Chapter 8

Introductions and Farewells

"The Captain's given the order to halt camp."

"Thank Blessed Andraste." Ceyrabeth breathed at Pellinore's words. She shifted in the saddle, grimaced. It felt like her saddle sores had saddle sores. Over the last weeks, the Legion had effectively split with the slower riders- such as the heavy fighters- defending against darkspawn stragglers from behind and the faster scouting ahead and running interference for those refugees unfortunate enough to still be on the road. In classic military formation, both groups were responsible for protecting those in the middle- women, children, the wounded, and the non-combatants. Ceyrabeth had already pulled her share of guard and patrol duty, finding to her surprise that she enjoyed the people she worked with even though they had little time for idle chit-chat. Captain Sul pushed the pace hard and no one could blame him; hard travel was much preferred to being consumed by the Hoard.

But the reports coming in from the southern arm had gotten more and more favorable the farther north they went. It was time to re-form. Ceyrabeth fully expected, as one of the newest recruits, to be doing the grunt work inevitable in making a large camp. So when Sul called her into the newly pitched Command Tent, she was surprised to have him offer her a seat. Latrine duty didn't really require much except a 'go dig there' and certainly the Captain didn't need to be the one giving that order.

She had politely refused a glass of wine and was watching him survey her over the rim of his own cup. "May I be of assistance, Captain?" She finally asked.

"Yes." Sul set his glass down. "A mission has come up that you are…uniquely suited for, Lieutenant. Tell me how much you know about the Lake Calenhad Circle."

"Umm," Ceyrabeth had to think; she had been outside the circles for a long time. "Its proper name is Kinloch Hold. The current First Enchanter's name is Irving, with Knight-Commander Greagoir commanding the Templars. They've worked together for a long time- Kinloch is widely considered to be one of the most stable Circles in Ferelden."

"It appears that is no longer the case. Greagoir has called for the Rite of Annulment."

"What?!' She shot to her feet. "Why?!" Sul waved her back down. She sat reluctantly on the edge of her seat.

"You needn't worry about the particulars, Lieutenant. Your mission will be to delay the Rite."

"….excuse me?"

Sul just looked at her.

She shook her head in adamant denial. "Knight-Commander Greagoir is a legend! We literally learn about him in training. He's considered the paragon of what a Templar should be. If he's calling for the Rite, then there must be a damn good reason!"

"I imagine so. The Grey Wardens we have been aiding are en route. They need the alliance of both Templars and Mages far more than we do."

Ceyrabeth frowned pensively. "You want them to solve the 'problem' so that Greagoir and Irving owe them."

"Precisely. Negotiations may be difficult with no one to negotiate with, however."

Ceyrabeth nodded reluctantly. The logic was unassailable. "Yes, Captain. Will I be going on this mission alone?"

"No, Lieutenant." Sul motioned to Atiya, who had been standing like a shadow behind him and she immediately exited the tent. "I have a team in mind for you."

A few moments later, a knock sounded from outside. "Enter," He turned his attention back to her "I trust you'll have no trouble working together, Lieutenant?"

Ceyrabeth was already on her feet and had Mathias tightly in her embrace, her professional demeanor completely crumbled in the face of sheer joy. She turned to Tregan and pulled him in too. "How…when…?!"

"We turned back as soon as we finished evacuating Lothering." Tregan grinned at her exuberant greeting. "Quin wouldn't come, but I tracked the Legion and we ran into one of the southern cells. At first we thought we'd be mounting a rescue mission for you and Keiran, but we started listening to the soldiers and…" Tregan motioned to his and Mathias' uniforms, which were the standard black of all Legion soldiers. "The Captain was good enough to accept our allegiance."

Ceyrabeth noticed Keiran and Arryn standing by the door. Both were wearing giant grins. "You knew!"

"Sure." Keiran replied. "We wanted to surprise you. How'd we do?"

"Impeccably." Ceyrabeth turned to Sul, placed her fist over her heart with a bow. "Thank you, Captain."

He accepted her thanks with a nod of his head and Ceyrabeth could swear she saw a hint of a smile. "Have you any objections to my choices, Ser Ceyrabeth?"

Her answering smile flashed out again. It made her seem younger, took the weight of hard years off her face for a brief moment. "None, sir."

"Excellent. See Lieutenant Pellinore for your requisition orders."

"Yes, Captain!" Ceyrabeth snapped to attention, and Keiran, Mathias, Tregan, and- after a hesitating second- Arryn all did as well. "For the Legion." It was her gift back to Sul; a declaration of a loyalty that had been nebulous until then.

"For the Legion." He replied. She saluted and turned sharply, her team following her out of the tent.

.:*:.

"That's him,"

Mathias' whisper came to Ceyrabeth's ears from off to her right. They sat at the dinner table of a rough but clean inn in the Ferelden town of Corbray. Nonchalantly, she cut into an apple with her dagger and brought a piece to her mouth before turning around and crossing her legs casually. She immediately found the subject of the whisper; a tall, handsome man with blonde hair pulled into a half-tail. "You're sure?"

"Believe me, I know Anders." Mat replied with a roll of his eyes. "He used to give us a right proper time when I was stationed at Kinloch. Had to watch him like a hawk or he'd find some way to try to escape. He actually managed it seven times…well, eight if you count this one."

"He sounds like he'd be very helpful." Ceyrabeth replied. Along with arms, armor and travel rations, Captain Sul had thoughtfully provided dossiers on people who may be helpful in case they needed a hand. The first portion of their mission had gone off without a hitch but that was before Keiran had been recognized in a stroke of insanely bad luck. It was only a matter of time before the local Templars descended on them in a shrieking hoard out for his 'traitorous blood'. Keiran was currently lying low, but they desperately needed someone who knew both the lay of the land and the local faces.

Ceyrabeth watched Anders move about the inn, stopping here and there to chat with a villager. He seemed to be well-liked, if the smiles and nods directed at him were any indication. For a moment, Ceyrabeth thought about going up and asking to speak to him in private, but then she rejected the idea. He was going to be cautious, over-watchful. "You said he was a healer?"

"Yes," Mathias nodded. "At least he was back at Kinloch…Beth!"

Ceyrabeth cried out in pain as her dagger clattered to the floor, its edge now stained with blood. Her blood, point of fact. She had grasped the blade and drawn it across her palm hard enough to leave a gaping wound. Anders looked around at the unmistakable sound of distress. Mathias had removed his handkerchief and was pressing it against her hand before Anders could make his way over. He was careful to keep his head down, but Anders didn't even notice him.

"What happened? Are you alright?"
"I…it was on the bench." She breathed, doing a very convincing approximation of a maid in distress. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Let's see." Anders took her hand, examined it carefully. "You're going to need stitches." He informed her. "Were you using this dagger to cut this?" He gestured to her half eaten dinner. She nodded hesitantly. "You don't want to risk blood poisoning. Follow me."

"Are you a leech?" She asked, using the peasant's term for one who tended wounds. Anders smiled at her.

"Of a sort."

He led her up to his room, gesturing her to the chair before removing a small sewing kit and bottle. "This'll sting," Anders warned her as he poured a splash of the liquid onto her palm. It did sting but much less than she expected. Anders still cradled her hand in his as he began sewing the wound, which was also less painful than expected, and she focused in. The lyrium in her blood reached for the lyrium in his- a strange sensation that was not completely able to be explained by someone who wasn't a Templar- and she realized that he was slowly healing her hand, the stitching just a blind for his real actions.

"Thank you," She said sincerely as he bound the freshly cleaned and stitched hand in a length of new bandage. "How can I repay you?"

"You can stay right there. Manere!"

Ceyrabeth recognized the mage's spell to paralyze a split second before it hit her. Her limbs seized up and she went rigid in her chair. "Sorry," Anders moved about the room, rapidly stuffing things into a small bag. "I know you're not a Templar, but your friend…"

But Anders had made a serious mistake; he had only paralyzed her from the neck down.

"Eluo!" Ceyrabeth spoke the command to cleanse magic and her limbs immediately unseized. Before Anders could react, she had tackled him to his bed. Electricity blazed across his skin but she was expecting it. Most mages immediately thought electricity as defense.

"Confuto!" Anders yelped in dismay as his magic abruptly ceased.

He heaved her off bodily, desperation giving him strength.

Ceyrabeth threw herself forward and grasped his ankle, tugging him down with an almighty crash. "Anders!"

"You won't take me back!" He kicked at her once, twice and by sheer blind luck he caught her in the forehead. The skin split and blood poured into her left eye. He scrambled up once more and made for the door.

"Just listen!" She roared, pouncing on his back. They slammed into a wall with crushing force. "I'm not...a…Templar!"

"Those sure as the Void feel like Templar abilities!" Anders slammed her into the wall again. She gritted her teeth. She hadn't wanted to hurt him, but he was really giving her no choice. She focused on the lyrium in her blood, felt it rush through her muscles in a release that felt almost like ecstasy. She tangled her fingers in Anders' hair with both hands and, dropping her weight, she wrenched back on his head. He slammed to the floor and tried to roll but Beth was already straddling his chest. Her fist connected across his face with the force of a hammer, backed by an ability that her trainers called Righteous Strike. It not only caused physical pain, but drained a mage's mana reserves. His hands shot up, tried to block her, tried to strike back but it was no use.

Mathias burst through the door just in time to see Ceyrabeth roll off of Anders' chest. The mage was bleeding from his nose and a split lip, and was just lying dazed on the floor. "Maker's Mercy!" He exclaimed as he took in the scene.

"He's been Silenced," Ceyrabeth told him, rummaging for something to staunch the flow of blood from her head. She eventually found a towel and pressed it to the wound. "I didn't want to but he paralyzed me. Seems you were recognized after all. Help me get him onto the bed."

She and Mathias pulled him as carefully as possible onto the mattress. Mathias rummaged around in Anders' healing bag until he came up with a greenish powder. "Powdered Elfroot. Excellent." He poured half of the small paper packet into a cup of water and drained it into Anders' mouth sip by sip. The young mage's eyes fluttered, then opened.

"Anders, can you hear me?" Ceyrabeth asked gently doing her best to appear as anything other than a terrifying Templar bound to drag him back in chains.

Anders side-eyed her warily and nodded, wincing. "I'm going to dispel the Silence." Ceyrabeth told him. Mathias' eyes flew to her face, but he didn't object. "We just need you to listen. Please."

She whispered the counter to the Confuto ability and Anders sighed in relief. "Hi, Mathias."

Mat nodded at him with a sheepish smile, "It's been a long time, Anders. Sorry if we scared you."

Anders shrugged. "Where did you learn all that?" He asked Ceyrabeth curiously. "You're an elf."

"It's a long story." She sat next to him on the bed. "Short version: I posed as human for a lot of years to train as a Templar." Ceyrabeth started talking quickly, just trying to get the words out before he decided to set her on fire. "We," She indicated herself and Mathias, "along with two more of our Brothers, defected after Ostagar. Now, we're trying to halt a Rite of Annulment against the Kinloch Circle…"

"Kinloch?!"

"Yes. My friend, Keiran Ehingen, was recognized by someone on the road and it's only a matter of time before the Templars come in force. Mathias heard your name in town and we thought you might help us. The word is that you're good at escaping." Anders smiled a little at that, but Beth was too much in earnest. "Anders, please. They'll kill him."

"I've seen Ser Keiran's wanted posters." Anders tapped his index finger against his chin. "And now that I think about it, I've seen yours too. Ser Ceyrabeth Vallorin; Wanted for Treason and Defection."

"It's pronounced see-ra-beth, not say-ra-beth, but yes. That's me."

Anders considered. "If I were to help you, and I'm not saying I will…what's in it for me?"

"Freedom." Beth said promptly. "The man we work for, the one that's stopping the Rite…he's brilliant. You can stay with us and I promise you you'll never have to even consider if there's a Templar nearby for the rest of your life. He has already given safe haven to quite a few mages, including one from the Starkhaven massacre. OR, if you want to disappear, start over entirely, you will have that option. Assistance given and no questions asked."

"What in the Void is going on up here?" The proprietress of the inn burst through the door. A little behind, Beth thought cynically. She stiffened as Anders put his arm around her before flashing a charming smile at the woman.

"Sorry, Stella. My girlfriend got a little…excited." Ceyrabeth glanced sharply at him before plastering a wide smile on her face and winking at the shell-shocked Stella.

"Oh. Oh!"

"You don't have to worry. Mat will patch me up. Thanks for checking in." Mathias gently herded the woman out the door and shut it firmly. Anders chuckled at the expression on Ceyrabeth's face. "You can't say you didn't deserve it."

"We're even then." She replied.

"For now." Anders ran his hands through his hair, retied it. "Alright. I'll help you."

.:*:.

"This is where your contact lives?"

"You aren't a snob are you Ceyrabeth?" Anders asked with only a trace of mockery. "Because I don't work with snobs."

Ceyrabeth heaved a sigh and looked at Mathias. She had wanted to get Arryn and Tregan, but Anders had adamantly vetoed the idea. He was already outnumbered, he said. So Ceyrabeth had yielded.

She sincerely wished she hadn't when she heard the ungodly yowls coming from inside the hovel.

They burst through the door; both Ex-Templars had their weapons drawn. "Where's Gaetano?!" Anders demanded of the terrified woman cowering by the fireplace. She just pointed a trembling finger toward the back.

They charged back…and stopped cold. An elderly elven man lay firmly tied to the bed while a tall, dusky-skinned human man stood near the window, fiddling with a crystal cube that was casting strange shadows on the prone figure. "That was close…" The human muttered. "How about…this?"

The shadow changed and the elf screamed. "Ah! There it is."

"What are you doing to that man?!" Ceyrabeth demanded. The human glanced up briefly.

"Anders! Welcome back."

"Please my lady, don't let him hurt me anymore!" The old man turned his head, tears streaking down his face. Ceyrabeth's expression hardened and she leveled her sword at the human.

"Step away from him. Now!"

"Look, precious, I don't have time for…" The human turned his exasperated attention to Ceyrabeth…and in that split second, a wave of magic lashed out that sent them all flying.

Ceyrabeth reacted instinctively. "Shield!" Blue light shimmered around herself, Anders and Mathias but she was disgusted to find that it was weak. She had used too much energy trying to subdue Anders.

Mathias shook his head, trying to clear it., "Con-" He started, but the human picked himself back up.

"Don't worry about that Templar nonsense," He said contemptuously as he picked himself back up and climbed on the bed.

Ceyrabeth took note of his features, fine-boned with short dark hair and a thin mustache along with his accent marked him as Rivani

He removed a vial started to shake a clear substance onto the elf, who screamed earsplittingly with each drop on his skin.

"What's he doing? What is that?" Ceyrabeth asked Anders doing her best to tune out the ungodly shrieking and the memories of the monstrosity Chirak it brought oozing to the surface of her mind.

"It's holy water; sanctified waters from a sacred well that—Look, I've got no interest in explaining all this to you so just shut up and stay out of the way."

"Holy…" Then it clicked. "The man is possessed!"
"Give the girl a prize!" The dusky man drawled. He hopped off the bed, braced his arm on the headboard. "You hear that?" He asked the elven man conversationally. "You're possessed. Now, I knew that and you knew that. It's time to hear though which demon you actually are. Well?"

The elf hissed something at him that Ceyrabeth didn't understand but seemed to make total sense to the human. "Now, now." He admonished. "There are ladies present." And he tipped half the bottle of holy water onto the possessed man's head. The creature hissed and screamed, pulling at ropes that Ceyrabeth devoutly hoped were well tied. "Try again?"

The elf glared at him with baleful eyes. "Of course, you want to do it the hard way." The human withdrew a knife from his belt. It gleamed unusually bright even in the muted light. "You learn anatomy in Templar school?"

Ceyrabeth took a second to realize that he was talking to her. "Of course."

"Great. There's this fantastic little nerve cluster in the shoulder…hurts like all the Void if you hit it just right." He offered her the blade's hilt. "Like to demonstrate?"

"No!"

"Templars," The man rolled his eyes. "Never want to get their hands dirty." And with that, he yanked the elf's arm out straight and plunged the knife deep into the joint of the elf's neck and shoulder. Smoke rolled off the wound as the man howled in agony. "Well?"

"Hux…Huxenlem!"

"Of course, Huxenlem!." The man withdrew the knife and the demon sagged back. "Now, was that so hard?"

"One of the Forbidden Ones?" Ceyrabeth asked.

He looked at the elf and snorted, "You're remarkably well informed for a Templar."

"Former Templar," She corrected frostily.

"Uh-huh, sure. Anyhow he's a servant of one of the Six and the best cellmates a man could ask for," The human replied caustically. "Ok, Huxy. Time to go."

The effect was instantaneous. The elf strained against his bonds with the strength of the desperate and another wave of dark magic lashed out. It impacted against Ceyrabeth's shield and they staggered, but the shield held. This time, Mathias was able to activate Silence, and it gave the human just enough time to finish fiddling with his cube. The elf screamed and they all could hear the difference; this was not the screams of the damned, but of a mortal being in excruciating pain. The human man ripped the shirt away from the elf's chest.

His ribs were breaking through his flesh, leaving multiple puncture wounds. Ceyrabeth and Mathias both readied their blades as they saw the area of the man's stomach roil with the terrifying visage of the demon within. "Got it!" The human roared and placed the cube directly into the worst of the wounds. One more agonized scream, a blinding flash of light…

….and then it was over. Mathias, at Ceyrabeth's nod, rushed to the elderly elf. "He's still breathing." He informed her.

"Good."

"Yes, rumpy-pumpy triumph." The human man said breathlessly. He was brushing pieces of ash off his clothes as he reached over to retrieve the crystal cube, which was no longer clear but smoky grey and covered in blood. "Anders, sweetness, go and get the woman would you?"

Anders obeyed. Ceyrabeth pulled the sheet of the bed over the elf's chest just in time; nobody needed to see that, least of all what she assumed was the man's wife. "OK, so here's the rub." The human started in as soon as the woman entered the room. "Demon's out, grandpa's alive. I don't work for free. What do you have?"

"What does she…?" Ceyrabeth asked, too shocked to be angry.

"Lucre. Recompense. Remuneration. Payment, precious." He rolled his eyes at her. "I saw a girl earlier. Bring her in."

The old woman scurried out as Ceyrabeth worked on trying to form words. She was back before Beth could say a thing, towing a doe-eyed slip of a girl behind her. The dusky-skinned human surveyed the girl critically. "No tits, even for an elf." He commented. Then, he casually reached out and patted her groin. Ceyrabeth suddenly and explosively found words.

"Get your hands off her immediately!" She roared, placing herself between man and girl.

"No need to breathe fire," The human replied. "If I wanted veal, I'd head over to the tavern. I like a little thatch on my roof if you know what I mean. Besides," He looked over Ceyrabeth's shoulder to the girl, who was now trembling, and sighed. "I've had all the fear I feel like dealing with for now." He re-focused on Beth. "What about you, precious? You look reasonably shapely of breast and firm of thigh. No? Too bad. Alcohol, then."

"We…we have none, sir." The old woman informed him tremulously.

"Andraste's saggy tits!" The human expostulated. "Is it too damn much to ask for a cup of tea? No? Well then, go make it and take your babe in arms with you!" Both women hurried out the door. Ceyrabeth slammed both her palms into the man's chest, sending him reeling back. "Hey! Mind the goods!"

"You…you pig!" She spat out. "Knave! Warped, fool-born Void rotter! Who do you think you are…?!"

"Gaetano, meet Ceyrabeth Vallorin. Ceyrabeth, this is my contact Gaetano." Anders interjected dryly.

"You cannot be serious…!"

"'Fraid so, precious." Gaetano sent her a charming smile that made her want to punch all of his perfectly straight teeth back into his head.

"Don't call me precious!" Ceyrabeth shook her head. "No. Not happening." She told Anders. "I will slit my own throat before I will work with this man."

"Maybe we should take care of the person who just suffered life threatening injury before we work out any other arrangements," They all looked over at Mathias's sharp words. He had torn a blanket into strips and was working to staunch the old man's bleeding wounds.

Anders hurried over to his side, looking properly abashed, "Here, let me." The healer reached his arms out over the man and he was suddenly bathed in gentle, blue light. The ribs reset themselves before their eyes, wounds knit cleanly, and some of the gray receded from the man's features. He even breathed more strongly.

"Ok, I'm going to pretend for a second that I care why you're here." Gaetano said to Ceyrabeth as they watched Anders work.

"I was going to ask for your help. Now, I think I'd rather feed myself to an archdemon."

"Feisty. I love feisty. Who's in trouble?" She side-eyed him. "I know your name. It's plastered all over the wanted posters. But you're moving around freely. So, it must be someone else."

"My comrade, Keiran."

"Ah. Keiran Ehingen? Between the two of you, the reward is…"

Ceyrabeth grit her teeth, "Your head will adorn a central place on my wall before I let you…"

"Your tea, sir."

Gaetano took the rough mug from the old woman's hands and sipped. "Finally. Something good. Why are you with Anders?"

"Because we thought he would help us get out of the city."

"Help….Templars?" Gaetano hooted, "By the by, however did you learn those abilities? I imagine your lovely pointed ears and distinct lack of curves gave you some trouble."

"Less than you'd expect."

"So…you ARE a Templar raised and trained then? Vows to the Maker, vigils, all that?". Gaetano pursed his full lips. "But not anymore?"

Beth didn't see how it would matter but she nodded ,"No, not anymore."

"Who are you working for now?"

"Why in the Void should I tell you that?"

"Because you need me."

"Like I need a rotting hole in my chest…"

"Come on, precious. Indulge me a little, and I might just give a little back." Gaetano grinned. "On my honor."

"Fine. Have you heard of a group called the Phoenix Legion?" Ceyrabeth felt the change in Gaetano the second the words left her mouth. His expression became darker, colder.

"You work for Drachaen Sul?"

"He's our Captain, yes."

"I can't believe that Tainted bastard is still alive."

Ceyrabeth bristled. "I'll thank you not to speak of him with that tone. The Captain is professional, efficient and considerate….unlike some I could mention."

"He's got you dancing to his tune sure and certain." Gaetano's lip curled. "He always was good at swaying the faithful into breaking their vows."

"How dare you…!" She spat, "I won't listen to you a second longer. I would rather throw myself to the Darkspawn than work with you…you…"

"Ceyrabeth!" Mathias, who had been standing at the window, beckoned her over.

Ceyrabeth moved quickly to his side and felt her heart seize. A heavy cart pulled by a pair of speckled drays rattled by the hovel, two guards in heavy armor riding atop behind the horses. And behind its chained and barred rear door…

"Arryn…" Ceyrabeth breathed. She had just caught the young mage's face as they passed. If Arryn had been caught, odds were good that Keiran and Tregan had also been taken prisoner…or worse.

A heavy weight on her shoulder made her look around. Gaetano was leaning against her, body tight against her side. He was grinning all over his handsome face. "So…what was that you were saying about Darkspawn?"

.:*:.

"Just so we're clear," Ceyrabeth couldn't bear to look at herself in the mirror. The dress she had been forced into mortified her life out; cheap silk and too much skin. "I'm going to kill you as soon as your usefulness has run out." Mathias and Anders were both affecting interest in other points nowhere near her, like true gentlemen, but Gaetano had no such qualms; his eyes took her in from full, painted lips to high heeled shoes.

"Oh, you're going to have to work on your sweet talk if you want to convince the guards that you're the soiled dove they've been waiting for." Gaetano laughed.

"Why are we not just breaking the door down again?" Ceyrabeth asked.

"Hey, you want to charge into a prison full of guards, be my guest…"

"Because you want to rescue your friends, not kill a whole bunch of people." Anders replied.

"And why me?"

"Because the sad truth is that not everyone is as equal opportunity as I am," Gaetano reached to fix a bow on Ceyrabeth's hip; she knocked his hand away with a glare. "These boys are all about their girlies. And lucky for you, they've got a thing for pointy ears. Must be that whole subservience thing…'yes, master, no master'…"

"You've got that blade, right?" Mathias interjected. Ceyrabeth patted her thigh. The strangely bright blade that Gaetano had used on the demon was the one thing that gave her any sort of comfort. It felt strange against her skin; colder than a normal blade. "Let's go then. Better now than never."

On the walk to the prison, Gaetano grasped Ceyrabeth's arm. "Now, you're sure you can take care of the two at the doors? Because we're not going to be charging in to save your skin, so if you get pinned down or whatever..."

She just rolled her eyes at him, "I'm not completely helpless."

"Sure, precious." He made a gesture to Mathias and Anders, who immediately turned to the right. They would meet up with them after she and Gaetano were inside. "Alright," He whispered, "Now's the time to bat those pretty eyes. Tits out. Howdy, gents!"

They had reached the prison. "Gaetano! What have you got for us tonight?" One of the guards hailed him.

"Boys, meet Lorelei. Brand new skin, not even in rotation yet." Ceyrabeth, newly christened Lorelei, felt her cheeks flush but she swept her eyes up, blinking her lashes at them in a motion that felt ridiculously coquettish.

"Lorelei," The younger of the two asked, "Like the song?"

"And, oh, will she make you sing Ser Brandon." The boy, he couldn't have been much more than eighteen, flushed to the roots of his blonde hair. Gaetano saw and immediately capitalized. "What's this I see? Blushing like the most vestal Chantry maiden I've ever seen! Could it be….a virgin I see before me?! Oh, oh my sweet Lorelei," He braced one hand on her shoulder, put one hand over his heart. "Go and make this boy a man, I beg you!"

Ceyrabeth just barely managed to not roll her eyes again as she followed a drooping Ser Brandon into the prison. They stopped in an empty block of cells near the entrance; he still couldn't manage to look her in the eye. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm just not…"

But the woman was already moving. She planted his forehead squarely into the iron bars and Ser Brandon was down. She tied his hands and feet together and relieved him of his keys before skimming the prison log. Beth sighed in relief when she saw Tregan and Keiran's names along with Arryn's. "Block C."

She sauntered back out through the door. "Back so soon?" Gaetano raised his eyebrow.

"You know boys," Ceyrabeth let the Kirkwall accent she had spent years trying to rid herself of slip back into her voice. "A slip here, a squeeze there and pop!"

"I guarantee it won't be slip, squeeze, pop with me girlie," The other guard leered. "Where is the little bastard now?"

Beth glanced at Gaetano, thought fast. "I may have…left him a little dazed. He was having trouble with his legs."

"I'll go get him…"

"You know that you peddlers don't go into the prison," The guard said. "I'll get him. You come with me, girl. I'm not wasting my time because some kid can't control himself. I'll fuck you on top of him if I have to."

If looks could kill, the man would be not just dead but flayed alive. Luckily, in his haste to get through the door, he didn't notice.

"There you are," Gaetano said as Beth returned a second time. She was spattered in blood and carried a sword and small targe, plus another, taller sword and shield and a mage's staff. "He gave you a little more trouble than the kid?"

"No," Was all Ceyrabeth said. She pursed her lips and whistled, and Mathias and Anders emerged from the corner of the building. Wordlessly she distributed the weapons and led them into the prison.

But as they passed Ser Brandon, who was just waking up, she found her voice. "You…" She smacked him none too gently across the cheek and he looked at her with wide eyes. "You are MUCH too nice of a boy to listen to this idiot!" She flung her arm out to indicate his very battered comrade. "The next time something like this comes up, do yourself a favor and don't do ridiculous things like almost sleep with a woman you don't know! Train hard, find better friends, and make your family proud! Don't let anyone bully you into anything! Got it?" The young man was gagged but he nodded. "Good. I'm going to leave you there. Start kicking up a fuss and you'll end up like Ser Pig-Shit, am I perfectly clear?"

Another nod and Beth stalked away, Gaetano sniggering behind her. "By the Six…did you walk off the damn recruiting posters?"

"Shut up." She muttered. Now that they were a force, they could afford to sacrifice silence for speed. "Knockouts only." She commanded. She had always been good with using her shield offensively, and all it really took was a quick feint and a well-placed shield bash to subdue the few guards they came across.

"Do you even need us?" Anders asked sometime later after the third guard fell.

"No," Mathias answered for him. "Just stay out of her way. It always worked for me."

"Lazy," Ceyrabeth muttered. She unlocked a heavy wooden door. "This should be it."

"Beth!" Arryn was the first to notice her. He lurched up to the bars, frowning through a split lip. Tregan joined him, a black eye blooming spectacularly across his pale face and his arm in a makeshift sling. "Mat!"

"Nice to see you didn't make it totally easy on them," Mathias took in their injuries.

"You have to go get Keiran!" Arryn interrupted. "The Templars just took him!"

"Where?" Ceyrabeth asked him. Arryn pointed out the far door. "Mathias, see to Tregan." Ceyrabeth freed them before wrenching open the door, Anders and Arryn hot on her heels. She heard their voices before she saw them; they were discussing something that made her stop in her tracks.

"Why in the Void did they send that thing here? Why didn't they send it by bird straight to Kinloch?"

"You don't send a Rite of Annulment by bird, you idiot! What happens if they get shot down? It's hand to hand from Revered Mother to Templar until it gets where its' going."

"But why is it here in the ass end of nowhere?"

"I dunno. Some problems along the line I guess. We have to take it up to the Chantry when we're done with our pal here."

The Rite. The actual Kinloch Rite of Annulment was not two feet beyond that door. "Anders…Arryn…" She hissed. "For love of the Maker, stay behind me."

"Shield," Anders replied, and a violet dome shimmered up and around them. Ceyrabeth nodded her thanks…and kicked open the door with a bloodcurdling screech. Between Ceyrabeth's rapid assault, Arryn's shadow creatures and Anders sucking their life out, the two Templars were completely overwhelmed.

Keiran was strapped to a table, battered and bloody but alive. "Hey," He slurred up at Ceyrabeth as she moved to release him. "You look great."

"Don't you even start." She told him.

Anders stepped up, looked into Keiran's eyes, "A concussion. I should have just enough mana to help."

"Arryn, find the Rite," Ceyrabeth commanded and the young mage immediately obeyed, coming up with a very official looking piece of paper from the older Templar's belt pouch. Ceyrabeth took it…and handed it to Anders. He cocked his head at her. "I thought you might like to do the honors."

Understanding flooded Anders' gaze and suddenly the Rite disintegrated with blinding, white-hot flashfire. He spat into the ashes on the floor.

"So, I really hate to rush you…" Gaetano burst in, holding something that smoked and hissed firmly wrapped in a cloth. "But we gotta stick this somewhere NOW or we're gonna have a pissed off demon on our arses!"

"And you didn't know this before?!" Ceyrabeth slung Keiran's arm around her shoulder and hauled him off the table.

"Well, excuse me, precious!" Gaetano shot back. "There wasn't enough sunlight when I sealed him!" He moved to one of the downed Templars and opened the cloth to reveal the crystal cube. It was no longer clear but black as pitch with flickers of violet lighting striking angrily inside.

"What are you doing?!"

"Deporting the demon!"

"Not them!" Ceyrabeth grabbed the cube from him. Gaetano went to protest…and caught sight of her hand. The left was normal but the right was webbed with black lines. She took off running toward the entrance, Gaetano following close behind.

"Him!" Ceyrabeth commanded, pointing at the knight she had dubbed Ser Pig-Shit.

"Fine!" Gaetano took the cube from her again, started manipulating the symbols on the side. "Make me an entrance!"

"What?!"

"The blade, the blade!" He yelled. "Use the bloody blade! NOW!"

Ceyrabeth didn't give herself time to think; she pulled the blade from the sheath on her thigh and plunged it into the knight's belly. His eyes flew open, too surprised to even try to scream. Gaetano slammed the cube into the wound and backed far out of reach, "Get out of the way!" Ceyrabeth obeyed, dragging the terrified Ser Brandon with her. They watched in horror as Gaetano started chanting…then the ground below the frantic knight opened, roiling and seething with tendrils of black smoke that formed hands and dragged him into their embrace. Inch by inch, with the eerie sounds of Gaetano's chanting and the infernal wailing coming from the pit assaulting their ears, Ceyrabeth and Brandon watched the knight get dragged into the Void.

Ceyrabeth got the gag off Ser Brandon's mouth just in time to watch him heave the contents of his stomach all over the prison floor.

"What in the Void happened to him?" Mat asked, but Ceyrabeth just shook her head. Gaetano cautiously approached the blackened circle where the knight had disappeared and retrieved the cube, which was crystal clear again.

"Whew, that was a close one!" He grinned.

Ceyrabeth stood, her hands shaking, and slammed him by his collar against a wall. "Get us…out of here…now."

Gaetano held up his hands in a placating gesture, "Sure thing, precious. One safe exit, coming up."

.:*:.

Lieutenant Pellinore watched the raven circle down from the sky. It was one of the birds they sent with agents in the field, and unless he missed his guess, it held news of Ceyrabeth's mission. He had held some qualms about sending Ceyrabeth-especially with the other former Templars added in; could they be trusted to act against their brothers?- but he had kept his concerns to himself. The Captain seemed to trust her and that was enough for Pellinore. As he skimmed the note, which was two lines on a piece of paper in a slanted, feminine hand- Rite entirely halted…leaving Corbray immediately. C.-he found himself smiling.

He reported the letter to the Captain immediately. "Adjusting for distance and the speed of the raven, if she left Corbray three days ago, her team should be back tomorrow."

"Yes," Pellinore couldn't tell if the Captain was pleased or not from his tone, but that was no real surprise. "I wish to see Lieutenant Vallorin the moment she arrives back in camp."

"Yes, sir."

"And what of the rest of the army?"

"All present and accounted for, Captain." Pellinore's was the last satellite of the Legion to check in, point of fact; the army was once again whole. Now, they could begin the not-insignificant task of setting permanent camp.

Sul nodded his approval, "Thank you, Lieutenant. Dismissed."

"Yes sir," He spun on his heel and departed. Fenris took that opportunity to emerge from behind the tent's rear curtain, pulling at his new, unfamiliar armor, "Are you certain that this is entirely necessary?"

"Does it not fit well?"

"It's fine. But are all these spikes actually useful?"

"It presents an image. All of warfare is deception, Fenris. And a fearsome appearance can serve as preemptive measures. It helps you avoid unnecessary confrontations and keep a lower profile, at least more so than open violence would."

The elf frowned and looked down at the armor then back up at Sul, "So it…really makes me look fearsome?"

Sul smiled and nodded his assent.

Fenris frowned and peered past Sul at Tallis for confirmation.

"Oh definitely!" Tallis piped up, "Seriously, I have chills."

"Really?" Fenris considered and then nodded, "Well then, thank you Captain."

"You'll still need a weapon," The blind man reached down by the table and with a heave dragged an enormous sword onto the table. It landed on the hard wood with a definitive thud!

Fenris eyed the weapon incredulously, "You can't possibly be serious."

"It's called 'Lethendralis'," The other man informed him, "Use it in good health."

Fenris took hold of the massive weapon and heaved it off the table, "Maker, how am I supposed to fight with this thing?"

There was a sudden hum in the air and the armor on Fenris's body began to glow faintly in a thin network of lines that pulsed in time with his lyrium markings. Suddenly the sword weighed nothing at all. He heaved the blade up in one hand and began to twirl it experimentally.

"The armor acts as a conduit," Sul explained, "Much like water conducts lightning, the metals in the armor and the way it is cut and etched corresponds with your markings and creates a sort of sympathetic resonance."

"A what?!"

"It takes the power of your brands and turns them into raw power."

"Why didn't you say that in the first place?" Tallis commented wryly.

Fenris looked stunned as the power of his markings allowed him to do the impossible, "How did you do this?" He breathed in wonder.

"With great care," Sul gestured at him, "Put that down for a moment. I want to show you one other useful talent," The blind man walked around the table to face the other man, stopping only to pick something off the ground, "You spent enough time in the company of Danarius to understand the relationship between lyrium and the Fade?"

"All too well," Fenris growled.

"In sufficient quantities, lyrium would actually allow mages to enter the Fade."

"Yes, yes," The elf bristled, "So what?"

"So this."

Sul thrust a large snake into the elf's face. Fenris shrieked and lashed out blindly…

…and his hand passed through the snake. In a flash of blue light, the serpent went rigid and then completely limp.

"I see you're still afraid of snakes," Sul tossed the dead creature to the ground.

"Don't you ever—," Fenris couldn't speak as he tried to catch his breath, "What in the name of the Void was that?!"

"That was awesome!" Tallis cried out

"Your lyrium markings, amplified by the armor allow portions of yourself to enter the fade for a few moments. It makes a useful first strike weapon or interrogation. In time, you'll gain enough control to augment your combat skills: making yourself more resistant to magical assault or become more difficult to hit," Sul smiled faintly. "A useful talent for a Tevinter Fugitive. And helpful considering where you'll be headed."

"Yes," The elf murmured, "You haven't actually told me where I'm going."

"Gwaren by way of the Brescilian Passage," Sul replied.

"And what's in this 'Gwaren' exactly?"

"A ship that will take you to Tantervale, in the Free Marches. From there you'll make your way to Kirkwall."

"Kirkwall," Fenris scoffed, "You're sending the former slave to the city known as 'The City of Chains.'?"

"I'm sending the former slave of a magister to a city where there are enough Templars to give even Danarius pause."

"….All right, fair point."

"When you arrive in Kirkwall you'll be meeting with one of my agents: a dwarf that goes by the name Anso."

Fenris grinned ruefully, "Ah, some sort of master assassin or spy no doubt."

"Anso possess a singular ability to appear completely ineffectual. He plays the role of a buffoon expertly."

Fenris frowned, "Why would I need a buffoon?"

"There are many uses for a man who can appear much more foolish than he actually is."

"That's actually true," Tallis pointed out.

"I'll take your word on that," Fenris replied skeptically.

"Take this as well," Sul placed a heavy pouch in his hand, "That will cover all of your expenses in addition to procuring room and board in Kirkwall."

Fenris gaped at the pouch; it contained more coin that he had ever seen in his entire life. Then his train of thought caught up with him, "The Free Marches?" He spat.

"Is that a problem?" Sul asked politely.

"If the rest of the world turned into orange slime, I would still prefer that to living in the Marches," His voice slipped into a bad Free Marcher's accent "'Oy! I'm a bloody idiot with the brains and table manners of a sodding goat!'" He shook his head disdainfully.

"Hey, that's pretty good," Tallis laughed.

"I'll grant you that Kirkwall isn't a bastion of intellectualism," Sul admitted, "Rampant ignorance and barbarism seems to be symptomatic of pervasive Orlesian Chantry influence."

"Huh?" Tallis said frowning.

"Stupid people are easier to control, especially if they're too busy fighting each other to fight you," Sul's tone dripped with spite, "And the Orlesian Chantry does so love having control."

"Oh."

Fenris smiled and shook his head. "You've chosen a worthy adversary, I'll give you that much," He cleared his throat, "Thank you for all your help. Is there any way in which I may repay you generosity?"

"There is," Sul said softly and held up a small vial filled with a purple liquid, "I need you to drink this before you go."

Fenris frowned, "What is it?"

"It is an elixir, one that will erase a very specific set of memories."

"Are you joking?" The elf exclaimed, "I already can't remember any of my life before this damned markings and you would have me sacrifice more?"

"Yes, I would."

Fenris scowled, "Which specific set of memories exactly?"

"This elixir will erase all recollection of a single individual from your memory."

Fenris's brow furrowed as he tentatively took the vial, "Which individual?" He asked as he held the bottle up to the light and peered within.

"Me."

Fenris nearly dropped the bottle, "What?!" He asked aghast.

"The elixir will remove all memory of me from your mind. To you, it will be as if we never met."

"But wh—?"

"Danarius will not stop hunting you Fenris. We both know that his ego is too large to allow him to simply cut his losses," Sul gestured at his people, caught in the bustle of setting camp. "If the unthinkable should happen, he will not hesitate to ravage your mind to uncover how you managed to escape," Sul's tone became regretful, "As much as our friendship means to me, the lives of those I am responsible for must take priority."

For a long time, Fenris regarded the man before him and then the vial. Sul held out his arm and Fenris grabbed his forearm without hesitation, "I have never known a truer friend, nor a nobler soul," The elf rasped.

"Take heart, Fenris," Sul offered him a wry smile, "I have it on good authority that Kirkwall is expecting the arrival of some truly exceptional people," Sul and Fenris held onto each other.

"Astia valla femundis," Fenris whispered.

"And you as well," Sul replied releasing the elf. For a moment, the two men simply looked at each other.

"Does it speak ill of me that I am afraid?" Fenris asked.

"Only the dead are without fear," Sul replied, "But there comes a time when you stop running, when you turn and face the tiger."

Fenris smiled faintly, "I like that. I will remember that, if nothing else."

"If anyone could…"

There was another long moment of silence between the two men. Then elf bowed deeply, his hand over his heart, turned and departed without a word.

Sul remained where he stood watching as Fenris faded from view and a prolonged silence followed.

"What did that mean?" Tallis asked curiously, seeking to break the pall that had settled over them, "Astia-"

"Astia valla femundis," Sul corrected.

"Which means…?"

"Boundless glory," The blind man answered softly, "A pledge between brothers who are to enter battle and do not expect to see each other again in this life."

"…oh," She looked down at her hands and then back to regard the man, "He was important to you."

"He was…my friend," The man turned away, "Come, we have work to do."

"Yeah, about that," Tallis rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly, "It's been fun and all but I really need to be on my-"

"You are directly responsible for the injury of two of my soldiers and have incurred a debt to the Phoenix Legion," Sul cut her off, his tone utterly devoid of the humanity that had been present a moment before, "That debt will be repaid. Follow."

"Aye, aye" Tallis swallowed noisily and, repressing a shiver as she got to her feet, followed the blind man from the tent.