Notes:

Like many authors here in the Dragon Age section, I'm not always going to include all of the dialogue, and I will change a good bit of the dialogue or where they take place, etc. After all, if we wanted to read the exact same thing, we'd just play the game again, right? Most of these first few chapters will be fairly close to the game, but I promise they will start to diverge a bit more.

Translations:

Hahren- elder, a term of respect for someone of more power or age than yourself.

Da'len (or dalen)- child, though not necessary in the literal sense. It can be used for an apprentice, or to acknowledge the other person's respect for younger your age/ability]

Chapter 3: To invite the People (and the people came)

In the few days that Wren and the rest were gone, Josephine and Leliana made the necessary arrangements to obtain an audience with the Chantry Mothers in Val Royeaux. Using Mother Giselle's contacts in the Chantry itself, as well as what influence Josephine could push, a time and date was set for the Inquisition, and more importantly, their 'Herald of Andraste', to present their case. As soon as they were confident enough that they could actually get there, a raven was sent to Crossroads to fetch everyone back.

So the party trudged back up the mountain path, this time accompanied by horses and new recruits, to return to Haven and prepare themselves for the next task. They were a little worse for the wear, but everyone seemed pleased at the difference they had made, both for the Inquisition itself, and for the people of Crossroads. Cassandra's mood was greatly improved from their trip down the road, and she barely rose to Varric's bait (much to Wren and Solas' disappointment.) Varric was rambling on about all the inspiration for his next book, arguing with Cassandra about whether he was allowed to include some…muses… similar to the party members.

Wren was pleased at the hard work they had done, and how much safer it was to travel across this road now. So much good, so many lives changed- and by a heretic mage, an apostate elf, a morally questionable writer, and a Seeker that was condemned by her own Chantry. All in a day's work.

She noticed, though, that Solas was less aloof than he had been at the beginning of this adventure. He kept his horse close to hers, occasionally asking her arbitrary questions about her family's lands, or her life in the Circle. Never anything that was sensitive or painful for her to discuss, but odd little questions, asked softly while the others were bickering ahead. She felt like he was probing for some specific answer, but was unwilling to simply come out and say it.

After a long few hours of this, Wren signaled the recruits to go ahead of her horse, on the pretense of searching for something in her pack. As expected, Cassandra and Varric were too busy quarreling to notice, but Solas slowed his mount down until he was barely walking at all, leaving a large distance between himself and the rest of the group. He did not turn to watch her, but she got the distinct impression that he could see her none the less.

Smiling to herself, she spurred her horse forward again until she was even with the silent elf. They picked up their pace to keep up with the caravan, but left the gap ahead of them. Only the rear-guard and trailing scouts were further behind them now.

Solas was the one to break the silence, giving her a brief glance before returning his steady gaze to the path ahead, "I assume that your intention was to speak without the distraction of the herd." She giggled softly at that, almost able to imagine the shuffling mass of soldiers to be druffalo. He quirked an eyebrow at her, and waited for her to answer.

Regaining her composure, she nodded, "I thought that perhaps you would enjoy a more private conversation, since it seemed you were unwilling to speak plainly around our companions."

She had caught him off guard, that much was obvious. He stared at her openly for a time, before clearing his throat, "Ah."

They rode in silence for a while, and Wren started to fear that Solas wouldn't actually say anything further. She chewed on her lip a little, fiddling with the end of the reins and trying to come up with some way to apologize. Finally he spoke again, his voice confident and steady, as if there had been no pause in their conversation, "I am curious about you, Lady Trevelyan. A noble by birth, a mage by power, an apostate by circumstance, and a herald by Fate." She cringed at his descriptions, but could find to objection. He continued, "In all those things, I cannot understand where you would learn to speak elvhen, or come to have a tattoo that so represents the Vallaslin. The boots, the way you use your magic, even some of the quirks you express. They all suggest a… Dalish association." Wren saw him glance at her ears, exposed now that her hair was long enough to pull back, as if to reassure himself that she was human.

The way he said Dalish made her feel somehow guilty, but she sat up a little straighter in the saddle. A partial explanation was easy enough, if a little painful. "I grew up in the Circle, taken there nearly twenty years ago while I was still young and easily molded. At the time, I had been ripped from everything I knew, and thrown into the unfamiliar, told only that it was for my own good. I was frightened, guilt-ridden, and lonely." It had been a hard time for her, and even speaking about the beginning made the pain flare anew- if only for a moment. "I was one of the lucky ones, however. One of the others, older than me by a few years, was also lonely. Enough so, that he reached out to a terrified child, and offered her companionship and the comforts of a family." She smiled a little, remembering that first meeting, "His name was Thenal Lavellan, though everyone simply called him Curt, for his way of approaching people. He was the fourth mage born to his Clan, though his magic bloomed late, and since none of the others were willing to step down, he was made to leave them and strike out on his own. It was pure luck that the Templars who picked him up brought him to the Circle, instead of simply killing him, but he also had that way with people- to blunt for anyone to not trust him." 'Much like yourself, Solas.' She added to silently.

Pausing again, her fingers ghosting over the mark on her face, she thought back to the day he'd given it to her. Had it really been four years? It seemed so much more recent than that. "Our inner Circle was formed of a band of misfits. A Dalish Elf, a Marches noble, a Tevinter outcast, and a Qunari rebel, among the other debris. We were the left overs, but we formed a family, a Clan, with Curt as our mock Keeper. It was simply fun at first, something to help fill the void of loneliness that is the Circle, but it became the only thing we had that the Chantry could not take from us. And when the rebellion started… we were one of the only groups that didn't lose anyone to the massacres..." The sentence hung in the air, heavy and full of the fear that burned through every Circle in Thedas at the time. That night was burned into her mind, much as every day after the Conclave.

Silence descended on the pair as Wren struggled with her inner fears and Solas gave her the space and quiet she needed to do so. A light snow had begun, and the air stilled as the clouds sunk low over the mountain pass. The way was getting a little steeper, but the path was better worn- less mud and more solid earth or stable rock. The horses seemed to like the sturdy footing, and the ride became a little more pleasant, despite the chill. It was quiet, peaceful, back behind the rest of the herd. How long had it been since Wren had felt this sense of safety and peace? Her mind might be roiling, but she trusted her cohorts to protect her, and knew now that she had power enough to protect them. Hadn't there been a sense of true companionship starting to form..?

Taking a deep breath, Wren turned a sad smile to Solas, who was still watching, waiting for her to continue. "I do not mean any insult by my use of your heritage. It became so much a part of my life, that I was happy to have someone to share it with again." She lifted the reins, prepared to move her horse forward and catch up with everyone else, when the elf beside her reached out, his fingers just barely brushing the top of her hand.

"I am not insulted, Da'len, just surprised." He gave her one of his tight lipped smiles, though Wren knew it was in sympathy. Almost as an afterthought, he whispered, "You are a curiosity."

She chuckled softly, looking down at her hand, "You said that before, Hahren. Is that good?"

He sat up straight, looking forward and kicking his mount into a soft trot, though not so quickly that her own could not keep up. His tone when he spoke was matter of fact, "Mm. I suppose it is."

One of Josephine's servants waylaid the party as they came through Haven's gate, "Lady Montilyet requests the company of the Seeker and the Herald for dinner in her study." The girl stated, her accent nearly as refined as Josephine's. "My Lady says that there are letters for both of you, which she had placed in your cabins."

Glancing at each other with a little trepidation, Cassandra and Wren sighed and dismounted, letting the soldiers take their horses to tend. It would be a few hours before dinner, but the two of them had discussed how much formal dinners with Josephine reminded them of their respective noble families. Their fellow council member was not simply a noble, she was one of those that truly enjoyed the Game.

Promising to meet with Cassandra at the Chantry entrance (so neither of them would have to be alone with Josephine) and with some time to kill, Wren bid her companions a good day and left for her cabin. At the very least, she could get out of her disgusting clothes. Josephine had promised that she would send for clothing that would fit the young mage and give her something to wear around camp. The thought of being in something clean, even if she wasn't, was delightful. Hefting her pack, she pushed open the door to find the young elf from before, fiddling with a large basin set near the fire place.

Just like the first time, the elf turned and squeaked, dropping a jar of something onto the, thankfully plush, carpet. "Oh! My lady, I didn't know you were back yet!" the elf immediately fell to her knees, much to Wren's dismay.

"Oh please, none of that! Get up, get up!" Wren hurried over and helped the poor girl to her feet, "I'm not some noble lord to require bowing and scraping from anybody." The elf seemed about to object, but Wren caught sight of the tub, "What is this?"

Quickly stooping to grab the jar she dropped, the girl uncorked it and poured a little of the amber scented contents into the steaming tub of water, "I was told to pull you a bath, m'lady. That you'd be back today and I was to keep it warm for you. I didn't know you'd be back so early, so I was just now adding the oils."

Wren was too shocked to do more than stare in open mouthed wonder at the water for a moment, before turning and roughly hugging the elven girl, "Oh thank you! I've been dreaming of a bath all day, and I feared I'd have to go dunk my head in a trough! This is perfect! Did you drag this all the way up here? Oh thank you so much!" babbling happily, Wren finally released the poor elf (who was torn between being terrified that the Herald had deigned to touch her, and giggling at the childish babblings). The mage tossed her pack onto the floor and shucked off her armor, "I have a dinner with Lady Montilyet, so this will be perfect." She paused, realizing the girl was looking more and more uncomfortable. 'I keep forgetting that I'm not in the Circle anymore.' Modesty was not something afforded to the mages, especially the youngsters. The poor elf girl didn't want to be rude and leave, but was obviously not used to someone so open. "You are dismissed, for the whole night- get something to eat and get some rest." The girl smiled nervously, bowing a little and backing towards the door again. A flash of thought came to Wren, and she lifted her hand, "Oh wait!"

"Y-yes, m'lady?"

Wren's face became serious, her tone a little dark, "If anyone ever gives you trouble, or calls you a name, you tell me, alright? I won't have the Inquisition treating elven any differently than anyone else in our service."

The girl looked completely shocked, but nodded mutely before stumbling out the door and shutting it behind her.

Wren nodded to herself, before turning back to the tub with a delighted grin.

Some people just didn't understand the magic of a long, hot bath. If more people did, then more places would have large baths where one could soak in the healing waters for long hours- without getting cramps in awkward places. Wren had thoroughly enjoyed herself, until her toes started to prune up and that little muscle at the very bottom of her back started to cramp and twist. Nothing ruins a lovely bath like pruny toes and cramps! After she had dried herself off and dressed in her new clothing (warm wool tunic, fur lined breeches, and even new smallclothes!), Wren decided that she had enough time to explore Haven a little and get a better feel for what the Inquisition was becoming.

The camp was bustling with activity as the supplies from Haven came up the road, and the new recruits got settled in. New tents were being erected just outside of the gates, new paving stones placed along the foot-worn paths around the tiny town, and soldiers and civilians alike were working on fortifying the wall. There were even trebuchets being built. It was impressive how much had been done in a few short days; she got the distinct feeling that Commander Cullen was behind most of it. Boot clad feet carried her to the training area, and she was surprised to see that the Commander was not with the recruits. Instead, Seeker Cassandra could be seen with a practice sword, hacking away at a much abused practice dummy.

Wren watched her for a time, admiring the ease with which she parried and twisted away from imagined blows before leaping back to hit the target again. A smirk tugged at the mages lips as she approached a little closer, "I think you need a practice dummy made of sterner stuff. Have you asked Varric to stand in?"

That got her at least an amused grunt and a raised eyebrow. What a stern nut to crack! After taking a few more swings at the well battered doll, Cassandra stopped and turned away with a sigh, looking out over the recruits. "Have I done the right thing?" the warrior asked. She started speaking, questioning her actions up until the closing of the Rift and the possible consequences of it, questioning if she could even be considered a traitor by history. Wren was shocked with how open the Seeker was being. This was a woman of action, she admitted as much herself. Why should she be questioning anything? She had to make decisions, and she did. She acted with decisive force, and, in Wren's mind, was more responsible for saving the town that the little mage could possibly be. Cassandra acted without stopping to fret about it. All Wren did was point her hand at things. They spoke for a time, alternating between discussing the recruits training and discussing Cassandra's crisis of self.

Finally, Wren placed a hesitating hand on Cassandra's shoulder, "We can question our actions until the Maker himself comes through that Breach- but that won't change what has happened."

The Seeker seemed to take heart in that, and nodded, moving her attention to the practice dummy again. As Wren made to walk away though, the warrior stopped her, "I'm curious. Do you even believe in the Maker?"

The mage eyed her a little cautiously. As an apostate in magic, she was already in enough trouble with the Chantry. Being an apostate in the faith might mean the lovely platform of Val Royeaux that had a long drop and a short stop. However, this was not just the Seeker and the Right Hand of the Divine. This was Cassandra. Her ally, and perhaps even her friend. If you want people to trust you, you have to show them trust first.

"Honestly, I can't really say. There have been so many gods of so many people- who am I to claim to know?"

Her companion eyed her a moment, before giving a little nod, "I suppose it doesn't really matter now. I have to believe you were put here on this path for a reason. Now it simply remains to see where it leads us." She walked away, perhaps to drag one of the recruits into a spar.

Wren was left standing in the organized chaos, contemplating the philosophies of the gods and the Fade.

One of the letters in her cabin had been from Leliana, telling Wren to speak with the blacksmith (who was a bit busy right then), the requisitions officer (who, after speaking with her a second time, Wren realized wasn't racists or anti-mage- she was just rude to everyone) and the apothecary. Deciding that a herbalist couldn't be any worse, the young hero made her way through the crowded cobblestone streets of Haven, past the beckoning tavern, and up towards the apothecary. She was surprised to see her fellow mage, lingering outside of a small cabin, watching the Breach flutter and grumble.

"Hahren!" Wren couldn't help but smile, shuffling through a bit of a snow drift to make her way to her friend.

The elf turned, a small smile flitting across his lips, "The Chosen of Andreste." Wren groaned and rolled her eyes, and he smiled, "A blessed hero sent to save us all."

Feeling a little better, Wren looked around as if lost, "Am I riding in on a shining steed?"

Solas didn't miss a beat, "I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly, they're all extinct." Wren desperately wanted to ask him about griffons, and if he'd seen them in the Fade, but he continued, "Joke as you will, posturing is necessary." Wren giggled, rather breaking the imaginary construction of a valiant hero riding a dashing griffon.

They stood for a while in companionable silence, before his attention drifted back towards the Breach. "I've journeyed deep into the Fade, in ancient ruins and battlefields, to see the dreams of lost civilizations." His eyes drifted down, watching the light snow drift down to the ground as his mind saw shadows of the scenes he'd observed, "I've watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars, both famous and forgotten." He paused a moment, before dragging his gaze away from the dreamscape before his eyes. He looked down at Wren, a little mischief coming to his face. "Every great war has its heroes. I'm just curious what kind you'll be."

Wren was fascinated. He'd spoken a little about the Fade, but this was a chance to learn more of what he had experienced. "What do you mean, ruins and battlefields?"
Solas looked a little surprised that she was asking, but seemed pleased to be able to explain, "Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of Time has a history. Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds." He looked away again, obviously thinking about what he'd seen, "When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen." He sounded proud, and like this was impressive, which to Wren, it was.

"I've never heard of anyone going so far into the Fade- that's extraordinary!" Wren said eagerly, before her training in decorum could stall her tongue. What knowledge this man must have! What amazing things he must have seen!

Solas smiled a little wider, giving a tip of his head, "Thank you. It's not a common field of study, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning." He smirked, and Wren recognized his disparaging of the primary use of magic for the Inquisition so far- battle magics. There was passion in his eyes as he spoke, stirred something in Wren, and she couldn't help but lean eagerly towards him, waiting to hear more. "The thrill of finding remnants of a thousand-year-old dream? I would not trade it for anything." His eyes wandered off again, and his brief silence left Wren desperate to ask for more information, but she recognized that outside in the cold, in the shadow of the Chantry, wasn't exactly the best place for such heretical discussions.

"I will stay then." He said with conviction, "At least until the Breach has been closed."

Wren was a little surprised by his statement, "Was that in doubt?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, "I am an apostate mage, surrounded by Chantry forces and, unlike you, I do not have a divine Mark protecting me." His tone was a bit condescending, but when phrased that way, it did seem like a silly question for her to ask. "Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution."

Wren hated for him to think that Cassandra was the only protection he had, "You came here to help, Hahren. I won't let anyone use that against you."

His tone turned serious, his eyes dark, "How would you stop them?"

Wren practically growled, thinking of the treatment Curt had received from people for being much as Solas was, "However I have to."

The answer visibly shocked the elf, and he had to pause a moment before answering. "Thank you." They regarded each other, Solas with a small, soft smile, and Wren with a determination burning in her eyes. Visibly shaking off, the older mage stood up a little straighter and took a small step back, "For now, let us hope either the mages or the Templars have the power to seal the Breach." It was an obvious dismissal, and Wren gave him a short, polite bow. He returned it in kind, before walking the short distance to his door.

Wren felt her cheeks turning a bit pink, as she realized exactly what she had said to him, before shaking her head and continuing on to the apothecary. Solas was fascinating, and she hoped that at some point before he left, she would be able to ask him at least some of the burning questions that raced through her mind right then. Until then, she really should try to control her passions a little more… And her tongue.

She finished in the apothecary fairly quickly, finding the man inside to be a bit blunt, but otherwise a decent sort- he did save her after all. 'Well, with the help of a certain apostate mage…' She couldn't help eyeing the closed door, wondering what a wandering Fade mage did in his spare time when he wasn't traipsing around in the Fade or rescuing damsels in distress.

Her head was spinning a bit and she thought that there was just enough time to grab a calming drink from the Tavern before having to play the nobles daughter at Josephine's dinner. She managed to get a drink from the owner (though only managed to pay for it by leaving a gold piece on the counter and walking off), and had just settled down in a quieter corner when she felt the chair beside her move and a friendly voice ask, "So, now that Cassandra's out of earshot, are you holding up alright?"

Wren turned and smiled in relief at Varric, ready to talk to anyone about the crazy couple days she'd been having.

Having delayed long enough, Wren had finally made it to Josephine's dinner invitation, but not before being dragged into an argument between the camp mages and ex-Templars and then being waylaid by the Marquis while he attempted to bully the Inquisition into leaving. The mage was just about fed up with the political plays going on in the camp. Between Chancellor Obnoxious and the Marquis du Pompous, it was impressive that she hadn't simply put them both on ice to cool down their hot heads. It was, however, interesting to hear that Cullen no longer considered himself a Templar, and that even Josephine was getting annoyed with the Marquis' political plays. It almost made the two of them seem like real people!

Wren hid a smirk at the thought, while Josephine regaled her and Cassandra with a rather amusing story about one of the Counts, who happened to be an uncle of Lady Montilyet's , and how his wandering hands got him in trouble at the court. Cassandra even loosened up enough to talk about her rather short time in the court. Apparently, the Seeker was a bit of a trouble maker as a child. When they turned to Wren, expecting her to share something about her noble background, the girl cast about for some way to change the topic. It was not pleasant, discussing the sort of things her family had wanted her to do. After all, a tamed Circle Mage was no good for the normal life of a noble, but they could still produce heirs and be used to political alliances…

Lucky for her, on of Leliana's messengers interrupted, saying that the spymaster was ready for them in the War Room. Gratefully, Wren stood and led the way. Cullen and Leliana were already waiting for them, so they got to work quickly. There was much to be organized and discussed before making a plan on how to approach the Chantry mothers. Josephine gave Wren a letter from one of her noble friends, concerning some rather distant relations behaving badly- while using the mages name and position as a means to further their conduct. Despite the tempting offer from Leliana for a 'rumor of assassins,' Cullen's flat out denouncement was more appealing. Not only did it deal with the problem rather neatly, but it made it very clear to the rest of the squabbling relatives that Wren was no longer willing to play politics for her family. With any luck, that would be the last she'd hear of it.

When everything else had been discussed, Josephine finally brought up Val Royeaux. "Having the Herald address the clerics is not a terrible idea."

Cullen turned, incredulous, "You can't be serious?"

The diplomat scowled at him, "Mother Giselle isn't wrong: at the moment, the Chantry's only strength is that they are united in opinion." Cullen shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration and turned away.

Leliana spoke up, apparently agreeing with Cullen's obvious sentiment on the matter, "And we should ignore the danger to the Herald?"

Josephine smiled a little, though it seemed only a polite mask, "Let's ask her."

Wren was a little surprised that their bickering had stopped so soon, much less that all three actually turned to look at her, as if her opinion mattered. It took her a moment to answer, but she couldn't help feeling like approaching the Chantry would only make things worse- and said as much. While she knew that Cullen was against the visit, she was still surprised by how readily he agreed, and the almost protective tone he took, glancing at her briefly.

She was less surprised, however, when Cassandra volunteered to go with her. The Seeker turned to Leliana, her voice taking its commanding tone, "Mother Gisselle said she could provide us names? Use them."

The spymaster was unsure, "But why? This is nothing but a-"

Cassandra cut her off though, obviously ready to do what she had been lamenting about earlier- make a decision and see it through. "What choice do we have Leliana? Right now we can't approach anyone for help with the Breach." It was a sobering truth, and everyone in the room seemed to at least agree on that much, even Cullen stopped shaking his head, and looked unwillingly in agreeance. They needed to act, but they were not powerful enough on their own. If they could at least keep the Chantry from constantly threatening them with excommunication and death, then it might be a little easier to get the alliances they needed.

The rest of the planning was left up to Josephine and Leliana, including informing the Chantry of their arrival and getting those who might be sympathetic gathered in one place. Cullen muttered something about gathering a small guard to escort them to the city, stopping to glance at Wren a moment. She thought that perhaps he would say something, but he just sighed, gave her a nod, and left.

While the rest were planning, Wren decided there was one thing she could ensure happened. It was late enough at night that there were only a few people to gasp and bow as she strode past (you'd think they'd be used to her by now, seeing as she'd been wandering around town so much). Her light steps carried her up the ice coated stairs, and to the door in question. There was a moment's hesitation as she raised her hand to knock. What if he was asleep already? Disturbing him…

The mage had no chance to hesitate further, however, as the door opened and an amused looking Solas raised an eyebrow at her, "I thought about letting you stand there a little longer, but felt that it was perhaps a little cruel." She blushed, grinning at him ruefully. His smile grew a little, and he stepped aside and signaled she should come in.

The cabin was simply kept and utilitarian. There were a few shelves with carefully kept books, supplies for potion making, and, surprisingly, some charcoal sketches on the desk that appeared to be stylized images of castles and towers. Perhaps those ancient ruins he'd spoken of? Knowing it was rude to pry too much, she turned to him and chewed on her lip a little, unsure how to say it. He waited patiently, though one corner of his lip tugged up a little further. Finally, she just blurted out, "I leave for Val Royeaux in the morning. The advisors wish for me to take Mother Gisselle's advice and speak with any of the clerics that will listen." She paced a little, turning to look at the fire burning merrily behind her, "I worry that it is Templar trap, or a flight of fancy. Cullen seems to agree." The elf shuffled a little behind her, and Wren realized that she was rambling, and likely keeping him from bed. Turning around, she took his hands in hers, "Please Solas, I need someone there who I can trust. I hate to ask, but please, will you come with us?"

The older mage looked shocked, his eyes lingering on their hands a moment, before he looked back up at her, "It is a complicated thing you ask, da'len. Val Royeaux is not just home to the Chantry, but to their Templars as well. You are an apostate by circumstance. I am one by choice."

Her heart sunk, and she nodded, starting to release his hands. He was right, of course, it was a ridiculous thing to ask of him- risking so much just for her comfort. What was she thinking?

But his hands turned and gripped hers tightly, "However," she looked up, surprised, as he continued, "It has likely been some time since the renegade Templar order has faced a mage of any talent. Perhaps I will be safe enough."

Wren looked at him, thinking at first that he referred to himself, and was surprised to see, by his smirk and approving look, that he was giving her the compliment. There was no stopping the grin that broke across her face, though she did just manage to keep from flinging her arms around his neck. "Thank you, Hahren! I'll make sure we are both safe!"

He chuckled at her enthusiasm, and released her hands. Wren felt her cheeks darken- that was the first time she'd heard him laugh, in any real respect. It was... Fumbling a bit, she gave him a bow and skittered around him towards the door, making her escape while decorum still allowed it. His eyes and smile followed her out, and the sound of his low laughter warmed her all the way back to her own cabin.

Mountains made for a beautiful view and grand vistas, but they were Maker damned for riding. Blisters were the least of Wren's worries, but they were definitely the most prominent and persistent. She shifted in the saddle again, taking one foot out of its stirrup and tucking it behind the saddle horn. Those tiny blisters along her thigh were relieved, but it put more pressure on the hot spots forming along her tail bone. No position in this saddle was comfortable for a three day ride- and she had even ridden side saddle for Andreste's sake! But there was just nothing that could relieve this extent of saddle sores. It didn't appear that anyone else was having any trouble. Cassandra led the column of soldiers sitting high in the saddle and looking the ever proud Seeker. Varric had a specialized saddle that he regularly bragged about- with padded seating. Wren could just strangle the dwarf for every smug, knowing look he shot her way. And Solas seemed unaffected by anything, honestly. He spent much of the time in saddle reading, or even trotting off the trail to nearby ruins, and meeting with them again some ways down the road. A few times he indulged her in conversation, explaining with lyrical enthusiasm his experiences and opinions on the nature of the Fade. They would engage in debates about the nature of Spirits versus Demons, and whether without the influence of an observer, Demons were actually 'evil' in the sense that we understood.

Soldiers would only engage in very short, direct conversation with the young mage- most of them seemed too awed by her presence to dare speak with her. It was annoying, and always made Wren snarl under her breath, which only made them apologize for some perceived wrong and then the begging would start and she would throw her hands up in a huff and turn her horse back towards her companions. Varric though it was hilarious.

By the early afternoon of the third day, the mountains gave way to farmland, that turned into little hamlets, which became the outer fringes of Val Royeaux. The party had reached actual cobblestone roads and civilized people, thank the Maker! Cassandra took immediate command of the soldiers, sending them to restock personal supplies for the return trip, as well as buy anything that Haven was in need of with what coin they had. She dragged the rest of the group to a large inn, just off the main causeway. There were servants waiting for them outside, and by the conversation one of them had with the Seeker it was rapidly apparent that the Inquisition was expected. There were only two other guest staying at Renard Roux (the Red Fox? Such an Orlesian name…), the rest of the rooms were reserved for the companions and high ranking soldiers that had come with them. The lower ranks would bunk in the stables, in hopes that their presence nearby would prevent any incidents from taking place. Their horses were taken from them, and their things rushed to their rooms by mousey servants, mostly elven, much to Wren's dismay.

They had no time to get settled however. They were shown their rooms, and the Seeker immediately told the companions to clean up, both body and armor, and make themselves presentable to the Chantry Mothers. Nervousness did not become her, and the warrior was incredibly short tempered while everyone prepared.

Finally, in the late afternoon, the group left for the central market, where they had been told to meet with those willing from the Chantry. As they crossed the bridge, Wren noted the shift from middle-class and working force, to high end and noble. In the outskirts, the people had looked at the Inquisition forces with a nervous sort of awe. As they approached the massive gates of Val Royeaux, the nobles looked at them in disgust, or even fear. One woman yelped, actually yelped, when she realized that it was the Herald of Andreste and the Inquisition walking up the bridge.

Varric's low voice rumbled from her side, "Just a guess Seeker, but I think they all know who we are…"

"Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric." Cassandra replied, though rather lack luster compared to her usual responses. She glanced about, her brow drawn down and her face starting to scowl.

As they passed through the gates, a woman ran up to them in nondescript, servant style clothing, "My Lady Herald!" She dropped to one knee before Wren, bowing her head briefly.

Cassandra motioned her to stand, "You are one of Leliana's people." She observed. "What have you found?" she sounded so hopeful, but from the expression on the woman's face, Wren knew the news was not what the Seeker would want to hear.

"The Chantry Mothers away you… But, so do a great many Templars!" The whole group shifted nervously, and Wren looked to Cassandra for some guidance. Cullen had anticipated this. Was it the same trap he feared?

"There are Templars here?" Cassandra seemed a pleased, until the spy responded.

"People seem to think the Templars will protect them… from the Inquisition!" Her voice was incredulous.

Cassandra gave a gruff response, but Wren, Varric and Solas were paying little attention. They looked at each other, a silent conversation about how this would change things. Varric nodded once, and moved to walk just behind Cassandra, where he might be overlooked by her imposing presence. Wren and Solas dropped a little further back, walking side by side and keeping their eyes open for anyone suspicious.

Wren could little enjoy the beauty of Val Royeaux with the threat of the Templars hanging over her head, and her worries were not assuaged any when she saw a large stage to one side- with a hangman's noose swaying in the breeze. The younger mages fingers were twitching towards the strap on her chest that would let her staff swing around her side and into her hands. She felt vulnerable already, since they had to leave most of their weapons behind, but she would feel better with her staff in hand. Templars were not new to her, nor was the very real threat they posed… Fingers brushed her arm, and she turned her head to Solas at her side. The elf did not look at her, but kept watching the alley ways as they passed. He radiated calm confidence, and Wren nodded, took a deep breath, and tried to imitate his relaxed pose.

The market was nearly empty on their side, but for a few sentinels standing around. A group of highly polished guards, obviously higher ranking, stood to one side and stiffened as they passed. Wren could hear the leader muttering about leaving the Inquisition for the Templars to deal with, especially since the party held two mages. It made the younger mage wonder if Orlesian guards were anything more than pretty decoration, behind those silly masks. There was little time to ponder, however, as they rounded a large tower in the center of the market and came upon the crowd.

On a temporary platform stood one of the Chantry Mothers speaking passionately to the restless crowd of market goers. A few Templar guards stood on the stage with her, and others could be spotted here and there along the edges of the shops and stalls. Wren eyed them warily, but for now, they seemed uninterested in her little group. Cassandra led them towards the center of the crowd, most too caught up in the Mother's speech to notice them right away.

"-Together, we mourn our Divine." The cleric was saying, her Orlesian accent thick, "Her naïve and beautiful heart, silenced by treachery!" The crowd gasped dramatically, but Wren was a little taken back by the comment itself, 'Did she just call the Divine naïve?'

The Mother paused dramatically for a moment, before continuing, "You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more!" Her eyes slid directly over to the party, locking onto Wren's with a combination of triumph and disgust, "Behold!" Her hand shot out to point at the poor mage, "The so-called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell." Wren could feel a snarl forming on her lips. Wasn't this supposed to be one of the clerics who would hear them out? Had Mother Giselle set them up? The woman continued as the crowd gaped and moved away from the Herald, "We say- this is a false prophet! The Maker would send no mage in our hour of need!"

Unable to hold back anymore, Wren snarled at the haughty woman, "I made no such claim of divinity! I am here because of our common enemy! The Breach concerns us all, and my only concern is closing it!" A light touch on her elbow halted her before she could storm the stage. Solas was staring at her hard, his eyes firm, and he gave a small shake of his head. She understood him well enough, anger was useless here, and this woman may well be worthless to their cause.

Cassandra missed the exchange however, and she took a few steps forward, her voice pleading, "It's true! The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!"

The Mother smirked at them, "It is already too late!" They followed her pointing finger to the right, and saw just what the spy had warned them about earlier. Wren felt her stomach drop, and for a brief moment, she could only hear in her mind, a mad cackling laughter and her own, younger screams. Her teeth clenched and she couldn't help be look around for an escape route. The Templars that marched forward were no young soldiers- but seasoned veterans. Their armor gleamed in the light, but you could see scorch marks and dents in the metal, too deeply imprinted to ever be polished out. These were fighters, men and women who had killed mages and abominations alike. Why did I come here? Why did I agree to this?! Wren felt a rising panic. They were outnumbered ten to one, and she could hear the lyrium humming through their veins!

The Templars marched up the stage as the Mother continued her speech with excitement, "The Templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this "Inquisition," and the people will be safe once more!" Before Wren could act on her flight instinct, one of the Templar soldiers did something unthinkable- he struck the Chantry Mother in the back of the head, hard. The woman collapsed onto the stage, and her attendants rushed to her aid.

Before Wren could speak, Cassandra moved from her side to intercept the man that was obviously the leader of this Templar group, "Lord Seeker Lucius, its imperative that we speak with-"

The man did even turn to look at her, just continued across the stage, his Templars gathering in his wake, "You will not address me." His voice came as a low growl of warning.

Cassandra paused, utter confusion written all over her face, "Lord Seeker?"

The Lord Seeker finally turned to Cassandra, his soldiers gathering behind him, "Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste's prophet. You should be ashamed." He turned to address not only the rest of the party, but the gathered (and very confused) crowd, "You should all be ashamed! The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages!" Wren gulped at that, her fear that the Templars did not care if a mage was apostate or not, confirmed. 'Have they killed all the circles?' The man continued, pointing to Cassandra and the young mage, "You are the ones who have failed! You, who'd leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect… Is mine."

Wren gaped at him, her eyes turning to Cassandra for some sort of guidance or reason. Surely this man was insane! But the Seeker looked completely lost and hurt, unable to speak as the man continued, "You are nothing. You have no influence, no power, and certainly no holy purpose."

One of the younger looking Templars came up, his face worried, "But Lord Seeker, what if she really was sent by the Maker? What if-"

The man that dealt the blow to the Chantry mother interrupted him, sneering at the boy, "You are called to a Higher Purpose! Do not question!"

The Lord Seeker continued, as if no one had said anything, "I will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the Void! We deserve recognition. Independence!" The soldiers behind him saluted, hand to heart, as he rambled. 'Could they really believe what he's saying? Don't they understand what's at stake?' The Templar stepped towards them, his eyes boring into Wren's with a fire of passion that made her queasy, "You have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition? Less than nothing." Those eyes would haunt her for many nights yet, but now, they turned to the soldiers, "Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We March!" The double column of nearly sixty soldiers turned as a unit, and followed their leader out the gates while merchants and nobles scrambled to get out of their way.

While the others were discussing their next move, Wren stumbled over to a pillar, leaning her forehead against the cool marble and trying to take deep breaths. Memories from years past swirled up to the surface, but this time, there was no Curt to distract her. No circle of friends and fellow mages to support each other. No one to hold on to when the terrors woke her, screaming into the Void. She had been wary from the beginning of Cullen's suggestion to recruit the Templars. Now… the mere thought of doing so was enough to set her shaking again.

Maker… Creators… What do I do now..?