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Inquisitor Lavellan is elven. No, more than that; she's Dalish, with a Dalish heritage and a Dalish religion. She worships elven gods and follows her clan's elvish beliefs.
It's always been a source of pride for her, and she's often in the tavern, with an audience, remembering the stories she was taught in the Clan, passing the knowledge of her people on, if only in fragments.
It's something they've often clashed upon. She, with her pantheon of Dalish 'gods'; Cassandra, with her belief in the Maker prevailing above all else. She just doesn't understand it; how can one not believe in the Maker, or in his bride?
It's why Cassandra is so confused when she finds the Inquisitor standing alone in the Chantry chapel, staring up at the marble statue of the Maker's bride. She's alone, her dark hair glinting in the light that shines through the windows behind Andraste's statue, her slim frame cast into shadow. As the Seeker gently closes the chapel door behind her, she squints, raising her hand to see in the light.
'Inquisitor.' She's puzzled. Her friend has never shown any interest in the Chantry, always politely declined the blessings of the clerics, and to find her now, looking almost forlorn, alone in this place of the Maker, is a little unnerving.
The Inquisitor is still staring up at the immortalised, marble woman, and Cassandra moves to her side. Closer to the statue, the stone face of Andraste is shrouded in soft shadows as the sunlight shines around her.
'Can I ask you a question?'
Cassandra nods.
'How have you kept your faith?' A pause. 'I mean, how do you stay, believing in a higher power? In a god? Even after everything we've been through, all we've seen…' She tails off, the words resting in the air.
Again, the Seeker is confused. It's not a question she likes to think about too much, a question that goes against the very grain of her being. Faith is all she has.
'I believe the Maker has a plan,' she answers, slowly. 'Whatever falls into my path, I know that He means to test my faith. I always pass.' She raises an eyebrow. 'Do your 'gods' not inspire the same?'
She knows little about the Dalish gods, cares even less, if she's honest about it, but she thought her elvish friend believed in them, at least.
The Inquisitor shrugs. 'Things are different now.' Almost without thought, her hand reaches up, tracing along her unmarked skin where the black lines of her vallaslin were once worn with such pride.
Then she gestures at Andraste, watching them with stone eyes and outstretched hands. 'Do you think she had doubts?'
It takes her a moment to process the question, another that she had rarely considered. 'She rose an army against Tevinter, and was sent to the Maker's side for it.' A wry smile. 'She died for what she believed. Hardly the actions of one who doubts.'
A scowl passes across her companion's face, lingering for only an instant before her face smooths again. 'I think she doubted, sometimes.' A small smile of her own. 'Her great secret.'
She's speaking cryptically, now, and Cassandra has no answer. They stand there a moment longer, Cassandra searching the marble Andraste's hidden face for guidance.
Another moment, a creaking of the door, and the Seeker of Truth is standing alone in the chapel. Alone with her silence, and her faith.