"You're sure she's safe?"
Derik looked briefly to the woman that he'd brought along with him to Redcliffe from the den of assassins, cloaked now in a heavy cape and an oversized men's shirt. She appeared so small and fragile, swimming in clothes that were made for someone far larger than she. But the girl mustered what little courage she had and stood straight, watching the goings on through her huge hazel eyes, quietly awaiting her fate. "As safe as any blood mage. You know that, Mina."
The young woman he was talking to glanced at Neve as well, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. "Alright, I'll trust you, Derik. I'll see that my father treats her well."
"Thank you, Mina. That's all I ask." Derik replied with a gentle smile and an incline of his head.
Mina blushed, making the freckles across the bridge of her nose disappear and subconsciously twirling a lock of her curly orange hair around her finger. "We're heading to Denerim next. Be careful going to the Bracilian, will you? I don't know what it is, but whenever we pass by it I just always feel…"
"Uneasy?" Derik supplied and Mina nodded in confirmation. "I will be careful. I wish you a safe journey as well."
She smiled, her heart in her eyes when she did so in a way that only young girls in love could do. "Thank you. I hope that you look us up in Denerim."
"If I make it that far, I certainly will." Derik replied and gave the young woman a brief hug, which she returned gladly. Neve watched the scene unfold, twisting her fingers together.
Mina sent a smile her way and tapped Derik's solid chest plate with her knuckles. "You go defend the realm, Ser Templar."
He smiled at the jest. "I always do."
And then the Maker sealed the gates
Of the Golden City
And there, He dwelled, waiting
To see the wonders
His children would create.
Thernodies 5:8
When he arrived in Denerim, he was more than relieved to see life going on as normal. After spending days on the road and in the forest in utter solitude, just hearing the chatter of voices was enough to lift his spirits. A bed and a roof awaited him in the Chantry, and though it was only just after noon, Derik's most recent adventures had taken their toll on him.
The marketplace was a hive of activity, the bustle of people under the clear Ferelden skies a welcome sight after miles of uninterrupted forest. He stopped just outside of the Chantry's curtain wall and stood, simply watching the interaction of the locals amongst one another. After a trying journey, it was always a relief to stop and just absorb the moments of peace that were all too rare in his line of work. After a few moments of simply loitering, he had begun to attract some attention and so decided that it might be best to move on.
The lay sisters in the front gardens tending the spring seedlings nodded respectfully as he passed. The two Templars guarding the front doors called a short friendly greeting that he replied with in kind before entering the atrium of the Chantry.
The wide front reception hall was decorated on either side with a statue of Andraste with her hands clasped together in prayer, head bowed slightly in reverence of the Maker. The old wood had been darkened and polished by age and hundreds of hands of young initiates over the years, the thick beams overhead portraying the rise of Holy Andraste and her victories over the Magisters of the Tevinter Imperum. The motifs continued along the entire Chantry, spilling out into the nave and running along the walls over stained glass windows that let colored light into the huge space. In the main cathedral, lines of pews sat underneath the careful watch of the stained glass figures and motifs carved on the walls, wary of those who might dose during prayer.
The whole story of Andraste culminated with a larger than life statue of Andraste at the end of the nave, a pulpit in front from which the Grand Cleric spoke during sermons. In this depiction her hands were upraised toward the ceiling, her face raised to the sky and the Maker with a serenely beautiful expression. The bottom of the statue was carved into whorls of fire that licked their way up the body of the statue, the tips of the highest flames reaching only her waist. The entire thing was plated in gold leaf and reflected the light of the hundreds of candles at the statue's feet when they were lit. However, as today was not one of the sermon days, the candles were unlit and the space was only dimly illuminated by what light came through the stained glass windows and a few lanterns hung at the end of the rows of pews in the aisles.
Derik walked straight up the nave and around the pulpit, taking a knee directly in front of the statue of Andraste and bowed his head. "Merciful Maker, I thank you for another day that I might serve Your will, and for guiding my blade and my heart. May Your will forever be evident in the path I walk, and your hand in all I do."
"You always said such lovely prayers."
Derik raised his head, looking over his shoulder at an elderly woman in the robes of the Grand Cleric. He bowed his head again out of respect as she came to his side, the material of her robes shifting gently. "Rise, my child."
He did as he was bid and clapped a hand over his heart. "Grand Cleric Elemena. It is good to see you again."
"It has been a while, has it not?" Her smile deepened the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, a reminder of how many years she had behind her. She started walking, fully expecting Derik to keep pace at her side. "How has the road treated you, Ser Derik? It seems that your duties only continue to increase as the years roll by. I hardly ever see you at sermons these days."
He inclined his head slightly. "It is true that my duty calls me away often and far away. But the job suits me. I can do no other than the Maker's work."
"Indeed." The Grand Cleric replied with another smile. "I have heard what the others have been calling you, my child. The Blood Hound. Such a frightening name for one of the Maker's faithful."
A ghost of a smile twitched up the corners of Derik's mouth briefly. "The only ones who need fear that name are those that turn their back to the Maker. If my brothers in arms wish to call me a blood hound, then I will simply take it as a compliment to my aptitude, your grace."
Elemena laughed briefly, a sound like rustling paper and quills brushing against one another. "It is a good thing you joined the Templar Order, Derik, else I fear that silver tongue of yours would have the entire country hanging by your lips."
"The Maker puts us where our talents are most useful." He replied with a simple shrug. They had walked to the side of the grand cathedral and were nearing the quarters for the Templars and lay sisters stationed at the Denerim Chantry.
"He does at that." The two walked in silence for a moment before the Grand Cleric spoke again. "You have performed your duties as a lone man since being promoted from Knight-Corporal to Lieutenant, have you not?"
"I have, Your Grace." Derik agreed readily with a small dip of his head.
"Therein lies the issue, I'm afraid." She sighed heavily, and continued when Derik shot her a concerned look. "There have been horrible rumors about lately. I fear that it is simply too dangerous for you to continue to work alone."
"Grand Cleric, if I may, partnering with someone would only slow me down at this point." He said in the most respectfully argumentative tone he could muster and had to wonder where this was coming from.
The Grand Cleric paused, folding her hands in front of her and pinned Derik with a mild look. "That was precisely the argument that Knight-Captain Quinn used. However, we cannot ignore the fact that you come into contact with maleficar on a frighteningly frequent basis. You must understand that I simply worry for you."
He could read the subtext simply enough. She was afraid that he may become a thrall of mind control, or perhaps had already fallen from grace. Restraining a cutting retort, Derik dipped his head in a small bow. "My service is, of course, to the Chantry. If it should be decided that my duties are too dangerous for a single man, I will have no choice but to comply and will do so gladly."
The Grand Cleric frowned, knowing that he would not gladly take on a companion, but she knew the rest of his statement to be true. His service was toward the betterment of the Chantry was simply a fact. Years of dedicated service proved that record true. "Go speak with Captain Quinn. He will have more to say on the subject, and awaits your report from your last assignment."
Derik bowed fully. "As you say, Grand Cleric. I hope that our paths cross once more in the near future."
She smiled in a motherly way and touched the back of his head. "Go, my child, and may the Maker keep his eye on you."
Excused, Derik turned and headed to the Templar quarters behind the main cathedral. It seemed as if the whole past week was suddenly catching up with him, and he would have liked nothing more than to simply sleep. This newest development threatened to put a significant dent in his independence, however. The Grand Cleric had obviously lost some trust in his work, though he could not fathom how. That Quinn was also concerned for his well being set off alarm bells. It was one thing for an old woman to be concerned about the fate of her flock, but another entirely for a grizzled commanding officer to be drawn into mother-henning tendencies. He would have to see what Captain Quinn had to say before setting plans to subvert the assignment of a partner or- Maker forbid- an apprentice.
He walked the long hall coming to the door at the end and rapped his knuckles against the solid wood three times. "Captain Quinn, ser, it is Knight-Lieutenant Derik, here to report my latest assignment."
"Come in." Came the reply from the other side of the door, muffled but clearly audible.
When Derik stepped through the door he immediately saw that something was amiss. Normally a man of principle and cleanliness, Quinn's desk was piled high with unorganized stacks of parchment, a handful of empty ink wells lingering close enough to the edge of his desk to be in danger of falling off the side. Captain Quinn was bent over a thick sheaf of documents, his fingers splattered with ink and day-old stubble on his jaw. He was reading a long sheaf of paper with furrowed eyebrows, wholly concentrated on the task.
"Ser?" Derik ventured, taking in the clutter curiously.
"Sit." Quinn replied curtly and gestured with the tip of his quill at a chair standing opposite from his on the other side of the desk. Derik did as told, though not without a certain amount of reluctance. Once he was settled, Quinn put down his quill and folded his hands together over his desk, examining the younger man with mechanical appraisal. "I have a problem. The whole damn Order has a problem, for that matter. I've been getting reports almost non-stop of men defecting from the Order, abandoning their charges. In some cases, they are letting mages go all together. Kinloch Hold has somehow remained untouched by this crisis, but all of the others that I've sent out in the field to bring mage children back to the Circle in the past month have either not returned or come back empty handed. Not a single one of them can remember where they went or who they talked to while out on the road. Small groups are being targeted and eliminated or rendered useless, and I sit here with a mountain of paperwork because of it."
Part of Derik was relieved to hear the news, though the rest of him went tense with worry. "Ser, if I may. While I was out on assignment in the Brecilian, I came across what I believe to be a summoning circle of some sort." He pulled out his journal, flipping it open to the most recently filled pages and lay it out on a low stack of papers. "I don't know if this is at all connected to the others disappearing, but I could not find the mages that created the circle. They are still at large, and as soon as I restock, it was my intention to get back on the trail."
Quinn scoffed under his breath, examining the runic circle that Derik had copied down and supplied. "Blood hound indeed." He muttered under his breath again and touched the journal's pages, lifting one slightly to get a better look. "I've never seen a pattern exactly like this. Perhaps before you leave, go to the Wonders of Thedas and see if you can get any answers from the proprietor."
Derik nodded, though did not particularly enjoy the thought of trying to get answers from the Tranquil that ran the store. "I'll do that, ser."
"Now, as for the matter of your lone missions." Quinn continued like a man on a warpath. "In light of these reports, I am truly concerned. So many good men have already gone missing, and I cannot afford to lose any more, especially not my best hunter."
"If you put me with another man, I fear that would be counter-productive to my missions. They always require speed, mobility, and silence." Derik replied immediately, keeping his tone respectful but clear that he would fight this issue. "It's hard enough trying to accomplish my tasks with the crest stamped on my breastplate, but to do so while looking out for an inexperienced greenhorn..."
Quinn sighed heavily. They had already had this argument on multiple occasions, usually ending with the reminder that they were Hands of the Maker, and not common cut throats. "All the same, in light of circumstances, it would be best to have you partnered up with someone. However, I can't help but feel the same as you do. The Grand Cleric is keen to lose no more of her Templars, even if that means sacrificing mobility." Quinn stood, clasping his hands behind his back and paced to the end of his desk with a thoughtful look on his face. "I cannot delay assigning you a partner forever, but I can give you a few months. Report back when you have solved the issue of this Brecilian cabal, and I will have a man for you. I'm sorry Derik, but these are desperate times."
"I understand, ser. I'm grateful that you have allowed this much freedom." Derik replied with genuine sincerity.
"I have allowed it because I know you can handle it." Quinn replied in a gentler tone, his grim visage softening slightly. "I didn't train you to be a fool. Now get out of here. You have a duty to complete."
Derik stood and bowed, stepping away from his chair. "I'll see you in two or three months, ser. Sooner if I can complete the mission before then."
Quinn sat back in his chair and waved Derik away, obviously done with this conversation. He headed back to the bunk quarters that the Templars shared and set his pack down on a free cot. He would have turned in for the night right then and slept until dawn, but he had a few things to get done before he could put down with a clear mind.
The marketplace was as busy as ever with people moving from stall to stall, the general chatter a constant stream of ambient noise. For the most part he ignored the hawkers and the corner criers, glancing occasionally at various wares as he passed them by, heading for the river. The merchant's bridge was near as busy as the marketplace itself, though when others saw the crest on his chest they moved aside, keeping a respectful distance away. Crossing the bridge was like entering a different world. After the Blight, the south side of the river had been completely rebuilt. Almost all of the buildings were brand new with fresh coats of paint and the roads aligned in what was almost a perfect grid system. As he walked down the road, the buildings steadily became smaller the closer to the ocean he got until he was walking among single-story buildings. Turning down a few side streets, Derik paused outside one of the unassuming buildings and tapped on the door.
After a moment the handle jiggled, admitting Mina who seemed to fill the entire space with her wealth of red hair. It took a second for her to realize who it was she looked at, but the moment she did she smiled broadly and opened the door all the way. "Derik! It's so good to see you!"
"Likewise, Mina." He replied with a smile and stepped through the door into the modest little house beyond. "How are you finding Denerim?"
"The city is wonderful." She replied cheerfully, closing the door behind him and went into the adjacent room, a small parlor with chairs in which to sit lining the walls of the room. "This side of the river is beautiful ever since the reconstruction. All those old teetering warehouses burned down in the fire and they've been doing a lovely job fixing it all up."
He smiled at her enthusiasm and sat down on one of the chairs. "And your father? Is he well?" Mina's father wasn't a mage, but he'd given up everything when his daughter had started showing the signs in order to be with her.
Suddenly, Mina couldn't look him in the eyes and fussed with her skirt in her lap instead. "He's doing well, but…" She looked at him with a shimmer of tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry Derik. I tried to help Neve, but we really just couldn't…"
"What happened?" Though instantly set on alert, he kept his tone calm. Obviously Mina was already upset and he saw no reason to fluster her even more yet.
"She was fine the first week." Mina replied tearfully. "But after that she started having episodes, crying out in her sleep and having hallucinations when she was awake. When we got her to Denerim, one of our contacts gave her lyrium, and that seemed to calm her down."
Derik tensed, his fingers digging into the armrest of his chair. "Who would give a hallucinating mage lyrium?"
"Emmet." Mina replied with a tinge of anger in her tone. "He recognized the symptoms of lyrium withdrawal and made her a client."
"Where is Neve now?" Derik asked, silently cursing Emmet and himself for being fools. Having normal people addicted to lyrium was risky enough with the Chantry's close control of the substance, but addicting a mage was asking for an abomination.
"She's working at The Pearl." Mina replied in a small voice. "When Emmet started demanding coin from my father, he threw Neve out."
Derik leaned forward in his chair, rubbing his temples to stave off the upcoming headache. "What's done is done. I'm not at all happy about this, but I'll see that it's fixed. Thank you for being honest with me, Mina."
She nodded and stood when he did, escorting the Templar toward the door. "I'm so sorry it turned out this way, Derik."
"Don't worry about it. I'm sure you did what you could." He said with a gentle smile and gave a respectful nod. "I'll see you again soon."
Her returning smile was bright and beaming as she said her farewells, once again closing the door behind Derik as he left. He had another mission, though this time of an extremely different nature.
The Pearl brothel had somehow remained remarkably intact through the darkspawn assault on Denerim. Though the rest of its neighbors had been rebuilt, there was a certain creakiness to The Pearl that not even a fresh coat of paint could cover. At mid day the brothel was low on business, but he knew that in a few hours all the regulars would be flooding in and filling the place to the brim. A few women stood outside and catcalled him as he approached, but Derik paid them no mind when he saw that none were Neve and simply walked inside.
A group of young guardsmen fresh off of patrol were receiving lap dances in a corner and a pair of sailors were playing a game of cards on the opposite side of the space, smoking their pipes like chimneys. The woman who ran the establishment looked up when she heard him walk through the front door, her usual sultry smile turning into a frown. Not intimidated by the less than warm reception, Derik approached the front counter anyway.
"What can I do for you, Templar?" Sanga asked, folding her arms under her breasts and leaned her hip against the counter. "I haven't got any of your initiates. This time."
"I'm actually here for a woman." Derik replied, unruffled and slid a handful of coins onto the counter. Sanga was obviously surprised but took the coin anyway. "Is there a girl named Neve here? I heard she was a real firebrand between the sheets."
"Aye, that girl's popular with the young lads." She replied, eyeing Derik critically. "Third door, on your left. You're lucky you came when it was slow."
Derik nodded and took the key Sanga handed him, heading to the back and passed the very large bouncer on the way in. It seemed that at least one of the brothel girls was paying her dues, as the first room he passed emitted a series of passionate moans and cries. Bypassing the door he moved to the end of the hall and tried the key at the door. The second he opened it he was hit with the strong smell of incense, sweat and sex. In the center of the large four-poster bed slept Neve, a robe draped over her form carelessly and barely covered her enough to be considered even halfway decent. She wore elbow length gloves with bracelets at the wrists and a ring around each middle finger to hide the damning scars on her arms, but otherwise seemed content to wear nothing else at all.
She roused when she heard the floorboards squeak and lifted her head to look at him. It took a few moments, but after the haze of sleep disappeared she snapped to full attention, clutching her robe closed and stared at him with those large doe-like eyes. "Derik…"
"Neve." He replied in kind and closed the door behind him, perching on the arm of the only chair in the room. "I hear that you've had a bit of trouble since last we saw each other."
She flushed, her cheeks going red and Derik noted that she looked even thinner than before, now bordering on the dangerous side of malnourished. Obviously, this lifestyle she had taken up was hard on the diet. In the poor lighting of the room it was hard to see the sunken in bags under her eyes, but he was positive that they were there. Too little sleep, too much lyrium. He would personally strangle Emmet some day if he could ever get his hands on the slippery man.
"What are you doing here?" Neve asked and tied her robe closed, though that did little to hide the majority of her legs and a good portion of her chest.
"I'm going to have to take you out of here." Derik said with a sigh. "It's too dangerous to leave you alone. I should have know that this could have happened. Lyrium addiction is serious business when it comes to mages."
Her eyes went wide. "No, you don't understand! I need lyrium! The things I see without it-!"
"I understand perfectly well." Derik cut across her tirade in a calm voice. "I had been addicted too a handful of years ago. I overcame it, I will see that you do the same." Or else he would most likely have to kill her, now rather than later if she refused to come. "Didn't you say you wanted your freedom? Is this how you thought you would be using it?" He gestured at the room in it's entirety, encompassing the stained sheets and slightly ratty appearance of the place in general.
Neve looked at her lap. "No..." She replied in a small voice, ashamed.
"Then come with me. Right now. We're leaving Denerim in the morning." He said and stood, offering a hand to Neve.
She stared at the offered hand and tentatively reached for it but drew up short. "I'm scared." She admitted in a voice that trembled. "Without the lyrium, my dreams were so... I was afraid I'd never wake up."
"This time I will be here to help you." Derik replied, his hand still held out steadily between them. "But I can't help you if you don't want it."
Her eyes watered with unshed tears. Closing them, she reached out that last little distance and put her small hand in his much larger one. With an encouraging smile Derik tugged and pulled her up to stand beside him, the confines of the small room making it impossible to get any personal space.
"I'm going to cause a little bit of a scene out there." He said in a low undertone against Neve's ear. "Just play along and act distressed, and I'll get you out of here."
Neve nodded in understanding but was still startled when he suddenly yanked her toward the door, slamming it open and practically dragged her out into the hallway. His gaunteleted fist dug into her tender wrist with a painful bite. "You're hurting me!"
His grip slackened just a fraction but he didn't stop and just kept dragging her toward the door, straight past the bouncer who was caught entirely off guard by the sudden commotion so early in the day. Derik muscled past him easily when the guard finally realized what was going on, shoving him away with a firm hand on the bouncer's chest.
"What do you think you're doing?" Sanga screeched, on the verge of full-blown rage.
Derik yanked Neve close to him, holding her upper arm like a prisioner in a vice-like grip. "Your girl has been assisting the smuggling of lyrium." He said in a cold voice, and Sanga visibly recoiled, recogninzing the tone of a Templar unleashing his full authority as a hand of the Chantry. "I'm taking her for interrogation. Don't think I won't be back to investigate this whole place from top to bottom, and I had better find it pristine. If I find anything that even remotely smells of lyrium when I come back, I will personally lead a Divine March on this place and see it burned to the ground. Am I understood?"
Sanga had nothing to say to that, her fluster and fury gone to be replaced with mute terror. The bouncer looked on the verge of a killing rage, but an icy glare from Derik and a subtle touch to the pommel of his sword stayed the man's building rage. "Let's go." he said in a clipped harsh tone and dragged Neve from the room. She barely had to fake her cries for help and pleas for him to let go of her arm.
The whores outside briefly considered trying their luck on Derik a second time, but when they saw Neve in near tears being forced out of the building in little more than her night robe they retreated as far away as they could and still see the show. It wasn't until they were safely a few streets away that Derik finally gentled his grip and pulled Neve aside into a sheltered alleyway.
"Sorry about that." He said in a gentle tone and touched her wrist where his gauntlet had bit into her flesh, leaving red marks behind under the long gloves she wore.
"You should be!" Neve replied with a bit of bite, rubbing her arm. "I thought you were going to tear me in half!"
He smiled at her sassy retort and pulled a flask from its case at his hip, tugging out a folded square of cloth with the other. "I needed that to seem real." He said as he dabbed some of the liquid onto the cloth. "You did a spectacular job, by the way. Sagna completely fell for it."
Neve allowed him to tug down her gloves and watched him take her hand, rubbing gentle circles across her thin wrist with the dampened cloth that smelled of elfroot and took away the sting of the developing bruise he'd left behind. "I was half convinced myself." She said in a small voice, her eyes flicking up to look at his concentrated expression. "Are you really going to go back and tear The Pearl apart?"
"No." Derik replied and moved on to the mark he'd left on her upper arm, applying a fresh dab of elfroot extract. "I'll inform my captain of my suspicions, and he will take action as necessary. They will probably find nothing. I imagine that Sagna will scare Emmet away permanently from selling to the initiates that frequent there."
Neve was quiet for a moment, simply content to watch Derik fix the minor bruises on her arm. "Why are you helping me?"
His eyes flicked up to meet hers briefly. "I have a thing for damsels in distress." He replied and tucked the cloth back into its place, screwing the cap back on the flask and straightened. Besides, I really do detest Emmet. I would see him jailed or hung, but if I got rid of him, more lyrium dealers would spring up in his place. Making you one of his clients was crossing a line, and this little display at The Pearl will let him know that."
Neve tipped her head to the side slightly, readjusting her glove so that it covered her arm once more. "Are you sure you're a Templar? You sound more like a crime lord."
Derik chuckled at that and gestured for her to follow him down the alleyway. "My only goal is to protect the Maker's children." He said over his shoulder to Neve as she walked along slightly behind him. "All of them. That includes mages, something that I'm afraid many of my brothers in arms have forgotten. My loyalty is to the Maker and those I protect, not necessarily Her Grace, or the Divine. My actions may stray from the strict code of the Templars, but I don't wear this crest for nothing."
Neve was silent for a long moment before speaking. "So, you're some sort of hero, then?"
Derik met her eyes over his shoulder and shot her a lopsided grin. "Not really. I'm just good at what I do."
Neve laughed, shaking her head. "You're an odd bird, you know that, right?"
"I've been told." Derik replied with a smile and a shrug. "But first thing's first; you need real clothes."
Neve looked down at herself, spreading her arms out slightly. "What's wrong with my clothes?"
"You look like a prostitute." Derik quipped in a perfect deadpan.
"I am a prostitute." Neve countered in an equally uninflected tone. "You just dragged me out of The Pearl, remember?"
He shot her a woeful look over his shoulder. "Yes, I remember. The point is not what you are, it's what you look like. Have you ever seen a Templar traipse around the city in broad daylight with a prostitute?"
"Well, no." Neve replied, though did not seem to find the situation any less amusing. "But we could start a new trend. With all the initiates we get at The Pearl, I'm sure it would catch on quickly."
His pained groan only served to make Neve softly giggle to herself. "It's going to be a long trip to Amaranthine."
"Amaranthine?" Neve asked, perking up. "Is that where you're taking me?"
"Yes. I need to talk to a friend about some runes that I found in the Brecilian. She might be able to help you with controlling your impulses to use blood magic as well. Before I take you anywhere though, I'm getting you clothes." Derik clearly used his no-nonsense tone on her and Neve rolled her eyes in turn, though was secretly becoming increasingly interested in whoever this friend was.
They were near the marketplace now with only a long bridge between getting Neve a decent pair of clothes. Instead of crossing it, Derik led her away from the crowds and to a side street populated with small narrow houses. He withdrew a skeleton key from a pocket at his side and opened up the front door to one of the houses, letting Neve walk inside first.
It was furnished with a few sitting chairs, an empty fire grate and a workbench along the back wall that seemed to be the source of the smell of dried herbs that filled the space. At the back of the room there was a set of stairs that led to a second level and another room that was most likely a kitchen of some sort.
"The cots are upstairs." Derik said and put the key back in his pocket. "This is a safe house for Collective members and their families if they have need to hide. It hasn't been used in a while, so there's no food or other supplies. I'll bring you back something when I get your clothes."
"Seems the Collective is serious business." Neve sat in one of the chairs, coughing when doing so kicked up a small cloud of dust.
Derik barely bit back a chuckle. "Yes, they are. They have to be if they want to keep operating. The Chantry is very tenacious when it comes to apostates."
"Yes, I know." Neve frowned bitterly and leaned back in the chair, stretching out her long legs, the night robe she wore riding high on her thighs. "My family was constantly moving to keep out of trouble. You'd think that Templars would avoid marshes, given that their heavy armor makes them sink faster, but they don't."
"No path is too dangerous for the faithful." Derik sighed, scratching his temple absently. "Anyway, I'll be back in a few hours. I have a few inquires to make before we leave. Do not leave this house. For any reason."
She stared at him curiously, but when she saw that he was absolutely serious, she nodded. "Alright, I'll stay put."
"Good. Make yourself at home as much as you can. The cots upstairs are the most comfortable thing you'll be sleeping on for a week, I can guarantee you that. Get some rest, and we'll get some food in you when I get back."
"If you say so, ser Templar." Neve puffed out a sigh, sinking back into the armchair further.
Derik cast one last look over his shoulder before closing the door and honestly wondered if she would still be there when he got back.
So, I sort of choose these titles based on what happens in the chapters. Sometimes it's obvious (like last chapter) and sometimes it's not (like this chapter). I just imagine that the Maker would be sitting back in his throne, watching history repeat itself in bloody battle after bloody battle and the establishment of places like The Pearl and wonder what exactly it was that he created. That's all really. But hey, Neve's back in the picture, and high on lyrium. Yay! Funtimes abound.
