Chapter One: Crusaders

Kneeling on the cold stone floor of the Chantry, Cassandra waits. Beside her, Leliana keeps her spine very straight, her expression rapt. Cassandra does her best to give the same impression.

Morning devotionals. The three of them take turns leading them. Cassandra is glad that on this monumental day, it has fallen to Justinia.

The Divine raises her spectacles, brings the Chant of Light close to her face. Some days she holds it off at arm's length, on others she performs a combination of the two.

"Justinia doesn't actually read the Chant anymore, you know," Leliana said to Cassandra loftily once. "She has it all memorized. And her vision is not as bad as she makes it seem."

"Why the charade, then?" Cassandra asked.

"So that others underestimate her."

"But why keep it up in front of us?"

Leliana snorts. "Everything takes practice," she said, as if this should be obvious.

This morning, peering over her spectacles, Justinia clears her throat and reads, "Maker, make me an instrument of Your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy.

"O, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love; For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; it is in dying that we are born again to eternal life.

"The Chant of Light."

"Amen," Cassandra and Leliana chorus.

"Ladies," Divine Justinia says. She rolls her shoulders back, drops the air of formality. Smiles. "I will miss my Hands while you are in Kirkwall. May your meditations on today's reading guide you there. Never pass up on an opportunity to do good. Serve without expecting anything in return. Love all, without seeking to be loved yourself. For love is all that the Maker would have us do. I pray the Inquisition will always be guided by that. Without love, we are nothing."

She gives them a shrewd look, adding, "And don't quarrel too much along the way."

Leliana says, "We'll try not to," just as Cassandra says, "We won't." The other woman stiffens, while Cassandra scowls.

Justinia chuckles. "You know I would not send you out together unless I thought you would need each other. Still, you always make me proud.

"Rise," she says, and Cassandra and Leliana stand quickly. "I will pray for us."

They join hands, and Justinia prays. "How much easier it is," Justinia concludes softly, as she releases them. "To lead a crusade, than to love another person."

"The passage Justinia read was a good choice for today," Cassandra says, because Divine Justinia's goodness is probably the one topic they don't argue about. They're standing at the docks, waiting to board the ship to Kirkwall.

"Yes, it was a good choice." Leliana sighs. "Maker knows, no one needs to hear it as much as us."

Kirkwall is seamy, bloody, and defiant. The city traffics slaves, crushes the defenseless, exploits the poor, and keeps its secrets well. As Cassandra had feared, they have no luck finding Hawke. Dragging out one of her former associates, a dwarf named Varric Tethras, is no picnic either. When she goes to interrogate him, he infuriates her to the point of cruelty. Hardly the start to the Inquisition Justinia would have wanted.

They can't wait to leave. Besides, they are almost at the date they hoped to sail back. But they have still one more errand to accomplish before they return.

The Knight-Commander – interim Knight-Commander, she is informed with a sniff – has been out of office, suppressing revolts along the southern border. She would have liked to approach him sooner, but this will have to do.

As Cassandra makes her way through the city, she hears Divine Justinia's voice in her head.

Let the Maker be your vision. Lean not on your own understanding.

Do not ask Him to look upon your righteousness, for we have none to our names. The one who prays, "Maker, have mercy on me, a sinner" is the only one who stands justified.

If you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don't fall.

And don't grunt like that, Cassandra Pentaghast. You are a woman, not a horse. When you're as old as I am, you'll understand that things can sound trite and still be true.

Taking a deep breath, Cassandra enters Knight-Commander Cullen's garrison.

A/N: Justinia reads from The Prayer of St. Francis.

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