Bug had made them vote on it, on whether to go after the Templars or help the Mages back in Redcliffe. It had seemed pertinent, as they had all been debating the matter for what'd felt like hours, and Bug (now dubbed the Herald of Andraste
) could only think of one surefire solution to their tired squabbling. A majority vote.
Bug had, in her mind, considered it of paramount importance to aid the mages back in Redcliffe. Dorian, the Atlus mage they'd encountered while inside the Redcliffe chantry, had spun her a convincing yet disconcerting tale of Tevinter cultists and time travel magic.
Alexius' missive, his request to meet with her, screamed "Priority."
Instead of asserting herself to this matter Bug alternatively, foolishly, suggested a "show of hands" to a group of grown-ass people —a callow strategy, in retrospect. They had, to this point, looked to her for direction and had allowed her some reign over the Inquisition's war table for no other reason save for the fact that she was able to close rifts à la glowing, green hand-leech. This, this yielding attempt at management was, unfortunately, the best she could come up with.
The Commander, of course, had voted for seeking out the Templars' aid —seeing as he had been one, still was so long as Bug was concerned, she hadn't exactly been surprised by his vote. Then, there was Cassandra, someone who Bug had mistakenly thought she'd convinced over to her side after hours of amicable discussion while on the road and while sharing a tent —her vote had been somewhat of a slap in the face. Templars. Understandable, Bug reasoned: The Lord Seeker's actions were
rather discomfiting and it was
normal that Cassandra would have a vested interest in the fate of her order.
It had stung, though.
Leliana and herself had voted to go after the Mages in Redcliffe, and though they hadn't come up with a plan to deal with Alexius' invitation as of yet, that could be seen to when the council had organized itself to one cause —to one group.
That had left Josephine, the tie-breaker. Templars won out.
Bug had honored the result, an unhappy twist inside of her gut.
As a mage, an apostate
no less, Bug had spent most of her formative and adult years actively avoiding
Templars. Now she was stood, quite preposterously, inside a Templar stronghold —severely uncomfortable
wasn't a strong enough phrase to explain just how out-of-place she felt at the moment. Such wasn't even taking into account the pretentious, inflated ass (Lord Abernache, she was fully aware) that had fastened himself to her side.
Bug had no time to posture. Since arriving she'd been feeling herself slowly withdrawing in a piss-poor attempt to make herself smaller, to go unnoticed. Hard to do, apparently, when you're the voiding Herald of Andraste. As a result, she was rather terse in her interactions with Abernache, something Sera seemed to enjoy to no end. The Iron Bull looked to be getting a kick out of it, too. (Well, possibly. Bug never could get a good read on him.) Cassandra, though? Not so much.
Bug sighed and squared her shoulders in some grasping attempt to get a grip on herself. The task was simple enough: Convince the Lord Seeker to aid the Inquisition in sealing the Breach. She could certainly do that much. Possibly. No pressure or anything.
"Andraste's Herald, an elf? It can't be. She'd never chose one of them, especially a mage."
There was that, too. Well, at the very least,
Bug thought, quickly making her way over to their Templar contact. it can't possibly get much worse than this.