PART ONE: THE QUNARI HERALD

Chapter 1: The Divine's Writ

"We lash out at the sky, but we must think beyond ourselves, as she did."

-Cassandra Pentaghast

The rusty chantry door creaks under my palm. The frame is larger than most doors and I comfortably enter, even still if I had my horns they probably would have scratched the wood. Leliana in her lavender hood and Cassandra in her sturdy riveted plate armor stand behind a large wooden table with a vast wrinkled map on it. They contrast each other completely, pastel to dark purple, each an end of a monochromatic spectrum, both intimidating in different ways, and both equally beautiful. Chancellor Roderick turns toward me from the side, his finger pointed at me in accusation he growls, "chain him, I want him prepared for travel to the capital for trial." His voice is as grating as it was at the forward camp when he was challenging both hands of the late Divine, I instantly didn't like him then and a second encounter isn't improving his standing.

Leliana stands motionless and silent with her arms crossed, the leather of her gloves squeaks as she tightens her posture. Cassandra pushes back from the table and looks behind me where two guards stand on either side of the door, "disregard that, and leave us" she waves her hand in dismissal then casts her dark eyes back down to the map on the table.

The guards nod at her and back respectfully out of the room. The chancellor is not pleased, he marches over to the edge of the table, his pocked face in anguished rage. He should be glad there is a barrier between him and the intimidating Right Hand, yet his vindictive glare burrows into her as he proclaims, "you walk a dangerous line, seeker!"

Cassandra's armored black boots clack against the unforgiving stone as she circles around the table and stands a foot from him, her voice full of resolve she scowls, "the breach is stable but it is still a threat, I will not ignore it."

I throw my hands up in defense, "I did everything I could to close the breach, it almost killed me," the sliver of green light on my left palm dims then ignites in a small flair, then dims again.

Roderick glares at my hand then at me as his condescending eyes narrow, "yet you live. A convenient result, insofar as you're concerned."

Cassandra pulls her thin black eyebrows into a furrow and grits her teeth, "have a care chancellor, the breach is not the only threat we face."

Leliana silently steps toward Cassandra and looks at Roderick from under her hood. Her face is emotionless and her voice is warm like freshly washed cotton sheets in the sun, "someone was behind the explosion at the conclave, someone most holy did not expect," she glances over at Cassandra, "perhaps they died with the others," then her face darkens as she looks back at Roderick. Sweat forms on the back of my neck as she says quietly, "or have allies who yet live."

Roderick throws his hands out shouting, his chantry robes billowing with his chagrin, "I am a suspect?"

"You, and many others," Leliana replies curtly without raising her voice from her quiet tone.

Roderick, visibly frustrated, whines, "but not the prisoner?!"

Cassandra sighs heavily, "I heard the voices in the temple, the Divine called to him for help."

Roderick's chantry hat shifts as his head shakes in disbelief, "So his survival, that thing on his hand, all a coincidence?"

"Providence" Cassandra declares, then her eyes become soft as they meet mine, "the Maker sent him to us in our darkest hour."

Baffled I ask, "you really think your Maker would send someone like me?"

"The Maker does as He wills, it is not for me to say," she responds gently.

"Even if that means a qunari is his chosen?" I inquire as I sarcastically wave my hand to draw attention to my horns.

"Humans are not the only people with an interest in the fate of the world," she replies. She turns from the table and walks to the back of the room, the candlelight gleaming off her armor as she moves.

Leliana shifts her icy gaze to me, her eyes are like light blue glass reflecting latent storms, the sweat on the back of my neck grows cold, but her words are calm, "the breach remains and your mark is still our only hope of closing it."

Roderick unfolds his crossed arms crying, "this is not for you to decide!"

Cassandra returns with a thick leather bound book. She slams it on the table, small bellows of dust in its wake. The symbol on the book similar to the symbol over her armor, a white eye with a white sun pattern around it. She points to it and asks directly, "you know what this is chancellor? A writ from the Divine granting us the authority to act." She shifts her weight and squares herself, her angular dark face stern with resolve, "as of this moment I declare the Inquisition reborn." She takes a step forward and points in rhythm with her words at Roderick, "we will close the breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval."

Roderick nods silently in protest, his mouth gaping in awed disgust, then reluctant to argue further he stomps out the door. I stand just a foot from Cassandra as she shakes her head and runs her hand across her short black hair in a nervous gesture.

Leliana caresses the book "this is the Divine's directive; rebuild the Inquisition of old, find those who would stand against the chaos." The candlelight dances across her porcelain face, "we aren't ready, we have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support."

Cassandra reassures her "but we have no choice, we must act now," she turns her eyes to me warmly, "with you at our side."

For a moment I'm frozen, I don't even believe in the Maker, but Leliana's words ring in my head, pulling me: "those who would stand against the chaos..."

"If you are truly trying to restore order," I venture, my head still cloudy from the unexpected situation I find myself in.

"That is the plan," Leliana answers with a smirk, the first from her I've seen, she is much prettier, gentle even, when she smiles. As a strand of light red hair falls from her hood on her cheek it is hard not to linger on her small freckles.

"Help us fix this before it is too late," Cassandra offers her hand to me diverting my eyes from Leliana. Even enclosed in her gauntlet her hand is small compared to mine. I don't hesitate and grasp it softly. She smiles up at me as we shake.

"Whatever it takes," I nod.

I journey up the dirt path, padded down by countless faithful feet, to the Chantry intending to find the Seeker. A scout delivered a message this morning that she wished me to attend an advisor counsel. The last few days in Haven haven't seen much change in the weather. Solas and Varric have remained as well. Solas is ever mystical, any prod at humor during conversation with him has ended in long winded one sided discussions about various aspects of the fade. I understand only a portion of it and I'm convinced most of it he narrates more to himself than me. Varric on the other hand lends a welcome cheerful disposition and I've found myself standing at the main fire with him listening to exaggerated stories. We've exchanged a few tips in regards to archery as well, although he discloses little about his unique crossbow. I've heard nothing from the Valos, I push the thought they are lost from my mind by keeping busy helping the requisition officer Threnn gather supplies for weapons. I've also constructed a new bow with the help of Harri. I'm not much use around a forge but he is a patient man of few words and we get along just fine. Whispers of me being Andraste's Herald follow me, fear and reverence in the eyes of those in passing make me uneasy. I've tried to find the elf servant I startled when I awoke after the breach, despite my efforts to talk with her the last few days she's remained timid and scarce.

I push through the rustic wooden Chantry door and in my haste nearly collide with Cassandra lingering in the entryway. "Sorry!" I apologize as she steps out of my way, "you sent for me?"

"Yes, please," she indicates with a hand for me to walk with her. We stroll down the candlelit hallway toward the back room where she had declared the Inquisition just days before. Our footsteps on the rock laid floor echo in the hall as I glance at my hand. It was starting to feel normal but now suddenly it tingles again, like waking from sleep. "Does it trouble you?" her expression is reserved as usual but there are small lines of concern as she scans my glowing hand. My silence causes her deep brown eyes to navigate up my arm until they rest heavy on mine. I find myself again delving deeper into the small specs of lighter brown that only appear in certain light, like each one is a secret. Despite her brash disposition there are hidden parts of her safely locked inside, and in our short time together I've been drawn in by them.

"It's stopped spreading and it doesn't hurt," I respond as we linger just before the backroom door.

"We take our victories where we can," she starts to smile but then the corners of her mouth tighten as her thoughts shift, "what's important is that your mark is now stable, as is the breach." The candles from the floor highlight her angular features and the shadow of the crescent scar on her cheek deepens. Were she not so brutal she could be considered delicate, but even in her coarse nature she is truculently beautiful. "You've given us time," she continues despite my attraction, encouraging me to walk toward the back room, she raises her right eyebrow slightly as she enunciates certain words with her thick Nevarran accent, "and Solas believes a second attempt might succeed- provided the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by."

"I've never been very comfortable with magic, it's not that I think it is evil. I've been on jobs where mages have torn their enemies into scraps. Given, most killing is brutal, but somehow when magic is involved it's….unsettling," I admit as I recall a particular job where we were hired to take back a caravan of stolen goods. Our employer failed to mention they were stolen by a mage. The apostate used blood magic to control one of our men and he was forced to kill his brother, then himself. I still remember the way he screamed when he fell on his sword. Our second in command was able to throw a spear into the apostate's chest before we lost anyone else. For our employer the job was a success. We split their shares, I used mine to buy an extra round for our crew at the pub, anything to help us ease the memory, but it only temporarily numbed it. It wasn't the first or the last time we would lose someone, it came with this life. What was important was not wasting your time on regrets, and honoring your comrades' memory by being as alive as you could. I remember that night Slater got so drunk he hung his pants from his horns and we had to leave the bar because he was dancing on the tables, which buckled under his weight. We later found him with the barkeeper's wife and two barmaids buried in hay in the stable. We didn't work in that hamlet again. I smile down at her, the amusement of the memory still lingering. "But what harm could there be in powering up something we barely understand?" I counter sarcastically.

She grins as she shakes her head gently, her short black hair dancing on her forehead with the motion, "hold on to that sense of humor." She turns the handle and the wooden door creaks as she pushes it open.

The room smells of aged dirt and rusted metal. The large table in the center still holds the writ of the Divine but is now surrounded by two faces I don't recognize and Leliana in her usual light chainmail and lavender hood.

"May I present commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition's forces," Cassandra introduces a blonde man in worn armor, over it is a heavy red vest with red and black feathery fur along its seam circling his neck. His eyes are light brown, like changing leaves in autumn, and deep set. A long scar cuts through his lip off to the right of his face, for a brief moment I entertain that he was born with it, then realize it's not something we share as it veers off before reaching his nose. His serious expression deepens the tired lines of his face.

His eyes drift down to the table "such as they are, we lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through."

Cassandra turns to a woman in brilliant golden silks and blues of brocade, she has a creamy dark complexion and thick raven hair pulled back loosely on the back of her head. She would be soft to touch, like a silk pillow. The only visible skin is her hands under ruffled sleeves and her face. She holds a thin board of parchment with a candle melted into the top and a hole drilled to hold a small blue inkwell. "This is lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat."

Josephine tilts her head and a strand of hair falls from her ear settling on her cheek, she raises an interested eyebrow as I politely make eye contact at the introduction, "you're.." she scratches the feather pen in her hand with her thumb, "even taller than I'd heard," her voice is full and carries a rich Antivan accent. She shifts her head to look at her parchment but her eyes flash back to me as Cassandra raises her arm toward Leliana.

The Seeker motions in a lazy flick of her hand, "and of course you know sister Leliana."

Leliana speaks in her soft voice, "my position here involves a degree of-"

She is abruptly cut off as Cassandra plainly states, "she is our spymaster."

Leliana exerts a soft sigh and places her hands behind her back, "yes, tactfully put Cassandra."

"Pleased to meet you all," I respond sincerely, my eyes taking in all their faces, "Cassandra implied you have a plan, I'll help however I can."

Cassandra rests her hand on the table and looks back at me, "I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the breach for good."

"Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help," Leliana quickly adds.

Commander Cullen interjects, "and I still disagree," his hands are folded on the hilt of his long sword at his belt. His feathery fur brushes the side of his cheek as he turns his head to face Cassandra and Leliana. "The Templars could serve just as well." There are subtle lines etched around his eyes reminiscent of a troubled past.

Cassandra sighs and her head drops but her eye contact remains with Cullen, "we need power, commander. Enough magic poured into that mark-"

His right hand leaves his hilt perch as he indicates, "might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the breach, weaken it so-"

Leliana shifts her weight to her other foot and says firmly, "pure speculation."

Cullen's voice tightens, "I was a Templar," then softens as he places his hand back on his hilt convinced with his protest, "I know what they're capable of."

Josephine speaks up from her parchment, "unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet," her eyebrows raise then lower as she declares, "the Chantry has denounced the Inquisition-and you specifically," she turns and points her feather pen in my direction.

Word has been traveling that I'm the Herald of Andraste, and the conclave claimed the Divine, if Roderick is any indication it's probably in an uproar, I can see how we could be seen as an upstart threat. Not surprised I reply flatly, "well that didn't take long."

Cullen's eyebrows pull together, "shouldn't they be busy arguing over who's going to become the next divine?"

Josephine's gaze never left me. Her eyes are so deeply brown they are almost black. She looks at me intrigued, like I am a rare intricate painting she wishes to learn every line of. Realizing her attention I'm nervous. Qunari are seen as exotic, usually with Orlesian nobles, members of the Valos would get approached from time to time for specific exploits, but I never drew interest, especially when compared to the rest of my band. The novelty of the sensation isn't altogether unwelcome.

"Some are calling you…a qunari…the "Herald of Andraste," that frightens the Chantry," she turns her head to glance at the others around the table, "the remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy," she flicks her feather pen at each of them, "and we heretics for harboring you."

Cassandra sighs, "Chancellor Roderick's doing no doubt."

Josephine rests her feather pen on the parchment as if to write but no letters come forth, "it limits our options. Approaching the mages or Templars for help is currently out of the question."

"Could the chantry attack us?" I ask the lady Ambassador.

Cullen scoffs, "with what?" his head tilts in annoyance, "the Templars have left, they have only words at their disposal."

"And yet," Josephine shifts gracefully from her hip and waves her pen, "they may bury us with them."

Leliana peers at me from under her delicate red bangs, "there is something you can do," her lulling way of speaking already has me wanting to do it, "a chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you. She is not far and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable."

"I'll see what she has to say," I reply, it's somewhere to start though I wonder why she asked for me.

"You will find mother Giselle tending the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliff," she instructs.

Cullen's expression softens, "look for other opportunities to expand the inquisition's influence while you are there."

Josephine nods in agreement, "we need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley, and you're better suited than anyone to recruit them," her idle feather shakes as she rapidly writes.

Cassandra waves her hand, "in the meantime, let's think of other options. I won't leave this all to the Herald."

As we move to leave Leliana touches Cassandra's hand to get her attention, "Inquisition forces have already begun scouting the area around the crossroads, Scout Harding is eagerly awaiting your arrival."

I just hope this Mother Giselle can help.

Chapter 2: A Land Torn by War

"And the houses laid out like targets with the deafening sound

We watched them all go down and the families now useless bodies

They lay still black and blue, a gift from us to you

Believe, You want this. Believe, I want this too

Why won't you tell me that It's almost over

Why must this tear my head Inside out"

-Angels and Airwaves

The Breach still hangs in the distance, like a far off tornado waiting to hit ground, but the black clouds eventually fade into blue cloudless skies. The trees seem unaffected, their radiant green leaves dancing from their lithe branches. It's refreshing to see that the Mage-Templar fighting hasn't stained everything in the area. The hole in the sky is less looming here as butterflies flit at flowers and the leaves wave gently in the wind. Strands of unruly tall, soft grass tickle my fingers as we continue our course. For a few precious moments I lose the doom in the warm breeze and light straining through the trees.

We wind our way down the canyon avoiding brushing against the clay and crumbling dirt walls around us. The path is narrow and uneven as we descend toward the crossroads. Signs of battle trickle in. A young man in robes, his dark hair thick with blood that leaks thick down his forehead and onto his chest is propped against the rocks; a broadsword through his ribcage. More robed bodies scatter the ground yards from him, their faces charred beyond recognition. Ten feet further down we enter a clearing where a mage is encircled in ice with shards protruding around her like a crystallized flower in bloom. Templars are frozen and distorted in the icy petals. She must have sacrificed herself to stop them. A scout in the familiar Inquisition green hood crouches behind a crate. A fireball flies past his head and dissipates into the dirt just feet behind him.

"Inquisition forces!" shouts Cassandra as she quickens her pace, sword and shield already drawn, "they are trying to protect the refugees!"

"Looks like they could use a hand," Varric bellows as he sprints to take position behind another crate to our left.

Solas falls in behind the scout and throws his hands out towards Varric and Cassandra. Their outlines glow faintly blue with his barrier. I run four strides and take point behind the crate with the startled scout. His face relaxes into hope as I nod at him. I draw an arrow, Solas has already hurled a spike of ice into the chest of a Templar. He screams and hits the ground, three more are right behind him, their swords clashing with Inquisition soldiers. Another Templar bears his sword down through a soldier's head bringing him to his knees, then kicks him in the face to free his blade.

"Hold! We are not apostates!" Cassandra commands. Her seeker armor is unmistakable but the Templars take no notice.

Varric replies through staggered breaths, "I do not think they care Seeker," as he loads another bolt in his crossbow.

Cassandra thrusts her sword through the eye slot of a Templar as he turns to face her, his great sword drops as he falls backwards toward the dirt. She has freed her sword before he hits the ground, ready for the next attack.

I pick a Templar closing in on a soldier in the distance as my target. He raises his bloodied sword above his head, red drops trickle down his gauntlet and onto his helmet as I aim my arrow at his armpit and release. He drops his sword and the Inquisition soldier kicks his chest then thrusts a dagger into his neck repeatedly.

Solas turns to Cassandra and shouts an incantation, she glows blue just as a Templar closes in on her from behind, his sword glances off her shield as she turns and bashes it up under his chin, simultaneously sinking her sword into his exposed side. She shouts, "Maker take you" as the sword penetrates his ribcage, blood runs down the hilt onto the ground. My companions look to me as I point down the road. Through burning crates and tipped over carriages several robed figures appear from the north hill. We run to intercept them as the inquisition soldiers at the end of the road clump together for defense. They are outnumbered we must make it in time.

As our soldiers charge toward the apostates Solas shouts to them pleading, "we are not Templars! We mean you no harm!"

A fireball hits the ground 20 feet from us and explodes, rocks and debris flying in all directions. Cassandra raises her shield to protect her eyes and Varric coughs in the dirt haze.

"Doesn't look like they are listening," Varric replies sarcastically as he pulls the trigger of his crossbow, the apostate falls to the ground in a crumpled mess of silver trimmed green robes, a bolt in his chest.

Cassandra charges ahead and joins the soldiers. I climb a rocky ledge about 5 feet up and pull back Ash'Eva. My arrow plummets into an apostate's arm causing her to drop her staff, lightning erupts from her other hand hitting another apostate as Solas throws an ice bolt into the back of her head. I silently thank Harrit for helping me with my new bow and pull another arrow. Below me Cassandra beheads another, the mage's blond hair swirls as it falls eyes void onto the dirt. Fire burns in small patches around us, but the threat is gone. I slide down my rock and regroup with the others. I look over my companion for signs of injury, Cassandra is stained in blood and Varric is counting his bolts, niether show indication of wounds.

Solas peering in the distance raises his staff to the left, "Be ready! More coming our way!"

Another force of Templars descends from the hills, screaming with blades drawn as they advance. Two archers take knees behind crates. I pin my arrow on the one on the left and circle out to get a better view of him. My arrow easily finds his chest and he slinks down on the crate. Cassandra screams at the Templar in the front of the charge, he looks her way as she bashes into him at full sprint with her shield. They are locked in a solid stance as he pushes back, her heels scraping the earth from his advance as clouds of brown haze billow around them. She crouches lower than him so he is nearly on top of her when she stretches her legs and throws him off balance. In his shifting movement Varric sends an arrow into his back, it pierces his armor but he takes no notice as blood drains down from the wound. Cassandra swings her sword into his side and his armor buckles under the blow, I let an arrow fly, aiming for the opening where she crushed it. I felt it was going to miss once my fingers left the string, I already have another arrow at the ready. I hold my breath and let the string glide off my fingers; it flies right into the crack. The Templar falters and Cassandra abruptly brings her blade down on his head. with a loud crack the metal buckles and dents into his skull. The body is still. She turns to face the last opponent, one final archer behind a fragile wooden crate. She growls and her sword hits her shield, a beckoning taunt to challenge him. His arrow flies but she deflects it off the top of her shield, with a metallic scrape it glances off into the dirt. Before his hand reaches for the next arrow from his quiver the gears of Varric's crossbow grind just yards behind me. The final archer crumples in the dirt, a bolt in his forehead. It's over.

The refugees slowly emerge from their shelters as inquisition soldiers gather the injured and take them up a small stone stairway to a makeshift infirmary. Mother Giselle must be near. i navigate through the wounded to find the chantry mother.

"It's good of you to do this." I've met so few of the chantry that look past their prejudice. Maybe I need to try and look past mine more often.

Mother Giselle's deep eye's search me then she bows her head, "I honestly don't know if you've been touched by fate or sent to help us…but I hope." She shifts her gaze to the wounded refugees. "Hope is what we need now." She turns back to face me as her voice takes on an encouraging charismatic tone, "The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the inquisition into a force that will deliver us….or destroy us."

After our discussion being Andraste's Herald, willingly or not, is a heavier weight than before. Regardless of my stance, the Inquisition needs me to close rifts, but so does Thedas. I already knew this was bigger than me, but it's finally starting to sink in. I feel the pull of panic grasping at the back of my throat, "The Chantry will never listen to the appeal of a qunari."

Her warm eyes don't waver, "you must try. I will go to Haven and provide sister Leliana the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering, it's not much but I will do whatever I can," she gives me a small reassuring grin and turns to walk back to the infirmary.

I'm left standing alone on the stone ledge. I won't let the panic grow, I pull my marked hand into a fist and let my fingernails dig into my palm; the sting helps pulls my focus. I look down as Cassandra waves me over. I can't let her see my panic. Suddenly my left hand feels heavier.

Small cottages burn in the wake of the Mage-Templar fighting as we make our way through the small hamlet below Fort Conner toward Dennet's Farms. It was once a formidable fortress but is now settling into rubble and reclaimed by tentacles of green.

"Impressive even for a ruin," Solas remarks, "I wonder what kind of dreams it holds."

Varric smiles, no doubt imagining some kind of fairy tale past for it, and Cassandra ignores the topic altogether, her eyes peering forward focused on our quest, I follow her line of sight and I see them too. Two Templar archers stationed at what would have been the front door if it hadn't deteriorated from neglect and time. I draw my bow and nod my head for them to follow me as I creep against the outside wall. I wrap my torso around the edge of the moss covered stone and let my string go. I hit the far one in the face, blood sputters as he gurgles to the ground. The other archer retreats into the entrance. Cassandra shouts and runs in after him. She's impressively fast even in all her steel armor. I pass through the archway behind her, the room has a faint red glow despite the lack of candles. The interior is rubble just like the outside, and carries a distinctive stale musty smell. In the end of what was once a great hall a Templar knight stands next to an enormous smooth luminous red crystal. Red lyrium. I pull my string back, the arrow flies into the second archer before he reaches his commander. Cassandra has already made it to the Templar knight before I can pull back another arrow. The sound of their swords colliding echoes loudly filling the dank room. Varric sends a bolt into another soldier felling him to the ground and my new target trips over the body with a disoriented clatter as he falls on the stone floor. Before I can release my arrow he screams as a thick shard of ice strikes his chest, leaving a bloody gap through him. The frozen shard hits the ground behind him shattering into red rubble. Cassandra slices through the arms of the knight then quickly swings her sword over in a circular movement, with her concise blow to his neck the helmeted head spins onto the ground with a loud clack as steel meets rock.

"Maker take you." She expels as she sheathes her blade.

Varric turns his crossbow at the red lyrium and with three shots dispels it to dust.

The room holds little interest but for a chest with an old staff in it next to a table with waning lit candles. A piece of paper sits crumpled on the rough wood. The letters are written in a stout crisp hand:

"brothers, we must listen to the call of the maker himself, who has given us the duty to destroy these mages. By their rebellion, they have forfeited their right to live. They are not people, and any order that asks us to end this just and righteous battle is a lie. A test sent by him to separate the faithful from the foolish. Join us off the west road and fight for a worthy cause."

"We should deal with this," Cassandra scowls, her dark face still flush from battle. I nod and push the parchment into my pouch.

In the distance the old bridge across the rushing waves of the river has been broken through. As we near it becomes evident the water is low and won't be difficult to cross. To the left of the bridge snakes an upward dirt path, crates stacked along the road; the Templar encampment. Our sudden presence attracts two Templars at the entrance both with massive shields, one of them yells, "KILL THEM ALL!" and begins his charge. Cassandra sprints in front of me her shield ready, despite the fact I am twice her size her instinct to protect takes over. I ready my bow and wait for my opening. Solas' barrier encircles us, the faint blue glow tingling my skin. The Templar rams Cassandra forcing her back toward me, her heels dig in the dirt as she pushes back, I side step and aim my arrow into his side. At this close distance the arrow carves right into his armor sinking a foot into his ribs. The second Templar charges from the other side taking Cassandra off guard. I wrap my arm around her, catching her middle preventing her fall. I bring her into me that we may circle away from him as he turns for his second charge. Her armor digs in my stomach as she catches her balance and brings her sword down on his head as he passes, his neck cracking under her hilt. She flashes me a fierce look of disdain and I realize I still have my arm around her waist. Embarrassed I let go. Even with my arrow wound sputtering blood the remaining Templar screams and readies his sword. Before I can draw my string he is consumed by frost, engulfed in Solas' spell. Cassandra wastes no time charging him, she thrusts her sword into his chest then pulls the blade out as he shatters like glass.

It's only a short distance up to the rest of the encampment, archers guard the second entry way and Varric and I take them down before they can noc their arrows. We wind our way through hallways formed by crates and wooden stakes, it takes us no time to take out the five unsuspecting soldiers around the main fire. In the heart of the camp a large Templar in knight commander armor stands with his sword ready. He lets out a brutal shout and Cassandra is already running to charge him. Solas chants quietly in Elvehn and the grass around the Templar turns white like a morning frost, it spreads to his boots and his armor starts to glisten. The soldier struggles in vain to free his feet and in his distraction Cassandra jams her shield into his throat jostling him free from the frost. With a scream he flies backwards off the gorge, the sound of his armor hitting the rocks below makes me cringe. We are a good 40 feet up from the river. I look over the edge to see the Templar, his clothes and arms waving with the water, snowflakes settling and melting as they land.

"The refuges should be safer now," sighs Varric as we step away from the edge.

"We still have the rebel apostates to deal with," Solas adds reluctantly.

"We should reach the farm soon," notes Cassandra as she sheaths her sword, her frustration evident in her steps as she walks back toward the bridge.