Chapter 10: The Prince

"In combat, your average moving target is going to be at least partially armored," said a man whose own armor was hard to miss. It was white in most parts, glimmering in the sun, as if daring enemies to key in on him from a distance. He walked up and down a line of archers with longbows. "That armor may also slow them down quite a bit. If you want to take them down before they can get to you or one of your comrades, you need to find the weaknesses in that armor. Now, can anyone tell me what the weakness in MY armor is?"

One recruit raised his hand.

"Your sides are mostly mail," he said. "A sharp arrow from a decent bow could still kill you."

"A sharp arrow from a decent bow can work wonders in the right hands," the instructor replied. "And like any shot, that requires the right angle. That's a given. Anyone else?"

"It's not heavy enough," another recruit guessed. "Someone with a blade gets close enough, you're dead."

"No good archer should let a swordsman get that close," said the instructor. "That defeats the purpose of using a long-range weapon. And even if they do, you don't just stand still, you move, you fight. You can strike with your bow, you can dodge, gain distance and shoot again. One more try. Anyone?"

"Serah?" One last recruit sheepishly asked. "You aren't wearing a helmet. Another archer could put an arrow through your head, easily."

The instructor stopped pacing, then stood facing the line of recruits, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked at the recruit who had made the last guess, and nodded.

"Very good," he said. "An archer, like any warrior, cannot over-think! My head is exposed, and that should be a weakness. The most important target on any enemy, and the rest of you did not mention it at all! That is how you lose a fight. I don't wear armor this gaudy just for show. I do it to maintain an enemies attention at my chest or arms, which can take the blow. This way my line of vision, and my equilibrium are unaffected by a bulky helmet or hood, but my head is still relatively safe. Many people over-think this just the way many of you did. As archers in the service of the army of Starkhaven, you will not make this sort of mistake. Am I understood?"

The recruits raised their bows and shouted "Yes, Your Highness" in unison. Their instructor, and their ruler, Prince Sebastian Vael, nodded, gestured for them to stand back at attention and called for another instructor to continue their training.

Days like this brought a measure of satisfaction to the man who refused, in spite of his right, to be called King. It had only been a few years ago that he had returned, in anger, to the city of his birth. It had been abrupt, so abrupt that the stewards who managed it for him had no actual advanced knowledge of his homecoming, but Sebastian's mark was made quickly. A city-state wracked with turmoil after the assassination of its royal family seemed in awe of the survivor, the prodigal son with sharp arrows, a decent bow, and little patience.

Every evening, when he returned to the palace, he checked for messages. Somebody could bring them to him later, but he was impatient. Conflicts were raging all around Thedas, allies were distracted by their own defensive needs, and he still had a few spies out, searching for that one, elusive mage. Three had already returned from Ferelden, and another who had scoured Kirkwall, wondering if the one called Anders had never actually left. And no reports even came from the agent who was sent to the mage's namesake, the Anderfels.

The hunt for Anders was, Sebastian had grudgingly begun to admit, a side-project. The duties that came with ruling Starkhaven severely outweighed a personal vendetta, however righteous it was. He had a city to rule, and its safety outweighed his desire to avenge the Kirkwall Chantry.

Today, once again, there was no word about the mage's location. It was no longer a disappointment, merely a routine. There was, however, another letter with a seal that interested him greatly. Sebastian took it from a servant, ordered for his dinner to be brought to him in his library, and hurried off to read the letter. The red wax sealing it bore the seal of the Divine herself. When he had settled in for the evening, he cleared his library of the usual royal hangers-on, and opened the envelope.

To His Highness, Sebastian Vael, Lord of Starkhaven,

Forgive me if this seems abrupt. Our interactions have been brief in the past, but I believe you can assist me.

My name is Cassandra Pentaghast. I am a Seeker of the Chantry, and Right Hand of the Divine. I am currently tasked with aiding the Inquisition in settling several conflicts in Orlais, and most importantly, in investigating and sealing the Breach that has opened between Thedas and the Fade. Before this, I was tasked with researching a matter you would be quite familiar with. I was sent to Kirkwall to interrogate the dwarves merchant Varric Tethras regarding the activities of Garrett Hawke. I learned of your own connection to the Champion of Kirkwall during this time. I am also quite aware that you were once a devoted Brother of the Chantry, and that you abandoned the Champion after another of his companions destroyed the Chantry of Kirkwall and murdered Elthina, the Grand Cleric.

The reference to the woman who had been like a second mother to Sebastian gave him pause. He sighed deeply, took a sip of tea, and went back to the letter.

During my investigation into the Breach, I once again encountered Varric Tethras. He has gained a bit of an adventurous streak, it seems, and for a time joined the company conducting the investigation. Not long ago, a letter, the contents of which he refused to share, prompted Varric to leave us and return to Kirkwall. I do not know what he plans to do there, but I do not believe he simply tired of adventure. I have suspected for some time that Varric has held back information about the whereabouts of the Champion from us. And I now suspect that his business in the city may involve the Champion, or something of equal interest to us. I cannot break away from my work in Orlais, and the Chantry has precious few resources to devote to this matter now, so I ask you, as a pious man, to help us once more. You were once a friend to Varric, and to Garrett Hawke. Go to Kirkwall, find the dwarf, and find out what made him return. I pray that it is not as dire as what he left behind, but I do not think he would have left us so abruptly if it was not.

Sincerely,

Cassandra Pentaghast

Seeker of the Chantry and Right Hand of the Divine

The thought of returning to Kirkwall flooded Sebastian with emotions. He had once angrily promised to return with an army that he did not yet have. Now, he had his army, but those who had raised his ire were gone. He had hoped not to involve Starkhaven with the conflicts in the southern lands, but reality was reality. The Breach could eventually affect Starkhaven if left unchecked, and after so many years dedicated to the Chantry, it was hard to turn down a direct call from one of its most powerful figures. And if it meant a lead in the hunt for the mage who had slaughtered Elthina, how could he say no? He folded up the letter, walked to the largest window in his library, and looked outside.

"I'll need to think," he muttered to nobody but himself. "Need to plan. If the Maker needs me, so be it."