Cassandra comes up to him, her armor padded with grey and white fur. "I apologize, Herald, that I couldn't provide you with appropriate furs for this climate."

Carver shakes his head. "This cold is unusual, nobody could have known that we need such warm clothes. As far as I know, at this time of the year, this area is usually nice and pleasant if a bit rainy."

Varric joins them on the trampled path, just wide enough for the mule and the cart, that leads them in a curve around a mountain ridge. They left most of their templar squad at the Crossroads to protect the refugee camp and only took six of them out here into the country. Two of them are archers and are currently hunting and shooting rams to provide food for the refugee camp.

The list of things that Carver has agreed to do for the refugees has gotten so long, he had to borrow Varric's ink and paper to write it all down. On top of that list is food, preferably ram's meat because it can be smoked and made to last longer. The second point is blankets and coats. It makes Carver deeply uncomfortable to search abandoned farm houses for these things but they need them and they can hardly go into a store and buy them, out here in the country. If they even had the money.

"Varric, I never thought I'd see the day where you cover up that chest hair," Carver says with a grin.

"It pains me, Junior, it really does. Depriving Cassandra of that lovely view seems to be too cruel for words."

Cassandra groans bitterly, a noise that has become quite familiar by now. Especially Varric draws her disapproval quite often and it only seems to encourage him.

"Herald, I think we have enough rams for now, the cart might get too heavy," Cassandra says, pointing at the pile of animals on the rather rickety cart.

"Yes, I agree." Carver looks along the path. "I think there's a farm over there. Let's check there for resources and then we'll send the cart back. And then... we have to find this horse master."

Varric sighs and looks up to Carver with a pained smile. "You know, as much as I hate walking in all this annoying nature, have you ever seen a dwarf on a horse?"

"No, but I'm looking forward to it," Carver says, fighting not to show a grin on his face.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, make fun of the dwarf, why don't you?"

Someone snorts with a giggle behind them and as Carver and Varric turn around, they catch Cassandra, deep red in the face, unsuccessfully suppressing a giggle with her hand to her mouth.

"You too, Seeker?" Varric calls out, clutching his chest. His hand sinks into the heavy scarf which makes it look less dramatic but it's still enough to send the Seeker into an embarrassed stutter.

"I apologize, I did not mean to..."

Carver interrupts her. "Don't apologize, he's just messing with you."

Cassandra harrumphs, muttering something like "I should have known," and turns on the spot to get away from them.

"Darn, I shouldn't have done that," Varric says and shakes his head. "I think she was just starting to like me."

Carver grins at him. "That may be too much to hope for, but who can say?"

"You mean my famous charms are no sure path to the Seeker's heart?"

"You're the expert here, aren't you?" Carver flexes his hands. "I'm sticking to demons and glowing hands, rather than giving you advice in how to charm the Seeker."

Carver walks up to the farm house, looking for signs of occupation. The garden seems to have been neglected weeks ago, dry leaves crinkling as he walks through to the front door. He knocks, out of general politeness, not because he expects anyone to answer. The door opens easily and Carver quickly searches through chests for clothing and wraps everything in the blankets on the bed.

"There's a letter here," Varric says quietly.

Carver stops packing. "Does it say that they will be back?"

Varric shakes his head. "The guy calls himself Hyndel and he writes to his father:

I'm going into the mountains to join the people up there. They're making sense right now, when the rest of the world is not. We can't tend the fields since Master Dennet and his wife sent us all away for safety, and I can't just stay here and watch the refugees starve outside our home.
You and Mother should come, Father. You'll be safe up there. The mages have no quarrel with the people in the mountains, and even the templars don't harass them. Nowhere else outside of Redcliffe is safe from this Maker-cursed war or the demons pouring out of the sky.

And then some angry remarks how they won't give up their land and will end up as burned corpses."

"Morbid," Carver says and continues piling clothes onto the blankets. "I wonder who that is, the people in the mountains?"

"Damned if I know, could be dwarfs?" Varric shudders. "Not that I understand that mountain obsession myself but it's a thing for a lot of dwarfs."

They leave the small house and Carver adds the pile of blankets and clothes to the cart and sends it on its way. With the soldiers gone to protect cart, they are now down to one archer and two warriors, in addition to Solas, Cassandra and Varric.

Cassandra studies the map Scout Harding has given them. It's not very detailed and she had asked them to add landmarks and pathways to it as they discover them. "I think, if we follow this mountain ridge, we should find a good place to establish a camp there by the river." Cassandra points to a squiggly line that someone seems to have added to the map with an uncertain hand. "The Redcliffe farms should be close by that river."

Carver agrees and jumps back down towards the path they had been walking on, finding his footing, when something makes him stop. The back of his neck prickles, the hairs standing up. He doesn't need to look at his Herald-hand to know that the mark has started to hiss and glow again.

Solas appears at his side, his magic drawing a blue pattern on the ground with every step. "There's a rift close by."

"I can feel it too." Carver holds his hand up, the green light breaking out of the cut in his palm like a tiny explosion. "What do you think we can expect? Another giant Pride Demon like with the big one?"

Solas draws a shape in the air and a tiny light floats away like a moth. He closes his eyes, a frown on his forehead as he concentrates. "They are waiting. Demons and wraiths, drawing power from the rift, from the Fade into our world." Solas lets his hand sink and his frown evens out. "I would assume that the power is not enough to support a Pride Demon. But you're right to be careful."

"What if we come across a rift where the demons are too strong for me and the mark?" Carver watches Solas closely. His reactions are always so very controlled and he wonders if the mage hides more than he lets on.

"The mark..." Solas looks up to Carver. "It's not killing you anymore but it is changing. I can feel its magic adapt, gathering strength and finesse from you. It is adapting to you as much as you are adapting to it."

"You mean it could get stronger?"

"More capable, I might call it. As your focus improves, your abilities will increase. The mark," he takes his Herald-hand in his and strokes his finger over the glowing cut, gentle like a lovers caress, "it grows stronger with you."

Carver has the distinct feeling that Solas is not saying everything he could say. But before he can pry any further, the rift changes and the ominous drone draws everyone's attention to it.

Demons rise from the ground and Cassandra draws her sword and runs to it, followed by the three Inquisition soldiers.

"No, no, wait!" Carver calls after them but it's too late. Cassandra and the soldiers are already attacking the first demons, only the archer staying a few paces back. Carver directs Varric to a high rise with a quick gesture and feels more than sees that Solas has already placed a ward glyph on the ground and stays to attack from the back.

Cassandra is decimating a demon quite efficiently but the young soldiers are trapped between two demons and getting hit with green magic bolts from wraiths. Carver runs towards them, cutting the first demon from head to slithering base and shoves the inexperienced soldier out of the way to attack the other. Solas' electric flashes keep the wraiths at bay but as he strikes the demon down, three others rise from the ground next to him.

"Herald!" Cassandra cries out and rushes to his side.

The energy of the rift is crawling cold up his neck and he raises his shield as he hacks at the demon in front of him, to let the mark work on the rift. But Cassandra pushes him and as he stumbles, he loses the connection of light to the rift.

"What in the...?" Carver yells as he turns to her, only to realize that she saved him from getting swallowed by a fiery demon.

"Herald, the rift!" Solas yells from behind, his face tight in concentration.

Carver jumps away from the fight, focusses on the rift and throws whatever his Herald-hand gives him against the rift. It screeches, disformations rippling over the crystalline shape and with a snapping sound it turns into green fog. In the same moment, the demons shrink, their movements halted and the wraiths disappear.

Solas comes closer, wards stretching out around his feet, making the demons hiss and shriek when they touch them. "They are weakened now but it won't last long."

"Spread out!" Carver orders as he hits the demon hovering next to him. "We hinder each other like this."

"But we have to protect you." Cassandra stares at him, furiously plunging her sword into a demon until it goes down.

"I can't close the rift if you all trap me."

"But you are — "

"Hey!" Varric cocks his crossbow. "It's changing again."

Solas moves back, readying ice-blue magic in his hand.

The ground breaks up in several places, green fog rushing out of it. "Spread out," Carver orders again, "watch those things."

Cassandra looks like she wants to disagree again but Varric interrupts her. "I'll protect him, Seeker."

The loud hum drones in their ears and the rift turns into a crystal again. This time, the fight works better, his companions keeping the demons busy so that Carver can get close to the rift and focus the golden lightning from his hand on it. Varric's bolts whirr past his head and hit a demon that tries to break his concentration. With a final pull, the crystal flies apart and the rift closes.

Carver takes his helmet off and wipes sweat from his forehead. His whole arm is aching, even though the mark has shrunk back down to a green glowing cut.

Cassandra comes up to him. "Are you alright?"

Carver glares at her. "Yes, Andraste's arse, what were you thinking?"

Cassandra recoils, snarling at him. "You are the Herald and our only chance to close the rift. I will not risk— "

"Alright!" Carver scrapes together all the calm he has stored away somewhere in the back of his mind. "I apologize for snapping at you. But you have to agree that this was a bad fight, we weren't efficient, we weren't coordinated and by the void! We were lucky that we didn't lose anybody." He looks around at the sudden silence. "We didn't, did we?"

Everyone looks around, counting the others and checking their own limbs for functionality by shaking them. It looks like a marionette player had to sneeze.

"Jem here got a bit of a burn," the archer says. The soldier in question glares at her and shakes his head.

"It's not to worry, just a bit of demon acid." He holds out his arm and Cassandra grabs elfroot salve from her pack. The acid has crawled into the gap of his arm guards and Carver makes him take it all off to wash the acid out.

A small spring nearby seems a good place as any to rest, fill up the waterskins and clean everyone's armor from demon residue. The water is fresh and clean and a few sweet berries nearby are a welcome snack.

Carver sits down next to Cassandra and waves Varric and Solas over to them. "We need a strategy."

"I agree," Cassandra says, "and I apologize for running into the fray like that. I must admit, it has been a while that I had to coordinate my fighting with anybody else."

"You and me, we're used to run out in front as vanguards," Carver says.

"The rift forces us into a circular battlefield," Solas says. "Demons and wraiths can shift, disappear and appear elsewhere."

"A frontal approach makes no sense," Cassandra says. "And it's too dangerous for the Herald."

"I'm right here, you know?" Carver says, popping another berry into his mouth.

Cassandra draws a circle in the dirt with a stick and scratches a crude star in the center. "First and foremost, the Herald has to get to the rift."

"I agree," Solas says with a strange air of authority around him. "Whenever Carver focuses the mark on the rift, it weakens the creatures from the Fade."

Varric nods. "That's an advantage we shouldn't lose sight of. We're ass deep in demons as it is, who knows what else can come through these rifts."

Cassandra draws three dots around the circle in the dirt. "We have two archers and one mage, they attack the creatures from the outside. The Herald and one or two protectors move towards the center until the mark can interact with the rift."

"Two protectors at least, three if possible." Carver waves the three young soldiers over and explains what the drawing means.

The archer nods as she sees her position and the other two look at Carver, waiting for their orders.

"What are you trained as?" Carver asks them. "And tell me your names."

"Name's Lupas, I'm best with sword and shield," says the taller one, his wide shoulders telling of his training.

The other soldier is smaller, more lithe, and he pulls out two long daggers. "Jemmeny, I got some rogue training. But I'm good with a sword too."

"Alright." Carver looks at the drawing again and then at Cassandra. "If rifts are close by, I can sense them, Solas as well. That gives us time to prepare."

Cassandra inclines her head. "I will wait for your command, Herald."

Carver gives a curt nod and is relieved to see a rare smile on Cassandra's face. He turns to the map again. "Long range fighters take up position around the rift, the rest, we go in diamond formation towards the rift. Cassandra on my left, I can't protect myself on the left when I'm busy with the rift, Lupas on my right. Jemmeny behind us." He looks at the young man. "You're our eyes in the back, you speak up when shit comes your way."

"Yes, Sir."

Carver stands up and tightens the straps of his armor. "Suit up and let's find the farms and Master Dennet. I want a damn horse."

*~~~(())~~~*

Of course, it couldn't possibly be easy for once. They find the cluster of farmhouses soon after leaving the spring but Master Dennet drives a hard bargain for the horses. He wants them to find positions for watchtowers to secure the area and his wife demands that they deal with a horde of wolves who keep attacking the farms.

At least they can use resources from the deserted houses to set up a camp by the river. Carver groans when he pulls off his boots and lies back. It's only supposed to be a short break and he's convinced that he can't sleep but the soft tingling of the water stream lulls him into a deep sleep.

"Herald, Ser."

"Whua?" Carver wakes with a start. Images are fleeing from his mind, nothing he quite recognizes but the feeling is familiar.

"Ser Herald, you said to wake you before midday."

"Thanks," he grumbles and stumbles over to the small fire.

Hunger gnaws in Carver's stomach, familiar hunger that cannot be stilled by the bread and cheese Varric hands to him. He tries to ignore it but it burns like acid, making it hard to think.

Varric looks at him with a frown. "What's the matter, Junior?"

"Hunger." Carver holds his hands on his stomach, trying to calm his innards and also to hide the tremor of his hands.

"You want more bread?"

"Not that kind of hunger."

Varric stares at him for a moment until understanding dawns on his face. "Oh, that hunger. Don't you have lyrium with you?"

"Yes, but..."

Varric sits down next to him and waits.

Carver breathes against the hunger and wills his hands to stop trembling. "I thought without the chantry supplying us with templar vials, it would be better to save up. And also — " he flexes his Herald-hand, watching the green light lick the edges of the cut. "We don't know how the mark interacts with the lyrium. What if it weakens it, what if the mark could be stronger?"

Varric nods, taking a few moments to answer. "Carver, those are all good thoughts but out here in the fields? Not a good place or point in time to test that. Once we're back in Haven, I'll send out a few letters to people I know, I'm sure we can get our hands on templar vials, bypassing the chantry."

"Thanks, Varric."

"Now, take your lyrium, we need you sharp for the next batch of demons." Varric looks around, his eyes following a raven flying past them. "When we're back in Haven, let's have a chat with Cassandra about how to best get you off the stuff, without the worst of the withdrawal."

Carver nods and feels around in his pocket for the reassuring shape of the vial. "You know about the withdrawal?"

Varric nods. "You ever heard of Samson when you were in the Gallows?"

"Knight-Commander Meredith kicked him out before I got there. I think he was helping a mage, smuggled out his letters."

"Hawke ran into him at some point, he was helping mages to find places to hide from templars. I saw him after the Deep Roads expedition, he was..." Varric gives him a look. "He was not in good shape. Forgot his own name sometimes, he was rambling, shouting at nothing, he... Junior, I wouldn't wish that on my enemy and definitely not on you."

Carver holds out the small vial. The liquid glows softly in blue and his hunger screams for it. He quickly opens it and drinks it down, letting it run down his throat like liquid ice. The world falls silent for a moment and then slams back into his mind, all his senses hyper aware, noise thrashing down on him, light eating his eyes. He gnashes his teeth until the sensations recede and the world goes back to normal.

Varric watches him, concerned. "Better now?"

Strength and confidence returning, Carver stands up and stretches his shoulders. "Much better. Let's find these wolves."

"As you say, Herald," Varric says and shoulders his crossbow. "Cassandra will be happy to see that you're feeling better. Maybe she'll even smile again."

Carver looks over his shoulder to Varric as he fastens his armor. "You want to make Cassandra smile?"

"I'm keeping a tally. You made her smile twice today, that gets you a special mention."

"In the book you're writing?"

"Where else?" Varric grins at him. "Someone has to write down the glorious adventures of Carver Hawke, Herald of Andraste. It will be grand and romantic."

"Romantic?"

"People want romance. If you didn't have your Daisy, Cassandra would be perfect for you but don't let her hear that."

Carver laughs out. "Never."

"Maybe our mighty Seeker could be interested in a charming dwarf..." Varric looks over to Cassandra on the other side of the camp, a soft smile on his face.

"Weren't you sweet on Bethany?" Carver asks as he comes back to Varric's side.

Varric looks up to him with a frown. "Your sister is like my sister. I love her and worry about her."

"Yeah, me too," Carver says softly. "I wonder where they are now, Merrill, Marian and Bethany."

"I got no new ravens," Varric says. "I just hope it isn't as cold where they are, Daisy has never quite gotten used to wearing shoes."

Carver shakes his head with a smile. "No, she hasn't. I brought her winter boots but she never liked wearing them, even when we had snow up to our knees."

They keep on reminiscing about Kirkwall as they climb up a mountain path with Solas and Cassandra. Varric tells him of jobs he did with Hawke that Carver has never heard about. Cassandra listens to the stories as well, occasionally asking for some detail.

Varric and Carver fall back a bit as they look for wolf tracks and Varric pulls Carver down by his shoulder to whisper, "Cassandra still asks me about my book."

"The one about the champion?"

"Yes, I think it's the reason why she tried to find Hawke for the Inquisition in the first place."

"Half of it is not even true."

"You read my book?" Varric calls out. "I'm touched."

"It was either that or some interpretation of the Chant of Light."

"Still, I'm glad my book won out."

Solas is the one who finds wolf tracks and leads them over the hillside to a small waterfall. After a short climb over slippery rocks, they come upon a clearing in front of a cave, where four wolves attack them right away. The wolves are relentless and it takes them a surprising long time to kill them.

"These wolves behave strangely," Solas says.

As they enter the cave, another pack of wolves attacks them, along with a demon that looks like a giant insect.

"That is a terror demon," Cassandra calls out.

"It explains why the wolves were going crazy," Varric shouts as he shoots the demon as fast as he can.

When the demon is finally down and the wolves as well, they are all exhausted. Cassandra leans against the stone with ancient carvings, drinking a potion. Solas kneels down next to a wolf, mumbling words in a foreign language as he gathers his strength. Carver feels fine but he knows that it's partially the fresh templar lyrium that lets him ignore his exhaustion.

As they follow the water back towards the farms, the hairs on Carver's neck stand up. "Hold! There's a rift."

"We only have one archer," Cassandra says, "and no second protector."

"We'll be fine," Carver says, confidence singing in his veins. He waits for Varric and Solas to find a higher position and then stomps through the shallow water towards the green glimmering rift. The rift hums at him, the mark on his Herald-hand sizzling, and he readies his sword.

The demons take notice of them, the giant terrors quickly trapping them as fiery demons slither towards them. Carver and Cassandra hack away at their gnarly limps but these demons are tough and and they have long range attacks. Lighting shoots from hunched over figures, blue and freezing and it slows them down. Despite their best efforts, Carver doesn't get any closer to the rift. He feels his strength drain from him and Cassandra cries out when one terror gets past her sword and hits her arm with a claw.

"We have to fall back!" Cassandra yells.

"We'll be fine," Carver repeats and plunges his sword into a demon that has slithered dangerously close.

"I could use some help here," Varric yells from the back. Another terror has appeared and closes in on Varric, whose bolts do little to slow the monster down.

Solas turns to aim his ice attacks at the terror approaching Varric, his face contorted in concentration. "I cannot hold out much longer."

"Herald!" Cassandra calls out. She's bleeding from a gash across her shoulder, dripping down the plate of her armor.

"We'll be — "

"No, Herald," Cassandra says, her eyes pleading with him. "That's the lyrium speaking."

The realization hits Carver like a brick. His confidence is grounded in the drug, not reality. That's what the templar vials do, they make one feel strong and invincible. He has seen templars fall before, blinded by their own overconfidence.

"Fall back! Run!" He turns and hacks a path for Cassandra and him.

As fast as they can, fighting off the terrors, they run towards Varric and Solas, protected by their long range attacks. Carver turns around as the noise gets quieter. The hum has shifted in tone and his mark has calmed to a soft green light. The demons stop following them, sticking close to the green fog of the rift.

"I think we're safe," Carver says and sits down on a boulder. Even with the strength of the lyrium singing in his body, he feels exhausted. Cassandra and Solas look even worse, sweat pearling on their foreheads. Varric unceremoniously falls down and heaves in air as he lies flat on his back.

"That was bad, I'm sorry, I thought..." Carver hides his face in his hands.

Cassandra comes over to him after long moments of silence and hands him a health potion. He takes it with a grateful nod, only now noticing the aches and pains all over his body.

The Seeker drinks her own potion and then sits down next to him. "I'm afraid we have a lot to discuss, Herald."

"Oh, I agree." Carver wipes the demon blood from his blade and sheathes it. "We need to get back to Haven."

*~~~(())~~~*