Hello, everyone! In case you have been following this story (which, by the way, I love and appreciate), you should know that I don't usually like to edit my works. Very often, I post them hot off the press with only a little tweaking here and there. However, I've invested so much time and heart into this particular project that I decided to REALLY edit it with the help of an incredible Beta. As such, the story has undergone major reconstruction. A lot of the main plot points will remain (in some form or another), but for those of you who have been reading since the beginning, it will seem like a completely different story. But I really think that this version is much better and Marianne deserves to have her story told as well as I can manage. So with that disclaimer out of the way, I hope you all enjoy these new and improved chapters, and please feel free to leave me a review or a message! Thank you! :D
There was nothing truly remarkable about Haven.
After its dragon-worshipping heathens had been killed or driven off, the village tended to go unnoticed. Marianne could understand why, considering the only thing that made it worth visiting was the Temple of Sacred Ashes, which sat somewhere far above them in the mountain peaks, crumbling into ruin. Leaning against the Chantry's rough outer wall, she observed the small village until her nose went numb from the cold and her eyes glazed over from ennui. Snow-covered and rustic, Haven descended toward a small lake in tiered levels. Clerics, Mothers, scholars, and soldiers milled about among its slushing streets and sturdy, wooden houses. Most of the Chantry Sisters from Montsimmard had balked at the idea of travelling across the mountains into Ferelden, even at the Most Holy's direct request. Eventually it was decided that only the lay sisters would attend the Conclave under the supervision of the Revered Mother; a final pilgrimage before they took their vows.
But why Divine Justinia insisted on brokering peace between Templars and apostates at the top of a mountain, Marianne could not fathom. Perhaps she was afraid of the potential violence, should the talks turn sour. Better to have blood running down the walls of a forgotten ruin, than in the shining streets of Val Royeaux.
Marianne pushed herself lazily off the wall and rubbed her hands together to ward off the cold. She had volunteered to watch for the Revered Mother's return from the Temple, but after an hour there was still no sign of her. Days upon days of waiting for a verdict left the village in a constant state of idleness. But as long as the apostate mages stayed a fair distance away, Marianne experienced little discomfort.
She and the other low-ranking lay sisters were deemed "unnecessary" attendees for the Conclave, and had been given orders to stay behind in the village to pray. But one can only pray for so long before the stone roughs the knees and the sound of the Chant immediately puts you to sleep.
Still, she realized with a sigh, it was time to end her little diversion before she contracted frostbite; even if it meant sitting through more of Ava and Bree's constant bickering. She turned away from the village's quaint bustle to enter the sanctuary's quiet main hall. Ava and Bree were sitting near one of the lit braziers, just as Marianne had left them. Wordlessly, she sat down on the bench across from Ava and let the chill melt from her bones.
"What do you think they'll decide?" asked Ava suddenly, her bright green eyes wide with worry as she clutched a leather-bound tome to her chest.
"You've asked that question every hour for the past three days, Ava," groaned Bree. Her freckled face was pulled into an annoyed scowl as she tried to stoke the fire with little success.
Marianne considered offering to help, but Bree would probably just wave her away again. She was content to sit on the bench and watch the red sparks hopping along the ashes and blackened wood.
"But nothing like this has ever happened before," Ava said. "I've been reading up on everything in the Haven library. And I use the term 'library' very loosely."
"I hope the Most Holy decides something soon. I'm tired of Ferelden. Everything smells like a wet dog," Bree complained. Frustrated, Bree threw away the stick she had been using to stoke the fire and wiped her hands on her dress, leaving dirty grey streaks across the red and white fabric.
Ava flipped through a few pages of her book and squinted at the small print. "Bree, please, you need to move or I can't see what I'm reading!" she said. Bree huffed and sat down on the bench between Ava and Marianne, then crossed her arms.
"I'm cold," said Bree suddenly. Ava rolled her eyes and snapped her book shut.
"The Revered Mother should be back soon from the Conclave. Complain to her!" said Ava. "Right, Marianne?"
"We won't make our lives any easier by bickering," said Marianne, still staring intently into the dying flames.
"Well, the Revered Mother won't like it if the fire dies and we all freeze to death in this forsaken place," grumbled Bree.
"Then stop complaining and go get some more firewood. Honestly, Bree, it's like the Ferelden air has turned you into an infant," said Ava, who had reopened her book and started to read again.
"Did you finish checking the traps, Ava?" asked Marianne. The lay-sister jolted up out of her seat and her book fell out of her hands and thudded to the floor.
"Oh no! I completely forgot, I've been so busy reading-"
Bree snorted through her nose. "Looks like I'm not the only one who forgot to do their chores."
Ava glared at Bree and her pale complexion flushed pink. "Oh, who are you to tell me anything? You have an easy job! I hate going downstairs. It's so dark and scary," Ava whined.
"I'll go with you, Ava," offered Marianne. Ava sighed with relief and stooped to pick up her book from the floor.
"Let's make it quick, Marianne. The less time we spend down there, the better," said Ava, setting her book neatly on the bench.
Bree huffed as they left, but said nothing else while Marianne and Ava walked across the hall, through a corridor, and down a set of stairs. The underground tunnel stretched the length of the chantry, and both sisters followed the torch-lit path until they reached a shallow alcove where barrels and crates of supplies were stacked against the wall.
"I think there should be a trap somewhere behind there," said Ava timidly as she pointed to one of the boxes. Marianne waited while Ava finally mustered up enough courage to creep towards the box. She leaned over, balancing precariously on one foot as she searched for the trap. A moment later, she sighed and alighted back down onto both feet. "It's empty, thank the Maker. Let's check the next one."
Marianne followed silently as Ava cautiously checked each of the next three traps, but all of them proved mouse-less.
"I think this is the last one. Please, Maker, let it be so…" said Ava, as she peered behind a set of jars. Suddenly, Ava screamed and jumped back away from the containers. Her shriek echoed down the tunnel but Marianne remained unfazed, though perhaps a little deaf. "It's a rat! A huge rat! Oh, Maker, I hate rats!" she cried, twisting her hands into her frock as she backed as far away from the jars as possible.
Marianne stepped forward and looked for herself. In the shadows, she could see something furry caught in the metal jaws of the trap. Ignoring Ava's panicked whimpers, Marianne moved aside the jars so that she could see the creature more clearly. It was a rat, but a small one, and definitely dead.
"Hand me a sack," instructed Marianne as she gestured behind her. A moment later, Ava tossed a cloth sack at Marianne's feet from a safe distance. Marianne dropped the trap, rat and all, into the sack and frowned.
"What were you supposed to do if you found one?" she asked. Ava grimaced and slowly approached Marianne, warily eyeing the sack the entire time.
"I don't know! She just said to 'dispose of it.' Can't we just toss it into one of the braziers?"
Marianne glanced along the tunnel and saw a lit brazier still flickering near the dungeon cells. Casually, she tossed the sack and its deceased contents into the fire and walked back to Ava, who was already waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
She looked at Marianne with a furrowed brow. "You know, Marianne, I don't mean to sound rude but…"
"But?"
"Sometimes you're just so…odd."
"What do you mean?"
"You just…do things. I've never seen you afraid of anything. You picked up that dead rat without even flinching!"
Marianne raised an eyebrow. "Rats aren't scary," she said.
"Well, maybe not to you, but you didn't even seem disgusted! How is it you stay so calm all the time?"
Marianne shrugged.
"Well," Ava huffed, "Let's go see if Bree finally got that fire going." They both traipsed upstairs and returned to Bree who had completely given up on the fire and was sitting on the floor attempting to read Ava's book by the dying firelight.
"Bree! Why haven't you gotten more firewood? And who said you could touch my book?" said Ava, roughly tugging the tome out of Bree's grasp. Bree scowled at her and sighed.
"I got it last time!" said Bree. "Let Marianne go and get it!"
"You can't just make Marianne do all your chores, Bree. You're always taking advantage of her!" said Ava.
"I'm not taking advantage of her. She can always say no, isn't that right Marianne?" said Bree.
Both sisters turned to look at her. Marianne exhaled through her nose. Their voices were giving her a headache. She suddenly remembered why she had volunteered to stand out in the cold for an hour….
"I don't mind, Ava. I'll go bring in the wood and then Bree can rekindle the fire. It will be fine."
"You don't have to, Marianne. Let Bree go and do it."
"No. It's no trouble. I need something else to do, anyway," she said.
She left the two lay-sisters before they could say anything else. The fire would go out completely before they stopped harping at each other. She stepped outside again into the brisk chill and cast one last glance towards Haven's gates, but the Revered Mother was still not there. Marianne hoped she returned soon; maybe she could finally end Ava and Bree's endless squabbling. The wood pile was stacked neatly at the side of the Chantry, and she had only started to pick up a few logs when the world suddenly shook to its bones.
She heard it before she felt it: a crack so loud, she thought she had been struck by lightning, and then a boom that resounded through the mountain pass like the Maker's own voice. A split second later, Marianne was thrown back into a nearby snow bank by an invisible wave of force. The breath in her lungs left all at once in a surprised gasp, and her vision flickered with dark spots.
Dazed, Marianne turned and slumped out of the snow and onto the icy ground, cradling her head in her hands. Suddenly, everything around her turned a hazy green and she looked up to the sky. Her ears rang so loudly, she couldn't hear her own scream.
High above the mountain peaks to the west, a menacing swirl of clouds spread out from the sickly green eye with strange lightning arcing all around its maw. As Marianne stared up in horror, the rift in the sky seem to widen and a sudden and very sharp charge of energy raced up her spine, blinding her with pain. She gagged at the sudden taste of ashes in her mouth. Something was on fire…something was burning….
"Marianne!" someone cried, the sound so muffled, it was hard to tell. A pair of hands lifted Marianne up from the ground and shocked her back into reality. "Marianne, are you alright?" Ava asked. "We have to get out of here!" The poor girl was nearly weeping.
"No," said Marianne, finally regaining her hearing. She staggered slightly as another bolt of pain, like white-hot lightning, pulsed through her. Ava steadied her until the feeling subsided and she shook her head to clear the sensation. "We have to help get people out of the fire!"
"What are you talking about, Marianne? There isn't a fire! Come on, we have to leave!" Ava wailed. Marianne looked around, bewildered, but Ava was right: there was no fire. Still, the scent of smoke clawed at her senses as if she were in the middle of a blaze. She wanted to spit the taste of ash from her mouth, but Ava's insistent pull forced her to ignore the sensation and the two lay-sisters fled back to the front side of the chantry where the village had erupted into complete chaos. People were screaming and running as far away from the hole in the sky as possible, trampling over anything and anyone that got in their way. The chantry's bell tower rang out in alarm, as if the sky shattering boom hadn't already alerted all of Ferelden.
Marianne glanced up again at the sky, her heart pounding in her chest. It looked like magic, but she couldn't help thinking of the old Chantry tale. Had the Black City been breached again by some power-hungry mages, and now the Maker pulled apart the sky to cast them down? Bree was panicking on the chantry steps as they arrived, her whole body shaking and breaths coming in heaving whoops.
"Ava! We…have to…get…out…of here!" Bree gasped.
"What happened? Did anyone see anything?" asked Marianne. Ava shook her head.
The short figure of High Chancellor Roderick pushed his way through the sisters to the top of the chantry steps and waved his hands over his head, shouting. "People of Haven! Please! Quiet yourselves!" His usual ruddy complexion was blanched white with fear, but he continued shouting with determined vigor. It did nothing.
Finally, a fierce looking woman with shortly cropped hair and sharp cheekbones strode up the steps and moved the Chancellor out of the way with a wave of her hand. She nodded to one of the soldiers that accompanied her, and the soldier blew out a series of long notes on his signal horn. Heads turned toward the sound and soon the chaos of Haven clumped together at the chantry steps into one hushed, terrified crowd.
"I require every able-bodied soldier, Templar or otherwise, to come with me to the Temple of Sacred Ashes! Everyone else, seek refuge in the chantry!" ordered the woman, her accent distinctly not from Ferelden or Orlais. The symbol of the Seekers of Truth was emblazoned on her chest, and Marianne instantly knew her as the Right Hand of the Divine, the Hero of Orlais: Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast.
Like sheep, the crowd pushed forward into the sanctuary of the chantry's strong stone walls and Marianne and the other sisters were carried along with them.
Inside, the denizens of Haven huddled together in clumps; some praying, others sitting in stunned silence, and still others whimpering softly.
"What are we going to do?" asked Ava in a trembling whisper.
"We're all…going…to…die!" sobbed Bree. Ava pulled Bree into a hug and let the distraught sister weep into her shoulder.
"We can't fall apart, Bree!" snapped Marianne.
Bree's sobs hushed abruptly into subdued hiccups and she let go of Ava to stare at Marianne in wordless shock. Even Ava looked surprised at her tone. Maybe it was the fear, but there was this bubbling warmth starting in Marianne's gut that flowed freely through her veins. She felt trapped in her own skin, her blood suddenly burning with the desire to do something.
"We need to help," Marianne continued. "Ava, come with me to the sleeping quarters and gather as many blankets as you can. Pass them out to any elderly and children. Bree, I want you to go find one of the Mothers and start leading a Chant." She took a deep breath, feeling the warm buzz in her fingertips. "If we are going to wait here, we need to give as much comfort as possible."
The lay-sisters nodded and as Bree left to find a priestess, Ava fell in line behind Marianne and they hurried to the side wing of the chantry. They ransacked through the cupboards and chests, pulling out blankets and skins. A dull, much quieter boom thundered outside and the sound sent another shock through Marianne's system. This time she only felt an uncomfortable stinging sensation running along her spine, rather than the debilitating shocks from before. She fell to one knee for a moment in surprise before recovering and then continued to gather material. As she pulled a blanket from underneath her own bed, she paused.
Gingerly, she reached out and touched the smooth silver metal of her father's Templar shield, which lay next to his leather-sheathed sword. They were tucked amongst the other meager belongings that she'd brought with her from Orlais.
"Marianne? What, what is it?" asked Ava, hurrying to her side and nearly tripping over the tail of a fox fur skin.
Carefully, Marianne pulled out the sword, still hidden in its fine leather sheath, as well as the Templar shield and rested them both on her bed. She stared down at the weapons, her body buzzing with unfamiliar warmth.
"Marianne, you can't be serious. I've never even seen you swing a sword," protested Ava. "If you try to go out there, you'll die!"
She dropped her hand away from the weapons and left them sitting idly on her bed. Ava was right. This was no time to be foolish.
Once they had passed the blankets around, Marianne stood anxiously by the main doors to await any news. Every errant sound caused her to jerk her head towards the ceiling, waiting for the roof to be consumed into the sky, and her along with it. She had heard that dwarves didn't come to the surface because they were afraid they would fall up into the sky. Maybe today, they were right.
A thousand years seemed to go by before she heard the same foreign voice from before, the Seeker's voice, shouting orders from outside. The doors pulled open swiftly and a vengeful, icy wind whipped into the sanctuary, eliciting several frightened screams from the cowering townsfolk. Marianne scurried to get out of the Seeker's path way and half hid behind a nearby pillar, her fingers gripping into the stone as if she might at any moment be swept away.
The Seeker marched in first, her dark eyes fixed ahead of her with severe determination. Following closely behind, two guards dragged the limp form of an elven woman between them. Several other guards marched after them, as well as a curious looking elven man with a head as smooth as polished stone. All of them processed through the door leading down into the dungeons, and once they were through, two guards posted themselves outside the passageway and the door closed with a heavy boom.
"What do we do now?" asked Bree.
Marianne glanced around the sanctuary and shrugged. "I…I don't know."
"So we're just supposed to sit here and wait?"
Marianne bit down on her bottom lip. The warm buzz in her veins had grown steadily more intense, and her fingers tremored slightly. She shook out her hands as if to banish the excess energy, but nothing could quell it or her frantic pulse.
"I'm going to go lay down. Come and get me if anything changes," she said, eager to get away.
She made her way to the sleeping quarters where a few of the beds were already occupied with mothers cradling their children, or the elderly who needed more comfort than the hard, stone floors. At the side of her bed, she froze.
Her father's sword and shield were laid out on the sheets, still undisturbed. She reached out and pressed her hand on the shield's cold surface, and it sent a shock of tingles through her palm. Looking around the room, all she could see were hopeless faces lying down and waiting for their inevitable destruction.
A dull, booming thunder rang out in the skies above them, and another stinging sensation skittered down her back like invisible spiders until she dropped to her knees in fear.
What was she doing? She should stay on her knees, pray and wait for the Maker's coming. But her thoughts started to war against each other: the fear and adrenaline demanding action, and common sense begging her to stay put. She hadn't felt so emotional, so alive, since…since…
Her memories eluded her, like she was grasping at smoke. It didn't matter; she couldn't let herself be overwhelmed. Her hand brushed against the sword's leather sheath and reignited the tingling in her palms. She would remain in the chantry and wait for the Maker with all of the others…but only after she did one last thing.
Before she could lose the unfamiliar surge of resolve, Marianne grabbed the sword and slung the shield on her back. She left out the front doors of the chantry and followed the soldiers who were scrambling to outfit themselves for whatever they might find ahead and sprinting towards the gates. She fell into the stream of men and women, everyone too consumed with their own fear to notice the armed chantry sister hurrying beside them.
Once outside the gates, a harsh wind blew off the lake's frozen waters and chilled her to the bone. She was still dressed in only her leggings, shirt, and red Chantry frock. Even her toes seemed to freeze inside of her fur-lined boots. She must look foolish with no armor whatsoever; she didn't even bring a coat. Still, she pressed on and up the forested hill to Penitents' Crossing, the ancient stone bridge guarded by menacing towers on both ends - the first landmark in the pilgrimage leading up to the Temple.
Currently, the bridge was swarmed with soldiers. Orders were being shouted around the rabble as some men and women were formed into loose groups to be sent onward and beyond the Crossing's gates. Crates of supplies and weapons were strewn haphazardly along the bridge, creating a treacherous gauntlet to get through to the other side.
Lost in the chaos, Marianne stumbled straight into a wall of fur. The collision knocked her backwards to the ground, and she looked up, slightly dazed. A man dressed in a surcoat with what seemed to be an entire lion's mane attached around the collar had turned back around and looked at her sternly.
"Sister, you need to go back to the chantry. We can't have any civilians beyond this point," he said as he reached out a hand and carefully lifted her from the ground, his grip warm and strong. His face was… heroic; handsome, with curly blonde hair and intense amber eyes. For a moment, Marianne's mind went blank until the sound of dull thunder reminded her of why she was there.
"I'm sorry, I'm just looking for someone in charge," she said, trying not to quaver with fear.
The man hesitated and looked at the disorder around him, grimacing. "Seeker Pentaghast is running most of the effort but…" he paused and his eyes darted about the bridge anxiously. Finally, he ran his hand quickly through his hair and grit his teeth together. "I'm sure I'll do for the moment. Are you here to fight?" he asked, nodding to her weapons. She felt that rush of adrenaline, that tingle that wanted her say yes….
"No, I don't have the skill for it. Or at least, not enough to be of any use right now. But these were my father's. Knight Commander Arlon Marchet of the Montsimmard Circle. I… I wanted to give these to someone who could use them since I cannot," she explained. Hastily, she presented the sword out to the man.
His hand hesitated over the hilt. "Are you sure, Sister?" he asked. His voice was firm. Commanding.
"Please. I have no other way to help," she said. Marianne practically pushed the sword and shield into his grasp.
"If I can, I will make sure these are returned to you," he said. "But I cannot guarantee it."
"I understand," she said.
"What is your name, Sister?"
"Marianne. Marianne Marchet."
The man nodded. Overhead, there was another dull roar of thunder and every face turned to the heavens.
The hole in the sky…it was growing. Marianne felt another warm tingle down her spine, but felt no pain, only a slight throbbing in the back of her head. The echoes of signal horns sounded up the pass beyond the bridge, and the activity around them became twice as frantic.
Over the din, Marianne heard someone shout. "Demons!"
Somewhere up the road unseen, she heard the faintest sound of steel clashing and unearthly shrieks that belonged in the realm of nightmares.
"Get back to the chantry!" the man ordered as he stared up at the sky, his amber-colored eyes burning with grim determination. She did not need him to tell her twice.
Sprinting all the way back to Haven, Marianne didn't stop until she reached the safety of the chantry. Soldiers stationed by the main doors ushered her inside quickly before sealing the sanctuary behind her again.
A few heads turned to look at her, but the rest of Haven's refugees remained in despairing silence. One of the senior clerics preached the Canticle of Trials in a quavering voice, but the words echoed hollowly throughout the hall and no one seemed to hear him. Most of the villagers had divided into small clumps and were spread out around the main hall. Some had managed to acquire a few blankets and furs, spreading them out onto the harsh stone floor or wrapping them around the shoulders of the young, sick, and elderly. Marianne settled down next to Ava and Bree who had taken up their own section of the wall. It was near enough that they could feel the heat from the fireplace, and Marianne stared into the crackling flames until her eyes blurred from the smoke and exhaustion.
And then they waited for the world to end.