9:33 Dragon, Late Autumn

"When he first assumed the title, His Highness, Prince Thayvian Vael, came to me to ask about integrity. He asked me about how best to honor his oath as prince." Grand Cleric Francesca pulled out a thick book. "I read to him a passage from Divine Renata's sermons. I will read it to you now."

As the sounds of thick raindrops pelted the chantry's roof, Francesca cracked open the old tome and brought a pair of tiny spectacles up to just above her nose. The musky scent of wet wood saturated everything, even the walls of the building. Winter would arrive soon, and with that, Samantha thought, a long string of cold, dark nights where Beenie would be alone. If he lived.

"The weakness of mortal will is the great failing of all the Maker's children. We trade our honor as if it is the cheapest of currency. We do not understand what integrity is or what it is truly worth. From this ignorance, original sin was born."

The images that came to Samantha in the dreamland were confusing: an endless night in bed with Corbinian, and while the dream had stirred feelings of complete and absolute bliss, something on the edge of the dreamscape felt false. It was as if she had been looking through a mirror mounted on the inside of her eyelids, watching her life happen around her. And then suddenly, as if that endless night had abruptly ended, the image shifted to Corbinian thrusting his sword through the stomach of a stranger. There was giddy childish laughter. There was darkness. Everything else was too fuzzy to recall.

"At some time, each of us has thought, What does it matter if I keep hold of my integrity? I am but one mortal. I am powerless. How blind we all are! The virtue of a single slave destroyed the Tevinter Imperium. The dishonor of one man drove the Maker from our sight. I tell you truly, nothing but the integrity of our hearts will win the love of the Maker back to us. It is all the power we shall ever possess to change this world for good or ill."

And according to Keis, it was all a lie. A trick by a demon who shared in their pleasure, a thought that scratched at Samantha's skin with disgust. Anyone else and she might not have believed them straight away, but it was Keis. Keis who never lied, who never had to, who recounted her own experience to Samantha in private with a healer's tact; truths without adjectives.

Samantha had wanted so badly to remember, but came out of the experience with only fragments. Keis said that Corbinian had walked away with the demon. As confusing as that was, at least he was alive, Samantha thought. Or he had been. The question of whether he still lived haunted her, turning her heart into his ghost, bleeding his name with every beat.

Francesca closed the book, removing her tiny spectacles and placing them neatly on the podium. "Her grace, the Divine Renata, warned us that letting go of our integrity spoils Andraste's well, for she drinks from our hearts. We cannot fill our hearts with hatred, with selfishness, and with sin."

There were no exceptions to breaking the Oath of Starkhaven in the history of the city. Thousands of women and men had taken the Oath back during Andraste's Exalted Marches and the Second and Fourth Blights. Corbinian had been the first Havener to speak the words in more than two hundred years, and the first royal in five hundred years. Then, Starkhaven's own Nyrian Vael, the third cousin to the Prince of Starkhaven, and fourteenth in line of succession, took the Oath and vowed to defend Starkhaven should the Imperium prevail.

Of course, they didn't, and he died an old man.

"It was not so long ago that darkness blanketed our streets." The Grand Cleric referred to the night the Circle Tower was destroyed. "We all know how dark it can get before His light shines through. I told Prince Thayvian that we must never give into despair because when one is swallowed by shadows, out of that darkness, hope can light the way." She then gazed down at Goran.

Samantha knew, after learning the truth, that there was hope, but she couldn't look for it. Out in that field where she had woken up, she had been so certain Corbinian was alive and utterly heartbroken when they told her he was gone. Could she imagine he was alive again or would that only lead to bitter disappointment? So, instead, she kept her gaze fixed on the Grand Cleric, her ears tuned to the hard rain falling on the roof, and she imagined that it was going to wash away all that summer warmth, saturating everything with its relentless cold. And all through the coming winter, Samantha knew that it would be her heart that shook.

"Hope gives us the courage to move forward, to change our circumstances for the better, but changing the world isn't simply a matter of integrity." Francesca was still staring at Goran, almost like she was speaking to him alone. "It's about heart as well. These are gifts from the Maker, proof that we are worthy of His return. We strive to better ourselves and the world, to make it as we see fit, but it's not our world to make. It's His. Prince Thayvian worried about his oath to Starkhaven, but in honoring his oath to the Maker – that oath to which we are all bound – he honored every other oath he made."

Heart. Integrity. Words which, absent of action, had no meaning.

If Corbinian had let Samantha die to honor his Oath to Starkhaven, he would have violated his own integrity. His own heart. Samantha felt that no oath should demand that.

Goran stared up at the Grand Cleric, his face a bit too open in his expression as he drank in every word she said. He hadn't said anything to Samantha, but she knew that Goran had received counsel from Francesca about Corbinian. About how he should proceed as a brother, as a Vael, and as prince. She had counseled him as she had counseled in his uncle, Prince Thayvian.

Francesca laced her fingers together on the podium. "I've always thought that the Maker placed the Vaels here as Starkhaven's guardians. But they are also Starkhaven's children. We loved them as they loved us. We remember them, and honor their loss."

Vaels don't die. Our shadow hangs over everything. Even when we're not here.

The dream proved that Corbinian had survived the night of the Circle Tower's destruction. The armor plate from Ansburg could have come loose any time after that. But none of that proved that Corbinian was alive still. Probably originating in Ansburg, the rumors of his survival traveled the length of the Minanter, and Samantha had been worried about the reaction of Starkhaven's nobles. But, perhaps unsurprisingly, Haveners laughed them away, as if the rumors were supernatural tales circulated amongst peasants. Urban legends the effete could not afford to entertain lest their sophisticated reputations suffer.

Goran had given no response, either. But he was Prince, and princes didn't respond to rumors.

He had taken action, however. The citizens of Starkhaven didn't ask him directly, but Samantha heard the rumblings during the season's parties. The polite yet slightly accusatory comments about the strange new titles within the Royal Guard. About the organized and well-stocked teams that spent hours outside the city gates on training exercises. And about the distant places those well-trained teams were sent. To the Green Dales which were ruled by roving packs of wild children. To the haunted swamps ruled by witches and unnatural darkness. To the western desert wasteland peppered with dragon lizards, the only creatures capable of surviving in the dry heat.

Months went by with no word from these envoys, and as time that passed, the growing fear that they would never return bristled the citizenry. The teams were assembled from the City and Royal Guard, men and women who were children of commoners and peasants, who accused the prince of exploiting Starkhaven's resources to chase after his family's ghosts. They called his envoys Ghost Chasers. Even those nobles who had been too important to be bothered with the lower classes were suddenly riled by their unfortunate disappearance. Samantha assumed their disapproval was merely a popular topic of conversation, and not because they actually cared.

"We miss them," Francesca said earnestly. "We pray for the Maker to keep them at His side, and ask Andraste to watch over the ones we have left."

On these final words, Francesca bowed her head and the choir began to sing. Arielle was in the choir now, and someone had worked some kind of miracle cleaning her up. She looked almost normal.

Samantha glanced at Goran, who had his eyes closed, his lips moving to the words of the song.

Would Goran fail to live up to the seat's expectations, and what it would mean if the people rejected him outright; who would claim his seat? Sebastian? Samantha had thought about him often in the last few months, wondering how he would react to the news that Corbinian might be alive. Wondering if he would still return, whether or not he should, and hoping that they would never need to speak of it. Was his arrogance better than Goran's optimism? Samantha didn't know, but then again, she knew how pretentious everyone was. If Lord Garrity thought having a bastard King of Ferelden was bad, he certainly wouldn't accept an exiled prince. Surely, he wasn't the only one.

Samantha closed her eyes, but it wasn't the song that moved her. It was the golden armor plate that gleamed with tangible hope. She could feel its presence even though the finely crafted plate was back at the palace. She imagined it attached to his arm, his smile reflected in the metal, and thought surely, surely, he must still be out there.

She decided that as soon as she was back at the palace, she would rush to Goran's private study, lift the box of glass from the display, and cradle the warm metal in her hands. Warm from magic, but she would pretend that it was warm from Corbinian. Warmth transferred. Preserved.

She had written to Flora twice since it had arrived, but she couldn't tell Flora that she spent most of her time in Goran's study just to be near it. As though it were still attached to Corbinian's arm. As though any moment that she wasn't near it, Corbinian was alone. She couldn't tell Flora about the Margrave's letter or about her and Keis' dream. She couldn't say anything, because Goran had asked her not to. He wanted her to wait until he had proof.

So, instead of writing about all that consumed her thoughts, Samantha wrote about Goran. She recounted everything that he had done to protect her and Sebastian. How he had worked with the Chantry and the Templars to rebuild the Circle Tower. How he tried to save the Harimann family while maneuvering around Johane. Sebastian may have shot the arrow, but it was Goran who made that arrow's true flight possible. How he secretly dispatched the man named Flint and drove his mercenaries from Starkhaven. How he had managed to secure the throne of Starkhaven – she had only been vaguely aware of some power grabs, but the Starkhaven Council had always backed Goran. How he sent the nurse with the painting – which Flora never found. She told Flora about his kindness, his thoughtfulness, his obliviousness and the all the little things that they had missed over the years. Her friend had a hard time believing it, and Ruxton thought Samantha was making it up.

When the choir finished, both Goran and Samantha lifted themselves wearily from the pew, but just as they were walking through the aisles towards the exit, a man dressed in heavy armor with the Templar's sword etched into the chestpiece stepped in their way. Maybe in his late forties and disarmingly handsome, he was grinning at Samantha. Lines ran from his deep-set eyes like they couldn't get far enough away.

He was the Knight Commander of Starkhaven.

"Your Highness." He bowed deeply. He was, like many Orlesians, stiff in formality with a sensual voice. "A word?"

"Is something wrong?" Goran tugged at his collar; he only wore the long formal jacket of the prince to service and he was always anxious to remove it when they left.

"In a manner of speaking… No." The Knight Commander's accent made him sound friendly. "But perhaps we should speak away from the ears of the masses."

Goran looked behind him, and almost comically the nobles of Starkhaven burst into movement as though they had been moving all along. Samantha pressed her lips together to hide her smile.

"Perhaps we could walk together." The Knight Commander shifted his gaze back to Samantha and offered another warm smile. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure…?"

"This is Lady Samantha Mayweather." Goran introduced her.

"Ahh, yes." He leaned down to kiss her hand, keeping his rock-hard eyes on hers. "A pleasure to meet you, my lady. I have heard many good things about you, and might I add that blue is truly your color. It suits you completely."

She was wearing her favorite autumn coat, which was pale blue. Something in the way he spoke about it diminished her love for it. She smiled back too-sweetly and spoke to him through her teeth. "You should see me in yellow, messere."

"Please, call me Rayce." His smile faded as he stood back up, extending his elbow.

She hesitated for the briefest of moments before she took it – it would have been rude not to – because she didn't want to be close to this man. The way he stared at her was deliberating intimidating, but there was something else there, too. Samantha wasn't sure what it was, but it felt like a test of some kind.

Emerging into the wet world, two small boys appeared behind them with large umbrellas, opening them up and lifting them over their heads. The Knight Commander joined the trio under the shelter from the rain as they walked.

The Knight Commander surveyed the courtyard outside the chantry. "Usually, there are fewer people on the path after service on such a day as this."

"Usually the Knight Commander and the prince don't take walks together after service." Samantha forced the corners of her mouth up when he looked over.

"Touché," he said, offering what sounded like a genuine laugh, and the lines of his face grew deep with secrets.

Keis gave Samantha a funny look but Goran was trying to act normal, uncomfortably watching the people who were watching them when he said, "Let's go to the palace."

"An excellent suggestion." The Knight Commander agreed.

As she looked away; his intense gaze settled into her stomach heavily. This was the man who was still detaining the post, the man who was in charge of throwing Innley in that dungeon, the man whose eyes betrayed an insatiable hunger underneath that veneer of Orlesian charm. To top it off, he wanted her to address him informally as though they were friends. Samantha didn't care about the test anymore.

"The mages seem to be adjusting to their new accommodations," the Knight Commander said; this must have been his idea of small talk.

"Mm," Goran hummed; he didn't do well at small talk.

"Have the dungeons been used yet?" Samantha asked flatly, as though she were inquiring about the weather.

The Knight Commander just smiled roguishly. "Not yet, but I can arrange for a tour if you like. Perhaps you'd like to see the new set of chains that we had nailed to the walls last week."

Samantha was certain that her flush was giving away her hatred. In her periphery, she caught Keis' usually fear-inducing glare, but paid it no mind as she focused on the Knight Commander. "I hear iron vices work much better. You might reduce the amount of time necessary for detention if you increase the cruelty of your methods."

"A fine point." He seemed amused. "But what good is a mage who can't use her hands?"

"I wasn't aware mages were useful anymore," she purred in sarcasm. "My apologies."

"Ah, yes! But every tool has its purpose."

"Tools?" Goran rejoined the conversation. "Mages aren't tools, they're people."

The Knight Commander chuckled. "You hear that, Lady Samantha? High Royal Highness has declared that vessels for demons are people."

"Really, Goran." Samantha turned to the prince, but silently lamented his deaf-ear for sarcasm, knowing that he wouldn't comprehend her true meaning. "Next you're going to suggest that we send emissaries into the Fade to determine voting rights."

"What?" Goran looked perplexed as expected; this was why everyone thought he was so dim.

"We bear as much blame for their plight." The Knight Commander leaned down to speak softly into her ear. "But I think we've both given demons a voice too often, wouldn't you agree?"

He was speaking of Innley, amused rather than bothered by her attempts at pointing out the blatant cruelty of those who were sworn to protect! Infuriated, Samantha wanted to be rid of this man. There was cruelty in his voice, shameless in its vulgarity and simply having his hands on her, no matter that they were sheathed in gloves, felt dirty. She didn't say another word until they reached the palace when she was finally able to extricate herself from his grasp. Irritated that she had to spend time with Ser Rayce instead of time with Corbinian - his armor plate was an extension of him - Samantha silently fumed as she handed her now-least-favorite jacket to a servant. Goran shrugged off his coat as though he had no idea what was going on, and Keis looked upon Samantha disapprovingly. The Knight Commander just continued on with that small smile that threatened to ruin his fine Orlesian features.

A group of servants appeared with new shoes for Goran and Samantha to replace their wet ones, and as Samantha pulled off her gloves one finger at a time, she glared at The Knight Commander; up until that very moment, she had never felt the desire to physically injure someone.

Goran led them into the sitting room where Ser Rayce finally noticed Keis. "Is she going to stay?"

"Of course she is," Samantha insisted defiantly.

The Knight Commander crossed his arms, thoroughly amused. "You don't like me."

"I don't know you, ser." Samantha said stiffly, accepting a glass of wine from a servant's tray.

He waved away the servant, declining any spirits. "I dare say that if you did, you would change your mind."

"What's the news?" Goran asked the Knight Commander, seemingly wanting to steer the conversation away from things that confused him.

"Your Highness." The man bowed. "Thank you for inviting me in. I have news from Kirkwall."

Samantha's gaze snapped up to his again, and he glanced over towards her, apparently aware he'd caught her interest. She tried to pretend otherwise, but it was too late.

"I received a letter from Meredith Stannard, the Knight Commander of Kirkwall. She sent it by rider."

Goran set down his glass. "By rider? What was so urgent?"

"The Viscount of Kirkwall is dead."

The Prince of Starkhaven stood frozen for a moment, absorbing this information until he breathed out in shock. "Marlowe is dead?"

"It was the Qunari. They chopped off his head and tried to seize the city."

Samantha brought her hands to her mouth in shock, Corbinian's armor plate temporary forgotten, and she heard the clink of Keis' armor as the woman shifted behind her.

"Tried?" Keis asked.

"Yes." He nodded grimly. "Tried and failed. Stopped by Kirkwall's new Champion." His thick Orlesian accent made the word sound soft, but there was nothing soft about a Champion.

The naming of a Champion by a city was unique to the Free Marches, so given to any woman or man who distinguished themselves by deed. It was not always a mark of honor, either, as many Champions were feared more than they were loved. In the history of the Free Marches, there had only been two other Champions named: the Champions of Starkhaven and Tantervale. Starkhaven's champion had been distinguished during the age of the Fourth Blight, eventually participating in the Battle of Ayesleigh where the elven Grey Warden Garahel slew the Archdemon.

"Andraste's breath…" Goran whispered, finally blinking.

"Indeed." The Knight Commander shook his head, as though he didn't believe what he was about to say. "She says the Champion defeated the Qunari Arishok in single combat, rescued the city from the Qunari siege, and then convinced the rest of them to leave the city willingly, without much citizen blood spilled."

His words hung in the air like an unfinished sentence, and Samantha had a flash of Flora, hiding in her estate perhaps, trying to endure yet another tragedy while the pieces of her own broken home still lay strewn about the floor.

Everyone knew of the Qunari; they had been at war with Tevinter Imperium for three hundred years and had attempted to conquer every city in the Free Marches at least once. From everything Samantha had read, the Qunari were a warlike race. If their military leader, the Arishok, insisted that they kill everyone inside a city as demanded by their honor system, something they called the Qun, then it was miraculous that someone actually managed to get them to halt their tirade and leave by choice.

"How…?" Goran didn't seem to believe it either.

"I don't have the details, but from what Meredith says, this new Champion is a curious sort. Some Fereldan refugee that goes by the name of Hawke."

"Hawke?" Samantha blurted out the name in familiarity and three pairs of eyes turned to her.

Sebastian's letter came back to her: I asked for help from the Fereldan refugee that I hired to hunt down the Flint Mercenary Company, a colorful character named Hawke. For a fleeting moment, a jolt of panic named Sebastian shot up her throat, and there was no quenching the overwhelming thirst for news of his condition: had he participated in this battle, did he have a hand in the events leading up to the confrontation with the Arishok, and perhaps most importantly, was he safe? Certain that she had turned several shades of red, Samantha tried to still her racing thoughts, but the others had already seen her flush.

"You know this Hawke?" The Knight Commander crossed his arms again.

Samantha swallowed hard, shaking her head. "No." It wasn't a lie, necessarily.

"Really."

"It's… an interesting name."

"Indeed." He looked amused again before turning back to the prince. "Meredith has taken up a position as Regent until a viscount can be named. You'll want to write a letter to her, I assume."

"Right." Goran looked lost. "I guess I should do that."

Without being able to help it, Samantha's mind wandered away from the room and the intimidating Orlesian Knight Commander. Her mind drifted to her friends, Flora, Ruxton, and, of course, Sebastian. To what could have happened that prompted the Qunari to attempt a takeover. To known associates of Sebastian's that had defeated them. Sebastian. Flora.

There was movement and talking, but Samantha couldn't hear anything, consumed by her dread and taken out of her head only when the Knight Commander's callused fingers cradled hers. His accent hissed out sounds of farewell as he brought her knuckles to his lips. When she met his gaze again, she nearly startled at those hardened eyes, contradicted by his pleasant expression.

The world was changing yet again, and Samantha struggled to understand what the Maker's intentions for His children were. If, as Francesca had said earlier that day, that everyone was responsible for shaping His world, how could it be possible to not create one of chaos? Of so many lives changed in an instant at another's whim. How saving everyone is never possible when mad people take control. Of a world that was filled with so many who were so fanatical and how ineffective and temporary all attempts at justice really were.

Who was this absentee father, and what the point of pleasing him?