The infirmary hummed and buzzed with the sounds of the wounded and the comforting words of the healers. Sibby's pestle grated rhythmically against her mortar as she ground elfroot into paste. The smell of blood and medicine permeated every thread and every pore, so much so that she had ceased to notice it. The other healers, mages and Chantry sisters alike, tended to the patients, sitting by their beds, speaking with them in soothing tones. She had no such consolations to give. Everyone always said she was too blunt, and she was more likely than not to blurt out a less than optimistic prognosis. So she spent her time more wisely, mixing new tinctures and poultices so they would be ready.

Pale winter sunlight shone through the lattices of the stained glass windows, casting reds and golds and greens onto the faces of the sleeping patients and the healers that tended to them. It was peaceful — or as peaceful as it could be when someone could always die any minute. In one corner, Adan was holding a furious, rather one-sided discussion with Ambassador Montilyet about supplies, while Mother Giselle tried to calm him down.

All of a sudden there was a great deal of fuss at the other end and the Herald ducked into the infirmary, cradling his arm. He seemed almost too large for the cramped space they had been allotted in one of the chantry's side chambers. "My lord," said Adan curtly. "What can we do for you?"

Some of the female healers huddled about, whispering to each other. Alexander gave them a brief smile, making them giggle most unprofessionally.

"I was wondering if one of your healers might take a look at this," he said, indicating his sword arm. "I'd thought that it would be all right, but…" He shrugged.

"Sybille, get in here," snapped Adan, jerking his head at the Herald. Out of all of them, he was one of the only people in the entirety of the village who didn't see him as being anything special and treated him the way he treated everyone else — with curt, no nonsense impatience.

Sibby left her work to lead him over to an empty station. Alexander's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "I hope you're finding Haven to your liking, Miss Beaumar," he said.

"It's an icy dump, but thank you for having us," Sibby replied. "It was the least of all evils."

"I'm hurt," said the Herald. "Do you think so little of us?"

"Haven is an icy dump, but you're all right."

"Huh. Only all right? Although you are correct and Haven is really an icy dump and I would love to be stationed somewhere warmer. However, it has been made much more pleasant by the exemplary company that has arrived recently."

"Do you make these compliments up in your spare time and dole them out as you see fit?"

"Oh, no. That was simply inspired in the spur of the moment. You can credit yourself with that."

Sibby shook her head. Shouldn't the Herald of Andraste be more serious? But, no, Alexander Trevelyan flirted with anything that had legs. She shouldn't be flattered, really, even if his words and presence did warm her from the core outwards with no rational explanation. She wished he weren't quite so handsome. That way she would be less inclined to be silly. Not that he could actually be interested in her. He could practically have any woman he wanted at Haven, if he so wished, and some of the men too. Perhaps with the exception of Seeker Pentaghast and Sister Nightingale. Both were quite immune to his charms.

"Let's take a look at that arm," she said. He placed his arm on the table and she slowly unwrapped the dirty makeshift bandages around it. Blood and discharge had seeped through the linen, staining it red and brown and yellow, and the unmistakable scent of charred flesh and rot emanated from the wound.

"What happened?" she asked. She peeled back the last layer, and Alexander winced. "Herald, this is terrible."

"I thought it would be all right, seeing as it was a fire bolt that did it," he said.

"You should have gone to a healer immediately!"

"I didn't want to make a fuss, Miss Beaumar. Like you're making one now."

"I should smack you up the head for your stupidity. Now it's going to be twice as hard to heal, and you will, at the very least, get a scar."

"Proof of my battle prowess?"

"Proof that you're an idiot."

She plucked several jars off the shelves and dumped a few drops of their contents into a copper basin, which she then filled with hot water. The scent of pungent medicinal oils rose through the air. Alexander sucked in a breath through his teeth as she started to clean the burn, which had gone deep into his flesh. The edges of the wound had gone grey and dead, but from the looks of it, the infection had not yet spread so far that the arm was beyond saving. A couple more days and the story would have been quite different. She offered him a little tincture of poppy diluted in water, which he took without question, completely trusting her, which caught her off guard. Was he not afraid that she could poison him?

He looked away and clenched his teeth as she worked on his wound, cutting away the rotted flesh and then sewing the edges together with sure, quick sutures before applying a poultice of elfroot and embrium which was bound to ward off any other infection. Then she forced a potion down his throat. Solas himself had made that. It was almost good enough to bring back the dead.

"There," she said as she finished tying off the ends of his bandage and he finished gagging. "Come back in six hours to get the poultice changed. You'll have a scar, but no muscle damage at least. Next time, don't wait a week. Burns are nasty."

"Yes, Mistress," he said meekly. "Although, what excuse would I use to see you next time?"


My darling Alex,

We are all absolutely delighted to hear that you are alive. When news of what happened at the Conclave first reached me, your father and I feared the worst. Then we heard about the young Herald of Andraste and we thought, surely not, but it's true! It's you! We are so proud of you, even though your father won't openly admit it. You know how he is. I always knew you would be a great man. I always knew you would all be great men, no matter what path you pursue. I don't believe a single word of what those clerics are saying about you and the Inquisition. How dare they even imply that you are lying! If I ever hear anyone saying anything, you mark my words, I will let them know a piece of my mind!

What a shame you have to stay in the Frostbacks. Shouldn't an organisation like the Inquisition be setting up some place more civilised? I'm not saying you need to be in the Free Marches, but Val Royeaux, or even Denerim would be a much more suitable place. How is anyone even supposed to come and visit the Herald of Andraste when he's out in the middle of nowhere? It seems most unwise.

Elaine is very eager to come and see you, regardless of how cold the Frostbacks are this time of year. Please do let us know when would be suitable for a visit. We all miss you very much. Little Horatio was asking about you the other day. I'm pretty sure he was asking about you, since he kept pointing to your portrait.

So sorry to hear about cousin Hypatia, but, to be quite frank with you, nobody really liked her anyway. She was always so much 'holier than thou'. But one should not speak ill of the dead, even if no one misses them.

Love,
Mother


Dear Mother,

Now really isn't a good time to come to Haven. Please don't come. I assure you, you wouldn't enjoy it very much. It's cold and there are soldiers everywhere, and not a sign of civilisation in sight. We don't even have bathtubs, I swear to the Maker. Please tell Elaine that she would be much better off staying in Ostwick. Now that the circles have all fallen, everyone else thinks every mage is an apostate. The roads are full of demons.

I cannot tell you more, but I promise I will write again soon. Please give my love to Father, Maxentian, Cassius, Godfrey, Elaine, Horatio, Lucia, etc., etc.

Love,
Alex


Sister Leliana,

I might have told my mother not to visit because we have no bathtubs in Haven. I know this is blatantly not true, but just in case she sends a scathing letter upbraiding the Inquisition for a lack of hygiene amenities (she is very protective of me), please do intercept any and all missives out of Ostwick. I very much dislike the notion that such a letter might find its way to Seeker Pentaghast or, worse, Ambassador Montilyet.

I am in your debt.

Herald (crossed out)
Lord (crossed out)
Alexander Trevelyan

P.S. I may also have told her not to let my sister come to Haven because the roads are full of demons.


Lord Trevelyan,

I will take your suggestion under advisement. Might I also suggest that you craft better lies in the future?

Sister Leliana


Sister Leliana,

I panicked, all right?

Alexander Trevelyan


Dearest Alex,

No bathtubs?! Why, that is appalling! I suppose it would be rather difficult to have some sent to you, given the demon-infested roads. I do hope you will look after yourself as best as you can.

I know you are very busy now, slaying demons and dragons and all sorts of terrible things, and I am really proud of the work you do, but if you have a moment, could you please write to your sister? She has gotten it into her head that she is not interested in marrying. And I have to wonder, since she is no longer in the Circle, what else is she going to do with her life? Who will look after her when your father and I are both dead and gone? She's always been fonder of you than of anybody else and, despite her wilfulness, I think she will listen to you. I have found her the perfect match with one of our cousins in Starkhaven. He is a delightful man of few words and a vast fortune made from trade. And I think I may have found a young lady who would be just perfect for you. It is much easier to find eager young heiresses now that you are famous, or infamous, as some might say.

I'm sending you my kisses and prayers, and enclosed is a portrait of the young lady.

Lots of love,
Mother


Lord Trevelyan,

Shall I endeavour to find out more about Lady Rosalind Kellington?

Sister Leliana


Sister Leliana,

Cease and desist. Ignore. Don't read letters not meant for your eyes. It's rude.

Alexander


Dearest Alexander,

It's my duty to read letters not meant for my eyes. She is surprisingly pretty for a Kellington, I must say. The family is quite rich, quite mad, and have married cousins for generations.

Sister Leliana


Leliana,

I said no.

Alexander


Leliana,

Lord Seeker Lambert rejected our proposal. Herald has been approached by Mage rebels. Suspect that may be our only option.

Cassandra


Dear Diary,

Am I petty for being angry at someone even though they're probably no longer the person they had once been? I keep on thinking that I am justified, and then the next moment, I don't think I am. Feelings are such confusing things.

Cullen came by to visit some of the injured soldiers that we have under observation. As a side note, stay out of the way of terror claws, although they might make for decent weapons if anyone can actually get their hands on a set that doesn't dissipate as soon as the demon is dead. They burn through flesh like nothing else, ripping through steel chainmail as though it were tissue paper. We've lost quite a few warriors to them. Luckily, terrors are rare and one is much more likely to bump into a shade or a wisp. Still nasty, but not quite so terrible, according to the soldiers I've bandaged and sewn up. On the plus side, terror claws cauterize wounds so if your wound is not fatal, you're unlikely to bleed out on the way to medical aid.

But I digress. The Commander is apparently a people person and visits wounded soldiers. They seem to adore him. It's the first time I've been in the same room with him since we were all recruited. He didn't recognize me, but I just stiffened even though I tried to remain professional. Ultimately, maybe he was right about Merv because he abandoned us to join the rebels the first chance he got, and nobody's heard from him since, but I can't help but remember the look in his eyes that day when he attacked a harmless apprentice. One could say Templars like Cullen are part of the reason why so many mages went mad. How can I forget the horror stories that came out of Kirkwall? Varric has alluded to it in his Tale of the Champion. Why else would Anders have gone so far? He had been angry even when in Kinloch, but I've never known him to harm innocents before. He was always more for words. It was Cullen and his Knight Commander who'd driven him to such drastic action. That had to be the only reason.

Andrew says I'm being too "judgey and grudgey". He says Cullen is no longer that same man who left Kinloch, and not the same man who once stood by while the Templars in Kirkwall perpetrated atrocity upon atrocity on the mages in the Gallows. He does seem different; graver, calmer. But he still did all those things. Surely something of that man remains. I couldn't bear to look at him when he came to see the men and busied myself pretending to sort potion bottles. He commended me on the work I was doing for the soldiers and the evenness of my sutures. He was so good with the men, and so polite to me.

Then he asked me my name and where I was from. I told him. I have nothing to hide. He started and almost lurched backwards in his surprise. "Sybille?" he said. "I… It has been very many years. I had not thought… I'm –I'm glad you're alive."

To be honest, I wasn't sure what I was expecting. That he would show his dark side in front of all his men? He's crazy, not stupid. Maybe he is being genuine, but how can I tell? "As am I," I said. I was very diplomatic. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but someone called him away with an urgent report of new demon rifts being opened.

Anyway, enough about Crazy Cullen. I can be professional. We work together, that is all. I mean, we were friends once, so I suppose I'll give him a chance. Still, I can't really believe this is the boy who was pining over Sol so badly that the entire Tower could see it, except Solona herself. Speaking of Solona, I haven't heard from her in a while. Last time she wrote, she was headed to Tevinter, seeking a cure for the taint, but that was months ago. Of course, she could have dispatched someone to Kinloch and they would have found nothing. She would probably know what to do about this breach thing. Maybe Sister Nightingale could find her? If anyone could find someone in the teeming masses of the Imperium, it would be her, right?


Dear Diary,

The Herald, Alex, came by to pick up some new potions. He's setting off again, back to Redcliffe, to deal with the new rifts and to try and make contact with the rebel mages because the Templars rebuffed him in Val Royeaux. Apparently the rogue Templars marched off to Maker knows where and one even punched a grand cleric! I might have failed at not smirking. "It's really not a laughing matter, Miss Beaumar," he said. "Even though I have also wanted to punch a grand cleric a couple of times. It is not to be commended." Then he grinned and leaned in close to me. "I thought that right hook quite well deserved. Don't tell Cassandra I said that."

"I promise," I told him. It's not like I'm ever going to get to talk to Seeker Pentaghast. That woman has a storm for a face and she's deadly with any weapon she picks up. I've been watching her and I think I could learn a couple of things. I need to get someone to teach me how to use a sword properly. It's only now that I've seen real fighting that I realize, while I might have some talent in that department, I desperately need training.


Sybille,

What's this about you trying to steal a sword?

Adan


Adan,

I wasn't stealing the sword. I was borrowing it without permission but with every intention of returning it before anyone noticed. If I'm to be any good as a field surgeon, I must know how to defend myself.

Sybille


Sybille,

You are a mage and you have been issued a staff.

Adan


Commander,

One of the mages, a Sybille Beaumar, tried to exchange her staff for a sword and a bow. I thought you should know.

Quartermaster Threnn


Quartermaster,

Thank you for letting me know. I shall deal with the matter.

Commander Cullen Rutherford