Haven welcomes them back with a guard of honour and a choir singing a hymn for the Herald. Mother Giselle directs the choir, smiling over her shoulder at Carver, whose blush rivals the red tint of his armor.

Merrill claps her hands excitedly. "Oh, that's so nice! They must have worked so hard at this song."

Carver takes a deep breath and waves at the choir, bowing his head in a thanks.

Varric chuckles next to him. "Would you have ever thought...?"

"No."

"I can't wait to tell your sister — "

"No!"

Varric laughs and lets himself fall back from the procession moving up Haven's stairs. His tent is near the main stairs and he probably has a lot of things to write down. Carver wonders if he should strike down any ravens starting from his tent.

Carver turns around before he goes up the stairs to watch the rest of the company come through the gates and up the stairs. A murmur goes through the crowd when the templars from Therinfal Redoubt come through and another murmur when the dalish from the Brecilian Forest follow them in.

The choir starts another hymn as they turn towards the tavern, on the way to the upper part of the village. Carver has a bag full of elfroot he wants to deliver to Adan but his progress gets stopped by piles of rubble and entire trees piled up at the outer wall.

The people of Haven are gathering around their Herald, trying to talk to him, to touch him. He hears several complaints about the lack of room, the lack of food, the unbearable noise of the constructions.

"What noise?" Carver asks the next person who complains. He recognizes her as Flissa, the woman who runs the tavern.

"Them builders." She points at a gap in the outer palisades, amidst the piles of rubble and logs.

Cassandra comes to his side. "It's the new outer wall, Herald, to expand the refugee camp. As you said, the Blades know how to build walls."

"They arrived ten days ago," Flissa says. "Have been chopping trees and ramming them in the ground from day one and it's so loud. Good drinkers though."

Carver looks at Cassandra. "That was a good idea, Cassandra."

"It was your suggestion, Herald."

"No, I never ordered — "

"But you mentioned it."

"That's not the same, Cassandra." Carver sighs. "I'm not taking credit for this, you did this."

Cassandra inclines her head. "The people want to believe in their Herald and in all the good things he does. Let them."

"You just don't want them complaining to you about the noise."

Cassandra hides a snicker behind her hand and excuses herself with a nod. Carver looks back to the dalish, who have drawn a very interested crowd. Ser Barris' templars are mingling with the Inquisition soldiers, Cullen and Barris stand off to the side in deep conversation. The dalish stand close to each other, eyeing the humans suspiciously. Carver sees hands twitching on bows and knife hilts.

Merrill takes his hand and pulls him forward. "We should show the dalish around," she says, ever observant of rising tensions.

As they make their way through the crowd, Enchanter Fiona walks up to the dalish with a group of mages. Fiona speaks to Keeper Telana and the Lavellan elf but the conversation seems very formal. When Carver and Merrill have finally made their way over, the elves have stopped talking and are watching the templars.

Carver turns to Telana, wondering about the scowl. "Anything I can help you with?"

"We're looking for a place to set up our camp," Keeper Telana says. "But we're not interested to be a spectacle to be ogled at."

Fiona blushes and bows her head. "I'm sorry, it was never my intention to suggest that you'd be treated like that."

Carver moves a bit closer to Merrill, taking up the space between the two scowling women. "What seems to be the problem?"

Telana's face is like a hard mask when she speaks. "We're not here to be inspirational for the elves of the cities. We have a responsibility that comes from the Inquisition of old, not for... them."

Carver casts a glance to Merrill, hoping that she can explain to him what the problem is but she just frowns. He turns back to Telana. "The Inquisition is glad to have you but as you see, our space is limited here. I'm sure we'll find a place for your camp but you won't be by yourself. I told you before, we're all working together in this Inquisition, even dalish and city-elves, as well as mages and non-mages." He holds his breath as he waits for her reaction.

After a long look around, Telana nods. "We'll follow Enchanter Fiona's suggestion then." The elves drag and carry their aravels up towards the chantry and find spots to stay between the huts in front of it. There's hardly any room between the huts and the tents and people look annoyed at having to share what little space there is. The atmosphere is tense and reminds Carver of guard duty in the Gallows.

Merrill slips her hand into his and squeezes his fingers once.

He leans down to her. "What was that about?" he mumbles close to her ear.

Merrill sighs before she whispers back. "The city-elves think highly of the dalish, like their mystical, legendary, maybe even their saviours. But the dalish see the city-elves as traitors. They want nothing to do with them." Merrill shakes her head. "She almost called them flat-ears."

"That's not good. And now we're forcing them to practically sit on top of each other." He glances at Merrill. "This will be a problem, won't it?"

Merrill nods. "Yes, another one. They're all angry and tired and hungry. And they're all suspicious and don't trust each other."

"Yeah, none of them do." He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. "It never stops, does it?"

"I'm sorry, vhenan."

Carver holds her hand tighter, grabs a crate, and walks over to the front of the chantry to put the crate down. Making sure that Merrill is at his side, he steps on top of it. "Hey!" he yells for lack of a better way of addressing the people. "Hey, listen up!"

"The Herald," people whisper. "The Herald wants to speak."

Carver waits for the noises of hundreds of people going down to a murmur. "Alright, listen. I know it's crowded, and you all don't know each other and it makes everyone nervous. I understand that. We're all tired and now we can't even get to our sleeping mats without stepping over four other people."

Affirmative murmurs rise from the crowd that has gathered in front of the chantry.

"As you can see," Carver points to the back of the palisades, "the Blades of Hessarian are already working on a new outer wall to expand the protected area of Haven."

The murmurs turn into approving noises.

"You can thank Seeker Cassandra for that excellent idea," Carver says and grins over to Cassandra. "But!" he calls out louder to speak over the rising noises. "More refugees come to Haven every day and we'll have to live very close to each other."

People in the crowd look around, some sneering at the elf or human standing next to them. Words are growled, still quietly, but if he can't think of anything convincing to say soon, this gathering could end in a brawl.

Near the requisitions officer's table, the hulking figure of the Iron Bull stands up, casually looking over the crowd. "But we're the Inquisition, right, boss?" he says, his voice carrying all the way to the back.

Carver lets out a breath. "Yes, we are." He makes his voice louder. "We're the Inquisition!"

The crowd falls silent, everyone watching him. Carver takes another deep breath. This is the one chance they have to keep the peace and actually make a difference.

"We all work together, to close the Breach and save Thedas. No matter if we're human or elven, dalish or city-elves, dwarves or qunari. No matter if we're mages or templars or farmers or potters or milkmaids. We all work together. None of us could do this without the others." He looks at the faces turned to him, some of them scowling, some nodding and smiling. "We won't all get to be best friends but we all have to accept and respect each other. We're taking care of each other here in the Inquisition."

The silence stretches for a moment, until the Chargers cheer loudly and then the crowd joins in, clapping, whistling and yelling. Carver steps down from the box and pulls Merrill into his arms, kissing her for all to see.

He lets go of her lips, smiling at her and then turns back to the crowd, his arm wrapped tightly around Merrill's back. "We've brought new people with us today and I ask you to welcome them and help them get settled. And," he looks at Merrill again, "if anybody has a problem with all this," he looks back to the group of people who scowled at him, "then I guess it's time for you to move elsewhere."

He raises his hand for a wave and only realizes when he hears the people gasp, that he raised his Herald-hand up. The mark glows in bright green, soft tendrils of light drifting upwards. The crowd falls completely silent, staring at his hand.

Behind him, someone starts singing, and the choir sings the welcoming hymn for the Herald again, but this time the people join in. Carver lowers his hand but the song continues, filling the whole village. He takes Merrill's hand and pulls away from the crowd, into the shadows on the side of the chantry building. He leans against the solidness of the wall and breathes in deeply.

"That was very good, vhenan," Merrill says.

Carver sinks down to the ground, his knees suddenly not holding his weight anymore. "Was it? They just need to keep the peace a little longer."

"I know." Merrill sits down next to him and takes his Herald-hand in hers. The green light from the mark dances towards her fingers. The light is calm and with her touch the dull throbbing of pain, that he doesn't even notice anymore, goes away.

The lyrium hunger gnaws in the back of his mind. Soon he will have to take another templar dose and that doesn't lighten his mood at all. "Damn it all. I think... remember what you said about getting the lyrium out of me? I think we should do that before I go against the Breach."

Merrill strokes over the mark. "But you won't be able to use your templar magic then."

"I don't need it, I just need the mark. And the mark has to be strong and it's stronger and calmer when I don't have that stuff in me."

"There could be demons, like with the other rifts."

"I can still hold a sword. And I'm not alone." He takes her hand and presses a kiss on her knuckles. "If I need all possible power for the Breach, then I can't take lyrium but if I just stop and go into withdrawals, I'll be too sick to even get to the Breach."

Merrill nods. "We need to hide you somewhere, I want to put you to sleep through the worst of it."

"Cassandra will be furious but she has to know that I'll be out for what? Two days?"

"Yes." Merrill stands up and stares into the distance. "I need some herbs for a sleeping drought."

Carver pushes himself off the ground too to stand next to her. "You're not just going to put a spell on me?"

"For sleeping?" Merrill shakes her head. "Sleeping spells are actually quite difficult to get right, if the spells goes too deep, you won't wake up again and with the lyrium and your body fighting against the withdrawal, a potion will be much safer."

"Adan should have what you need, he's our apothecary, I'll introduce you to him."

"Do you have a house here?" Merrill asks.

"Yes, I... well, at least I did last time I was here, I'm honestly not sure if it's mine."

Someone clears their throat near them and Leliana comes around the corner. "Forgive me, Herald," she says.

"For what?"

Leliana inclines her head, her purple hood keeping half her face in shadow. "For listening. I assume Merrill will be using bloodmagic to cleanse your blood of the templar lyrium."

Merrill looks directly at her. "Yes. It's the safest method and no demons will corrupt him or me, no matter what the chantry has taught you."

Leliana is silent for a long time. Her hands are perfectly still at her sides, and her mouth is pulled into a cold smile. Her control is expected from a trained bard. Only a frown, half hidden by her hood, betrays a hint of her turmoil. "I can't say that I approve. But I also see no alternative." She looks up. "I will inform Cassandra and Cullen. You should probably use one of the back rooms in the chantry."

"Yes," Carver says, "I wanted to talk to Mother Giselle about that anyway. We should use all of that old stone heap for shelter and several people can sleep in the hut I had."

Leliana looks like she wants to protest at calling the chantry an old stone heap but she swallows it down and disappears as silently as she appeared.

"No wonder she's the spymaster," Merrill says.

"Yes, she knows everything." Carver takes Merrill's hand again and they walk back to the front of the chantry. They find Mother Giselle handing out rations of bread to some of the new refugees.

"Herald, I was impressed by your speech," Mother Giselle says softly.

"Uhm, yes, had to be done..." Carver stammers. "You might not be all that impressed by my next idea though."

Mother Giselle stands up and raises her eyebrows. "Oh?"

Carver points to the chantry building. "I want us to use all that room, I want the injured, parents with very young children and elderly people sheltered in the chantry."

"But where?"

"Everywhere. Cover the floor, the benches."

Mother Giselle gasps and it's the first time that Carver has seen her truly flustered. "But it's the chantry!"

"And Andraste was a warrior, I'm sure she'll understand," Carver blurts out.

Mother Giselle's raised eyebrow rivals Cassandra's on her best days. "I don't remember you as being an expert on Andraste and her will."

"Alright, yes, I'm not," Carver says. "But can you really let parents, weak from travel, with little babies, freeze out here when we could at least shelter them from the wind?"

"I see your point." Mother Giselle says and bows her head. "I will see to it being done as you said."

"I also need one small room in the back for my own use for a few days, with a bed or a cot."

"Dare I ask?"

Carver just shakes his head. Mother Giselle looks from him to Merrill and whatever she thinks he needs the room for, it brings a frown to her face. "Let me show you a room."

They pass the kitchen on the way and Carver's mouth waters when he smells the soup and bread in the making. They pass several storage rooms until Mother Giselle opens a room for them that looks like a cell. It's sparsely furnished with a bed, a chest of drawers with a bowl of water on top and a simple chair. A small statuette of Andraste stands on a shelf under a barred window.

"This room is used if a chantry sister goes into a phase of silence, to contemplate her connection to the Maker in solitude." She looks from Carver to Merrill and wrings her hands. "If you could not defile — "

"No, not at all," Carver hurries to say. "That's not why I asked for this."

Mother Giselle lets out a breath but her attempt to speak gets drowned out by the sound of heavy boots running over the stone floor. Cassandra and Cullen rush towards them, each of them talking and yelling over the other.

"You cannot do this," Cassandra calls out when she reaches them. "It's too dangerous."

Cullen looks like he swallowed something bitter and clenches his fists so hard that his gauntlets creak. "Carver, no."

Mother Giselle stares from one to the other and then wisely decides to just leave, squeezing past Cassandra and Cullen with one more worried look over her shoulder.

Cassandra lowers her voice but she doesn't sound any less loud. "I cannot allow this, the danger this puts you in — "

"It has to be done." Carver interrupts. "I tested this. The mark is strongest when I didn't take lyrium for a while, when I can feel the withdrawals beginning. But if I stop taking lyrium now, it will take weeks until I'm strong enough to go against the Breach and we can't even be sure of that. I could also die or go mad."

"But this!" Cassandra stares at Merrill. "This is wrong."

Merrill narrows her eyes and holds Cassandra's gaze.

Carver steps between Cassandra and Merrill. "It'll be faster and I'll be stronger to close the Breach. Isn't that all that matters?"

Cassandra lowers her eyes and takes several long breaths. "Alright. But I will stand guard. And Cullen too."

Cullen lets out a pained sound. "The veil is so thin here, who knows what this will attract."

Carver shakes his head. "Merrill knows what she's doing."

"I do," Merrill simply says. "No demons will cross into our world."

Cassandra and Cullen both look at each other as if they expect the other to say something against this but they both just shake their heads.

Carver glances wistfully towards the kitchen. "Can I eat something before we start?"

"No," Merril says. "You might throw up in your sleep."

"Fucking void. Well..." He looks into the cold room and sighs. "I want to at least wash up a bit then." He turns to Cassandra. "Will you take Merrill to Adan so that she can get the herbs she needs?"

Cassandra only hesitates a moment before she nods.

Carver fixes her in his gaze. "I can trust you that you will protect her?"

"Of course," Cassandra hurries to assure. "I know my duty. I will not let any harm come to her."

Merrill gives him a smile before she turns back to where they came from, Cassandra hurrying after her. He can hear Merrill chatter about how easily she gets lost and apparently she misses the passage to the chantry as they pass it and Cassandra has to steer her right.

Carver steps into the room, hearing Cullen enter behind him. With two armored men, the tiny room already feels suffocating full. He begins taking off his armor, piling the pieces next to the door and putting his linens on top of it. The hairs on his arms stand up in the cold. At the door, Cullen keeps clenching and unclenching his fists, creaking like a dwarven machinery.

"Cullen, say something before you swallow your own tongue."

Cullen deflates, pressing a hand against the wall as if he needs it to steady him. "Bloodmagic, Carver, it's bloodmagic."

"Yes." Carver dips a washcloth into the bowl of water and clenches his teeth against the coldness of it. He begins wiping off the sweat and dirt of the last few days, wishing he could dip into a lake somewhere instead. "You especially, should know about the benefits of bloodmagic by now. Didn't Dasan save my life that way?"

Cullen groans and nods. "Yes, he did."

"Merrill will not hurt me."

Now Cullen straightens and puts his hand on the pommel of his sword. "I will make sure of it."

Carver eyes his hand on the pommel and frowns. "If you kill her because you get a sudden case of overzealous templar syndrome, I swear I'm gonna make you regret that you were even born."

Cullen lowers his head and drops his hand from his sword. "I will protect you both. From anything."

"That I can accept." Carver dries himself with a scratchy towel and then slips naked under the thin blanket on the bed. Whatever Merrill will do, a sleeping dress is probably not a requirement for it to work.

Cullen kneels down next to his bed and prays to the statuette of Andraste. Carver has never been much for praying but the familiar cadence of the prayer has a calming effect on him. He closes his eyes and listens, mouthing the words along with Cullen more out of habit than seeking for spiritual guidance. He almost drifts off to sleep before the sound of footsteps and the clang of Cullen standing up startles him awake again.

Merrill enters the room with a cauldron and a bag in her arms, followed by Cassandra whose arms are piled high with blankets and various other things. She stands a bit awkwardly until Merrill takes the things out of her arms, spreading them around the tiny room. She ignites a magical fire on top of the drawer chest and sets the cauldron on it. Then she unclips a flask from Cassandra's armor to pour the contents into the cauldron.

Cassandra watches Merrill work, as she slowly adds herbs and flowers into the steaming water. "I don't know what Mother Giselle suspects we're doing here," Cassandra says and turns to Carver. Her eyes travel down his covered body and then quickly skip towards the statuette of Andraste. She blushes a little. "She was determined to bless this water for you."

Carver tries to hide his grin. "I'm sure it helps."

Merrill mumbles a spell over the cauldron and the steam turns blue. She nods with a satisfied smile and then turns to Cullen. "What happens if a templar doesn't get lyrium anymore?"

Cullen swallows and hides his hands behind his back. "Tremors, shaking hands is usually the first sign, accompanied by splitting headaches. The templar might get a fever and sweat a lot. Nightmares. Then, if things turn bad, comes the mental decay. Some templars forget their language, lose their memories or they hallucinate."

Merrill nods. "That's what we're trying to prevent. But even in his sleep, he might get all the other symptoms, maybe even all at once. That doesn't mean he's possessed by a demon though."

"Yes!" Carver raises himself up on his elbows. "Please don't kill me if I shake or sweat."

Cullen's head whips around and he scowls. "Don't joke about this."

"Everything will be fine," Carver says. "I trust Merrill and you have to trust her too."

Cassandra and Cullen both look like they swallowed several bugs at once but they nod towards Merrill and step back towards the door. Their shoulder guards scratch against each other in the tiny room as they stand at the door like hulking statues.

Merrill extinguishes the magical fire under the cauldron and fills a large cup with the herbal drought. Blue smoke wafts from the cup as she carries it over to Carver and it smells acidic when she is near him. She holds the cup in both hands and stares at it with concentration. The cups ices over for a bit, cooling the draught down.

She smiles softly at him. "Are you still sure, vhenan? When you wake up again, you won't be a templar anymore."

Carver takes her hand in his and squeezes it. "I never wanted to be one anyway."

She nods and holds the cup out to him. "Drink and sleep, vhenan."

Taking the cup from her, he drinks the drought in big gulps. He lies back on the hard pillow and closes his eyes, waiting for the tiredness to come. His body feels heavy and presses deep into the bed, his arms sink deeper and deeper, floating away from his body. Merrill's familiar magic washes over him, touching him like an embrace and he smiles as he floats into darkness.

.

.

.

And then a demon screams.

.

.

.

And a knife says, "I can help."