Warning, this story deals with complex issues. Although not written to be for "mature" audiences, it does deal with some topics which might be considered in that category; however, the descriptions and actions are not more mature than DAI displays during gameplay. Nothing underage happens, but it might cause some discomfort. Please be aware.

The language, particularly those epithets you may find offensive, is there for a reason; they are true to life and used every day. The question you should ask is, why? The answer is not as simple as you might believe.

I play fast and loose with serial numbers, so I do not accidentally reference a real one.

Meetings and Decisions

Start Again

A curious thing happens to someone locked in a cell. Your days focus on whether you are eating and drinking, when you will eat next, and how to get rid of what you have already eaten.

The group had been down in the cells hoping that their jailers would bring food and fresh buckets. At least they were no longer naked.

The woman named Herald and a guy named Adan had taken John out of the cells. John had been lashed severely, and Eric assumed command because they thought John had, or would, die. No one even heard their shouted objections to his being taken. Their protests were muted as the woman named Charter had unlocked the cells' doors, and servants had brought them clothing, some of which fit and all of it warm. Others brought them food and drink. Of the prisoners, the scientists were the most grateful, the soldiers the most skeptical. The guards left to let them eat and think.

However, the doors remained locked until hours later, when without warning, John was returned to them, bandaged and exhausted but alive. Silently they laid him down on a cot in a cell with José and a couple of others. They left, locking the cell and outer doors behind them. They let John rest with José beside him, and more time passed. How long? Time is relative behind locked doors.

Finally, Eric could wait no longer and decided they needed to make some decisions, but he needed to know if John could still command or if it had fallen to him now.

"José, how is the old man?" Eric's voice sounded more worried than he intended; he could not wait any longer.

"He looks a lot better than he should, by rights he should be dead," José began to gently remove the wrappings to check the headwounds, "between the head injury and the whipping…" José finally pulled back the bandages on his head, then started tearing at the bandages on his back. "Sweet Jesus, they are all healed!" José jumped as if John was suddenly covered with Texas-sized rattlers.

"Santa María Madre de Dios!" He crossed himself several times, and Paddy followed his lead. "¡ Eso es imposible! This is impossible!"

Eric pushed his way over to the side of the cell to see - it was true. The welts were visible but seemed as if they had been healed for months, not hours.

"Maybe it is some sort of trick? Maybe they did not hit him or something?" Little John was trying to make sense of all this. "Maybe this is all some big mind fuck?"

"We all saw the cuts, the blood, why would the Old Man go along with them?" Eric did not understand, but he believed his own eyes.

"To what purpose?" As usual, Sam was the voice of reason. "Look, we are not soldiers!" She gestured to the women in the cell with her; all but one were academics. We don't have any information to keep secret. I don't have any!" She was not angry, just tired of being in a cell, and did not have a fucking rank or serial number to do the whole macho thing. "I will tell them anything they want to know to get out of this fucking cell. Hell! I will bed the whole lot of them to get out of this bloody cell!" She rattled the door to make her point.

"Hey, is there anyone out there? Will you talk with us?" Sam shouted, even though Eric and the others objected. She just shouted louder. "Somebody! Talk to me! We have done nothing wrong; talk to me!" She rattled the cell doors as loudly as she could; the others did the same, except for those in Eric's cell. She felt for John, but she wanted out.

Charter had been stationed outside the door for just such a result; she listened for a few moments then entered.

"Please calm yourselves; you are in the cells of a Chantry, please, you disturb the worshipers." Her voice was level, actually with the inner and outer doors closed, it was difficult to hear them, but she thought it might make her seem more reasonable.

She made sure to keep all the doors closed now. Her failure to do so had allowed the Herald to hear her lashing the prisoner. 'I wonder if that was just bad luck, or perhaps Andraste had wanted the Herald to intervene?' Right now, Charter did not have time to ponder the philosophical question, perhaps later with a mug in the Maiden.

"What did you do to him? How is that possible?" Eric asked the redhead, who was now standing outside their cells.

"What do you mean? We simply healed him. Certainly, we are within the Ferelden wilderness, nonetheless, we have healers competent enough for that." Charter looked perplexed and was insulted at their insinuation. "If you are followers of the Qun and hate magic that much, I can gladly reapply the lash to him. Would that gratify you?"

"First, I do not even know what a Qun is. Second, no, we don't want him lashed. It is just that we have never seen anyone healed so quickly. It is not natural." Eric could not tear his eyes off John's exposed back. Except for fading scars where angry bleeding welts should have been, John's back looked untouched.

Charter could not believe her ears. "Come now; surely, you have healers among your people. It is not an uncommon talent." Her narrowed eyes searched Eric's face for any sign of dishonesty; she did not see any. Shocked, she looked from one prisoner's face to another, all gathered around to look for signs of injury. "Tell me now, do you not have a healer? How is it possible you all seem as if this is your first encounter with simple healing?"

"I am the medic of the group." José signaled with his hand and crossed himself yet again after he carefully examined John. "No, I have never seen anything like this. How did you do it?" The look of open honesty and perhaps admiration and hunger? All were emotions on display on José's face.

"Simple magic?" The healer in Haven was adequate though not exceptionally gifted. She and Adan had been working to keep the Herald alive, but she was not extraordinary in any way, a good reliable country village healer. That was all.

"Regardless of your opinion of our healer…" Leliana appeared as if by magic herself. "The Herald has asked us to make your accommodations more comfortable. Unfortunately, we do not have enough room for a group so large, and we must keep you safe. There are those who are convinced that your group is involved in the death of the Divine. As much as we have tried to correct this, there is still that opinion."

"So, what do you propose?" John's voice was weak, but he could be heard. With José's help, he stood.

"We have plenty of timber and tools; we ask your group to do as others have done and build your shelters, assuming you have skills enough." The tone of her voice implied she thought them likely helpless.

"Anyone know one end of a hammer from another?" John looked around; he had done some light carpentry work, Mariah had generally allowed him to putter but hired professionals to fix what was hopeless. He could hammer a nail if told where.

"I worked as a carpenter in high school and through college." Joshua replied, "We built log cabins using timber we cleared; it was impossible to get lumber deliveries in the middle of nowhere. It has been a while, but I can remember most of it."

"My grandfather did artisan homes in southern Cali for people with more money than sense." Nathan added, "We always used lumber yard stuff, but he taught me his old techniques so they would not be lost. But I don't know if that is what we need. You know the old fashioned kind with mortise and tenon, the way they did it hundreds of years ago."

"How else would you build a building to last?" For the first time, Leliana honestly looked confused, a look that was shared by Charter. "The Temple of Sacred Ashes stood for a thousand years. Whether the Inquisition lasts so long is unlikely, but the village of Haven has been here as long."

"Well, Nate and Josh, it looks like you're going to play teacher." John was sitting now, leaning on his now healed back, gingerly as if he expected the welts to reappear suddenly. "You will supply us with materials and tools? As well as guards, I suppose."

"We will, but first, you must provide us with some information about your arrival here." Leliana made the point clear. She still did not trust them.

"Well, as far as we can tell, it all started in a desert not long ago, but far, far away."

Victims All-Around

Serrada was on her knees, cradling the head of the dying young mage. Moments before, she had loosed the arrow now buried in the girl's chest; it flew a fraction of a second before Serrada realized that the girl could not cast any proper spells; that realization was too late.

"I just wanted to be free." She had tears streaming down her face, bloody foam on her lips.

"Cassandra, don't we have any potions at all?" Tears streamed down Serrada's face as well.

"No, Herald, we used them all during the battle." Cassandra had seen what a single mage could do, but this child was not even an apprentice mage; she doubted if she could even light a campfire.

"They were going to make me tranquil." the girl coughed, bright red blood now, her death would not be long delayed. The arrow still protruding from her breast, just missing her heart but tearing through her lung, a lung that was even now filling with blood.

"I did not do anything wrong; I was a good student; I was devoted to Andraste; I just can't do proper magic." Yet another cough, more blood. "I was good with animals, even heal them sometimes."

"Why didn't you surrender? Why? I didn't want to hurt you." Serrada was only partially listening to the girls dying words; her grief and guilt were so raw.

"They burned my sister alive in a cabin; they suppressed her magic and burned her alive. I couldn't do anything!" Again, a quite tired cough. "I listened to her scream, she cried out for me, for mother, for Andraste, and they laughed. Those damned Templars laughed. My poor sister…" The voice was failing, softer, further away.

"Cassandra, is one of them a healer?" Serrada looked at the captured mages, searching, eyes pleading for help for the girl.

"Tarra was our healer." One of the older mages replied he could have been Serrada's grandfather. "Kara and her sister Tarra. Both are … were the gentlest of souls. Tarra had more talent and was searching for herbs when she and her companions were attacked. We tried to intervene, but there were so many Templars."

There was a sigh, the sound of a soft release, Kara's hand dropped from Serrada's grasp.

"Serrada, it is over." Cassandra's voice was a low gentle whisper. "Come now, let her go, and let us deal with the Templar camp."

Serrada just looked into the rapidly clouding eyes while stroking the girl's hair. "I am sorry, I am sorry, I never meant for you to die. I am so sorry. Please forgive me. Andraste, please forgive me."

"Lysette, please escort the mages back to the Crossroads," Cassandra ordered the newly minted Lieutenant of the Inquisition. "Mages listen to me, I was a Seeker, I know that you have valid grievances, but the way of rebellion will not only bring death to the guilty" she looked down at the now glazed eyes and the openly weeping Serrada "but also the innocent."

The rest of the surviving mages were bound, with a small contingent of Inquisition Templars keeping track of them. Lysette was the leader of the exceedingly small band. She was reading the rules and requirements to them while watching the girl die in Serrada's arms. 'The Herald is too gentle a soul for this; combat means innocents die. Regrettable, but this girl was no innocent; she had tried to cast some sort of spell.'

"We were foolish. No one had listened to us in so long; we assumed that no one would, or even care to try." The old mage watched Serrada mourn the girl she had never met; he knew full well that the only spell she knew was a barrier; he had been trying to teach it to her. He would keep that secret; the Herald seemed to have mourning enough. 'Please Maker, let her be genuine.' He looked at his few surviving mages; they watched the scene as well. "Seeker, we pledge our support. We are mostly scholars and apprentice mages, but we pledge to aid you, the Inquisition, and serve the Herald of Andraste."

Cassandra was stunned by his proclamation, 'Could the death of a single girl change the course of a war?' Cassandra wondered how people could be so strange.

"Lieutenant, please gather the bodies. They deserve decent services if we can do nothing else for them." Cassandra started to gather the group. "We may disagree with their actions, but in death, we are all subject to the Makers justice and are all his children."

"Make sure you get with Ritts and gather up Eldredda's and Mattrin's remains as well." Serrada had stopped weeping. "We will give them rights together."

Cassandra spoke quietly to Lysette, "Let it be known that the Herald of Andraste honors the remains of all the Makers children." Lysette nodded her understanding, saluted, and gathered her charges.

Work is Good for the Soul

John took his turn at the bottom end of the saw. He liked the work; it gave him something else to think about other than their situation - focus on the up - pull on the down. Don't push the saw. He had read about this in biographies he devoured as a kid; Daniel Boone and Davie Crockett were his early favorites, but never realized the work it took. Till a few days ago, he had never seen a two-man saw; now, he had spent hours making decent boards for the hall they were building.

It was lucky that Josh had grown up in Colorado. He and his grandfather had built more than one cabin from rough-hewn lumber and split logs, which were so fashionable there. Josh had known the names of all the old fashioned tools to use and how to use them. John was too much a city boy. Sure he knew how to use a hammer, but you just went to the lumber yard to get supplies; you did not make your own.

John focused on the mantra he had learned. 'Lift the saw up a little, pull down through the wood, keep your eyes closed!' Breathe in through his cloth-covered nose and out through his mouth. Using his exhale to blow sawdust away. Over and over for a good hour. Well, what was probably an hour, about seventy-five minutes of Earth time, but this was Thedas.

"Stop, stop, stop!" John spluttered; he had sawdust in his nose now. The dust rag tie had moved down, and he hadn't noticed. "Phew, phew! Somebody get me some water, please!" One of the human servants walked up and dumped a bucket of water on his head. He spluttered and tried to wipe wet wood chips from his face and beard. "Gee, thanks a lot, whoever that was."

"Get away from him, you fool! Do you want them to freeze to death?" Gliril shouted at the human servant, and she found it – liberating!

"Here you are, sir; I am sorry I was occupied when you asked for water." She handed John a towel from her laundry and continued to glare at the oaf who had drenched her charge. She did not tell John that it had originally been used to rub down a horse; after all, it was cleaner than he was at the moment. 'Mistress had given me strict instructions to keep an eye on these people; she will never forgive me if they freeze to death.'

"Please, sir, come sit by the fire and warm yourself. I will fetch you some dry clothing." Gliril walked up to the bucket wielding oaf; she stood her full height and looked him in the eye like Sister Amalia had taught her. "I was charged with keeping them alive and healthy, so Maker help me if you do something like that again, I will report you to the Herald." Gliril turned and started toward Haven's gate.

"Bloody knife ear." The brute spoke under his breath. "Who does she think she is?" The fact that he knew he had to say it quietly showed how frowned upon it had become; unfortunately for him, he did not say it quietly enough. "I will teach her some manners." Then he started on a road that would cost him his life. He quickly glanced around as he palmed a heavy shaping knife from the woodworking tools. Then quietly set about following Gliril.

He might have been able to cause some severe mischief if it were not for two things. The first was John had heard; he had watched the man take the knife and start to follow the girl. He surreptitiously picked up a piece of scrap in the firewood pile. The second was Charter, who from her vantage point of had not heard the oafs words but knew the hearts of shem like him too well; she had fitted an arrow and was ready to draw the bow as she also watched John's actions.

John's eyes followed Gliril as she walked past his fire toward Haven's gate, but he also watched the oaf as unobtrusively as possible. In a quiet moment, he might have admitted that she reminded him of Sarah, except for the ears, of course, which he thought were really cute; it was also fascinating to watch the interaction between elves and humans. Moments like this one had convinced him that this was no head wound-induced fantasy. John had gone down that road for a couple of days. 'If it is, I really need to improve my imagination.' It also convinced him that people were no better here than they were back home. Back home, it sounded so strange, a whole different meaning now.

The oaf was focused on Gliril as he attempted to follow her without being obvious; fortunately, for Gliril, he did not give John enough berth. The chunk of scrap lumber moved like lightning and fell across the man's shins, sending him to his knees with a cry. John was on him in a flash, driving the asshole's face down in the dirt. John put his lips near the man's right ear. The whispered message was clear. "Just exactly what were you planning with that knife? You go anywhere near that girl, and I will rip your heart out, do you understand?"

The oaf was no weakling; a life of hard labor had made him bigger and stronger than most; neither was he stupid, but he felt as if a mountain had landed on him. 'This man is insane!' "Fine, fine, whatever you say."

Charter was shocked at how gracefully the man was; most humans move like Druffalo, but not this one. He was almost as beautiful to watch as Leliana.

She lowered the readied bow, its use would have caused all manner of problems for Leliana, but she could not let Gliril be murdered. Happily, that was no longer an issue; the human stranger had dealt with the problem nicely. She could not hear what was being said, but she did not need to. Clearly, the human had dealt with the threat.

"Good, now here is what you are going to do. You are going to take two hours on the saw, got it?" John's voice was icier than the air around them. Letting the man up, he went back to his seat, with the ax handle sized splinter of wood still in his hand.

The oaf got up, looked sheepishly around at those who had seen the entire tableau. He looked like he intended to object for a moment until he saw the look on John's face. "Get … to … work." John's voice was low and forceful, filled with menace.

Then the man did what he was told; unfortunately, he complained the entire stint. John knew he would owe Eric big. He had been run ragged for days now, felling trees, dragging them, trimming, chopping, splitting, eating here and there, then falling into bed just to start the whole thing over again. He desperately needed to think.

Normalcy Bias is a powerful coping mechanism in the human mind; it helps people deal with extraordinary situations and move forward. It tries to force unique events into the pattern of previous experiences. It works most of the time, but it can get in the way of accepting truly novel experiences like being magically teleported to a new world.

At first, they all had agreed that this was all some strange fantasy of grand deception. That worked for a while, but the effort to keep it going would have been vast, and each hour made it harder and harder to hold to this elaborate but mundane explanation for their situation. Even then, it could not hope to explain their memories of the crossroads—small but rapidly growing cracks formed in the foundations of the denial of the truth. Several things told them that this was all real. As odd as an elf was, or the descriptions of something called a Qunari, it was the discovery of a nug that brought the walls down.

They were on their first exercise hike outside of Haven's stockade. Bundled against the cold, shivering while walking toward the frozen lake when a brace of the creatures suddenly appeared and ran across their path as if they had nothing to fear. Sister Leliana, who had accompanied them, cooed on sight, a scene that had brought all of them to a stop. The little creatures were alive, and there were lots of them running around outside Haven. The elven ears might have been good prosthetics; after all, watch any sci-fi show, but nugs, how would you fake that? Still, there were holdouts; it was the big things like discovering they could jump like an NBA superstar; they could lift things that should have been too heavy. Sam figured that Thedas had maybe 85 to 90 percent Earth gravity, a fact that would be impossible to fake.

At an evening meeting of the group, everyone went over all their concerns and observations and finally accepted that they had left Earth behind – maybe permanently.

They asked Charter and Leliana to come and meet with them in the cells. That evening both women arrived along with Gliril and other servants who carried platters of food and drink down with them. The cell doors had long since remained open, with only the outer door locked and guarded, mostly for their protection. Tables and comfortable seating had been brought down. Leliana had offered a blessing to the Maker, and Patrick had responded with a traditional Catholic prayer.

Eric raised an eyebrow as John glanced at him; neither could recall Paddy ever waiting for anything if it meant food and drink were there for the having.

'Jesus, I hope this does not become a problem. The last thing we need is a religious war. It will be over quick, that is for sure.' John could not help but give his own sort of prayer.

Then everyone ate and chatted like old friends about nothing for several minutes.

"Have you come to a conclusion concerning your circumstances?" Leliana asked. She had herself realized that they were not involved in the death of the Divine. A large eluvian was found at the back of the storeroom in which they had taken shelter. She had never seen an eluvian, but they had been described in some of the highly secret books she collected for Justinia. There had been rumors of them being used by the elves in Orlais to disrupt both sides in the Orlesian civil war.

The eluvian was inactive, but its discovery made their story believable. The soldiers had given them no useful information, but the scholars had been very willing to talk, and there was no doubt that the wonders in their possession were well beyond even most magic Leliana had seen. They had yet to open the large crates, still protected with devices beyond craft or magic, but the weapons and clothing were clearly outside anything Thedas had ever seen. No, there was no doubt that they were not from known Thedas, at least that she had discovered. That did not mean that they were not from Thedas somewhere. What still haunted her dreams was if they were not from Thedas - how would they speak the same language?

"Yes, we have, although many in our company are not happy about the decisions we have made. It is not because we do or do not trust you; we are concerned that we – complicate your world with our presence." Sam started; John had been steadfast. The weapons had to be returned or destroyed, and the equipment had to be kept in the crates. Their equipment but particularly their knowledge could make them serpents in the garden. He was adamant that this had to be the way it went because they had no idea what was going on, and it was all too easy to give technology that would destroy these people. He won the day by saying that their technology might be the "smallpox" of this world. "We are very concerned that we may cause more harm by our presence. We just need to learn more."

It was then that the women surrounded Charter and asked to touch her ears. At first, she was surprised and a little offended, but then she said they could. Rachelle and Sunny said they were just beautiful and wondered if they could grow them somehow, this shocked Charter to the core and made Leliana softly laugh. Very soon, all the women were talking about topics important to women, periods, pregnancy, all the stuff that made men cringe, but women needed to know in truly short order. When Sam noticed the uncomfortable looks the men were giving, she snickered and told them to go outside and hit something, which caused all the women human and elven, Earth or Thedean, giggled at their expense, but without cruelty. John led the men out with as much dignity as they could muster, which was not much.

Leliana stood in the door, "Remember, gentleman, you must not reveal your origin. We have spread the rumor that you are all from the furthest reaches of the Free Marches and have only just arrived for the Conclave, not knowing what happened. It is a terrible story, but the truth will get you all killed. There are many powers here who would spend a great deal of coin to simply speak with you. Short of that - kill you. You could shift the balance of power between many governments."

John grunted, and Leliana gave him a disapproving look. "You disagree with me, no?"

"No, actually, I thought that in your place, my leaders would lock us up in a box until they got all they could, then just dump our bodies in a deep hole somewhere." Leliana's hard but beautiful eyes showed him that it was still a distinct possibility. "Do you wonder if humans will ever learn to treat each other better?"

Leliana's face softened as she was thinking. "Maker, I hope so." That was all she said; she stood aside and allowed the procession of men to leave.

John stood by the door and watched as Leliana walked over to the now merrily chatting group of women, who acted as if they had known each other all their lives. 'Man, I wish I knew how they do that. I guess it is just universal.' John thought as he closed the door, he had seen Mariah do the same thing with strangers a hundred times.

Of course, that had been days before. John needed to figure out what to do once they had finished their construction project; how would they fit? Could they fit? Soon the work would be done, and the shock would wear off. Some could easily adjust to Thedas, Eric would be happy, lots of attractive women, and easy booze, but Patrick had a family at home, and John wanted to try and find some way to rebuild his own. Somethings were going to be a problem; some might not even want to survive; it was his fault they were there; he owed it to them to try and stop them from curling up into a ball and dying.

"Hey, boss! You taken' a nap or something?" Eric was shouting from the top of the rig; down to where John sat by the fire thinking, the oaf had gone back to his work; John noticed he managed to put the shaping blade back on the work table as he passed it.

"Naw, I had been looking up at your crotch for half an hour, I decided I needed a cold shower, and that guy helped me out," John replied, with Eric laughing so hard, John thought he would fall off the jig. "I will get you some help."

John was about to ask the lead laborer for someone to take a turn for him until he finished drying off. The man beat him to the punch.

"We don't work for you! We work for the Herald and for the Divine you murdered." The man was in no mood to be polite, not a rare thing for him anyway.

"Strange, just a few short days ago - you and those like you hurled that same accusation at the woman you now proclaim the Herald of Andraste." The soft but forceful voice cut through the construction site's din as easily as a sword; she stood tall dressed in Chantry robes. "Yet this young man seems no more responsible than she. What title will you give him, I wonder?"

The man harrumphed and walked away, but not without ordering a man to take a turn at the saws.

John remembered his manners and stood, bowing slightly to the woman, catholic school training kicking in. He had no idea what to say to the woman, so he remained quiet.

"I am called Giselle by my friends, Mother Giselle, by most, and Reverend Mother Giselle to those who don't like me." The woman had a warm smile on her milk chocolate shaded face. An amiable smile, John wondered if it was natural and meant as it appeared or was carefully practiced? More than likely both, but John was hoping it was genuine.

"I hope that it will be Giselle, Mother Giselle," John bowed slightly yet again.

"As do I, my dear boy, as do I." She chuckled softly. "I spoke to the Herald in the Hinterlands; I promised to come to Haven to assist her. She asked me to look in on you and your friends. It seems that you have been remarkably busy; she left only a few days ago." Giselle surveyed the work that they had done. It was awe-inspiring; this young man's small group was extremely organized and obviously had some skill; they had cleared a wide area, felled, cleaned, and cut more than enough lumber for two multi-story buildings, and while some prepared planking, others were preparing the logs, dressing and notching them. She had seen such work before, and these people were as able as any craftsman she had seen in Thedas. If this work was what they did as carpenters, they must be very dangerous as soldiers. 'The Maker must have sent them here for a purpose.'

John was proud of his people's work; he knew that they were riding on a knife's edge. The people in Haven had been devastated by some event that was still not clear to him, but by evidence of the valley above, it must have been catastrophic. Even with the rough start, they had fed them, healed their hurts, and after being convinced that they were not part of whatever catastrophe had occurred, been given free run of Haven. John suspected that there were invisible strings attached to all of them; he could not be sure, but he thought he had glimpsed the elf named Charter in the shadows more than once, but she had not been evident about keeping a watch on them. That was fine with John; it was clear that Haven was almost as dangerous as the sandbox cities.

With Giselle, he surveyed the work done in just a few days.

Trees were felled from the forest; they had built the plank jig from scratch, and John was no lumberjack or carpenter. Luckily, Josh and Nate had been more than modest about their practical experience and knew what to do; it had become clear that both had worked construction in their lives and knew how to get shit done. They taught the rest of them which end of a hammer to hold and to watch their fingers.

It was just part of the building effort; they had all been felling trees and making planks for uncounted hours, the first day, and all their hands were bloody from burst blisters Adan had given each a poultice to stop the bleeding and toughen them up, muttered under his breath then left. The next morning, the armorer had given them all some soft nug leather gloves. They all had bandaged hands in the Maiden that night, although they endured sidelong looks, Flissa had bought them rounds on the house, and they talked with anyone who would engage them in conversation; it had been a late night.

John and Mother Giselle stood at the edge of the future construction area which Leliana and Josephine had chosen earlier in the day. They marked the site and showed the group; it was adjacent to the Inquisitions Army training camp. That way, once they had finished with the buildings, they could be multitasked for an infirmary, a chow hall, and an induction center for recruits; whatever was needed, the thought of recruits meant Cullen.

He cringed at the memory of meeting; the first thing in the morning after the decision had been made to build their quarters, John had been introduced to Commander Cullen, who they were told was their army leader. Of course, without thinking, John had put his foot directly in his mouth up to his thigh.

"Excuse me – Cullen, but where is the army? All I see is a few score men and women." John was expecting to see ranks of tents somewhere, but there were none or campfires for anything approaching an army. "Are they down the valley?"

"We lost a great many soldiers in the valley, as I am sure you know." Cullen's response was only slightly colder than the ice beneath their feet. Even with all the thick clothing, it was decidedly colder in the area.

"I did not mean to offend; I am just used to larger numbers," John responded; he knew his history and that armies of only a few hundred were common centuries ago on Earth. He also knew that he had not helped the situation. 'Stop digging, John. The hole is deep enough!' So he kept silent.

"Truly, how many have you commanded before?" Cullen was a little skeptical, given the small size of the group, but nineteen was not insignificant for a scouting party, and depending on what their weapons could do, they could be a real danger to his small forces.

"You know I can't answer a question like that, commander." John just smiled at the man who seemed to be stern even when called for chow. "Besides, they are not here anyway, just my little band of merry men."

"And women!" Shouted one of the female scientists; it was probably Sam. "Someone has to keep you from getting lost!" The last was definitely Sam.

"Too late!" cried yet another woman who she was, John could not tell.

Cullen looked only slightly less miffed, but a crack of a smile appeared at the corners of his mouth. "How about this, you meet me in the tavern, and I will start with stories about Thedas, then you can tell me stories about from where you came. Agreed?" He held out his hand; John tried to take it but grasped him the wrong way; Cullen moved John's hand to his wrist. "This is how we shake hands here, check for a dagger on the other guy's arm." John looked down and felt the dagger on Cullen's forearm. He had not even noticed it might be there; they were no longer in Kansas or even Missouri.

Nights Never End

The cave was just ahead of them. The mercs were down, and the last line of mages was either dead or out of the fight.

"Solas, can you drop the barrier?" Serrada shouted at the mage who was to her right.

"Cassandra, get ready!" She moved up closer to a boulder to get ready to rush through the barrier. 'Damn those mages, why are they doing this?' She glanced to her right at the body of a young man. He was maybe a couple of years older than her, with one of her arrows protruding from the back of his head. She was glad she could not see the horror that was once a handsome face.

"Did your mother know you were here? Did you think of her? She will wonder for the rest of her life what happened to you." Of course, the body did not answer her.

"The barrier is nearly down, Herald. Be ready!" Solas was pouring energy into the barrier, and even Serrada could feel it weakening.

"Stand by everyone!" Serrada crouched and was ready to spring; arrows loosened in her quiver. "Now!"

She sprung forward, arrow after arrow loosed to those beyond the fallen barrier and the lightning and fire that was returned. Suddenly all was done; all was silent. Before her stood the final mage, blood pouring out of the wound in his chest, mouth, and nose. Face obscured by shadow and the heat of battle. Her breath hard, trying to calm her pounding heart, she carefully moved forward.

Serrada moved forward, nocked arrow ready, bow bent. She moved toward the still standing corpse of a mage. Slowly her eyes adjusted from the brilliant full sun outside the cave to the dimmer torchlight of the cave; step by step, the light had played tricks, the once tall man seemed to shrink as she moved forward, the features resolved…

Cassandra and Varric had watch; it was always difficult, but worse now. It was not the long march of cold minutes monotonously gazing into the black voids around them, no it was the discomfort of watching the Herald battle her own demons. It had been this way for days; the death of the young mage girl had broken something in the Herald, something that had been strained in her by the death of the Lian lad. But this was worse; she had not Lian's life.

They had almost gotten used to her nightmares & trying to save Lian, screaming for him to go back to the stables, begging him to run. Now the dreams were different, more personal – she had taken a life that she had somehow convinced herself she should have saved.

"Cassandra, she is never going to make it. She is falling apart." Varric was deeply concerned. He had watched Bartrand fall apart before he put everything was in his written works. It was too painful, too personal, still years later, too raw. Dwarven relationships were complicated at the best of times; he and Bartrand were still brothers; no matter how it turned out, Varric always loved him. Watching Bartrand change was the hardest thing he had ever had to endure, at least up till now.

"Sparkles is going to break along all her seams if we don't do something, and if she does, what do we do then?" Varric poked the fire; he had been pushing the same coals around the same circuit for the best part of the watch.

"I do not know, Varric." Cassandra was watching nothing in the night. Watching the blackness that reflected her mood. "She is our hope, she …"

"Aran! Noooooo!" Serrada thrashed wildly in her bedroll before finally leaping up from the fitful sleep, screaming, searching around her. Her eyes more like a wild animal, seeing everything, perceiving nothing. "Aran! Aran! Where are you? How did you get here!"

Solas was awake now as well; he glanced at Varric, who returned the glance, finally both turned toward Serrada. Cassandra had moved to the Heralds side. "Serrada, Serrada! Wake up; you were dreaming. You are in camp, you are fine, Aran is safe at home in Ostwick. I promised you we would have Leliana send messages to Ostwick to ensure he is safe and well." Cassandra now did something she would have never thought she would; Cass threw her arms around a woman in close embrace and held the Herald as she shook and tried to control her need to weep.

Her heart was pounding, her breathing evening, and she looked around at those who traveled with her. She was so ashamed.

"I am sorry, everyone. I don't know what is wrong with me." She tried to smile, but it was not a genuine smile; shame and embarrassment were written all over her face. "Please forgive me. Go back to sleep, Cassandra get some sleep; I don't want to sleep anymore."

"Hey, don't worry about it. We all have bad dreams sometimes…" Varric tried to smile himself. "Just get some sleep."

Serrada shuddered at the mention. "No, I am alright, Cassandra why don't you get some sleep. We have to deal with the Templar camp tomorrow…" she glanced up at the moon, today. "…today. I don't… can't sleep anymore." She stowed her bedroll and came over to sit by Varric, taking up his stick to poke the same nearly spent coal.

"Herald, you must sleep; you have had only half the hours you need." Cassandra had a look of concern, it was almost motherly if one could believe it. "You will become ill or worse." Her words were low and melodic, like a mother trying desperately to comfort an ill child.

"Go Seeker; I can't take a chance that …" Serrada just looked at Cassandra and pleaded. "Please, Cass, just go to bed." Her voice was soft, so close to begging it broke Cassandra's heart. Serrada looked back at the fire, trying to find answers to what she had ever done to the Maker or Andraste.

"As you wish, Serrada, but we must find a solution for you. You are destroying yourself." Cassandra prepared her bed; she was not angry but worried. She had realized that she was becoming fond of this woman, and although deep in her heart, she knew Serrada was doomed, she hoped that the Maker would find a way to spare her something.

"To your bed as well, Varric, sleep eludes me as well. The Fade is barren here." Solas had quietly moved to sit close, but not too close to Serrada.

"As you wish, Chuckles, I am not noble enough to forgo a good bit of shuteye." He got up, paused, and looked back at Serrada. "Sparkles, you are a good person; there are so few around, don't destroy the one named Serrada." He found his bedroll, and moments later, the night was shattered by what sounded like one Druffalo trying to swallow another.

The night passed, both Serrada and Solas alternating between staring into the night and banking the fire. Finally, it seemed like ages, but only minutes after Varric destroyed the night's quiet.

"Herald, I take it you saw disturbing things in the Fade?" Solas tried to sound nonchalant and failed. "I attempted to touch your dreams…" Serrada's head whipped around to stare at the elf mage. "Forgive me, but I had hoped to try and bring you comfort, but your dream walls were too well made, remarkable for a non-mage. I have never encountered such a force of will."

"Flattery from you?" Serrada chuckled. "Who would have thought it?"

"No flattery, whether it is some as yet undiscovered magical talent, or perhaps the mark, I can not say. However, you do have a remarkable will, and you resisted my attempts to share your dreams with effortless alacrity. I was both stunned and deeply impressed."

"Thank you again, I think." Serrada looked a Solas with a sidelong glance, "But what are you trying to say?"

"I would put it this way; you are a remarkable woman, given gifts and abilities that are both rare and precious, to what end I do not know." Solas had turned his body to face her directly. "However, I do know this. You do not honor those you wish to avenge by destroying yourself with guilt over some failure, real or imagined. Further, you cannot protect those you love by allowing that guilt to rob them of the person you must be to bring them safety."

"Wow, you sure know how to sugar coat things, don't you?" Serrada felt her cheeks burning red. "I don't mean to Solas, I just don't know how to feel differently…" Her body turned toward him as well, but her head was down, and she stared at a small tuft of grass that had somehow avoided a boot's fall.

"I don't know how not to feel responsible…" She wondered if there were ever an end to tears. She supposed they stopped when all the tears were for you, rather than from you. "Do you know how?"

It was Solas's turn to look uncertain, his face a mask, his voice low and level. "No, I do not. If I find a way… I will share it with you. However, I am certain that without you, we are lost. If you choose to allow your guilt to swallow you, please wait till after the sky is healed?" A small grin crept across his lips; Serrada allowed herself one as well; she was concerned the elf's face would crack, however.

The sky had begun to change colors; dawn was not far off. "Come, Herald, let us prepare breakfast; our companions will undoubtedly be hungry." Solas and Serrada watched as a dreaming Cassandra was blushing and appeared to be whispering to someone, coincidently Varric, who was doing something with his hands. He seemed to be squeezing things and kissing nothing, "Come on, Bianca, we can't be doing this; it is your wedding day…hey, where are your small clothes?"

Serrada just blushed; Solas looked at her and did something completely uncharacteristic; he gave a genuine smile then a full-throated laugh. She was sure his face would crack now.