesca said simply as she watched her mother step away with a nod and saw her papa come back into view once more. His face would soon fade her memory too, his two toned black and white mask covered his face. She only saw her family's faces at dinner and sometimes at night before they slept. Even now at nine years of age only seeing their faces rarely and only seeing the eyes and hearing the voices of her family, that was the only thing she would remember them by as the years passed. "Goodbye, papa…"
"Good day, my little franny. Be good"
With those last words to his daughter Victore shut the door to the carriage and patted the side of it. As the horses began to pull away, Francesca looked back at her family though the frost touched window. Seven silhouettes stood at the top of the staircase by the doorway. Two stood at the end of it holding one another as they watched the carriage grow farther and farther away. Every single one of them she loved even if most had never known what to do with her. They at the end of the day were nine complicated pieces of her heart.
"Sit down, Lady Francesca. The road is bumpy today" Sidona said as she adjusted her thick black skirt.
Reluctantly with a sigh Francesca sat down holding that fur blanket her father gave her closer up on her lap. Then she opened her fist and stared down at the two rings resting in her palm. One was the Weingart family ring she had taken without permission. The other, Olessa’s ring that had been given to her freely and unexpectedly.
"Did one of your sisters give you those, my lady?" Sidona asked as she looked at the rings in Francesca's hands, the two intricate gold rings resting on her gloved hand, from the biggest ring came that slight glint of the red garnet being hit with sunlight.
Francesca shook her head. “Only… one of them. The other one is… mine”
Sidona’s gaze lingered on the garnet ring, it was then she saw the two pearls on it as well. It looked familiar to her, like she saw Victore with one similar. The smaller ring was nice as well, that large intricate W carved into the gold was hard not to miss. “They’re beautiful pieces. Very fine work. Your family must be proud.”
Francesca didn’t answer. Pride was not something she had ever felt from them, not truly. Not even now with this vision she saw, she did not think anyone was truly proud of her. The ring her sister gave her felt heavier in her hand, as if it carried the weight of everything unspoken between her and her siblings. The family ring didn't feel like that. It was lighter than the one Olessa gave her and maybe it was because she took it for herself and it was not a gift that meant something deeper. The carriage hit a rut in the road, bouncing sharply. Francesca grabbed Sidona’s sleeve with a startled gasp.
“There now,” Sidona soothed, steadying her. “The roads are rough this time of year. But we’ll reach the docks soon.”
Francesca nodded, though her stomach twisted. The docks meant the ship. And the ship meant the sea. And the sea… she wasn’t ready to think about the sea. She had never been on a ship before, any travel her family had been done from carriages and atop horseback. Never had there been a reason to take a ship. She had been to the capital city dozens of times before but never this way. Never on a ship that would take days to arrive at Val Royeaux rather than weeks as it normally had. It had not mattered how long it would take to journey there, she just thought about how cold it was, and how much colder it would become at the docks. Francesca tucked the rings safely into her gown pocket and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Outside the window, the world blurred, bare trees, snow‑dusted streets and grand Orlesian houses and buildings. It was a slow ride to the docks but Francesca knew the boat ride was going to be longer. That part scared her the most but she wasn't wholly alone, she was forever grateful for that.
The carriage wheels shifted from cobbled stone to wood with a hollow thud. Francesca's stomach twisted as the smell of fish and brine filled her nose. The boat would be worse than a carriage ride. It would be louder and more lurching than a carriage. But Andraste had spoken to her and if the Bride of the Maker wanted her in Val Royeaux, then she would go even if the sea swallowed her whole.
Sidona had always been kind and understanding with Francesca. Everyone in the estate was kind to her, servants (including the elven ones), guards, and handmaidens. They had been kind, they understood her, everyone besides her own family was kind and understanding. “It will be all right, my lady. The crossing is rough in winter, but the sailors know their work.”
Francesca just nodded hearing Sidona's words, though her throat felt tight.
The carriage slowed to a final stop. Sidona opened the door, letting in a blast of icy wind. “Come, child. The ship won’t wait.”
Francesca stepped down onto the dock, her winter boots thudded against the wet wood. The world smelled of everything that was so unfamiliar to her way of life. She looked back from the way they came just once but the estate was far behind her now, long hidden by other buildings in the city of Jader and morning fog. The ships swayed like restless beasts, sails snapped in the wind, gulls shrieked overhead, and sailors were shouting orders in thick Orlesian accents. Accents very much like her own but these were rougher, more "common" than the rich accents she was accustomed to hearing. Francesca froze at the foot of the gangplank, staring up at the ship that would carry her across the winter sea. It looked enormous to a girl who had no reason to see one up close. Francesca had always seen them in the distance at sea or when they were at the markets they would see the boats pass as they made their way to the docks. Even then they looked small.
Sidona squeezed her shoulder. “Deep breaths, Lady Francesca. The ship won’t bite.”
Francesca wasn’t convinced. Still, she nodded and took a hesitant step forward. The gangplank wobbled under her boots, and she let out a tiny gasp. The sailors nearby barely spared her a glance; they were too busy hauling crates, tying knots, and shouting about the incoming tide. To them, she was just another rich passenger they had to deliver at an inconvenience. To Francesca, this was the edge of the world. She swallowed hard and stepped onto the deck, the ship shifted beneath her immediately, swaying with the rhythm of the waves. She stumbled, clutching the wooden crate in front of her. It made her heart pound in her chest. The sea was nothing like the quiet ponds and manicured fountains of the Weingart estate. It was wild. Untamed. And it wanted her to know it.
A sailor with a scar across his cheek gave her a quick nod. “First time on a ship, little one?”
Francesca nodded mutely. Her parents always hated when she would refuse to talk to people, especially other nobles. No one in the estate knew what was wrong with her, Francesca at times was just physically unable to speak; If it was at a ball she attended or going backstage to the theater and being able to talk to the performers she just never talked to them. She just stayed silent and nodded her head politely. At balls it was easier to stay quiet, she didn't have to talk when she wore a mask, she could just sit in some corner of the nobles estate and eat lemon cakes, candied figs, and fruit pies while she listened to the bard play music. Sometimes she would speak and gossip with others at court but that was rare. It was odd, when Francesca was around people she knew or was often in contact with she was able to speak comfortably. With strangers or people she had not seen on a daily basis she just didn't speak a word. She would only use gestures if she wanted things or when talking. And if her parents forced her to speak she mumbled every single Orlesian word she spoke.
The sailor chuckled. “You’ll find your sea legs soon enough. Everyone does.”
Sidona smiled kindly to the sailor as he walked away knowing Francesca wasn't going to be speaking up. With a gentle hand Sidona guided her lady toward the stairway leading below deck. “Let’s get you settled before we set sail.”
Francesca hesitated as she followed Sidona down into the dim, swaying belly of the ship. The lanterns flickered as the door shut behind them, sealing out the noise of the docks. The cabin was small, cramped, and smelled faintly of salt and old wood. Francesca climbed onto the lower bunk, pulling the fur blanket around her shoulders as the ship groaned and shifted as it pushed away from the dock. She felt the world tilt beneath her and her stomach lurched.
Sidona sat beside her, smoothing her hair with a practiced hand. “It’s always worst at the start. Breathe slowly. In and out like I taught you”
Francesca tried. She really did. But every creak of the hull, every splash of waves against the side, made her grip the blanket tighter. She missed home already, she wanted to go back. She wanted off this bloody ship. But Andraste put her on this path and she wanted to do nothing but continue on it and not stray from it. She belonged on this path even if she did not know it yet. Her place would be found and she would not be unloved any longer for servants of the Maker had much love to give to those who needed it. “Do you think the sisters will like me?” Francesca asked.
Sidona paused, then smiled softly. “They will see your heart and your kindness, my lady. And that is more than enough.”
Francesca wasn’t sure Sidona was correct. Her family had seen her heart, and they had turned it away. Although Andraste had seen it, hadn't she? Or she would not have stepped into her dream with fire and purpose. Surely that meant something… If it meant something or if it meant nothing Francesca would cling to that notion with everything she had in her.
The sun dipped below the horizon faster than Francesca expected, it was as if she just boarded the ship. Like she was just sent away from her childhood home and all the life she knew. Usually her days were long and always filled with the "strenuous" activities of noble life. Every morning she would wake up and get dressed and her hair done by her handmaids, her hair always took the longest. Francesca always had it done in intricate braids and because her hair reached her lower back it took a while for it to get done. After that she would get taught by a tutor how to read, how to write, they had even begun to teach her the Trade Tongue. Then she was taught the proper dance moves even if she memorized them a thousand times already. Francesca never understood why she had to be taught over and over. Now her life would change completely from that routine. No one would be there to dress her, to do her hair. It would all just be… gone.
Francesca lay curled on the lower bunk, the fur blanket wrapped around her like a cocoon. Sidona slept on the bunk above, her soft snores barely audible over the constant rhythm of the sea. Francesca watched as the lantern light flickered across the wooden walls, casting long, swaying shadows that made the cabin feel smaller, and smaller with every passing minute. Suddenly the ship lurched harshly. A loud crashing wave hit the ship, it was icy and a sign travel though the sea would get harder in the coming days. Francesca gasped as she clutched the edge of her mattress, her heart pounding in her chest. The ship rocked again, harder this time. Francesca squeezed her eyes shut "Andraste, please… stay with me." She mummer. The prayer steadied her breath, but not the trembling in her hands. She had never been this far from land before. Never felt the world move beneath her like a living creature. Eventually, unable to bear the tightness of the cabin, she slipped out of bed and climbed the narrow stairs to the deck.
The wind hit her immediately as Francesca stepped onto the deck, gripping the railing feeling the ship rise and fall beneath her. The wind was cold, sharp, and carried the scent of wet wood and rain. Francesca looked out at the sky and she thought it was odd to see every star, every constellation in the sky, you often did not see many stars in the lit streets of Jader. She began to wonder if she wouldn't see them at all in Val Royeaux. It was such a big city and it was so brightly lit at night, would she look up at the sky from the Chantry and see nothing? Would she not be able to see what the Maker made in the sky?
A sudden voice broke through her thoughts.
“Little girl”
Francesca startled back against the railing of the ship hitting her hip harshly as her shoulders jerked. She turned to see an older sailor standing beside her. She had weather worn skin, red hair that was streaked with silver, and kind green eyes.
“You’re not sleeping,” the woman murmured.
Francesca shook her head no. She wanted to speak but she didn’t try. Her voice hid itself when she didn’t know the person standing before her.
The sailor didn’t seem bothered by her lack of response. The sailor was probably used to nobles not giving her the time of day but that wasn't the case with Francesca. She wanted to be that polite lady of Orlais her mother thought she was but it was hard to be that.
“The first night is always the worst. The sea likes to test new travelers.” The sailor said.
Francesca swallowed, then lifted a hand in a small gesture, like hand puppets toward the waves "Is she angry? " Francesca asked.
The woman chuckled. “No, child. Just loud. She’s been loud since the Maker first breathed life into her.”
Francesca nodded, eyes drifting back to the dark water. She wondered what rested within it. If it was some big creature like a dragon, or some old Orlesian thing someone tossed in there long ago.
“You’ve got a long journey ahead,” the sailor continued. “Val Royeaux is days away now that winter’s set in. But you’ll find your sea legs soon enough and you will find the rest of the journey much smoother.”
Francesca pressed her lips together. She knew it had nothing to do with the conversation but it was eating at her mind. She wanted to say she wasn’t afraid of the Chantry. Or the sisters. Or the life waiting for her. But the words wouldn’t come, they never did. Instead, she touched her chest lightly, then pointed to the sea "I’m only afraid of this"
The woman nodded knowingly. “The sea is honest. She doesn’t hide what she is. That’s why she scares people.”The sailor stood, patting her shoulder. “Try to sleep, little one. Dawn always makes things seem kinder.”
When she left the sea felt quieter and she began to imagine Val Royeaux rising from the distant fog. She could see the capital city buildings towering over everything like a beacon in her mind. She imagined the Chantry sisters and brothers in their red, white, and golden robes, chanting the words to the Chant Of Light. Words she had memorized since childhood.
With a slight sigh Francesca stepped down from the wood plank she was standing on to see over the railing and headed back down to her and Sidona's bunk to lay down again. Once she laid down again she stared at the wooden beams of the bunk above her. The ship felt like it rocked like a babe's cradle now. She imagined Andraste watching her, guiding her steps as she made her way through as an initiate. That thought made sleeping easier. Slowly her eyes grew heavy and Francesca drifted into sleep, carried by that deep faith in her heart.
Morning broke slowly over the sea, a pale wash of gold spreading across the waves as the ship drifted toward the capital's city's docks. Francesca stood at the rail with Sidona’s cloak wrapped around her shoulders. She hadn’t slept much, every creak of the ship had pulled her awake but the sight before her made her forget the exhaustion she felt. Val Royeaux was right here, and it stood proudly as it always had. Its white stone towers rimmed with gold pierced the sky. Bridges arched over glittering canals. Banners of gold and crimson fluttered from balconies. Even from a distance, the city shimmered with a kind of theatrical grandeur only Orlais could muster. But nothing, nothing compared to the Grand Cathedral. Its spires reached so high they seemed to touch the Maker’s own hand.
Francesca had never seen the Grand Cathedral so close, she always saw it from the distance mixed in with the other buildings in the capital city. Francesca could not believe it… Andraste brought her here? She knew she would never set foot in the Grand Cathedral not with it being the seat of the Divine. Even if she was a noble Orlesian, even with these visions, she did not have enough "status" or proof to be sent there. So she was to make home at the Chantry in the city. She didn't mind that idea one bit.
Sidona rested a hand on her shoulder. “Magnifique, isn’t it?”
Francesca nodded, unable to speak. The ship moved into the harbor and the noise of sailors shouting as they tossed ropes to waiting dockhands filled Francesca's ears. Francesca clutched the railing, heart pounding not from fear this time, but from something deeper. Something like purpose. The deck shuddered as it bumped against the pier and Francesca was happy to be close to land again.
Sidona gently rubbed Francesca's back "Come, my lady,” Sidona said gently. “Let’s get you to the Chantry.”
Francesca followed her down the gangplank. The moment her boots touched the dock, the world exploded into the familiar sounds of the capital city. Merchants called out prices in rapid Orlesian. Children darted between crates. She smelt lady's smell satchels, rose and mint mingled with the scent of fish and salt. Nobles in thick extravagant cloaks swept past, their masks glittering even in daylight. Francesca was used to all this busyness; it was often common in the capital. If they were not visiting for a noble's ball they were invited to Victore, Annette, Edmode and his wife, Olessa, and Francesca were in Val Royeaux buying new furniture or art for the estate. Francesca on the other hand was much more interested in the masks, gowns, and jewelry the capital city sold. Jader had its fair share of expert tailors and jewelry stores but Val Royeax was on an
They made their way through the bustling streets, past bards playing lively tunes, past flower sellers shouting about winter roses, past Templars patrolling for any sight of "Apostates". Francesca stared at them as they walked past. Templars were Knights of the Maker. She looked up to the Templars, she looked up to them when they visited Jadar to collect mage babes from their Orlesian parents. Francesca saw them as "good" like Chevlilars and Seekers. When she saw those Templars she wondered if she would ever be brave enough like they were.
Never.
She'd never be brave like them.
She could never do what they did to protect mages.
Did they really protect though?
In the Circle they killed any mage they deemed dangerous, or had been suspected of being possessed by a demon. They said they were doing that to protect mages, the good ones in the towers. But they were really protecting themselves weren't they?
They did a job no one else had. Hunting down Apostates. They were keeping the people in Orlais safe from Apostates and Blood Mages alike. Never truly keeping the mages themselves safe.
That was such a hard concept for Francesca to grasp, how Templars could just harm the people they were protecting. So she pretended, she tried to convince herself they were protecting and some of them did. Yet she would not see or truly understand the true reality mages lived, not till her work in the Chantry progressed.
The closer they came to the Chantry, the quieter the streets of the capital city grew. The bustle wasn't so loud anymore, she didn't hear the click of a horse's shoe against the cobbled stone or the sound of a wooden wheel rolling. Every voice around them softened and everything felt calm. Francesca stopped walking as the Chantry towered above them. Even for something that was completely individual from the Grand Cathedral the Chantry was just as grand as the rest of Val Royeaux. The morning light spilled across the courtyard, catching on the stained glass windows that painted Andraste’s life. Incense drifted on the air, mixing with the smell of fresh bread from the market down the road. Francesca pressed her face to the glass, breath fogging it as she tried to look through the bright colors to see inside. She had never seen anything so beautiful. The Chantry in Jader was nothing compared to this.
“Francesca, that is enough.” Sidona’s voice cut clean through the moment.
Francesca stepped back, drooping her shoulders.
Sidona knelt beside Francesca once she was beside her again. She cupped the girl’s face with her gloved hands. Sidona had watched this girl grow up, she helped dress her every single day and night. She brushed the young lady's hair gently as a mother would their own child… She would miss Francesca dearly. This goodbye was all she had and Sidona would make that goodbye count. “Are you ready, Lady Francesca?”
Francesca swallowed hard as she held onto the warmth she felt though Sidona's gloves. She wished her mother would have said goodbye to her like this. She wished someone in her family held her before they said goodbye. “I… think so.”
Sidona nodded firmly. “Good. The brothers and sisters inside will want to meet you. Andraste willing, they’ll guide you well.”
The Chantry doors opened with a soft groan. A tall woman in red‑and‑white robes embroidered with gold stood there in the doorway, framed in the light.
Sidona leaned close to Francesca one last time. “You must speak, Francesca. Whatever you do here. Whatever service you give the Maker, you speak. Do you understand?”
Francesca's eyes welled up with tears as she nodded her head. This truly felt like a goodbye and it broke her heart knowing she would never see Sidona or anyone from her family again.
Sidona pulled her into a fierce hug, then rose to her feet.
The robed woman stepped forward. She had warm eyes but they measured Franchesca. A child this young was claiming she had visions? Not to mention it was not every day a noble child was sent to the Chantry. A troublesome son or daughter but they were teenagers or young adults. None were ever as young as Francesca was. “You must be Francesca Weingart. I am Grand Cleric Amara. We received your father’s letter.”
Francesca nodded as she parted her lips to speak, forcing the words out of her mouth so they would be louder than her mumbling voice. “Andraste sent me.”
The woman’s brows lifted not in doubt but simply from curiosity. “So I’ve heard. Come inside, child. You must be cold.”
Francesca wasn’t cold, not with Sidona's cape and her thick light yellow gown keeping her warm, but she nodded anyway. It would begin to snow soon and it was probably best she was inside when that happened. She didn't dare look back at Sidona as the doors closed behind her. It would hurt too much seeing her disappear behind it, it was the last connection she had to her life and she did not want to see it severed. Inside, the Chantry was surprisingly empty of people and it was quiet. The brothers and sisters that did occupy the inside went about lighting the candles on the stone walls and the candles on the golden chandeliers stands by the pews and atop the ceiling quietly. A few sisters paused in their daily duties to look at the newcomer before giving polite smiles and returning to their work.
Looking around at all these people without any other noble or Orlesian in the room Francesca felt so out of place… She was richly dressed while these sisters and brothers were in their robes and habits. How she wished to hide behind an Orlesian mask right now, it would do little to make her feel less out of place but she could hide that uneasy look upon her face.
As they reached the door that would lead them to the courtyard and gardens a plump, rosy‑cheeked sister bustled through the door. Her hands dusted with flour as she carried a basket of bread. "Oh, Good Morrow, Grand Cleric Amara" The sister bowed her head then looked to Francesca who was standing beside Amara. “Is this the girl?" She asked not waiting for an answer as she set the basket down and dusted off her hands. "Maker’s breath, she’s tiny,” Rosette said, smiling. “Come here, little dove.”
Francesca took a step forward. She was unused to such open kindness from her own family, but from the people outside it? The servants, the gardeners, the guards? That kindness had been her refuge. And here, in the Chantry, she found it again. She was glad it was here. She was not sure what she would do without that kindness in her life.
Rosette gently took a loose strand of Francesca's wavy hair and draped it over her shoulder gently. The rest of her hair was braided in a circle at the back of her head then a separate one at the nape of her neck. On her head was a French hood with a string of pearls going over forehead. “We’ll take good care of you. No need to look so frightened. Join us for break-fast when you are all done with the Grand Cleric"
"Okay… thank you, Sister Rosette" Francesca said with a small smile as she and Grand Cleric Amara stepped out of the Chantry and headed toward the sister's quarters just a few leagues away from the large courtyard and gardens.
This place was huge. It had to be the same size of land as the Weingart estate if not bigger, and her home wasn't a small place either. The sister's quarters was its own building separate from the actual Chantry. The brothers had their own building to stay in as well but on the other side of the building more closer to the pathway to the stables and market. For higher ranking Chantry members like Revered Mothers and Grand Clerics they had their own rooms to sleep in within the Chantry building.
“You will stay with the other sisters eventually. Once you take to your lessons and take your vows. But for now, you will have your own space until you are comfortable with your new arrangement with us.” Amara explained. She didn't want to take care of this Chantry corruptly, that was not what the Maker taught. She did not wish to give special care or give exceptions to others but it was not everyday you had a noble child willingly give up her life to join the Chantry. It was not everyday you saw someone claim Andraste gave them visions, and looking at this child for herself Amara knew she was not lying. Francesca full heartedly believed what she said she saw and Amara knew one day they would find proof of what she was saying. Amara continued: "Right this way" Amara used the whole of her hand to point to the building in front of them. She led Francesca to another building that was smaller than the rest.
Opening the door to the building Francesca stepped inside. Looking around her surroundings this place was a storage building, like the one her papa had for out of season clothes and decor for the estate. Lined on each wall were wooden chests with locks and gold plates on the side. Francesca read a few of the names she could see off in her head, one by one. Dane Strasser. Fifi Krenn. Joffery Dumas. Their lives reduced to boxes.
Then a small chest sat on its own shelf. The gold plate read: Belongings of abandoned babes, Gillies, Hevara, Norman.
How tragic was that? Mothers abandoning their babes because they could not care for them, because they lived in poverty and could not afford it. But it was different for a noble. Any reason would be enough to purposefully abandon a babe. A bastard babe, an ugly or "deformed" babe, a girl instead of birthing a first son. They were still babes the poor things. Francesca hoped she would never have to find a babe abandoned on their doorstep the very thought of it broke her very heart. She wondered what happened to the elven babes that were left… She did not have that hate or disdain for the elven people, not like her family did. Slavery was illegal in Orlais but that never stopped nobles from buying slaves and using them to maintain their households. Her parents were no different; she was raised by the human servants in the household but the elves did entertain the little Weingart child, out of fear if they did not or because they had actually cared about Francesca they never spoke the truth of the matter.
Amara cleared her throat, gaining Francesca's attention. In her hands were a folded bundle of red, white, and black cloth. In her other hand a pair of shin high black leather boots with golden buckles on them. “These are your initiate robes, you get two pairs” she said as she placed the uniform on the desk in the room. “Do not fret though. We’ll teach you how to wear them properly.”
"Is it complicated? The process of dressing in robes?" Francesca asked as her eyes wandered to the chest sitting in front of the desk. The plate read: Francesca Weingart.
"Only the first few times after that you'll understand the hang of things" Amara clapped her hands once. “Now your things.” She turned around and opened the wooden chest in front of her. It was simple with a brass latch polished by years of use. “Everyone in the Chantry has one,” Amara explained. “A personal box. For keepsakes, letters people may write to you or letters you write to others. When we brothers and sisters enter the order, we surrender our personal property. We don’t throw away who we were, we just… tidy it.”
Tidy it… that sounded like erasing who she was to Francesca. She never heard a Chantry member be called by their family name, only their first. She loved her life, she loved what she had as a noblewoman. She already knew she was not allowed any personal possessions, they had told her as such in their letter to her father. But to strip herself of everything she had on her person? It scared her but also made her excited for this path of life. She wanted to do nothing but serve, to follow the path Andraste set for her. So ever reluctantly Francesca nodded her head and unclasped the hook around her neck to Sidona's cape.
Amara helped her by folding the cape, then she placed it in the chest behind her. She then assisted Francesca undo the backing to her light yellow gown, the girl had been dressed by others every day of her life Amara was sure she had not known how to take off her gown properly.
Then Francesca took off her earrings, and gently took off her french hood and broach from the back of her head. Amara decided to leave the young girl's hair as it was. It would need to be done simpler in the future so she could get dressed early in the morrow or at night depending when her schedule needed her but she saw no point in getting rid of it now.
Francesca watched as Amara placed her gown inside the chest then her jewelry, the ring her sister gifted her, her french hood, her embroidered boots, and her broach. Watching each item go into that crate felt like a tiny farewell. A goodbye to every item she owned and a hello to what her new life would be like. Francesca stepped forward and opened the palm of her hand revealing her family ring. Her fingers quickly tightened around it. She did not want to let go of the ring that was rightfully hers. Maker not yet, not now. “I… I don’t want to put this in there.”
Amara's expression softened immediately. “Then don’t.”
Francesca blinked as she lowered her hand. “But- aren’t I supposed to?” she asked meekly.
“You are. but you are not like the others who come to join the order.” Amara said gently. She would not make an exception like this again. She would not rule this place corruptly. She would dare not make another exception to single out one person again. “You will need something to cling to as you learn our ways” She closed the chest and locked it tight with a brass lock. “Keep it. Wear it. Or tuck it in your pocket. Any permissible personal items must be stored in an orderly, approved manner. And I'm saying now the ways that I approve of”
Francesca swallowed hard. Relief loosened something tight in her chest. She slipped the ring onto her finger, it being a size too big for her at the moment. She would tuck it into her pocket once she was dressed.
Amara smiled as she grabbed the robes off the desk and walked back over to Francesca. “Good girl.” She then began helping Francesca dress in the robes. Together, they dressed her and Amara guided her through each step, each fold, each tie to ensure a clean and proper attire. Amara slipped the belt and pouch tight around Francesca's waist, smoothing the shoulders of the uniform as she rose to her feet. “There,” she said proudly. “A properly dressed sister.”
Francesca looked down at herself, her fingers brushing the chantry heraldry necklace on her neck. She felt… different. For once in her life she did not feel like she had to live up to a certain standard, that was of the Orlesian court. She felt like she belonged here in these robes, in this Chantry. She did not feel strange or wrong. Somewhere beneath the ache of homesickness she felt beneath the fear and the strangeness of this new life, she felt it: A tether. A promise faintly in the back of her mind that she was not alone.
Francesca followed Grand Cleric Amara through the courtyard, her new robes brushing softly against her legs. The pouch on her belt hit her waist with a thump, thump, thump. Every step she took felt strange. It was odd to have a flat heel on her shoe rather than a point or a thick squared heel on it. These boots made her a few inches shorter and closer to her actual height which was recorded to be 4'6.
The scent from the dining hall hit her before the sound did. The smell of warm bread, honeyed butter, and some spiced meat that reminded her faintly of winter feasts she would have back home. The dining hall was already alive with quiet chatter when they entered. Long wooden tables filled the room, sunlight spilled through tall stained windows, light caught on copper kettles and steaming bowls. Sisters and Brothers sat together at these tables speaking amongst themselves as they ate. None of the dining ware they had was grand like what you could find in taverns in the city. It was simple made and old, already worn by years of use. Francesca began to notice that everything they had here to use at their own disposal was once used. It was nothing like the rich and shiny items they had inside the Chantry. This was for them, so they could better serve the Maker and give up their worldly wants and needs replacing it for the simpler things in life.
Sister Rosette spotted Francesca as she walked down the middle of the long tables. “There she is!” Rosette called, waving her over. “Our little dove in her new feathers!”
A few sisters and brothers turned to look curious, at who Rosette was talking about. When they realized it was their new sister here to join them those looks of curiosity turned into warm smiles. Noble or not she did not look that part anymore.
Amara gave her a small nod. “Go on. Eat. Learn their names. You are one of them now.”
Francesca swallowed and stepped forward.
Rosette pulled out a bench for her. “Sit, sit. You must be starving. You must have had a long journey and fish in the winter is no true meal.”
“I…" Francesca suddenly stopped speaking the words being stuck in her throat. Speaking loudly enough so she was not mumbling was hard enough for her already but managing conversations with so many new people was too much for her. So, despite what Sidona said, despite knowing she had to speak to do good work here for Andraste and the Maker, Francesca shut her mouth and nodded her head in reply.
Rosette tilted her head in confusion at the young girl's sudden silence but she continued on like all was normal. She placed a slice of bread on Francesca’s plate, a piece of lamb, followed by a cup of steaming tea.
Across the table, a girl who was no older than eight and ten leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “I’m Gillies. Welcome to the madhouse.”
“Affirmed Gillies,” Rosette scolded, “This is a Chantry, not a madhouse. Please show the proper respect”
Gillies shrugged. She did not care for formalities or the proper words for this place. She was just here because it was demanded of her if she was to become a Templar. She was here because she did not have a choice. This place had been her home as long as she could remember. While other Chantry members got letters from family they were not allowed to read she got nothing. Was she not loved enough for a letter? It made her hate, and hate was not a thing the Maker forgave lightly. “I'll be out of here in a few months. I'm here to be a Templar not a sister that is on her knees all day" Gillies said with a roll of her eyes.
Francesca's own knees would be sore and bruised after holiday prayers she attended in Jadar. She wondered if now that she was on this path she would build a tolerance for the pain. With a slight hum Francesca tore a piece of bread and ate it. It was unlike any of the food she had eaten before but the food made her feel loved and that made it taste all the better.
Around her, the sisters and brothers talked about chores, lessons, and who had accidentally spilled ink on the Revered Mother’s desk last week. Normal things. Simple things. Things Francecsa had never experienced due to her way of life. She never got to experience mischief, that simple talk you told your peer about your day and plans you had. She would find that here often times in the future but for now she would keep to herself just as she always had.
After break-fast the still learning intimates and affirmed entered a modest classroom tucked behind the main hall. Sunlight filtered through narrow glass windows, illuminating shelves of scrolls, ink pots, and well‑worn copies of the Chant of Light. Three rows of wooden desks filled the room, each with a quill and parchment neatly arranged on its surface. A few iniates and affirmed were already seated when Francesca found where she was supposed to go. They already chatting about what lesson they would learn this day and the ones who were older and planed to take their vows and move to whichever Chantry required them talked about what their vows would entail.
Gillies kicked out a chair from the table beside her with her foot as Francesca walked past her looking around for an empty seat one preferably where she could be alone for a moment before the lessons begun. “Sit with me, Francesca” Gillies said.
Francesca could not be rude and refuse Gillies offer. That would not be proper. So she smiled softly and took the seat Gillies had offered her.
Revered Mother Louise moved to the front of the room once it was full her hands folded around the wooden stand infront of her. “As the sun leans toward the west it is a sign we begin our lessons. Today, we begin with the basics. The structures of the Chant of Light and the expectations placed upon those who serve the Maker" Louise explained as she turned her head to the girls and boys she knew were to stay in the order unlike Gillies. "First: the role of an initiate. You are not yet a sister or a brother. You are learning and observing your elders. Watching the brothers, sisters and chancellors do their work. You are preparing yourselves to take vows that will shape the rest of your lives.” Louise turned to the shelve behind her and retrieved a scroll. “For our lesson we will begin with the Canticle of Trials. Grab a book and open them to the correct page, please.”
Francesca rose to her feet and followed the others in the room as they retrieved their books off the shelf. None had names, which made sense if you were not to have personal belongings. So she grabbed a book off the shelf shocked by the sudden weight in her hands. She felt the ache in her arms from carrying something so heavy. She had tomes and books at the estate sure but never did they have this kind of weight to them. Never were they so many pages long. When she sat down at her desk again she gently placed the book utop her parchment her fingers already finding their way to the index so she could find the proper page.
The words in the book were printed in the Orlesian tongue but below it in small scribbled words were what Francesca suspected to be the Common tongue. She did not have time to finish those lessons at the estate so she was still unfamiliar with the words at times. It was not a big matter she did not need to speak enough of the tounge to know what they said. When she flipped to the page she needed she found the words of the Chant were in her own tongue and that was familiar. Her father had taught her peices of the Chant when she was old enough to visit the Chantry with him. Of couse she had not learned every peice of the Chant of Light Victore had no time for that. The Canticle of Trials was luckily the most familar to her, the verses of the Canticle of Trials were the most beloved and the most often-quoted lines. She often head Chantry members speaking that part of the Chant whenever she was at the Chantry in Jadar.
Louise looked around the room at the boys and girls looking for one person to speak. The elder boys and girls knew this verse well she wanted to pick someone who still had difficulty saying the words or… perhaps she should pick someone who has not had to say them at all? “Francesca, would you read from trials one, 1:1 through 1:3 please?” Louise asked as her voice softened.
Francesca's fingers froze as they stopped picking at the thread that held the books spine together. Her voice came out meekly as she had forced it away for the entirety of break-fast. “Me?”
“Yes,” Louise said gently. “You are one of us now. Let your voice be heard.”
Francesca's heart hammered in her chest. She swallowed as she stared at the line of words on the page. They swirled together on the page and as Francesca saw all the people looking her way her world tilted. She felt sick. She didn't want to talk the very notion of it scared her to death. Yet as she looked back down at the page she saw the words to the Chant clearly and something about them made her heart calm. "Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion, should they set themselves against me." Desperate being correct in her reading Francesca's voice wavered. But the room stayed quiet. No one laughed and no one seemed to be judging her. "In the long hours of the night when hope has abandoned me, I will see the stars and know your Light remains." She thought of herself standing on that ship on the way here, staring up into the sky of endless stars and endless constellation. She did not need signs or words to know the Maker was here because he never left. He was engraved in the very world and left reminders of that. "I have heard the sound a song in the stillness, The echo of Your voice, calling creation to wake from its slumber."By the third and final line Francesca was supposed to read her voice warmed. like a candle being lit carefully.
Louise smiled. She was glad Francesca knew those verses. It would make lessons and the girls studies go by quicker. Before Francesca knew it she would be taking her vows to the Maker. “Well done." She said with a nod. "Now, who will read 1:4 through 1:6?"
Hands rose up from tables till Louise picked a boy in the front row to read the next verses. Francesca followed along as others read from the Chant and wrote down notes when she found the situation requiring it.
Lessons ended in the late afternoon the sun was nowhere to be found hidden behind grey clouds and falling snow. Francesca stared up at the sky watching the snowflakes fall from the sky. The others around her murmured about lunch and their tasks today. Francesca did not seem bothered by this she was quite content being on her own and doing what she was doing.
Mother Ameline approached her with a small tablet in hand. “Francesca,” she said gaining the girls attention, “it’s time for your first chore assignment. Come. Walk with me.”
Francesca stood up from the bench she was sitting on and followed Ameline across the courtyard toward a long stone building with smoke coming from its chimney beside the Chantry.
“This building is the infirmary Your first duty will be assisting Sister Saphi. She oversees the washing and preparation of linens." She said as she pushed the door open. The room was warm and humid, filled with the soft bubbling of cauldrons and the scent of lavender oil. Piles of white cloth sat on tables some clean, some stained from use or common accidents.
“Grand Cleric,” Sister Saphi said, bowing her head before turning to look at Francesca. “And this must be the new initiate.”
“Francesca,” Ameline said. “She will assist you today.”
Saphi's eyes swept over Francesca’s posture, the way she stood distributing her weight evenly between the balls of her feet and her heels with her toes pointing straight ahead. Her head was level with the floor and her hands were folded together infront of her waist. Then came the way her hair was done. No commoner or anyone in this Chantry kept their hair that fancy. Only nobles did that kind of thing. “Grand Cleric would there not be another job that she is better suited for? Has she ever washed anything in her life?”
"That does not matter. We sisters and brothers learn the simple tasks, the day to day things to keep this Chantry running. She cannot move onto work with the people outside this place untill she learns these things" Ameline placed a reassuring hand on Francesca’s shoulder. “She will learn. And she will do well.” Then without another word she left them.
Saphi handed Francesca a wooden paddle. “Start with these. Stir the linens so the soap reaches every part.”
Francesca grabbed the paddle silently as she stepped to the wooden cauldron. Steam rose in thick clouds very different from what she saw in soup bowls and teacups. Still she did not complain. She knew what hard work was the people who took care of her taught her that fact. But never how to exactly do the task. It was no matter Francesca looked to Saphi from the corner of her eye and watched as the sister carefully stirred carefully the paddle around the cloth's in the water. Soon Francesca mimicked Saphi and she stirred the paddle in the water fighting against the dirty cloth in the wooden cauldron. She then took that clean cloth and rinsed it out getting every last bit of water out before placing it on the rack nearby the fireplace. Since it was winter they could not leave linens out due to them freezing in the cold. She was then from there instructed to see which linens were dry so she could fold them. Once that was finished she had to repeat the entire process. Her arms ached and her back protested from being hunched over for so long. A position her body had never experienced or grown accustomed to before, but despite all the ache she felt she kept going.
By the time the sun dipped lower Francesca’s hair that was not braided was frizzing from steam. But the linens were clean, folded, and stacked neatly. Saphi nodded approvingly as she emptied out the dirty water from the cauldrons. “You worked hard today. Good job.”
Francesca smiled a awkward but proud smile. “Thank you, sister.” She managed to say.
The last of the evening bells tolls faded as the brothers and sisters drifted toward their respectively dormitory's. Francesca followed the sisters for a few steps until Mother Ameline touched her shoulder. “Not that way, Francesca. You’ll be staying elsewhere for now.”
Ah, yes. That was right the Grand Cleric had told her that. Francesca followed after Amelia crossing the snow covered stone and grass in the courtyard. Soon they were back to the main part of the Chantry. It loomed ahead quietly and solemnly.
Ameline led her inside then to a entrance that was restricted to public, initate, and affirmed use. Ameline used a key from her pocket to unlock the door she stood infront of. The door creaked softly as she pushed it open. Inside the room was dim only lit from the light in the hallway. In the air you could see the dust motes that drifted in the room. “This room hasn’t housed anyone in some time,” Ameline said. “It once belonged to the Revered Mother who served here before my appointment.”
Francesca’s steps slowed her voice finally breaking out of her throat after remaining silent for the majority of the day. “I… I’m staying in the Revered Mother’s rooms?”
“For now,” Ameline said. “Until you grow comfortable. And until we determine where you will best fit among the sisters.” She paused, then added gently, “You are not a typical initiate. Your path will not be typical either." Ameline lit a single candle on the bedside table placing a thick needle on the stick before stepping away.
Francesca hesitated in the doorway unsure if that unwelcome feeling would last forever or just for today. “Mother Ameline… why give me this room? Truly?”
Ameline studied her for a long moment before speaking her next words. “Because you are walking a path Andraste has touched. And because if the visions you have are real, while you adjust, you will need room to breathe. To think. To listen.”
Francesca swallowed as she went to turn the rings on her fingers but found them bare. So she was left with the only option she had. Running her fingertips along her knuckles to ease some of that anxiety she had. “To listen to her?”
“To listen to yourself,” Ameline corrected. “The Maker's Bride speaks in many ways. Not all of themloud.”
Francesca lowered her gaze pitifully. The words her siblings had spoken to her those two whole days after she had her vision were finally kicking in. “I’m afraid I won’t hear her again. Or that I never heard her at all”
Ameline frowned. Francesca did not seem like she doubted her visions not with the way she worked herself today. But perhaps there was a seed of doubt placed in her mind already and it was just now showing. “You will,” Ameline said. “When you are ready." Ameline could not say if this girl had visions or not but the Maker nor Andraste stayed silent to the children that needed them. “Rest now. Tomorrow will be full.”
Francesca nodded as she finally stepped further into the room. “Good night, Mother Ameline.”
“Good night, Francesca.” Ameline said as she stepped back toward the door and closed it behind her with a soft click.
Francesca stood alone in the quiet room, the candle flickering gently beside her. Without a sound she dropped herself to her knees and rested her chin on the bedside table just staring as the flame danced. When she realized she was tired she stood onto her feet changed into the simple nightgown Ameline brought in. The fabric was coarse against her skin compared to her silks, but it was warm enough. She could feel the love that went into making it and in turn it made her feel safe. Staring in the mirror Francesca furrowed her brows as her fingers fumbled to unpin the last of her hair. She knew she sat for ages in a chair getting her hair done every day but she had not known how difficult of a task it was to undo it all. "Punaise" She cursed softly as she wrested the last ribbon tying her braids together finally letting the braids loosen. Realizing her mistake of cursing in the Makers home as began to brush her hair Francesca quickly apologized to the Maker for her mistake. That was something else she would have to teach herself to stop doing. Humming as she brushed her hair her eyes drifted to the desk's surface on it sat her ring. Her one allowed keepsake. As she felt the tears brim her eyes Francesca decided that was enough for tonight. With a huff she sat down the brush and pulled away from the table climbing into the bed in the room. The mattress was firm, the blanket scratchy, but it felt… safe. Comfortable in a way. Francesca laid back pulling the covers up to her chin as she stared up at the wooden beams overhead. And she felt… everything. Everything she had not dared to address or acknowledge these past two days came rushing into her head all at once.
She missed her father’s voice drifting through the halls. She missed Noguat sleeping at the foot of her bed. Maker, she missed the weight of her old life. The heavy and familiar, feeling it had. Even if she was not loved or attended to by her family she missed being home.
With a light sob Francesca turned onto her side, clutching the blanket till her fingers hurt. She cried till her eyes finally closed and she fell into a soft slumber. It was not the first time she soothed herself to sleep through tears and it would not be the last.