It was a miracle.
Hours after they had all resigned themselves to death, the doors of the chantry swung open and soldiers ran in beaming and astonished as they delivered the news: the elf woman whom Marianne had seen earlier being dragged the dungeons, had reached up toward the sky and sealed the Breach. They called her the Herald of Andraste: she who was blessed by the Maker to deliver them from destruction. Marianne didn't care what they called her; the elf had healed the sky without using magic, or even being a mage. She had given them hope.
But the celebrations were short lived as the confirmed death toll reached into the thousands. The remaining bodies that were not obliterated by the Conclave's explosion and the corpses of those who fell in the ensuing battle were collected and burned within the Temple's crater, and so numerous were the dead, that the pyres burned constantly for three days.
Almost one week after the Breach tore open the heavens, Haven held a vigil for the thousands of souls lost at the Conclave, Divine Justinia chief among the victims. In the darkened hush of the chantry's sanctuary, hundreds of candles twinkled around the shrines of Andraste and the Maker like starlight. It was there that Marianne saw the Herald for the first time since she had been dragged unconscious and bound like a prisoner through the chantry hall when the Breach had first opened.
Marianne was standing near the back of the faithful crowd, watching silently as High Chancellor Roderick extolled the many virtues of Divine Justinia in a passionate prepared sermon. Marianne found the male timbre of his voice jarring. Men were only permitted to serve the Chantry in low-ranking positions, but High Chancellor Roderick seemed determined to take charge anyway. With so many senior Chantry figures dead, no one protested his newest role, but it still felt very wrong.
Every so often, the high chancellor would curse those responsible for the tragedy in loud, forceful rhetoric until his ruddy face splotched an even deeper shade of red. It was then that Marianne noticed a slight figure hovering behind one of the pillars, her face half-hidden in shadow. She was young, no older than Marianne. The intricate lines of her face-tattoos wound along her forehead and cheeks like delicate roots, encircling her crystal blue eyes in dark green ink. Her wavy auburn hair was pulled over to one side while the other half of her head was shaved which left her delicate pointed ear prominently exposed. She reminded Marianne of a sparrow: timid and constantly on the verge of taking flight. The elf did not seem to notice Marianne gaping at her, and continued watching High Chancellor Roderick's increasingly vehement demands for justice with a fearful gaze.
It took days before anyone could convince Bree that the elf was the Herald of Andraste - marked with the Bride's own holy blessing on her palm. Marianne doubted too, but kept her reservations to herself. It was done and decided by Divine Justinia's own Left and Right Hands. Who were they to disagree?
After a few minutes, the Herald caught Marianne's blatant staring and the elf's eyes grew wide with sudden panic, as if Marianne had caught her doing something wrong. In a flash, the Herald ducked behind her pillar, then made a hasty retreat towards the doors and outside to Haven. Marianne watched her go and didn't even notice the wax from her candle starting to drip onto her frock until Ava reached over and hastily steadied her hand. Marianne whispered an apology, and then obediently turned back to the shimmering, golden shrine until the service ended.
That night, as the three Montsimmard lay-sisters prepared for bed, Ava gestured for them to gather together. Ava and Bree sat on Ava's bed and Marianne took a place on the floor nearby. The tragedy had left Ava and Bree much quieter and more subdued than Marianne had ever seen them; she almost wished they would go back to their quarreling if it meant an end to their ceaseless melancholy.
"I know we haven't really had time to talk," said Ava, "but now that things have settled down, we need to decide what we're going to do."
"What does it matter? The world is ending," moaned Bree.
"It hasn't ended yet, Bree," said Marianne. "I think Ava is right. We should decide how we can help the Inquisition." Both sisters looked down at Marianne with a mixture of confusion, shock, and mild horror.
Ava lowered her voice down to a whisper while looking nervously around the room. "I didn't say anything about the Inquisition, Marianne! The Chantry has named it heresy!"
"But they closed the Breach. Seeker Pentaghast said that-"
Bree cut off Marianne's protest with a derisive snort. "The Seeker has lost her mind. I don't care if she is the Right Hand of the Divine. The Inquisition is complete blasphemy. Having a Dalish elf named the Herald of Andraste? It's ridiculous!"
Marianne furrowed her brow and turned to appeal to Ava. "Ava, you've read more books than either of us. Surely you of all people know that the Inquisition is a holy endeavor. And even if it wasn't, at least they're trying to do something."
"I suppose…it might be interesting to be in a real Inquisition. We'd be a part of history," said Ava, her eyes brightening with excitement.
Bree shook her head vigorously. "Absolutely not. We came here with the Revered Mother for the Conclave. She would want us to return to Montsimmard."
"The Revered Mother is dead, Bree. She cannot give us any more direction," said Marianne.
"You sound like you don't even care that she's dead!" sneered Bree. A small flash of sudden heat throbbed at the back of Marianne's skull, but faded just as quickly. How could Bree be so unreasonable? A slow, building frustration started to eat away at her natural calmness, gnawing in her gut like a dog on a bone.
"They're helping people, Bree. We should stay and help people, too," she insisted, keeping her tone as even as possible.
"Oh, what do you care, Marianne? You never care about anything!" said Bree.
"Bree, that's not fair. We all cared about Mother Edith. If she were here-" said Ava.
"She would want us to go back to Montsimmard!" repeated Bree.
Ava chewed on her bottom lip and looked anxiously around the room. Bree and Marianne stared at her expectantly. Marianne felt another heated pulse, followed by an unexpected wave of annoyance. For the first time, she wondered why they always deferred to Ava. Bree was older by at least a year, and Marianne had been a lay-sister in Montsimmard longer than either of them.
Why had it never bothered her before?
Finally, Ava let out a long, tired sigh. "Marianne, I know it's exciting, but I think Bree is right. We need to go home."
Bree nodded triumphantly. "I can go and talk to one of the clerics tomorrow, and we can plan how we'll-"
Marianne inhaled sharply as another—slightly stronger—throb pulsed at the base of her skull. "I'm staying," she announced suddenly, surprised by the intensity in her own voice. The sisters stared at her in stunned silence.
"Marianne…you know we can't just leave you behind," said Ava.
Marianne stood up and took a deep breath. The throbbing in her head began to dissipate, allowing her to pull her emotions back into check. Soon enough, she regained her natural tranquility, though the lack of heat in her blood left her feeling hollow.
"What you choose to do is your business," she said while ignoring Bree's angry stare. "But I'm staying." With that, she walked back to her own bed, laid down, and went to sleep.
Over the next few days, Marianne watched Haven grow and transform from a sleepy village into a bustling center of command. Rows of tents started popping up outside the gates to house the steady stream of volunteers seeking out the Inquisition. A week ago, the Inquisition's official notice had been nailed to the chantry doors, and already Haven's population had doubled. Marianne found no shortage of work to do.
While carefully navigating Haven's frozen steps towards the gate, she gripped a nearby wall as her feet slid underneath her on a patch of ice. Above her, one of Haven's stone-carved dog statues snarled down at her like it might bite her fingers off.
"Careful," said someone. She felt a pair of hands help to steady her until she could stand on her own and turn to see the stranger. A slender elf man nodded to her politely, taking his hands away from her and folding them behind his back. Dressed in a rough tunic and pants, she could not imagine how he was keeping warm.
"My apologies," she said. She had the strangest feeling, like his eyes were much older than the rest of him.
"It is no trouble. The winter in Haven is proving quite treacherous, on multiple accounts," he said, smiling slightly and glancing up once towards the Breach.
"Yes," she answered simply.
Though still wearing a friendly smile, the man stared at her curiously as if he were trying to figure something out. Although he didn't have a staff at the moment, she recognized him as the Herald's apostate companion. She felt a sudden and desperate need to get away from the man.
A brisk wind nipped straight through her coat, snapping her out of the elf's scrutiny. "Thank you. I should be going," she said.
She hurried the rest of the way towards the front gate and did not look back. Once she reached the outside camp, she sat down on a nearby rock and leaned forward until her head hung between her knees. She inhaled slowly through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, creating a white cloud of fog. Closing her eyes, she continued her breathing pattern until her heart stopped panicking in her chest.
For a moment, she imagined herself back in Montsimmard with Mother Edith soothingly rubbing her back as she recovered from her panic—the same choking panic she felt around all mages. When she was much younger, Marianne couldn't see a mage without plummeting into a screaming delirium but as she grew older, her reactions became less intense. Marianne opened her eyes and stared at the tops of her boots. Now Mother Edith was gone, killed in the Conclave's destruction. Magic had taken her away from Marianne, too.
Finally calm, Marianne pulled her head up and looked around the camp. She had almost forgotten what she came down here for. The cart carrying bandages for the healers had broken a wheel outside the village, but the Sisters couldn't wait until it was fixed to retrieve the supplies. Naturally, Marianne volunteered.
She got up and continued down the muddy path between rows of canvas tents, her boots squishing noisily in the slush. Dotted throughout camp were large fire pits and braziers where soldiers and refugees gathered around on roughly-hewn benches to swap stories or have a meal. To the western side of camp near the makeshift training grounds, a line of recently abused straw dummies hung limply from their posts. The recruits had moved onto sparring each other with wooden swords, knocking back and forth in a noisy display. Among them was the Inquisition's commander, calling out drill commands in a warm, strong voice. She paused between two tents to watch him striding back and forth across the field, one hand resting easily on the longsword sheathed at his hip.
It was the same man from the bridge to whom she gave away her father's sword and shield, her most prized possessions, without any thought. She had not spoken to him since then, but was not eager to seek him out. She had already accepted that her father's weapons were lost forever somewhere in the snowy mountain pass, waiting to rust.
"Enjoying the view?" Ava giggled behind her.
Marianne turned around and felt her face flush. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," she said. Ava's face spread into a mischievous smile.
"Oh, come now, Marianne. Don't be like that. He is very handsome," she sighed, looking past Marianne's shoulder towards the training grounds, her eyes glazed over with longing.
"He's the commander of the Inquisition. He deserves better than to be gawked at by some doe-eyed Chantry sisters," Marianne said, feeling another flash of heat in her cheeks.
"Whatever will help you sleep at night," said Ava with a shrug, never taking her eyes away from the commander.
"What are you even doing out here, Ava?" asked Marianne.
"Hm?" she said, still obviously distracted.
"Ava," said Marianne more firmly. The lay-sister reluctantly tore her eyes away from the commander and focused again on Marianne.
"I was told to come help you bring back the supplies from the wagon."
"Why?"
"You won't be able to carry it all by yourself, you know. And besides," said Ava wistfully, her gaze straying back towards the training grounds. "I volunteered."
"Then perhaps we should start moving," said Marianne.
Ava pouted her bottom lip pitifully, but eventually peeled herself away from her gawking and headed farther into camp towards the wagon. Marianne followed behind her and with only a moment to glance back towards the training grounds one final time she could have sworn that the commander was looking right at her before he disappeared behind the tents and out of sight.