This is very self indulgent. I don't know if anybody else wants to hear about templar life for Carver and Cullen but that's what you're getting in the first bit. Second half features some game dialogue that I either took verbatim or changed for the dramatics. Gotta have dramatics, right?
The creature has a distorted face, a grin spreading over it like a vertical split, the smell of rot and damp wafting behind it like a cape of smoke. Carver hears the screams of soldiers, falling under the assault of darkspawn. More and more keep coming. The darkspawn horde floods out of the Kokari Wilds and they fight and fight and they die and die and nobody comes, the troops aren't coming, there is no help, there is no hope, the king has fallen, run Carver, you have to run —
The house is small. Always too small, not enough light in the kitchen but it is a home. And now they leave. Carver can't stop looking. Marian takes his arm and drags him on. Marian tells him to watch over Bethany. Marian tells him to watch over mother. Mother cries in his arm.
Mother cries. Marian is gone. Bethany is gone. The towering statues of the Gallows laugh at him when he steps through the gates, trying to save what little he has left of his family by swearing loyalty to the enemy.
A mage turns to him, the mark of the sun burning on her forehead, dead eyes looking at him. "Do you need assistance?" the tranquil asks. He wants to answer but his throat tightens. He looks at the tranquil again but it's Merrill and the sun burns on her forehead, blinding him and her eyes are dead and her voice is not her voice, her voice is many voices and they are all dead and without love and the smell of rot and damp wafts around her like a cape of smoke and she says, "Do you need me to die?"
"No!" he screams. Somebody holds him, strong, too strong and the voices scream and say his name, again and again.
"Carver, Carver it's alright, it was a nightmare, Carver!"
The nightmare dissolves. He is inside, in a building and Cullen is holding his arms to stop him from hitting him.
"Merrill." He lets his arms drop and Cullen lays him back down on a pillow.
"Who?"
"Nevermind." Carver stretches out on the cot and looks around. "Is this Haven? Why am I in the chantry?"
"You were hurt, you almost died." The candles flicker and make the dark shadows under Cullen's eyes even more pronounced. "A red templar got you with a sword of red lyrium and a piece of it got stuck in your... well, there," he says and points to Carver's stomach.
Carver lifts his shirt to examine the area of dull pain. His stomach looks like someone had cut him open and tried to stuff him with fruits like a pig for Landsmeet Feast. "That templar with the lyrium crystals growing out of him?"
"So Varric told us."
Carver looks around again. His cot is placed right at the altar, the small statue of Andraste looking down on him. In the flickering candle light, her face seems to move. "Why am I here? Don't we have a healer's tent?"
"The Herald of Andraste ill and fighting for his life," Varric says as he strolls over. "What do you think happened?"
"People wanted to pray for you at Andraste's statue and also at your side," Cullen says, rubbing his neck with a sigh. "All in all it was just easier to put you here so that people could do both at the same time."
Carver laughs and winces immediately. His lower body does not like it when he laughs. "How very practical."
There is a small table next to Cullen's chair, papers and books stacked in a precarious pile on top of it. "How long have you been here? How long was I out?"
"Four days." Cullen looks at the table. "Most of those are Josephine's."
"I better let her know that you're awake," Varric says and hurries to Josephine's office.
Carver tries to find a more comfortable position but as awareness comes back, the pain becomes more fierce as well. It burns from his stomach all the way up to his neck, where it joins a headache that has him clenching his jaw. "I don't even remember how I got into Haven."
"Dasan carried you on his Halla."
"Dasan?"
There is a faint blush spreading on Cullen's cheeks. "An elf, who happened upon us and offered his help. He also..." Cullen takes a deep breath before the next sentences tumble out of his mouth in a rush. "He saved your life. You were dying when you got here, no potion worked, he said he could help you. He's a mage, he saved you with bloodmagic, got the splinter of red lyrium out — I let him, I let him do bloodmagic on you to save your life. I'm sorry."
Carver has to hide a grin about the earnest worry of his friend. He doesn't know how much time Carver has spend with a bloodmage in Kirkwall and what kind of things she had shown him. "It's alright, better than being dead I'd say."
"There was no time for other options, you were dying."
"It's alright, Cullen, don't worry."
Before Cullen can lay on another layer of guilt, golden, blue, and red ruffles fly into his vision as Josephine comes running and hugs his head.
"Carver, thank the Maker, I was so worried!" She presses a kiss to his forehead and blushes deeply at her own outburst.
"Eh, alright? I'm sorry to have worried you," he stutters, a bit overwhelmed by the sudden display of affection.
A new voice chuckles. "I'm glad to see the Herald has woken up."
Carver looks past Josephine's ruffles upon the most beautiful man he has ever seen. He is a tall elf with long black hair, brown skin and the markings on his face seem to glitter golden in the candle light. The elf approaches his cot and kneels down to examine the wound on his stomach.
Cullen, who stares at the man with a faint smile that he probably isn't aware of, clears his throat. "Ahem, this is Dasan."
"My saviour, I heard," Carver says. "Thank you for doing everything you could to save my life." He holds out his hand and Dasan lays his elegant hand in his and nods. They both know what Carver says.
Josephine has gotten up and looks at Dasan with the same kind of smitten smile that Cullen wears on his face. When Carver grins at her, she hides a blush by turning away and picking up her papers from the small table. "I better get these into my office. When you feel well enough to get up," she says to Carver, "I would very much appreciate if we could go over a few letters and resulting developments." She smiles once more at Dasan and even Carver gets a bit of that smile directed at him. "I have new tea you might like."
"I will definitely come to your office for the tea alone," Carver says. He tries to sit up but gives up when another bolt of pain shoots through his body.
"Please rest, Herald," she says and hurries to her office with a smile.
Dasan holds his hand over Carver's stomach, a soft yellow glow emanating from his hand. Carver can feel the healing magic in the wound, gently encouraging fibres to knit themselves together. The pain changes to a dull throb, annoying but manageable.
"This looks very good." Dasan looks at Carver. "In a few days you will be healed and can travel again. But you should still rest to gather your strength."
With a nod towards him and a lingering look on Cullen, the elf excuses himself and walks out of the chantry. Cullen keeps watching after him until the doors fall close again. He probably doesn't realize what a dreamy smile he wears.
Carver grins to himself but spares his friend the easy mockery. "Has anything happened that I should know? Any new plans? Where's Cassandra?" He flexes his Herald hand. The green light glows softly in his palm and apart from the usual prickling sensation, it doesn't hurt much.
Cullen clears his throat and schools his features into a serious expression. "Cassandra prepares everyone for the arrival of the horses and the mages."
"The mages bring the horses? I don't think they know how to ride."
Cullen shrugs. "Maybe they can magic themselves into good riders."
"That's not how it works," Carvers says, scowling at him.
"Sorry, I'm a bit... worried." Cullen rubs his neck and stretches out his legs as best as he cna on the chair. "We don't have enough soldiers to escort a group of mages and a herd of horses separately, that's why they come together. When they arrive, we'll have a sudden influx of mages here in Haven, more than anyone here probably has ever seen before. Cassandra is doing what she can, educating people, but I'm worried. We're adding a lot of potential conflict to an already unstable situation."
"Cassandra is educating people?"
"Yes, she's holding classes daily. Mother Giselle and Leliana are helping her."
Carver stares at Cullen. "I never expected Cassandra, of all people, to support the mages in the Inquisition like that."
Cullen grins at him. "Do you know what the Right Hand of the Divine does?"
"Honestly? No idea."
"The Right Hand makes the Divine's vision reality. She doesn't need to agree with it but she will do everything necessary to make it happen." He smiles warmly at Carver. "She's now your Right Hand. Even if she doesn't agree with your ideas, she will make them reality to the best of her abilities."
"I'm beginning to like this."
"Don't get too optimistic," Cullen says with a frown. "People are not happy that more mages will settle here."
"We can't keep fighting among us. This needs to stop."
"I don't really know how," Cullen says. "You're asking for a lot and you're asking simple people to forget what they've believed their whole lives."
Carver sighs. "What the chantry taught them."
"Just two days ago, I had to intervene between mages and templars right in front of the chantry. Each accusing the other of either having killed the Divine or letting it happen. I'm sure Roderick still has his people here, spreading rumours. The people are scared and they easily believe things."
Carver lies back and pinches the bridge of his nose against a persistent headache. "Maybe this is all just a stupid idea. I should just keep pointing my hand at rifts and let the rest sort itself out on their own."
"No." Cullen looks at him with a frown. "You are changing things. I may not agree with everything you do but we need change." He stares at his hands, his fingernails dig into his palms. "I know I never was a good friend, I wasn't even good company. I was... orders, I liked orders. Did what I was told. I don't want to be that person anymore. Kirkwall has shown us where strict chantry law leads us."
"Took you long enough to realize that." He had been so angry and frustrated with Cullen back in Kirkwall. Everyday when he left the barracks, he feared that another mage had been turned tranquil and that one day, it would be Bethany, or someone else he knows. "How long would you have kept tolerating it all, if Meredith hadn't started her hot affair with the red lyrium idol?"
"I couldn't say. I was easy just to keep going. Being a templar was all I ever wanted to be. I wanted to protect people."
"But how..." Carver doesn't even know how to put into words how he watched Cullen turn away from the many horrors that happened every day in the Gallows. How the bile rose in his throat at his inability to change anything. "You must have known, you must have seen how other templars acted, Alrik and the likes, how could you close your eyes to that?"
Cullen stares at his hands as he is wringing and clenching them. "Kinloch Hold showed me the worst of what magic can do, it was... I still have those nightmares..., trapped by magic, demons taunting me. They looked like my friends, like a mage I was friends with and then they turned... I couldn't trust my mind, I didn't even believe the Warden was real. And then..." he stares out towards the door that Dasan has just passed through, "I wanted them all killed, all of them, all the mages. In my mind they were all bloodmages and I would never be safe with them alive."
"What happened then?" The Fifth Blight had not been kind to anybody and many spent months afterwards barely functioning.
"The Warden needed the mages to stop the Blight and Knight-Commander Greagoir and Grand-Enchanter Irving were sure that none of the mages would have chosen to become abominations if Uldred had not forced them. I — " he sighs, his fingernails digging into his palms. "I didn't believe them. But I thought if I kept watch over the mages in the tower, I could keep everyone safe."
"Wait, they assigned you to the tower after all that?"
"I just wanted to protect people. I was... I was horrible to the mages, suspicious, unforgiving. I think it even disturbed Greagoir and he eventually send me to Kirkwall. Maybe he thought I would get better there."
Carver groans. "He sent you from one nightmare right to the next one."
Cullen nods with a resigned sigh. "It must be different for you, you must have good memories related to magic."
"Annoying ones, for the most part," Carver says. "As a kid I was jealous how much time father spend with Bethany and then Bethany would just hang out with Marian all the time. Back then I didn't even know that she was teaching Hawke, I thought they were just not letting me in on their girl stuff." He grins as he thinks back to those days in Lothering. "But yes, compared to your memories, mine are probably better."
"Surprising that you became a templar."
"Bethany had been brought to the Circle and I wanted to watch over her. And it's not like I had many other options for a job," Carver says. "Still, Hawke was furious when she found out."
Cullen shudders, probably remembering then many disputes he had had with Hawke. "You were a good templar though, never had any trouble with the mages."
"The mages didn't have many opportunities to make trouble in the Gallows."
Cullen is silent after that, looking at the statue of Andraste. After a while he turns back to Carver. "Do you remember your first Harrowing?"
Carver lies back with a sigh. "Maker yes, what a nightmare that was. We had three that day. The first one chose tranquility, the second passed, but the third..."
"Demon?"
"Yes. And Karras made me kill her. Said it's part of becoming a templar, a badge of honor."
Cullen nods. "I'm sorry. It's terrible to do that." He slowly unclenches his hands. "I was surprised that you asked to replace Karras as Last-and-First-Hand after that. Didn't seem like a thing you'd enjoy. But your harrowings always went really well, you were good at that."
Carver grins at Cullen. "Because I told them."
"Told them what?"
"I told them what to expect. As Last-and-First-Hand I took the last prayer with them and then I told them what the Harrowing is."
"But that's..."
"Against chantry law?" Carver gives Cullen a challenging look. "Yes, and that law is fucking stupid. You give a mage a huge dose of lyrium and without even knowing what's happening, all their powers get amplified. Do you remember how that first lyrium felt? How it seemed to unlock this power inside of us?" He watches Cullen until he nods. "Now imagine that as a mage, who already has powers to start with, gets all that amplified and then thrown into some Fade fight. Some of them were barely grown, they never fought a day in their lives! They didn't know what to do. So I told them. I told them of the demons, of resisting, of negotiating with Spirits— "
"Negotiating with Spirits?" Cullen stares at him in horror.
Carver chuckles. "Yes, you can negotiate with them. Spirits love to chat, they're very curious. My sisters talked to them often. Some even tried to talk to me but Bethany had to relay, I couldn't hear them."
Understanding dawns on Cullen's face. "That's why they were all so calm, I thought it was just..."
"My winning personality?" Carver chuckles again. "Hardly. It was still terrifying, even with that knowledge, some of them still chose tranquility but at least I never had to kill another mage in their harrowing."
Cullen shakes his head. "I realize now that you've always been a rebel. Your grand plans for the Inquisition make a lot of sense now."
The headache gnaws at Carver's forehead again. "I wish it was just as easy as that last prayer. Just telling the truth was enough and that was so simple. Now, with this mess? Hundreds of years of the chantry telling everyone how mages are dangerous? I don't know how to get rid of that."
Leliana steps out of the shadows and Carver wonders how long she has been standing there, listening. "You need to embrace being the Herald of Andraste. People need to believe it."
"I can't say that, I'm not..." Carver tries to sit up and gives up once again. "It's not like Andraste has spoken to me. We all heard that it was the Divine who called out to me and I hardly remember even that."
Leliana comes closer and her face, halfway hidden by the scarf over her head, is lit up softly by the candle light. She casts her eyes down and bows her head to the small figurine of Andraste. "If the Maker couldn't even protect his most devoted servant, his most holy representative to us, what good is he? Has he abandoned us? Is our lady still watching over us, pleading for our well being to the Maker? Or has she too, turned from us? You speak for the prophet, what does she say?"
Carver's neck turns hot and he avoids Leliana's accusing gaze. "I don't know. She's not talking to me directly. I'm sorry you feel this way, I wish I could help but..."
"But you can help," Leliana says. "You are the Herald of Andraste, you can give people hope."
"But I don't know anything." Carver cards his fingers through his hair. It has gotten long, soon he will either have to cut it or tie it in a tail. "I don't know what Andraste thinks. You want me to lie."
"Is it a lie?" Leliana's eyes are like daggers from the shadow of her scarf. "How can you be sure that you're not part of the Maker's plan? Can you be certain that the Lady herself did not place you here on her command?"
"I... Well, I guess not. I don't remember anything, who knows what captivating conversations I had with the Lady."
"Do not jest," Leliana says with a harumph that could have made Cassandra proud.
Cullen puts his hand on Carver's shoulder and looks at him. "If you can give people hope, boost the morale of our soldiers, the Inquisition will be much more successful. And if your radical ideas for change come from a Herald that people believe in, how much more willing will they be to listen to you?"
"Shit." Carver turns his head to look at the statue of Andraste. "I feel like an imposter."
"You're humble," Leliana says. "That's a good trait to have. We cannot assume to know the Maker's will. We can only try to act in the best interest of his people. Andraste spoke for us, pleaded for us and I'm sure this war and the Breach are not what she wanted for us."
Carver nods. "I get that. But I can't just go around, yelling at people 'I'm the Herald, follow me!'. It's dishonest."
"I believe you have been sent by Andraste," Leliana says and it's the first time that Carver has heard her say that. "I believe that your survival and your hand are part of the Maker's plan to give us options. He will not save us if we are unworthy of Andraste's love and mercy. We must prove that we can end this war, that we are worthy of fixing the Breach."
"Maker's grace," Carver says quietly.
"Yes, Maker's Grace," Leliana says with a stern look. "The Maker is testing us and Andraste sent you to help us."
"I don't know if I can bring that over convincingly." Carver looks to Cullen, trying to read his face. But his former Commander looks at his hands, hiding his expression. Carver casts another glance at the statue of Andraste. The way the candle light plays on her face, she seems to smirk at him. "Void take you all," he mumbles to himself. "Fine, I'll try," he says loudly. "I don't really like it but I'll try to be more Herald like, to give people hope."
To his surprise, Cullen looks at him with genuine relief, a joyful smile on his face. It occurs to him that Cullen himself may be in need of guidance, of someone to believe in.
Carver lets his head fall back on the pillow. "I just hope this isn't going to be a terrible mistake."
Varric's voice comes from somewhere in the darkness of the chantry hall, "The sky is broken and demons are having parties outside our doors. I'd say it can hardly get any worse."
"Thanks, Varric, now I feel much better."
*~~~(())~~~*
The golden gates of Val Royeaux glitter in the sun. The road to the gates looks cleaner and smoother than any road Carver has ever seen in Kirkwall and even the poor housings here, outside of the city walls, look as clean as Hightown.
Carver grunts when he jumps off his horse; he hates riding on a good day and today is not one of those. He still feels the effects of his injury, every movement pulling at the scar on his stomach. After riding for ten days, crossing the Waking Sea in a storm that had Carver puke his guts out, and then another ride of two days up to the capital, he feels like a darkspawn has eaten and spit him out again.
"I assume they're expecting us?" He stretches his legs and flexes his Herald hand. He had tried to pull a glove over it, or at least a gauntlet but it felt like it wanted to melt into his skin. And maybe, if he is to be convincing in his new role as a religious figure, the stupid hand should be visible.
"I am certain, yes," Cassandra says. "This is the heart of Orlais, our capital. Even if the templars have left, this is still the seat of the chantry. The city still mourns the Divine."
"If templars have left, who defends the city then?"
"They still have guards. But you're right, the city may be more vulnerable now. That's probably why the gates are closed, I've never seen them closed before. I assume they have informants all the way from the port up to here. They know we're coming. I hope our own contact finds us though."
"Why didn't Leliana come with us? This is her home, isn't it? She should know many people here."
"Leliana has lived in Val Royeaux, yes, but not permanently. She originally joined the chantry in Lothering and traveled a lot."
Carver freezes in his steps, the light reflecting from the golden gates blinding him. "Lothering? The chantry in Lothering?"
"Yes, she mentioned that she met you and your sister when you were children," Cassandra says, without noticing that Carver stares at her back in shock. Somewhere behind him, Varric is snickering and Carver turns to shoot him a glare.
"I know her, I remember now." As a young boy, he's had such a crush on the lively redhead with the pretty braids and her wonderful singing voice. But today, he has a hard time seeing that oft smiling girl in the hardened spymaster, who hides her face under a scarf. "She told us stories in the chapel." No wonder Leliana has always acted so strangely around him. She thought he would remember her.
"Any awkward stories you can tell?" Varric asks.
"Eh, no. She is a great singer though." Carver wipes a few strands of hair away from his face. He'd rather not indulge in any embarrassing reminiscence with Varric, as entertaining as the dwarf might find it.
"Maybe not the time," Varric says with a thoughtful sigh. "Did you notice how people look at us? Over there, two women almost fell over each other to get away from us."
Solas, who has been mostly silent for the whole journey, steps closer to speak quietly to them. "The Inquisition seems to have gained a reputation outside of Ferelden. One wonders how we have been painted here."
"And by whom?" Varric says with a grim expression. "Depending on who tells a tale, stories can be very powerful."
Carver looks at the glittering gates, still closed as they approach. "Will they even open the gates?"
Solas lowers his head and gives Carver a distinctive look. "And if they open them for us — "
"They can also close them behind us and trap us in," Carver finishes his sentence.
As if someone has heard them, the gates open to an empty pathway of decorative mosaics. The sides are lined with high walls and alcoves, each with a statue in it and green vines falling lush over the top. At the end of the path, an arch perfectly frames the top of the chantry with its golden spire. Carver can imagine how promising this path must look to worshippers. The heart of the country, Cassandra has said, and the city truly presents itself as that.
Someone runs towards them and Carver and Cassandra both move their hands to the pommel of their swords, but the person comes to a skidding halt in front of them and falls to their knees. "My Lord Herald, Lady Seeker."
Cassandra looks critically at the woman and then relaxes. "You're one of Leliana's scouts. What information do you have for us?"
"The chantry mothers await you but... so do a great many templars."
Carver peers through the archway to catch a glimpse of the courtyard behind it. "But I thought the templars left?"
"They returned three days ago, to protect the people of Val Royeaux." The scout stares at him, her eyes falling to his hand. The green light is still calm but Carver can feel it waking.
"Protect them from who?" he asks.
"From the Inquisition."
"What nonsense is this?" Cassandra calls out.
"Reputation is everything," Varric says quietly and takes his crossbow from his back, letting it casually point to the ground.
Cassandra glares at him and turns back to the scout. "Who leads these templars?"
"Lord Seeker Lucius, my lady. They await you on the other side of the market."
With a sigh deep in her throat, Cassandra dismisses the scout and sends her back to Haven to report that they might be facing complications.
"I know Lord Seeker Lucius," Cassandra says as they walk towards the archway. "I cannot imagine him coming to the aid of the chantry, after all that's occurred. And protecting the people against the Inquisition? He may have a thing for grand gestures but this seems hardly fitting."
Carver cards through his hair again, something is itching on his scalp. He turns his focus inside, for a moment tuning out the bustle of the market place they enter. There is a jitter in the lyrium song in his veins. Not enough to hear it but something feels just a tiny bit off.
"Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me!" At the far side of the market, a small platform holds an assortment of chantry mothers and sisters and a templar. One older mother addresses the crowd with outstretched arms. The noise of the market dies down, except for the occasional whisper of 'is that the Herald of Andraste?' Carver hears as they move through the crowd towards the front.
"Together we still mourn the killing of our Most Holy, Divine Justinia. Her naive and beautiful heart silenced by treachery. You wonder what will become of her murderer. Wonder no more. Behold the so-called Herald of Andraste." She points straight at Carver. "Claiming to rise where our beloved fell."
With all eyes turned on him and Cassandra looking at him expectantly, Carver raises his voice. "The Breach threatens us all. I implore you: let us work together and deal with the real threat."
"It's true," Cassandra chimes in, "the Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it's too late."
The chantry mother pulls her face into a vicious sneer. "The Inquisition. Your heredic group of traitors to the chantry, bedazzled by that imposter of yours." She looks at Carver and holds out her arms again. "Tell me, are you really the Herald of Andraste? Do you dare soil her name with your presumptuousness?"
Carver opens his mouth but the claim to be the Herald is stuck in his throat. He cannot say it, it has never felt more like a lie. "I will not claim what I cannot prove. But I have been spared when all others died and my hand is the only one that can close the Breach. Whatever the Maker's plan was, there must be a reason why I'm here."
"Your lies will not impress us," the chantry mother cries out. She points to the side, where a large group of templars approach the platform. "The templars have returned to the Chantry. They will end your 'Inquisition' and the people will be safe once more."
The troop of templars steps on the platform but the leader walks past the mother as if he doesn't see her. The templar after him looks at the chantry mother and punches her in the face.
A gasp goes through the crowd as the mother falls. The templar, who had watched the mother before, tries to get to her but the leader holds him back. "Still yourself, she is beneath us," he says to the templar and Carver's blood runs cold.
"How dare you!" he yells to the leading Knight.
He looks down at Carver with disdain. "Her claim to authority is an insult. Much like your own."
He turns and marches on, ignoring Cassandra calling after him. "Lord Seeker Lucius, it's imperative that we speak — "
"You will not address me," Seeker Lucius says without looking at Cassandra.
"Charming fellow," Varric says quietly and steps up to Carver, his crossbow ready. "Anybody else feel like shit got real complicated just now?"
Carver's Herald hand flares up with angry green light and the lyrium in his body hums in a strange tone. He gives Varric a lopsided grin while he keeps an eye on the templars that outnumber them ten to one. "I definitely agree. But we're not dead yet, so we still got all the options."
Varric grins up to him. "There's the Hawke optimism I've been missing. Makes me feel right at home, Junior."
"I do what I can."
Varric looks up to him, suddenly serious. "I know, Carver. I know."
*~~~(())~~~*
