HAVEN

He wasn't even supposed to be there. Damned Keeper had sent him there against his will. He was to be a protector of the Levellan clan, not an ambassador or watcher in the night. But yet there he was—and here he is now.

In chains. He looked around the dark cellar, barely conscious still except for the throbbing pain in his left hand. That and his awareness of the four or so guards pointing swords at him. He felt the bitterness enter him once more. It was true, Lana, and Ponawen, and Zanrye were here to spy on the proceedings more so than interact with the Templars or mages but that was beside the point. Zanrye wasn't supposed to have gone at all to the conclave. He was sent last minute to escort Lana, the keeper's first, and Ponawen—mastering the longbow, a fellow hunter. After the original second guardsmen Kaynala had gotten sick, Zanrye had been the defaulted pick.

The door in front of him opened. Two shadowy figures appraised him before they stepped forward into the light to reveal themselves. A black-haired shem and a hooded shem. The black haired one circled him as the guards resheathed their swords. Zanrye tensed before he felt her draw near to his ear.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now." She spoke in a Nevarran accent. "The conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead…except…for you." The accusation was clear.

She stopped before him and Zanrye looked her over better for a moment but said nothing. He wouldn't give these shems anything. He was trapped and defenseless as it was and he wasn't going to incriminate himself. The woman grabbed roughly at his wrist, jerked up his chained arm, and replied, "Explain this," before dropping his arm back down to his side. The green surging had come back and Zanrye found his tongue.

"I…can't." He said begrudgingly.

"What do you mean, you can't!?'" the woman shot back at him.

"I mean that I don't know what that is or how it got there—" Zanrye replied testily, but his anger was fading. She wanted to talk. Or so he thought. She cut him off, lunged at him, and placed a nearly shaking, firm grip on his shoulders with hands that told him she wanted to bring him pain.

"You're lying!" She cried, and was pulled away by the other hooded woman.

"We need him Cassandra," She said plainly and both women looked back at him. Zanrye held level with them. His anger had flared but he at least understood one thing—that both women were searching for answers for something he didn't even know about. And he told them so.

"I don't understand." He admitted tiredly, cutting his eyes away.

"Do you remember what happened," The other woman asked, "how this began?"

"I remember running…," Zanrye continued, trying to recollect. He scoured his memories, "th-things were chasing me…and then—a woman."

"A woman?" This seemed to garner a more positive response from the women.

"She…reached out to me," Zanrye continued, a headache forming in his mind. "But then—" He sighed, having no more. He remembered that figure—the hand. The giant spiders that terrorized his darkest nightmares coming after him. The sliver of memory was enough to make him shudder with fear. And become closed off. He barely heard them talking before he was being unchained. Surprised, he eyed at Cassandra.

"So what did happen?" He half asked, half demanded. She didn't answer at first, wrenching him to his feet.

"It…will be easier to show you," she said, pulling him forward and out of the darkness of the cellar into the pale light of the early evening. Zanrye had to blink repeatedly, looking around at the snow covered mountains. That was before his eyes were directed towards the enormous pit in the middle of the sky.

Zanrye couldn't breathe for a moment as he saw it, fear piercing deep into his chest. He swallowed and found that he was transfixed. Clouds and lightning billowed around it and a green light glowed within it, descending onto the world from its center.

"We call it the breach," Cassandra explained. "It's a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It's not the only such rift—just the largest. All caused by the explosion at the conclave."

"An explosion can do that?" Zanrye had to blink to close his eyes, which had grown wide.

"This one did." Cassandra answered. "Unless we act, the breach may grow until it swallows the world." Zanrye turned away from her, eyes directed back at the breach. It was a world's worth of trouble quite literally. It was a danger to everyone and everything.

One moment, he was gazing and the next he fell to his knees in agony as electricity hot and strong swept through his veins, rendering him unable to stand. Pain pulled him down and he heard himself cry out. Creators! What the hell was this!?

"Each time the breach expands, your mark spreads." Cassandra spoke to him urgently. "And it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this but there isn't much time." Zanrye glared at her, trying to wrench his jaw apart as the pain throbbed more dully now that the attack had passed.

"You say it may be the key." He accused, "the key to what?"

"Closing the breach." Cassandra said. "Whether that's possible is something we will discover shortly. It is our only chance however. And yours." Zanrye understood it now. It was as if a fog had been lifted from his mind. He worked through the events in his mind, piecing the links together: he had been marked by the breach, it was killing him as it grew. Even if he wasn't, it would kill him some time later when it destroyed the rest of the world. And he was the only one who could 'close it.' Zanrye was scared and he was tired. He felt anger again—from bitterness. He wanted to hit something. Fucking Creators, he wasn't even supposed to have been here! But now he had to try or he wouldn't be alive too much longer to ponder his circumstance. He'd be dead before he even reached his clan. The path was clear.

"I don't really have a choice about this." Zanrye finally said, as Cassandra kept waiting on him to speak. Her eyes narrowed and her tone flattened out.

"None of us has a choice." She said somewhat angrily before yanking Zanrye to his feet once more and pushing him ahead. Zanrye didn't protest but just looked back out at the breach again, knowing he would be able to see it no matter how far ahead he walked. It was in his periphery now. But it was still there. He looked down at his hand. It would now always be there. He was carrying it with him.

FIVE YEARS EARLIER

Zanrye was sprawled out, contorted on his bedroll, brown/goldish hair flopping every which way—his frizzy, somewhat kinky waves turning into knots. He snored, peaceful, traveling deep into the fade and having flashes of a dream where he was trekking through the forests they had left behind near Antiva. Everything there smelled a little more earthy, with distinct emphasis on leather and polish. He'd loved it. He'd loved the game around there as well. Some he even let go, viewing them more as pets than prey. He'd feed them breads and even scraps of meat and sometimes for fun he'd feed them some of Antiva's famous brandy to see how they'd react.

"Come on, Rye." Nishia said seemingly for the third or fourth time. Zanrye groaned and turned away from her and the noise she was making. But she wasn't going to let him go so easily. She shook him.

"No." Zanrye pulled his cover over his head to block the girl out but she pulled it back.

"You were supposed to be up an hour ago." She said disapprovingly.

"It's so early, Nishia." Zanrye complained, still forcing his eyes open to look at his friend. She was an elf with a darker complexion, big round eyes, and dark hair. At 28, she was two years his senior. Her eyes were starkly grey-green. She was a bit wispier in frame than the other elves but that was offset but the firmness she had in her eyes and jaw. She was his best friend.

"And you told us you wanted to be a part of this." Nishia replied. "Everyone is out there already. Ponawen is retracing his steps. Hurry or we'll be too far for you to reach us in time."

She left his side. Zanrye stretched his arms and willed himself—with a severe grimace—to sit up. Yawns and more stretches came afterward as he sifted his way through bedroll, yesterday's tunic and trousers, a slip from the woman he'd slept with the night before, and a used ram intestine wrap to make his way to the tent's entrance. He pulled on his mostly fresh tunic and grabbed his leather breastplate from the tent's entrance where the woman had ripped it off the night before. He undid the ties, aware of the cool air rushing into the warm tent once more and found himself becoming awake more quickly.

Ponawen had found a cave yesterday. Nearly all the hunters had heard of it but only his friends were told of the time when he wanted to re-find it. Zanrye was first in line but had gotten drunk the night before and had forgotten, something his friend Ponawen yelled at him for as soon as he reached the small group.

"You finally rise! Smelling like death. 'thought she'd killed you in your sleep." The 34 year old elf said to him. Very fair with reddish hair and a compact frame, the man flashed a toothy grin at Zanrye who rolled his eyes.

"Knocked me out; not for good." Zanrye said shortly. "Besides, who'd protect you on the way to this cave you supposedly found?"

"I did find it." Ponawen smiled excitedly. "Wasn't stupid enough to go too far in but I did find it." He looked around. "Three…four…seven. Good. About eight, all we need."

"You need two." Nishia came up to them, placing a hand on Zanrye's shoulder. "You want an army because you are afraid."

"Like I said, I'm not stupid enough to go too far in—without a lot of support." Ponawen shrugged. "Anyway, I say head out now. We already have food in our packs—I packed yours. And we have weapons and water. No one has their camp patrol until tonight."

"Hope you had enough sleep." Nishia smirked at Zanrye who gave a grunt in response and picked up the pack that Ponawen held out for him.

They set off deep into the woods. The differing blends of brown and green meshed and muddled into a beautiful array of life and movement. Zanrye tried to remain by Ponawen's side, falling into step with him as they led the pack in a hunter-like manner at Ponawen's say-so. But he was released knowingly by Ponawen who asked him to scout ahead. He needed to be within the forest to do the most good. He let himself take the life in. He nearly knew all herbs by the slightest variation they had to one another. He had spent many days by their hearth sorting and organizing them for his mother when she was yet of the living. He knew how to know. It was what had made him such a good hunter in the first place—not his level of skill at tracking animals, working the bow or his greatsword, or even at the act of hunting animals or enemies. It was his ability to adapt. He worked with what he had and played to his strengths and sure enough, he managed to get the job done each and every time.

His mother had used to call him the embodiment of Sylaise's blessings. His father had wanted him to have an affinity for Mythal's wisdom instead, yet Zanrye knew very early that what he had within him. Upon his 19th year of life, he had made the declaration to the clan as well, gaining his vallaslin in the image of modest patronage to the goddess Sylaise. Neither of his parents had been alive to see it.

Zanrye had been able to hear the muttering voice before he had even gotten close to the boy. He was seemingly looking for something around the area, walking on tiptoes though this effort was thwarted by his other bumbling about. Zanrye approached slowly, not readily recognizing this boy. But his clan was a rather big one so that could be expected. He had only taken a few steps when he heard a vaguely familiar sound. It was muted but….

Zanrye quickly hid behind a tree and peered about to catch the person who was unsheathing a sword from a sheath not necessarily metal. He caught sight of a disturbance in the seamless blend of color. Tan shirt. Red breeches. And….

"Shem." Zanrye saw. He felt his heart give that small tug it always did. There were three of them in fact. Shems, all armed possibly. He quickly blinked long so that he could still his breathing. He swallowed from a still-moist throat and looked to see if there were any more, determined not to let his fear overtake him. He saw another. And then another. Five total. Looked like a hunting party. Zanrye looked to the boy. He must be about 14 at most. And the shems seemed to be coming straight for him.

Zanrye took three steps backward and looked across the distance behind him, locking eyes with Nishia. She cocked a brow, taking up his rear with Ponawen and the others soon to follow. He gave her a sign with his fist—index finger and pinky pointed upward. He saw her stop and stiffen. He then flattened out his palm, all fingers upward to indicate they were behind him. Nishia nodded and turned to tell Ponawen and the others. Zanrye turned back to where the shems and the boy were. They had formed an arc in the cover of the trees beside his position. They were going to jump him. Zanrye looks behind him again desperately and sees Ponawen give him a look and then gesture to a tree, pulling out his bow noiselessly. Zanrye reaches behind himself and takes hold of the grip of his greatsword, slung behind his back, held by its hanging sheath. He inahles. He was afraid but that was of no consequence. He would always be afraid. Fear was not the problem: becoming paralyzed was. And that was what he would never be. Physically and outwardly, he was ready and determined. And angry.

The shems come out sooner than he thought they would. The boy hears them moments before and then scrambles to his feet and dashes towards Zanrye's group's trees. He is fast. The shems are faster, however. One lunges and misses him by a bit but another throws a dagger that sends the boy tripping over himself, headed for the ground as the blade sunk into his calf.

Ponawen's arrow zips past the boy and lands straight in the dagger-throwing shem's neckbone. The man begins to gurgle. Zanrye leaps out of his hiding place, his sword making the fearsome "sching" as he brings it to bear. The shems are surprised, unsure of whether to fight or flee. Slow, Zanrye thinks, they do not know themselves—or us. As soon as he was in range, two had the common sense to try to run. As if from nowhere, Nishia's double-daggers came flying into one of them—sinking into his chest without any fuss and taking him down. The other man was chased by Ponawen's arrows. Zanrye's own blade found a female and sliced her torso nearly half open. It was swift.

"Please. Please don't hurt me." The last man—the one who'd jumped out after the boy—was begging as the rest of the party surrounded him. "We weren't gonna kill him. I—I swear. We was just lookin for shards—like he was."

"Shut up, shem!" The archer above him said, pulling her arrow even more taught in her bow.

"Please, please." He began to sob. Zanrye turned to him, his face dark. Nishia was back now and at his side.

"The other runner is dead." She said quickly.

"Then that just leaves him." Zanrye said more to himself, stepping forward. Ponawen was already standing over him. He turned as Zanrye came close.

"Onumay is looking at the kid's leg." He told Zanrye. "He said just by the look, he'll be fine. But he won't be able to walk on it for a few."

"We're only treasure hunters." The man said weakly, tears streaking his face still. "We only wanted the shards…."

Nishia's foot impacted his mouth, releasing a shriek of pain from him to end his please but start another round of sobbing. She frowned and turned to Ponawen.

"So, kill him or no?" She asked. Ponawen was considering evidently. They were not supposed to kill shems. Shems that went missing attracted attention. He almost looked bored.

"He's too close to our territory." He said finally. "Could tell the others shems where we are—"

"I promise I won't!" the man wailed, too afraid of them to try his pleading or reasonable tones again to bargain.

"Think shem promises mean anything to us?" Ponawen scoffed, rolling his eyes and turning back to his two friends.

"Even if he doesn't," Zanrye said hollowly, "He'll attract attention to the treasures here—also too close to our camp." Ponawen nodded.

"I—I'll do anything." The man tried one last time to beg for his life. "I just don't want to die…." He whimpered. "No one was going to die."

"Can we kill him and be done with this already?" Nishia asked, sucking her teeth in irritation.

Rather than answering her, Ponawen drew back his arrow in his bow. Upon seeing this, the man let out a loud scream instantly cut off by his skull being driven through by the weapon. Then there was finally silence.

"Alright. Let's find this cave." Nishia said. She looked back to the group. "I'll tell two to get the boy back."

She left and Ponawen turned to Zanrye who was looking off into the distance again—at the dead bodies of the shems and the beauty around them. Life around their corpses.

"You alright?" He asked. Zanrye did not answer right away. He just kept looking. The forest was vast and wide before them, beckoning them as it had no doubt done the shems. Difference was, the shems had come without proper tools.

"Rye?" Ponawen asked after some time. Zanrye turned back to him, eyes still clearing from the daze.

"Yeah, sorry." He said to his friend. "I'm fine. Just think we should get back to camp soon then. After we get to this cave and see what's in there."

"Hopefully it'll be worth all this trouble." Ponawen said.

"Hopefully." Zanrye agreed. There was a pause, full of the unsaid between them. But Ponawen knew. They hadn't expected to find shems out. They were prepared physically but not mentally. Especially not Zanrye.

"Alright, we can move." Nishia came back. She took a little more than a second to take in Zanrye and his condition before turning to Ponawen but addressing them both, "Rye's fine to move. Let's get on with it."

PRESENT

Zanrye could hear her. A woman. She needed his help. She was in pain.

The team was at his back. He looked around for her but only saw a figment, a ghost, a spirit? She was within the hole in the sky—trapped by what was greater than any nightmare. His arm tingled, from his hand up. But now was their time. The hollow, booming voice rang in his ears. "Kill the elf."

Zanrye opened his eyes, moaning. He was in a bed, warm. He sat up slowly, rising to see pelts and furs on the walls. Then the woman who dropped whatever she'd been holding. Her eyes looked at him big and fearful.

"I—I didn't know you were awake, I swear." She said to him, wringing her hands together.

"Why are you frightened? What happened?" He asked her, sitting up even more which caused her to back away a tad.

"That's wrong isn't it? I… I said the wrong thing." She babbled. Zanrye just looked at her, one eye narrowing in confusion. After a pause, the dropped down to the floor before him, continuing with, " I beg your forgiveness and your blessing." Zanrye was even more baffled. He stood slowly. She continued on, "they said you saved us. The breach stopped growing—just like the mark on your hand. It's…it's all anyone has talked about for the last three days."

"Three days?" Zanrye asked, looking at his hand and pondering. "Then…the danger is over?"

"The breach is…it's still in the sky but that's what they say." The servant said almost apologetically. She stood now, backing away. "I'm certain lady Cassandra would want to know you've wakened. She said at once."

"Where is she?" Zanrye went over to the open chest where he could see his chainmail.

"In the chantry with the Lord Chancellor." The girl replied. "At once…milord."

She left Zanrye to contemplate. He pulled on his armored breeches and tunic, thinking. They had faced a pride demon and survived. And the breach was still there but…it was no longer growing? What did that mean? He sighed, looking at his hand. It had given a rise but no longer pained him. It was now just…there….

He'd need to go see Cassandra to find out anything no doubt. He'd heard her mention something about Haven. So that was where they were. He needed answers. Why wasn't the breach gone? Why hadn't the mark worked like Solas has said it would? What was their plan now? Were any survivors found?

The walk to the chantry was excruciatingly embarrassing. A line has been formed on either side of the walkway and whispers met his ears with every step. He heard a few. He was being called the "Herald of Andraste." He was being called divine, holy. It was unsettling. He'd been out three days though, so he'd obviously missed when these titles were formed.

He heard the yelling outside the door from yards away and sighed before he willed himself to push the door open. Inside was a shem Zanrye had never seen before, the shem Cassandra, and the other hooded shem who'd been named "Leliana." They were bickering about him.

"Chain him! I want him prepared for travel to the capital for trial" the man yelled upon his entering. Zanrye was too tired to move but felt his eyes narrow.

"Disregard that and leave us," Cassandra moved around the table, earning grumbles from the male shem. She reasoned, "The breach is stable but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it."

"I did everything I could to close the breach." Zanrye said hardly. "It almost killed me."

"Yet you live." The chancellor eyed him and Zanrye felt his disdain for the shem form then and there. "A convenient result insofar as you're concerned." Zanrye let out another sigh and let the three of them go on bickering, trying to get his mind together. The breach had been sealed, not closed. Other breaches were elsewhere he remembered Cassandra saying. And this chancellor bastard wanted him to be imprisoned still. He was jarred back into the conversation as he saw Cassandra and the chancellor's faces turn to him.

"The maker sent him to us in our darkest hour." She said. Zanrye paused for a long time, trying to consider what was being assumed here. And it was a lot.

"The breach is sealed." Zanrye said to them, exasperated. "What more do you want from me? What more do you think I could offer than that?"

"We must try again." Cassandra said simply. Somehow, Zanrye had a feeling she'd say that. He sighed and put a hand to his forehead as Leliana tried to explain things reasonably. Cassandra came back to the table with a heavy book which she dropped onto the table with a thud.

"You know what this is chancellor," She asked but didn't wait for an answer. "This is a writ from the divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the inquisition reborn. We will close the breach, we will find those responsible—with or without your approval."

There was a silence before the Chancellor left them. Zanrye turned back to the shems. He looked at each in turn as Leilana began weighing their prospects. But Cassandra interrupted.

"We must act." She looked at Zanrye. "With you at our side." Zanrye clenched his jaw but then balled his fist with the mark. Of course they did. There was no way anything would happen without him. His mark was the key. And the team—the new Inquisition, whatever that was, was integral to the end resolution—peace.

"I didn't expect this." He said finally, looking away. He was scared again. Scared like he always was. Scared of the voice he'd heard, of the pride demons, of the breach, and even of the shems that surrounded him, some—probably a lot—that wanted to kill him or blame him for what happened to their precious divine and broken sky and temple of sacred ashes. But he could not allow himself to not act—to become paralyzed. One thing was sure—the breach needed closing. And until it was closed, he was never going to be safe—because of this stupid mark. Whether the Creators put it on him, the shems prophet, or if it was just an act of random chaos, he had it. So it had to be him. And he had to get rid of the danger.

"Help us fix this…before it's too late," Cassandra said finally. Zanrye gave her a nod and then grasped her hand and shook it.

Helpful Information

Hand movements in the forest:

1. Devil horns= shems (pinky and index up)

2. Hand up as if ready to wave= in front

3. Hand up with palm facing owner's face= behind

Elven stuff

vallaslin is the blood writing tattoos that elves get upon their adulthood ceremony

Sylaise is one of the Gods and the inspiration for one of the tattoos you can chose. I chose her modest style to fit in how the goddess relates to Zanrye (in this story, her following is about adaptability, working with what you have, etc)

Non-Inquisition Cast

Nishia—double dagger, best girl friend. Best, best.

Ponawen—bow, best guy friends

Lana—keeper's second

Kaynala—hunter