Blessed are they who stand before
The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.
Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.
• Benedictions 4:10
Haven, 9:41 Dragon
The valley echoed with the clang of metal as the recruits practiced in the early morning light. Rays of sunshine beamed from the edges of the Frostbacks, the warmth barely scraping against the cold that radiated from the snow crunching beneath boots. The sky was a robin egg blue; beautiful and innocent. It promised good days ahead, it seemed.
And yet the commander's heart remained heavy in his chest. It has been almost ten years since he had returned to his homeland, nearly ten years since his boots had touched Fereldan soil. His cheeks pink from the cold and clouds of breath escaping his lips with every breath, he supervised his men as they ran their drills, giving short, stern commands when he felt they needed it - which was often.
Nearby, smoke from cooking fires rose up from behind the walls of Haven, once a quiet village that now bustled with activity.
The Seeker and the Nightingale had been busy, calling on those they trusted to join the cause.
What that cause was exactly, the commander still wasn't sure. The mage-Templar war had been raging for the past couple of years, sparked by the destruction of the Chantry in Kirkwall. The rebellion had swept across southern Thedas, and when shit hit the fan, it was always the common-folk who suffered.
Being a former Templar himself, the commander knew deep in his heart that it was his duty to protect the innocent from the evil and corruption of magic and all that came with it.
A lot had happened to him in the last decade. Much that he wasn't proud of. Much that still woke him late at night in a cold sweat, the faces of demons lingering in the shadows.
His time as a Templar had been over after the events of Kirkwall. He now saw the corruption within the ranks of an order he had respected since he was just a boy, and his rose-tinted glasses had been shattered when Meredith called for a mass genocide. It was too much - they were going too far, at last.
When Cassandra Pentaghast had approached him about her plans, he had been willing to accept, walking away from the Templar order forever. He didn't even look back. There was no telling what the future held - all he knew was that this was his time for redemption.
The cold of the mountains was a blessing upon his cheeks - so unlike the muggy, sticky heat of Kirkwall. The open air seemed to soothe his soul, finally being away from tall walls and narrow streets, darkened by corruption. The city that had been so full of promises for a new start for the young man had been quickly broken as his responsibilities grew and his trust dwindled. Climbing through the ranks and becoming knight-captain, second only to the knight-commander, he had been living what he once thought would be a dream life, his hard work and dedication finally recognized.
Instead, his eyes had been opened again to the evil of the world, the evil of mankind, and the evil of magic. He once again was exposed to the madness that power granted to those greedy enough to take it, and his beliefs were shaken to the very core. Yet, this time, he saw madness in the very order he had dedicated his life to, and his former convictions and assumptions were shattered.
The long years in Kirkwall had changed him from the young, naïve, angry man he once was. Whether he had changed for the better, he did not yet know.
Pacing between his recruits as they trained, he watched as they blocked and jabbed, lunged and dodged. They were getting better, he thought to himself. Not that he would tell them that.
"Is that a shield in your hand?" he barked. "Block with it."
His time training Templar's at Kirkwall had given him the proper credentials to train the recruits for Cassandra's cause. He had brought the few remaining Templar's loyal to him along, and the numbers had grown as they had traveled north to Haven. Now, he found himself in charge of almost eighty men and women, all eager to prove themselves as warriors.
He worried for days to come - despite the sunny optimism of the sky above, he knew from the way that an anxious fear coiled in his stomach that dark days were brewing. He had grown a knack for sensing danger, it seemed.
Still, he continued to hold on to a sense of hope. He still prayed to the Maker for guidance, for the redemption of his soul, for deliverance. He hoped that Cassandra's - well, they weren't giving it a title yet - cause would bear fruit in days to come. And he hoped - although he knew it very well could be in vain - that his small troop of soldiers would never have to be blooded.
Maybe, just maybe, he could witness a happy ending. A pocket of happiness in this Maker-forsaken life.
Thedas had been in turmoil for the past couple of years, and it was the innocent who suffered the most. The commander was glad to hear that his family was at least out of the way from the bulk of the chaos. Small blessings. But hearing the reports of farms being burnt to the ground, homes being ravaged, people being mugged and raped and murdered in the streets over a couple of copper coins - it was too much. Something needed to change.
He hoped and prayed that the Conclave would be their deliverance. That the Devine could make some sense of the madness.
He hoped this was the end.
A rider cantered near the training grounds, carrying a satchel full of letters over his shoulder. The hooves of the small chestnut kicked up rocks and snow as it glided past, carrying news from the outside world. The commander suspected there was another letter from his sister, scolding him for not writing back in a timely manner.
His recruits had been working hard since before the sunrise, sweat dripping from brews as they continued to batter each other with blunt weapons. The commander figured he would give them a couple more minutes, then call for a break until after lunch.
He really wanted a cup of tea.
A couple of birds swooped overhead, cooing to each other as they glided by on feathered wings.
A dog was barking somewhere behind the walls of Haven.
Besides that, everything seemed still and silent. As though the world were holding its breath.
The Conclave would be starting soon.
Everything would make sense again.
The commander gave the signal, and his recruits ceased in their training, sweaty and breathless.
"Great work this morning," said the commander. "We will continue drills after lunch this afternoon. Go and take a break - "
"Commander Cullen," said one of the recruits suddenly, pointing over the commander's shoulder. "What is - "
BOOM.