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She sings as she lights the candles, clear voice lofting with hymns learnt far from Anvil's fresh, salted air. Around her, the great chapel glows with holy light, dappled patterns flickering through newly woven lace banners. It was the new Primate of Dibella, Selene Duronia, who requested her assistance; it was only right, the Primate said, that Lorinda Rue, the Divine Lord Crusader, help re-consecrate that which she saved.
The candles lit, the crystalline notes of her song evaporate into the air, and Lorinda (not Rin nor Kel – not here) takes her palace at the Primate's side. Communal voices swell to the rafters as another hymn is sung; for of all the Divines, Dibella prizes music most.
Then come the offerings from prominent members of the congregation. Lorinda receives them, presenting them to the Primate who anoints them with scented oil from an Abalone shell, to be placed by the Lord Crusader at the appropriate point on the octagonal altar.
From the Countess Millona, a piece of needlework for the place of Zenithar. From Azzan of the Fighters Guild, a fine silver blade for the place of Stendarr. From the victualler Wilbur, a goblet of good wine is set at Mara's place. From Newheim the harbourmaster comes a piece of rigging-rope in a decorative knot for the place of Kynareth. From Carahil of the Mages Guild, a scroll of Greater Fortify Intelligence for the place of Julianos. From the artist Astia, a sculpture made of fishbones for the place of Arkay. For the One is given an enchanted gauntlet from the blacksmith Varel. From the nameless Prophet, a tiny golden dragon to be set at Akatosh's place – and a pang in her breast for the man she abandoned at the Blades' temple.
With each flick of oil from the iridescent shell, goosebumps shiver Lorinda's flesh, hidden under the layers of the Crusader's armour. With each settling of an offering on the altar, the fine hairs on her arms crawl, as if a storm is coming.
The final item, a sacred lotus flower made from blushing glass, is brought by Fihrah, the chapel's new priestess. She waits, head bowed, while the Primate sings a prayer, inviting Dibella to return to the place prepared for her, marking the effort which has gone into making the chapel a true place of worship once again.
As the last note fades from the air, Lordina steps forward to address Fihrah and perform the call-and-response – a repetitious set of questions in the form of a melodic chant, eliciting from the priestess her vows to keep the chapel in good stead.
With each question answered satisfactorily, Lordina accepts the glass flower. As she turns, the Crusader's armour feels weighted; as if the stains upon it are fresh once more and she brought low from the fight's vivacity. Each step towards the altar is like swimming against a tide, her hair frizzing from the constricting braids. Lorinda presses on – the distance is so short but every sensation is slowed to a crawl. She lifts the beautiful glass flower, scared of it tipping from arms that tremble under a phantasmal weight.
The offerings glitter and spark in the hypnotic swaying of the candles as Lorinda finally stands beside the altar. The air presses close, like high summer's noon in the Nibenay, the scent of the flowers an almost physical thing.
With shaking hands, Dibella's symbol is lowered into the catinus at the center of the altar.
The flower tochs in place.
The air snaps like a loosed bowstring.
There is no roll of thunder. The candles do not flare. The wind gives naught but a breathy sigh as Kellandra Rihannon Lordina Rue, Divine Crusader, sinks to her knees in relief and apparent reverence.
When she'd first arrived, the chapel had felt distant and cold. Empty, like a ruined fort; a shell of stone and nothing more.
Now, though.
Now the light glows that much golder. There is a sense of warmth and love, like being hugged by an affectionate khajiit.
A member of the congregation gasps. Lorinda manages to raise her head – and grins.
The glass lotus shimmers with light. Dibella has come home.