Anya's training continued with brutal intensity, and she had to admit she was making some impressive gains. Lieutenant Lyle let her have the occasional day off to rest and heal, but on those days, the council usually called her to the war room to discuss strategy, organize auxiliary missions, and conduct diplomatic correspondence. Other than the half hour in the evenings she spent with Solas, Anya felt she hardly had a minute to do anything but train and plan. She had barely spoken to Bronwyn since the night they had taken their walk, a fact that had escaped her until the mage sought her out.
"I think you have a visitor," Lyle said warmly. He was staring across the path with an appreciative look that managed to just stay on the right side of appropriate.
Anya saw Bronwyn standing indecisively beside a supply wagon, dragging her toe in the dirt, and she had to laugh. So it seemed Rylen wasn't the only one who had noticed her pretty friend. Well, it was good for a girl to have options, right? Anya waved her over and Bronwyn approached, smiling at Lyle and ducking her head in girlish submission.
"Do you know Lieutenant Lyle, Bronwyn?" Anya asked politely.
"We've not actually met, but of course I know who you are," the mage said. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"The pleasure is mine, Miss," Lyle replied smoothly. Bronwyn blushed.
"I didn't mean to interrupt your training. I've just hardly seen you lately, and I hoped we might take a walk after dinner."
"Bronwyn, I hate to say it, but this tough bastard works me so hard that after dinner, I barely even have the energy to walk home." Lyle grinned and cuffed her on the shoulder, and Bronwyn widened her eyes. "But I did promise Adan a while ago that I would go look for some notes or something that the previous alchemist left in his cabin." She turned and looked at Lyle imploringly. "Can I beg off early today?"
"Please?" Bronwyn added sweetly.
"Not fair, calling in back up," Lyle protested, with a winning smile at the younger mage. "I guess this once it won't hurt, since you have an errand for the alchemist."
"Thank you!" Anya sang and Bronwyn quickly seconded. The mages linked arms and walked off down the path. When they were enough distance from the lieutenant, Anya looked sideways at her friend.
"Soooo….?"
"What?" Bronwyn laughed.
"Are you interested in Lyle now?" Anya grinned.
"Of course not," she sniffed, then tipped her head. "Well, he is good-looking and I don't mind smiling at him to get my way, but no. Not interested."
Anya sighed. "Too bad. That would be excellent leverage against him when he holds my feet to the fire in training."
"Sorry, friend," Bronwyn laughed.
"Still on about Rylen then?"
Bronwyn blushingly agreed. "He's so, I don't know. Professional. And then when no one's paying attention, he'll give me this look and I swear it turns me to jelly. I don't know what I'm going to do."
Anya couldn't help being nosy. "Have you kissed him yet?"
"Maker, no! When would we have time? Between his duties, and Enchanter Tyson looking after me, I could never get him alone."
"Hmm," Anya said. "I think I can help with that. Right now, in fact."
"Anya, what are you up to?" Bronwyn asked, with a warning in her voice, but followed along as Anya sauntered over to the training yard. With Cullen gone, Rylen was in charge, and he was barking out commands and advice as the recruits ran their drills.
"Knight-Captain Rylen?" Anya had not actually been introduced, but she had certainly observed him from a distance. He was handsome, no doubt, although he had a strange facial hair situation going on. She held out her hand. "Anya Trevelyan, ser. May I have a moment?"
"Of course, Herald. I'm pleased to officially meet you." He shook her hand firmly and stepped away from the exercises. "What can I do for you?" She noticed he did not look at Bronwyn at all.
"Bronwyn and I have agreed to run an errand for Alchemist Adan. We need to search the cabin of his predecessor for research notes; I understand it's just a short distance up the road. Would you care to assign a templar to escort us?"
Rylen frowned. "Do you anticipate any danger?"
"Oh no, this will only take a few minutes. I just thought it might make people uneasy if we wandered off on our own. We wouldn't want to seem rebellious." Anya smiled impishly.
The templar raised an eyebrow and finally cut his eyes over to Bronwyn. "No, we wouldn't want that. Very well, if it will only take a few minutes, I will walk with you. The other templars are all engaged in drills at the moment."
"How kind of you, ser," Anya said. "We'll be quick as rabbits, I promise."
The trio walked up the hill and set out on the path to the abandoned cabin. Bronwyn seemed totally tongue-tied, so Anya shamelessly peppered Rylen with questions: where he was from, how he joined the Inquisition, how he knew Cullen (admittedly, the last item was perhaps more interesting to her than to Bronwyn).
The cabin appeared in sight, and Anya stopped short. "Oh!" she cried.
"What is it?" Bronwyn asked with alarm, and Rylen put his hand on his sword.
"Nothing dangerous! I just remembered, I also promised the quartermaster I'd locate an old logging stand that she needs to supply the troops. Oh Maker, why did I agree to help? She marked the general area on a map and wants me to give her the specific location, but how do I do that?"
"You… don't know how to mark a map?" Rylen asked incredulously.
Anya did, but she narrowed her eyes. "They didn't teach us field cartography in the Circle, Knight-Captain."
"Yes, of course! I beg your pardon." Heh. Right where she wanted him.
"Perhaps you two could go find the logging stand and mark it for me, while I search the cabin? I hate to keep you from your duties a minute longer than I need to, and it would be so nice to kill two birds with one trip to the woods."
Bronwyn kept her eyes studiously trained to a nearby tree, while Rylen looked torn between suspicious and pleased. "Yes, I suppose we could do that. Should we meet you back here once we've found it?"
"That's perfect. See you in a bit!" Anya jogged off towards the cabin without a backwards glance.
It took less than five minutes to locate the papers Adan wanted, so Anya tucked them under the mattress of the bed and then perused the bookshelf. She guessed it was nearly an hour before Bronwyn and Rylen returned.
"Herald?" Rylen asked, opening the door to the cabin. Anya thrust the book she was reading back on the shelf and pulled another, rifling through the pages.
"Oh, this impossible man! Where on earth did he hide his stupid recipes? I swear, Adan made it sound like they would be out on his desk!" She turned and smiled at the templar. "Knight-Captain, could I trouble you to help me turn the mattress? It's the only place I haven't looked. I'm afraid the bed is too heavy for me."
"My pleasure, Herald," Rylen replied, and pulled the mattress off the bed frame. Behind his back, Anya glanced meaningfully at Bronwyn, and her friend grinned and nodded. Before they could exchange anymore looks, Rylen exclaimed, "What's this?"
The papers that Anya had stuffed under the bed fluttered to the floor, and Anya swept them up. "Oh, Ser Rylen, you genius! I believe you've found what we're looking for!"
"I was just the muscle, Herald," he said modestly.
As they walked back to the village, Rylen asked Anya how her lessons were progressing.
"Alright, I guess. I'm hoping Cullen plans for me to train with the templars at some point. That's what got me into trouble in the first place."
Rylen cocked his head thoughtfully. "Our men could use some practice, too. Perhaps we could come to a mutually beneficial arrangement?"
"What do you have in mind?"
"How about a drill in the forest near the logging stand? You – and Bronwyn, if she cares to assist – can play apostate and we can practice apprehending you."
Anya glanced sideways at her friend. "I'd be willing, but do you think it might be too intense for us? Poor Bronwyn just fled with her life from Ostwick. I wouldn't want to stir unpleasant memories. And I had a really close call with a templar recently, as well." Anya knew she could handle the drill, but she was a little worried about the other mage. Being chased through the woods by templars seemed like it would hit awfully close to home, and Bronwyn hadn't received any additional combat training.
"I'm all right," Bronwyn insisted. "It's just practice. I know these templars won't hurt me. I'm not afraid."
Anya shrugged. "Then I'm game. I'll have a day off from Lyle's torture sessions on Saturday. Shall we do it then?"
"I'll organize the men." They had reached the camp, and Rylen bowed to them politely. "If you'll excuse me, I must return to exercises. Thank you for allowing me to escort you, Herald. Bronwyn."
The mages continued down the path towards the lake, and when they were out of earshot, Anya asked Bronwyn what happened.
"Oh Maker!" the younger woman sighed. "Have you ever seen a more delicious man in your life?"
Anya wasn't quite sure how to answer that, nor was it the information she wanted. "He's quite handsome. So what happened?"
"Well, after you left us, we walked into the woods and explored for a bit, searching for that logging stand. It took quite a few minutes, as the area you marked on your map was larger than it looked. Then –"
"Bronwyn!" Enchanter Tyson's exasperated shout echoed across the lake. "Where have you been? It's time for afternoon lessons."
"Ugh," Bronwyn sighed. "Would you be up for a walk after dinner?"
"Of course," Anya replied. She made her apologies to Enchanter Tyson for running off with his teaching assistant, placing the blame squarely on herself since there was nothing he could do to her. It didn't stop him from blistering her ears, but she shrugged it off. She left the mages at the lake and returned to the village to give the map back to Quartermaster Threnn and to drop off Adan's research notes. The alchemist wasn't in his cabin, but the Ostwick tranquil was.
"Hello, Carlisle," Anya said quietly. "I've retrieved these notes for Adan. Will you give them to him?"
"Yes, Anya," he said, in his strangely flat voice that made her shudder. She knew it wasn't their fault, but she hated speaking with tranquil mages. It made her sick to think about what had happened to Declaine, and what could have happened to her. Unfortunately, this tranquil seemed to want to talk. "I have heard that they call you the Herald of Andraste. Is that true?"
"It's true that they call me that, yes," Anya replied shortly. "But I do not make such claims myself."
"It would be very interesting if you were," he said.
Anya looked at him sharply. What was interesting to a tranquil? Could he feel curiosity and wonder? So many things had saddened her about Declaine's fate, and though most of her sorrow had fallen away over the years as she gained distance and perspective, she couldn't help but regret the loss of his mind, of the joy he took in discovery and of his vital appetite for learning. When she had last spoken with him, she'd been sure that part of him had been irrevocably destroyed – but perhaps, in her grief, she had misunderstood?
"What about that interests you?" Anya asked gently.
"It would be proof that Andraste still lives at the Maker's side, and intercedes for us. It would answer a question that previously seemed unanswerable."
"Do you feel curious, then?"
"I feel…," Carlisle frowned. "I do not feel. That is not the right word. I sense a lack of knowledge, like an empty vessel, and I would see it filled. Filled would be preferable to empty."
"But is that preference not a feeling?" Anya insisted.
Carlisle shrugged. "An itch is a feeling, and scratching eliminates it. This is similar."
Anya sighed. It wasn't what she wanted to hear. "I must take my leave. Please don't forget to give those papers to Adan. Be well, Carlisle."
"Thank you, Anya. Maker guide you."
Anya decided it was time to muster her courage and ask Ser Robart what had happened to Declaine. She had avoided the subject because she rather thought she knew the answer and feared feeling upset, but now it seemed cowardly. She resolved to approach him at dinner and inquire. Until then, she had time to kill for the first time in weeks. She wanted to go take a nap, but she knew no one else in the Inquisition kept Antivan hours, not even the actual Antivan, and she didn't want to seem lazy. She then contemplated using her free time to write to Cullen. The Commander and his men had been in the Hinterlands for more than a month, but he had not sent back any word on his progress with Master Dennett. Since they had parted on somewhat tense terms, she decided against it; besides, he would no doubt be back soon. She resolved, since she was in the mood for letter-writing, that she would go check in with Josephine and see if she needed any help with the Inquisition's correspondence.
The diplomat seemed happy to see her. "I was just about to take coffee, Herald. Would you care to join me?"
"I'd love to," Anya replied. They moved to the small settee in her office and sat down next to each other. "How are you adjusting to life in Haven, Josephine? We are a far cry from well, anything, really."
"Yes, Haven is certainly… remote." Josephine managed to pull a face prettily, looking both pained and self-deprecating. "But I have everything I require, for now. It is too bad that the Inquisition's base has to be someplace so very cold." She shivered delicately. "But it is what it is. Perhaps this season a more rustic look will come into fashion. Furs and leather, that sort of thing," she mused wistfully.
"I'm sure no one here will judge you if you want to dress warmly!" Anya laughed.
"You might not, Herald, but any visiting nobles certainly would. Without the Chantry to support us, I need to win over of as many influential people as possible, and to do that I must give the impression that I am no less connected to society from Haven than I would be in Val Royeaux. That includes keeping up with the latest fashions," she sighed. "Even if they are entirely impractical for our current climate."
"Well, at least that Ser Griffith fellow wouldn't mind if you put on a coat. In fact, he'd probably be happy to wrestle a bear and skin it with his teeth, just to make one for you." Ser Griffith of Denerim was a knight in Queen Anora's service who was currently visiting Haven with his wife, and Josephine hoped that together, they would bolster the Inquisition's reputation in Ferelden. He was a man's man through and through, with a glorious (and bloody) combat record, and he spared no detail when reminiscing about his exploits.
Josephine grimaced. "No, I'm sure Ser Griffith cares nothing about fashion, but Lady Griffith is a different story. She is connected to a powerful Orlesian family through her sister's marriage, so I must keep up appearances."
Anya sighed. "And to think I was envious of you."
"Me?" Lady Montilyet laughed. "Why would you envy me?"
"Well, a long time ago, I thought I'd be you," Anya said. "Or at least, someone like you. Admittedly, I'm the youngest in my family, so there wasn't much for me to inherit, and I doubt I ever would have had the ambition to become Ambassador to Orlais. But I thought I'd have my title and marry a noble, and take my place in society like everyone else in my family – at least the ones who don't get donated to the Chantry." Josephine reached out and gave her hand a comforting squeeze.
"Is it common in your family for children to be sent to the Chantry?"
"Very," Anya said. "Half my cousins serve, and in my immediate family, one of my brothers is a templar, and one of my sisters is a novice. Well, she's probably not a novice anymore, but she was the last time I spoke with her. They are both at the Elmswood Chantry, near Ostwick."
"Has it been a long time since you've spoken to them?" Josephine asked.
"Yes," she replied shortly. "My family and I are… no longer close."
"I'm sorry to hear that," the diplomat said sympathetically.
"Thank you. It's regrettable, but it is what it is."
"I take it then, that we should not plan to use your family's connections to aid the Inquisition?"
Anya frowned. "I don't know. I… have no wish to speak to them, but I do not know that they would deny us aid. If you can arrange it without my direct involvement, you're welcome to try, but I won't help you. I'm sorry."
"We will see what comes of it. I do not wish to make what sounds like a difficult situation even worse." Josephine set her cup down and looked directly at the mage. "I get the impression you do not care to speak on this matter, but if there comes a time in which you wish to share your troubles, I am here to listen."
"That's very kind of you, Josephine. It's a complicated story that doesn't reflect particularly well on anyone involved, including me. If the needs of the Inquisition ever demand it, I will discuss it, of course. But until then, I'd rather not."
"I understand completely, Herald. Let us speak no more of it. Now!" She stood up and walked over to her desk. "Did you mean it when you said you would help me write some letters?"
…
It was after dark when Anya and Josephine got to the bottom of her stack of correspondence. The ambassador thanked her gratefully for her help, and Anya and her growling stomach left the Chantry in search of dinner. The troops were still eating when she reached the bottom of the hill, so she grabbed a plate and sought out Ser Robart. After her conversation with Josephine, she decided she no longer had the energy to ask about Declaine. Instead, she simply enjoyed the company of the only person in Haven who actually felt a bit like family.
Bronwyn was waiting for her when she returned her plate to the mess and walked down to the lake. They linked arms and cautiously made their way out on the ice, where they could have privacy while remaining in full view of the templars. Their conversation took nearly half an hour, since the younger mage insisted on giving a minute-by-minute account of what had happened after Anya had departed from their company that afternoon, but eventually she revealed that Ser Rylen had, in fact, kissed her – and apparently it had been every bit as wonderful and rapturous as she'd anticipated. Of course, now they were in a quandary. Rylen, being the forthright type, wanted to disclose their relationship to the Commander when he returned and ask to be allowed to court Bronwyn openly. Bronwyn, however, subscribed to the theory of "better to ask forgiveness than permission," and preferred to keep their relationship secret for the time being.
"There are no real secrets in this camp, Bron," Anya warned her. "Even if you're terribly discreet, with these close quarters, someone will notice. And that someone is likely to be Leliana. She has eyes everywhere."
"Oh, it's creepy!" Bronwyn cried. "But Anya, if the Commander says no, I know Rylen will obey orders, and then I'll be heartbroken. I'll absolutely die! I can't bear the thought of it!"
"Yes, I see what you mean. It's hard for me to believe that you wouldn't be found out, but perhaps the Commander would choose to look the other way? In fact, I think he might," she added, remembering his letter and how determined he seemed to stay out of Rylen's affairs.
Bronwyn tipped her head curiously. "Why do you say that?"
"Ah, I don't know. He just doesn't seem that concerned about other people's business?"
"How much time have you spent discussing other people's business with him?" Bronwyn's eyes narrowed.
"Very little, for he doesn't like to talk about it! And none of it yours, don't worry." Anya reassured her.
"I didn't realize you and the Commander were close," Bronwyn said tightly.
"We're not! I could count our conversations on one hand! And the last time we met, he jumped down my throat for not taking my training seriously enough to suit his exacting standards. At the moment, we are barely on speaking terms – not that it matters since he's not here." Bron arched her eyebrows, and Anya realized that perhaps she was protesting too much. She cleared her throat. "At any rate. I have, on occasion, heard him profess a distaste for meddling in the affairs of others, which is why I believe he may choose to overlook Rylen's ah, extracurricular activities." Anya grinned slyly at her and Bronwyn shook her head in embarrassment. "But Rylen's job and reputation are on the line, so if he really feels he should take the matter to Cullen, I think you should support him."
"Ugh, I just don't know! It's my reputation too, after all." Bronwyn sighed. Anya certainly knew how rumors of an affair could affect a mage's reputation, but it hardly seemed to matter now, since the Ostwick Circle had been reduced to three mages, only one of whom would judge. Nonetheless, they debated the pros and cons of each position for another half hour, until Anya began to feel like a dog chasing after its tail. Just when she didn't think she could take another minute of retreading the exact same ground, Enchanter Tyson called out to them and asked them to come back closer to the camp, for they had wandered all the way to the far side of the lake. Using her morning training as an excuse, Anya bid Bronwyn good night when they returned to the shore, and went to bed.
…
Saturday morning greeted Anya with a summons to the war room. She hoped the meeting would be brief, for she was rather looking forward to training with the templars. She explained her prior commitment when she appeared at the table, and the rest of the council promised to work quickly. They made good progress until they once again addressed Mother Giselle's suggestion, and then the conversation stalled.
"I'm still concerned it could be a trap, Josie." Leliana crossed her arms and frowned at the diplomat.
"Sometimes you see plots where none exist, my friend. Besides, Cassandra and I will be there and I do not think the Chantry would attack us openly, especially if we approach under the auspice of diplomacy."
"Do you really think the clerics will just talk? The Inquisition and especially the Herald threaten the Chantry's very existence. They will fight to protect their own power."
"They are weak and they know it," Cassandra scoffed. "If those who are left had any real power, they would have been at the Conclave. Let us speak to them."
Anya watched dully as her advisors bickered. For her own part, she still thought the idea was completely bonkers, but with the templars divorced from the Chantry, it seemed like it would be safe enough. After all, what were they going to do, talk her to death? If Chancellor Roderick was any indication, the biggest danger she faced would be losing her temper with the short-sighted wankers. She didn't believe for a second that their overtures would work, though, and rather thought the whole excursion would prove to be a waste of time. The chance to see Val Royeaux was the real check in the plus column for Anya. After she joined the Circle, she'd never expected that she would have the opportunity to travel even as far as Kirkwall, much less to the capital of Orlais. It was too exciting.
A guard knocked on the door and then stuck her head in. "Knight-Captain Rylen requests the Herald, Lady Seeker."
"Time to play naughty apostate!" Anya said drolly, and Leliana laughed.
"So we are in agreement that Cassandra, Anya and I will go to Val Royeaux?" Josephine's quill hung poised above her parchment, ready to sign off on their plans.
"As soon as Cullen returns," Cassandra replied firmly. Leliana frowned but did not object, apparently resigned to the idea. With their business concluded, the meeting was adjourned and Anya jogged out to the training grounds to meet up with Bronwyn and the templars.
The mages were given a head start to hide. Anya tried to give Bronwyn advice on all that she had learned since she started training with Lyle, but the other mage wasn't taking it very seriously. Anya laughed ironically, realizing she was getting a taste of her own medicine as she quelled her frustration with her flippant friend. No wonder Cullen had bitten her head off. Bronwyn seemed to think that she was going to be "apprehended" by Ser Rylen and whisked off for a romantic tryst, but Anya harbored serious doubts that the Knight-Captain would blow off training with his men. She hoped not, anyway; Cullen's second-in-command should have better judgment than that. She said as much to Bron, who took offense and pouted. Maker, she really owed Cullen an apology.
They followed a game trail into the woods so as not to leave tracks, and Anya chose a position on a small hill covered in shrubs. She was rather looking forward to being able to use magic again; after a month of training with Lyle, she hoped she could remember her spells. Lately, he had allowed her to practice with a quarterstaff during their drills, and she was excited to see if she could now use her mage staff as a real weapon, not just a casting rod. A hush fell over the glade as the mages waited for the templars, and when the thick silence was broken by voices and clanking armor, Anya tensed for action.
"Once they find our position, we have to stay on the move," she whispered to Bronwyn. The other mage nodded shortly, her hands glowing as she prepared a spell. "Not yet!" Anya hissed, but it was too late. Bron had spotted one of the knights about fifty paces away and rattled him with electricity.
Things went rather pear-shaped after that. The templars captured Bronwyn quickly, and Anya was only able to evade them for a few minutes more. Rylen sent the men back to the road and let the mages try again. The second attempt went a little better – it was half an hour before Bronwyn gave herself up, and Anya avoided them for another hour after that. On the third round, Anya flubbed her first spell and was caught immediately, but Bron seemed to have recovered her pride and was actually making them work to arrest her. The templars made the mistake of leaving Anya with a green recruit for a guard, and she managed to escape him and flee into the woods. It was exhilarating and scary all at once. Was this how it felt to be an apostate? She wondered how they didn't die of heart attacks before age thirty.
Nearly two hours and several close calls later, Anya padded quietly through the trees and found herself back at the logging stand. Templars approached – their loud armor clanked and clunked as they marched through the clearing, heavy boots crunching the snow. Quickly she squeezed herself in between two piles of stacked logs and held her breath. She hoped she could hide until they passed her and then double back to the village.
"I think she went that way," Ser Dugan said.
"Possibly." Rylen didn't sound sure. "She's gotten good. I wonder if Commander Cullen realized he was training his little Circle friend to become a bloody hard-to-catch apostate."
"At least she's on our side, right?"
"For now," the Knight-Captain replied thoughtfully. "When the Circles are restored, I have a feeling if she doesn't want to go back, it will be hard to make her."
"She's not like that, ser," Dugan said. "She'll not give us any trouble."
"Not unless we ask for it!" Rylen laughed. The two moved off, and Anya let out the breath she had been holding. She made herself wait twenty counts and then wiggled out from between the logs.
"There you are!"
Blast it!
Her young templar guard stood at the edge of the clearing and pointed his sword at her. "Knight-Captain! Ser Dugan! She's here!"
Anya vaulted over the pile of logs and ran towards the village. The templar chanted something in a low, ominous voice and Anya found herself suddenly cut off from the Fade, unable to draw on its power to cast. In a panic, she stopped running and whirled around, about to demand to know what he had done to her, but she then she realized she didn't care; she should focus on running, not casting. She took off again, and he gave chase – he was quick, but since she didn't have to carry half her weight in arms and armor, Anya was quicker. She was nearing the road and trying to think of how she would get away – the road was the boundary of their match – when the thunder of hoof-beats stopped her in her tracks. A herd of fine-looking horses trotted down the thoroughfare, some ridden by Inquisition soldiers and others bearing packs.
Cullen must have convinced Dennett! Anya realized happily.
She turned to call for Rylen, the match forgotten, when the young templar chasing her shouted and raised his sword. Anya was suddenly swept up in a column of light, pain wracking her body as her mana swiftly drained away, and then she was thrown thirty paces and landed in a snowbank. The world went black.