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.
Dueling Ideals and People
Roderick Cooks A Stew
Well, they were finally done. When it all started, John thought it was impossible, but once they got a rhythm going, it all went pretty well and faster than he thought it would.
John had learned many things in his short time here; one was that Haven's ancient village was located in the Frostback Mountains, aptly named as far as John could tell. Hence, the two new buildings' fireplace was the centerpiece of each of the constructions, and they had to give it a great deal of attention. Although there were many magical research developments, little effort was made in the more mundane arts like engineering or architecture. Almost all of their experiences would be revolutionary in Thedas. The building they were in and its fireplace were cases in point.
The identical buildings were two stories, but there was an attic for storage as well. Both buildings were centered on their unique fireplaces, whose design had sparked curiosity and ridicule at first, no longer.
The fire crackled in the massive first-floor firebox. It was such a peculiar construct that the few stonemasons in Haven had come to see the 'monstrosities' as they had dubbed them. The brainstorming in the Maiden had been a welcome break from cutting lumber; it was exciting, all chipping in ideas. Some came from Britain's great-houses and some from other designs people had seen worldwide, and many were their innovations.
They first prepared the foundation by digging a small round depression twelve feet across; then it was filled with gravel and rock, then compacted in shallow layers. They then started building in stone, a circular column wide but short, only two feet high, which would serve as the hearth and base of the next level fireplaces and support the next floor's beams. The arched firebox was as wide as a man was tall, wide and tall enough to roast a whole ram; if one stood in the center with the damper open, one could see straight up to the sky high above and walk through the firebox like a short tunnel. Cooking meat could be basted or cut from either side. The firebox was the bottom of a column fully eight feet across, much thicker than was necessary for the two-foot chimney. They did this so that as the column of stone tapered, it would still be wide enough to allow four small fireplaces to be built into its mass; these were to heat the second floor, whose space was divided into four separate rooms. Each smaller fireplace faced each point on the compass opening into each respective room. A wooden spiral staircase starting on the hearth of the first floor and wound up to the second-floor landing and continued till it ended at the door to the attics high above.
The first floor of each building was one expansive open living and meeting space. The second floor was divided into four broadly equal rooms, each with its fireplace. All this stone would retain heat; once warmed, it would require far less firewood, all this was unique, but it had one other innovation that caused a stir literally and figuratively.
A ram sized animal was slowly turning on the spit. The spit turned, driven by the fan high up in the chimney. The heat from the five fireplaces all gave enough energy to spin the fan that, in turn, spun the spit.
John remembered the look on Herritt's face as he reviewed the designs they brought to him. It was an idea that someone recalled from an old English country manor she had visited. It took some time and convincing, plus trimming of extra metal; Herritt was used to making weapons and shields after all, but there it was, happily turning the "pig" on the spit. John tried to keep from thinking about how it looked surprisingly like a nug, 'Don't go there, don't go there.' Charter had promised him that it was a ram from outside of Haven; she had assured him that Leliana would have had her on the spit if it were a nug.
It did not matter; the great room was filled with people, mostly his, but many others from Thedas. Charter, Flissa, Amalia, Leliana, Cullen, some of his command staff, Josephine and her people, Mother Giselle and the pretty young elf mage Minaeve, and even Adan. Adan had very kindly provided something that resembled tobacco, and Flissa had provided the liquid refreshments, which made the housewarming work.
"You have done remarkably well, Commander." The voice of Leliana still managed to make John's shoulder blades itch.
"Thank you, Lady Cousland. Everyone has been most kind." John had been coached to say things like My Lady, or Sister Leliana, or worse, Sister Nightingale. He remembered Josephine's attempts to civilize him.
"These are her proper titles; she is a lady of Ferelden; she is the wife of the Hero of Ferelden, a woman of noble blood herself." Josephine looked as if she was going to throw her hands up into the air. It was remarkable that she seemed so convincing that she did not need to do so. "Surely, you must have similar titles in your country?"
"Well, actually no. We kicked the monarchs out of our country a couple of hundred years ago. We have no nobles or titles. You cannot even be awarded one in another country as our constitution forbids them." He was not careful about his thoughts, it was challenging to be continuously guarded, and it was becoming clear that the others were losing the battle.
"No, nobility? No royalty? We have either one or the other and usually both, everywhere in Thedas. Orlais has no titles of nobility since Emperor Drakon but still an Emperor or Empress." She looked at him as if he had to be lying. She looked to the others of the group. "Is this true?"
"Well, not for all of us. Some of us come from countries which still have monarchs, but they are largely symbolic, limited to speeches and cutting ribbons on bridges." Sam was not a fan of the royals but thought it preferable to the American political free-for-all. "But he is largely correct; we long ago restricted the powers of monarchs around the world."
"Around the world? Do you know the world beyond the charted lands?" Josephine asked, trying to appear relaxed and disengaged from the question, but the strong hint of eagerness was clear to all.
'Damn, another slip of the tongue.' John looked at Sam, who was returning the look with a silent 'Sorry?'
"It is a figure of speech, please, we don't want to cause trouble. Just tell us what to say, and we will adapt." He hoped that his concession would be enough; it was becoming far more challenging to maintain the deception. 'We need to get with Leliana and figure out a better strategy; the command staff needs to know.'
Leliana's response shocked him back into the conversation. "Commander Gray, your people have done remarkably well. It is extraordinary what you have accomplished. I look forward to seeing what the Herald has to say." She took a sip of wine and watched the meat slowly turn; Gliril was basting it.
John's stomach was growing, Leliana laughed, and Gliril smiled at him. He hoped the mistral would play something soon, anything!
"You know, I have heard that several prominent houses in both Orlais and Ferelden are being rebuilt with your remarkable fireplace." He was proud to hear that they had a positive impact. He did not have much time to congratulate himself, however.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Someone was banging on the door hard enough to make John think it would give way; he watched Cullen, Leliana, and Charter positioned themselves for combat. John felt completely naked. He would have charged his M4 or, at a minimum, his Walther.
As polite as Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine had been, they were still not allowed their weapons. Worse, they had been denied standard weapons here or even training with weapons that everyone seemed to have in Haven.
He and his people were just along for the ride; all he could do was prepare himself for hand to hand and signal the guys to do the same.
Leliana motioned to a soldier who opened the door. "Yes, what brings you hither on this dark night?"
As she asked this, a mountain walked through the door.
'Good thing we put in a nine-foot ceiling.' John looked from the floor to the ceiling; before him was the first Qunari that he had ever seen, the description of one was enough to identify their guest.
A huge being had come into the room. He was at least seven and probably eight feet tall, and at least three feet wide. The "man" had two horns whose roots met just above his temples and curved back and away from his head directly back in a twisting curve in graceful arcs ending a couple of feet behind and above his head; the look conflicted with the blunt brawn of the owner. He looked like someone had taken The Rock and layered Schwarzenegger in his prime and chinked the whole thing with pieces of Hugh Jackman.
John had heard many things about Qunari; most fell completely short of what he saw. He was taller than he thought, and for the first time in a long time, he felt small. The man was not gray as others had described them but was more a tope; his eyes were deep-set and a striking shade of white gray, which matched his hair color.
As big as he was, John could see the chinks in his armor. Everyone has a weakness; John was evaluating the man before him with a practiced eye.
'Well, no back sleeping for this guy.' John wondered, looking at the first Qunari he had ever seen.
Across the dead quiet room, "Wow, what do the women look like?" Eric was staring in open admiration.
"I am Okanog foreman of the laborers, and I am here to challenge the fool who struck one of my workers." The deep rumbling voice filled the room, which had suddenly gotten quiet. "This ass hole struck one of my workers for doing his job."
Before anyone could answer, John, stepped forward. "I hit a piece of shit who was going to attack an unarmed girl who simply pointed out that he was a stinking piece of shit. Now, what do you want?"
"That ain't what I been told. He told me differently, and I believe him." Okanog took one step forward; John did not move. "Want? It is not what I want, but what I am going to do. You hit my guy; I will hit you. I will hit you until you cry like a baby. Got it, asshole?" The mountain thought something he said was funny because he laughed.
The guys behind him laughed as well. For the first time, John could see a man he could vaguely remember who was dressed in white and red in the mountain's shadow.
Evidently, Cullen could see the man as well. A look of disgust appeared on his face like someone had stepped in nug droppings and forgot to clean their boots.
"Roderick is behind him, and probably behind all this," Cullen whispered to Leliana, who nodded a reply without taking her eyes off of the side of beef in the door. She glanced at John as if she was trying to assess something.
"What challenge do you bring?" Leliana replied to the Okanog.
"I bring a challenge; I plan to break him, maybe use him to warm my bed." The Qunari got another laugh. Again, Leliana surveyed John and then replied.
"You are the challenger; therefore, we reserve the right to name a Champion. The man is a guest. We reserve this right…" Leliana was trying to negotiate an out.
John was having none of it. "I accept your challenge on two conditions. One, hand to hand combat only, no armor or weapons, and two, we fight to the death. My people do not fuck around with any of that other shit. If you think you are brave enough to show up, then crawl out of whatever shit hole you call home, and we will meet midday tomorrow." John knew he might be committing suicide, but he also knew that he was an unknown, as were his people, and if he did not gain some respect, they would be treated as inferiors regardless of what happened going forward. He had to gain respect, and he knew that his only chance was to end this guy. Otherwise, it would just be the start of the problems.
It was silent on both sides of the door, and every eye was on John. Leliana's mouth was open, Cullen looked like he had seen a griffon wearing a pink dance tutu stroll through the building, Josephine looked ill, and Eric looked like the cat who had eaten an ostrich. Eric knew John, and he was eager to take and make some wagers.
"That is not necessary," Leliana whispered. "You will achieve nothing for your people by dying." It was amazing that she could sound like she was shouting while whispering. 'How do women do that?'
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Lady Nightingale." John's voice was controlled. "Your response is exactly why I have to do this."
Turning back to the Qunari. "You brought this challenge. It is your life on the line; I will give you one chance to back down. However, since this piece of shit was not brave enough to challenge me himself, I will kill him after killing you. Agreed?"
The Qunari laughed, "You little shit, you think you can scare me? I will rip your arms and legs off. I don't need either for what I plan for you." He looked over his shoulder toward the man at the back of the group, the one who had started this whole mess, "Demre you accept?"
"That is not a choice when I kill you; I kill him. No options, no choices. If the piece of shit wants to fight his fight, then fine, but either way, he dies." John's voice was level and quiet as if he were discussing the ale's quality in the Maiden. "Now, we are having a party, and you and your people were not invited, so hit the road. You should get some sleep; you will need it, now get out." John walked up and put his hand on the door.
The Qunari looked confused; he was suddenly unsure. In Ferelden, his size had won most of his fights for him throughout his life, but this time it seemed to have failed him. He decided he had made his point; somehow, it had not gone as well as he expected; it looked like he would have a fight on his hands and a fight to the death, no less. It had been a couple of years since he had been in a duel to the death, he was not afraid, really, but it just had not gone to plan. Roderick was wrong; the man did not just fold up and run away. Well, tomorrow would be fun, it had been a while, and the thought of a good fight made him horny.
Once the Qunari had left, John closed and barred the door. He turned to the group he knew were looking at his back. Every eye was on him.
"Well, that was fun." John knew he had to act fast or that asshole would ruin the party; he refused to allow that. "Please, everyone, let's get on with the party. I refuse to allow Roderick to ruin the evening. I obviously have something to do tomorrow; I am feeling a little tired, go on with the party. I need to get some sleep."
Eric wasted no time, grabbing a large board behind the makeshift bar, he found a smoldering stick on the hearth. "Who wants to buy in? Minimum is one silver. We start with who wins…"
John smiled to himself, 'I wonder if I should place a bet? Well, at least the party has started again.'
John headed up to his room. Leliana followed him up, as did Cullen and Josephine.
"What do you think you are doing? You are going to get yourself killed!" She was as close to livid as anyone, including Josephine, had ever seen. "What are we to do now?"
"Perhaps a bribe?" Josephine asked.
"We could just bundle the Commander away until this all cools off." Cullen tried to add; it was not a useful recommendation as they had neither gold nor allies to bundle John off to.
"What you all can do is calm down and tell me about Qunari." John had put a kettle of water near the fireplace earlier; it was now ready to make tea. He had never liked tea much, a coffee man himself, but Thedas did not seem to have coffee.
"They are big mean killing machines, they may look stupid to some, but generally, they are not. The Qunari in question is stronger than most and brighter than some, but not particularly gifted for either. However, in unarmed combat, he is more than a match for all but one or two of our men." Leliana summed up the situation nicely. She was clear in implying that John was not one of them.
"Well, it is a good thing that I am not one of your men." John was rude, and he knew it, but he needed to establish some conversation control. "So, have you ever autopsied or dissected them? Do they have a heart? I see some have horns; others don't from what I hear; this one does, of course, but are they pretty much the same as us or completely different?"
"What does it matter? He will snatch you up and break your neck in one movement." Cullen was despairing; he had promised the Herald that he would keep them safe and busy until tonight had thought he had done an excellent job.
"Oh, ye of little faith." John put down his teacup. "I will ask again, are they different?"
"From what we know, they are largely the same as humans except for the horns and a prodigious libido," Leliana answered. "If you are asking whether we have cut them apart to determine how they work, no. The Chantry forbids such things. They are not animals to be butchered." She had traveled with a Qunari for several months during the blight. Sten was now a very important Qunari.
John could not stifle the grunt of laughter. "No, just hacked on with swords and axes or stuck with arrows, as the need and case may be."
Leliana was about to object, but John raised his hand, "No, I understand the difference, but still, how can you advance in medicine if you don't have the most basic idea of how the body works?"
He raised his hands in surrender, "An argument for another day, and believe me; there will be another day."
'Not to mention a discussion about the libido. So what is with the libido?' John wondered if she had first-hand knowledge but was smart enough not to ask, Lady Nightingale could get fluffy about that sort of thing. He had heard that even the Herald had run afoul of that temper when asking about her relationship with the Divine.
"Stab them in the same place as your own heart; they will die. I have to say that one is a little slower than most, probably why he is working as a laborer, a supervisor, yes, but still a laborer." Leliana, although despairing, was at least a little hopeful that the thoughtful questions being asked indicated that John was willing to be reasonable.
"Should I kill him quickly or make it a show, or even kill him at all?" John asked honestly, he had been in several cultures in which such a battle was expected, and both sides knew it was more like professional wrestling than the Roman Circus. John needed to know which this was.
"Make a show? You will be lucky if he lets you die quick." The heat in Leliana's voice was unmistakable. "He was not joking about using you as a sex toy; as far as I know, the Qunari do not see gender as an impediment to their libido. If you lose this duel and he chooses to let you live, then all" her voice rising such that the music and conversation stopped downstairs, she looked uncomfortable and lowered her voice, "your assets are his for the taking."
John just smirked and shook his head, "You miss understand me, Sister, I asked whether the Inquisition needed me to make a show of this, or should I finish him quickly?" He made his point by using his index finger as if it were a dagger, stabbing the top of the small table they all shared. "What does the Inquisition and, more importantly, the Herald need me to do?"
It was Josephine's turn to speak; she fully understood what he was asking. "The Qunari is a bully, but he has the respect of the workers. He brings nothing to the Inquisition but a strong back; however, we certainly think he is involved with criminal elements and may even be part of the Ben-Hassrath." She said the last in a hushed tone and in such a way that she obviously thought John knew what that was.
"Their intelligence network." Leliana was more familiar with the group. "The Divine hired Qunari to function as guards, a neutral party as it were. Undoubtedly there were Ben-Hassrath elements within it, and now within the Inquisition. I am trying to root them out, however…"
"Understood, you are saying that this guy may be putting on an act, got it." John was losing patience now. "What will harm the Inquisition, and what will not?"
"There is no way to know, but you must maintain the Heralds honor, as well as your own, and do so without offending the workers we need, all while deceiving the Ben-Hassrath and defanging Roderick," Cullen added without the smallest smile on his face.
"Hey, no problem. Who is this Roderick anyway?" John added, he had thought he had heard the name before, and seen the man at a near riot outside the Chantry building, 'Funny how I am already thinking of that thing as a holy building. I guess one just adapts.' "I have no idea what he is about, other than he seems to hate Lady Trevelyan and thinks less of the rest of you."
"That is not quite fair of you, Commander." Giselle had managed to quietly enter the room; John wondered if she was one of Leliana's people. However, the Sister simply nodded with a very slight bow. "Chancellor Roderick is loyal to the Chantry and was very fond of Divine Justinia; he simply is afraid and wants to protect what he loves; he has convinced himself that the Herald and your group are a threat to all that he loves. He can not strike at the Herald, so he uses the club he has. Take that away from him, and he will be diminished."
"What ever possessed you to challenge him to a fight to the death? He might have simply taken a bribe and left you alone." Josephine wondered, her voice full of actual concern. She did not know John at all, but she was a woman of deep faith and compassion, and these people needed help, wayward children lost at sea.
"You don't take us seriously. Sure, you will use us as laborers, builders, frankly, I think you were surprised we did not beat ourselves to death with the hammers, but you don't think we can deal with this world." John was done, done with trying, done with pretending. "My people are soldiers and able to fight on any plain or circumstance that you have IF you give us a chance, and tomorrow I will prove it."
"My people are scientists and scholars, and we need you alive to protect us." Sam had managed to enter the room as well.
"Will someone lock the damned door!" John said with a smile that did not reach his eyes; he was getting tired of interruptions.
"Alright, John Gray, if you go and get yourself killed, what do I do then? I am not fucking Eric to keep him in line, and none of the other women could do that better than me; we need you to stay alive." She stood directly in front of him; the others were behind her, looking at her then back to him.
This time the smile reached his eyes. "Yes, professor! Just because you asked so nicely." Turning to the group, "Now, will you all get out of here? I need some sleep." They all filed out one by one, first Cullen, then Josephine; Leliana looked as if she was going to say something but thought better of it, Sam seemed the same, but she just blushed and ducked out. 'I wonder if she was going to offer some comfort. Wow, now she thinks of that!' That left Giselle, who stopped a moment by the door.
"You asked what the Inquisition needed apart from what you and yours need. They are the same; your companions, including Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine, are touched that you asked about the Inquisitions needs before your own. They think you go to your death; I have my doubts. You must defeat that man, drive him into the ground, give him no chance, and you must offer him mercy. He may take it, he may not, he would lose a great deal of standing if he takes it, but he may gain more if you handle it properly." She went to leave and was blocked. "You have one last visitor." Then she slipped out the door.
John looked outside; there was Gliril, with a tear-stained face and bloodshot eyes, and a platter with steaming meat, heaping vegetables, a whole loaf of fresh bread, and two mugs of ale. "I am so sorry, sir; I got you into this trouble."
"Come in Gliril." John's voice was gentle; his eyes were as kind as he could make them. She somehow reminded him of Sarah, probably a part of why he was so angry with the Qunari and more the nug shit that had started all this. She passed him, and he blocked the door open. "Needs some air in here. Please sit down."
"It is all my fault; I should have just kept my mouth shut. Maybe you would not have to fight that monster. Mistress will never forgive me if you are hurt." Gliril seemed ready to start a new round of weeping.
"Gliril, you did wonderfully; you have nothing to be ashamed of. I know that Lady Trevelyan will know the truth and will thank you for your work. Now go and enjoy the party, then ask Mr. Eric and Mr. LJ to walk you back to your cabin." John was ready to see her out, it was late, and he really needed to get to bed.
"I can help you rest if you wish?" Gliril stood up and began to remove her clothes. John jumped up as if he were electrocuted.
"Gliril, no. You are not to do that for me or anyone." He did not even want to touch her, too much like Sarah; it made him nauseated even to allow the thought to approach his mind.
"I see, I know I am repulsive; the others would always wait till dark. Segrit would not even touch me." She looked down again; despair was dripping from her words.
"Gliril, you are beautiful, but you are young." John was fathering Gliril now, or at least hoped he was doing what another man should do for Sarah, protecting her from a cruel world. "I don't know what is in your past, but you are a wonderful, kind, and gentle girl, and you are not a piece of meat or body to be used. Do you understand?" He lifted her chin to look into his eyes. "You are worth so much more than those bastards would or could show you. Stay with Mistress Trevelyan; she is a good woman and will take care of you. If things go badly for me tomorrow, you have to promise me you will tell her that I did this to repay my debt."
She brightened a little, then doubt crept in again. "Is it because I am an elf?"
"No, little one, it is because you are a child and a child who has never had a childhood. You deserve better, the Herald can not fix all your hurts, but she can make your future better." He kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Now go and enjoy the party, and thank you for the food. I am a little hungry. Make sure that Eric and the boys walk you back home."
She left and was at the bottom of the stairs before he heard the voice. "Well done." Charter appeared out of nowhere from behind him!
John jumped afoot at the start. "Don't do that! How do you do that? Don't do that again. Crap, I think I pissed myself; damn, what is the point of a door!" John checked. Nope just spilled his ale a little.
"You are a good man John Gray. I hope you survive tomorrow. You know your Eric is taking some rather large bets?" The pretty redhead tilted her head a little and smiled?
"If he wins, then he will be quite wealthy. That is a big if; however, I saw you deal with that oaf. I will not bet."
She left and finally, John closed his door. He was starving.
Templar Games
Serrada was starting to worry about her sanity. Varric and Solas were behind her, with Cassandra guarding all of their rears - literally.
Serrada had both her daggers out and was ready to go into shadow; she wanted the Templar bad, and the Leader in particular. They had found evidence all over, orders, letters, postings that made it quite clear that this one man was responsible for the chaos the rebel Templars had created, from the deaths of many innocents. Many mages were just trying to survive the loss of Circles like Tarra and Kara. Worse, the slaughter of people that might have unwittingly helped them. This sick bastard had even ordered the hangings of farmers and merchants who simply traded with the rogue mages! How could one even know? Certainly, the mages generally dressed in circle clothing, but not all. They had even met a recent widow whose husband had been murdered because the Templars who killed him claimed, "We had to be sure" that a shovel was not a mage's staff.
'Bloody morons, if you can't tell a staff from a shovel, you certainly could not recognize the first and probably could not be trusted with the second for the safety of others.' Obviously, they were liars, just thieves hiding behind Chantry heraldry.
After Kara's death, Serrada was like a wild woman; she blamed the rogue Templars for Tarra's death, which led to Kara's. She hunted them like vermin; with each disgraceful disclosure, her rage grew, and she had personally killed the three murdering bags of nug droppings who killed the farmer and stoled his wedding ring. Cutting two of their throats before they even knew she was there. The third got to put up something of a fight, but he died all the same, daggers through his heart, both first driven through chain mail padding and ribs just above his breastplate. Serrada used her body weight to force his body against the rocks and was only inches away from his face; she rode his body down to the ground so he could look into her eyes as he died. He flailed helplessly as his armor and hers were painted in his heart's blood.
Each of her companions tried to get her to slow down as they approached the Templar camp; the outer ring of guards were even now pleading for entry into the Makers halls. It was their leader's turn to join them in that fruitless endeavor. They were moving up under shadow and cover, closer to the Templar camp with every passing second. They could hear the watch just outside the outer stockade.
"Yeah, she was good, I enjoyed fucking her, we had suppressed the little knife ear's magic, and she was helpless," The left guard was speaking to the right guard, who was the only one keeping watch, "she asked me to help her. What the fuck did she think? Would I help some magic touched rabbit? Seriously, magic must ruin their minds. I did help myself to her charms, though. She was a virgin! Can you believe it? At her age, what a waste." He shook his head and made a play at glancing out at a distance; he leaned on his bow, "I felt bad cutting her throat though; it was a waste, she was a good piece of ass."
"Did you hear something?" The right guard tensed; it was clear that he was much more concerned about his job than the other guard. "I thought I …" Serrada gave the signal.
Varric's first bolt stuck through his mouth and out the back of his head; its twin was comfortably nestled just above and between his eyes.
"What…" was all the left guard got out before Serrada separated his head from his body. Her new daggers cut through him like a scythe through the air. The slash was made so swiftly that his body slid forward, his knees crumpling. His head went backward, and Serrada caught it too; she wanted to look into his dying eyes.
"I know you can still hear me. That is for the girl; I hope you rot." The eyes blinked, the mouth looked like it was trying to move. She propped the head face down in the crevasse of its own ass, the nose buried in the cloth-covered pile created by the recently evacuated bowels.
"A fitting last memory for such as he," Cassandra whispered as she moved up. "It is a good thing that the waterfalls covered the cacophony of noise you make – my Lady Herald."
Varric wrinkled his nose at the sight, "Remind me not to piss you off, Sparkles. You got a mean streak."
"I agree, however fitting it might be." Solas's eyes focused on the camp ahead. "We should finish this. We need to find the Horse Master and get back to Haven; our supplies are running low."
"Fine, fine, party poopers." Serrada was thinking much the same thing. They had managed to scrounge up some potions, but with all the fighting, healing potions and healers, in general, were hard to find.
The balance of the battle was rather anticlimactic. Cassandra made a mental note to have a long and honest discussion with the Lady Herald. 'What did Josephine call them? … Ah, yes, a clear and frank exchange of ideas and visions.' Serrada threw herself into battle with complete abandon and a total lack of concern for her safety. That worked well most of the time, but on several occasions, if it were not for a timely bolt from Varric, a spell from Solas, or a well-placed shield or sword thrust from herself, then the Herald, the one person in all of Thedas who must remain alive for the foreseeable future – would be dead on the ground.
"Herald, on your left!" Cassandra's shield caught the Templar arrow, up near the top, which meant it was yet another close call. "Will you be careful!" Cassandra herself acknowledged the absurdity of the statement in the middle of a battle. If she were not in a close contest with a Templar swordsman, she would have doubled over laughing.
"Fucking bitch!" The Templar Lieutenant swung his sword for her head, but it met Cassandra's shield. "You are a disgrace to the Chantry! This psychotic heretic, a dwarf non-believer, an elf apostate, and a traitor." He was screaming now; Cassandra would have tried to spare him in other circumstances; she had known him when he was a recruit, bright, and very devout. "You shit all over your oaths, you abandon the order then…" his shield bash might have knocked her over the precipice if it were not for the sudden appearance of the Herald. She leap-kicked him over the edge into the water below.
"I hate preachy bastards," she shouted at the form now trapped in armor several feet below the surface of the water.
Cassandra had no time to react, and by the time she could get down to the man, he would have drowned anyway. "It was a loss; he was once a good man."
"They are always innocent when young; it is life that turns them." Solas was not mocking the Seeker; he looked as if he remembered something long forgotten. "We were all once young and innocent, were we not?"
Cassandra could not answer, Varric was distinctly uncomfortable, and Serrada was looking for the Templar leader.
She spotted him in the camp, further up the box canyon. He built his base on a broad shelf of rock with a stockade around it. She moved up toward the stockade carefully to avoid traps.
"Come quickly, Lady Herald, come to me, let us discuss your work for Andraste." Peels of laughter bounced down to her from the stone walls of the small. The sound was grating; there was no warmth or joy in it, only insanity. The wind kept shifting, swirling around the cave; from time to time, Serrada caught a whiff of some sent, both familiar and strange. It reminded Serrada of something but what she could not recall.
She managed to avoid several snares and even a trap using a bent branch with sharpened stakes ready to impale the unwary; she was undoubtedly wary. The smell of blood and mud, human sweat was everywhere, but still? What was that smell? There was a memory, something trying to fight its way through the thousands of other memories and thoughts, both good and ill, that crowded her mind in the last few weeks. She could not grasp what it was, but it kept fighting.
They were huddled just below the lip of the shelf of rock on which the Templar leader had built his inner camp. She could see the tops of tents just over and through the stockade, probably his own and his lieutenants. The shelf of rock was perhaps two or three feet higher than the path; there were marks for what was perhaps a small ladder, long since pulled up into the inner camp. That shelf would slow them down, making easy targets for anyone inside.
"Come, Herald, let us have tea." The Templar moved back from the stockade toward the far wall of rock. "Perhaps we could dance, you and I, are you a good dancer?"
Cassandra looked utterly perplexed, "Is this man mad? What is this with tea and dancing?"
"My guess is the tea is poisoned." Varric's look was a mirror of Cassandra's.
"Tea is poison," Solas moved up to Serrada's right. "I smell something foul, but I can not place it. You?"
"Me too, I know I have smelled it before, but with all the decaying corpses, full latrines, and rotting fish from below, I can't smell it clearly enough." Serrada was frustrated, the memory was trying desperately to get through, but it was just out of reach.
"Bring the traitor with you. Are you there, Seeker? You abandoned the Seekers, you threw the Templars to the wolves, and you failed the Divine to her death!" The rage in his voice was thick, as was the sound of drink, "Those Templars you killed this morning, do you remember them? The young Templar you drowned told me that you would listen to our plea and hear our side. I wonder. Did you listen before you drowned him?"
Cassandra froze; she looked stricken. Doubt was written all over her face.
"I drowned him, you ass wiper; he was not looking for understanding when he was trying to bash in the Seekers skull." Serrada shouted back, "I did not hear the rapist and murderer at the bottom of the hill ask to tell his story either but don't worry, he is a little up his own ass about it right now."
"Very amusing, come, let's finish this. I am bored of entertaining children. Come, Cassandra, you were once a great hero among the Seekers, Templars, and the Chantry; why do you follow this false prophet, does she pleasure you in the dark of night, or more likely you do her?" The shouts were sounding less drunken now, only a few more feet. Serrada could see no more traps or tripwires. The stockade was too tall, too well-built to scale before being stuck by arrows or blade; the door was the only choice.
"What game is he playing?" Serrada whispered to herself, what does he hope to achieve?
"Killing you, I suspect," Varric replied in a whisper.
"Damn, I am going to have to be quieter in my whispers," Serrada responded.
"Agreed, hearing the machinations of your mind is quite – fascinating and disturbing," Solas whispered as well, through a smile.
"One of these days, your face is going to freeze like that." Serrada responded, smiling back, "Then your whole dower elf mage thing will be gone."
"Do you all mind if we have this conversation back at Haven?" Cassandra was impatient. "I, for one, would like to end this as quickly as possible." She kept glancing at the spot the young Templar went over the edge.
'I am going to have to talk to her about that soon.' Not her fault, he could have surrendered, trusted his instincts, but no, he did not.
"Come, Herald, Andraste awaits us both, perhaps we can state our cases together, and she can judge between us?" His voice had a strange ting to it, almost metallic; something was wrong.
"Why don't you come out, and I will make the introduction for you?" Serrada was not ready to test Andraste, nor was she willing to discover whether she indeed was her Herald or she had just hit her head too hard at some point. She readied herself, prepared to spring. The others followed suit; she moved right to the end of the last impediment, the ledge, one solid leap, and she as well as the others would be through. The Templar had moved well back, near the torches lighting his tent and upturned boards serving as his desk, the muscles in her legs knotted filling with tension to leap…
Just then, the wind shifted, blowing cool, clean, fresh air from somewhere, somewhere far from the fetted mass of filth and death that this once beautiful little box canyon had been, but along with that fresh pine-scented air was another scent, powerful, full-bodied and nauseating. Finally, the memory rushed past all the other thoughts and concerns; she knew that smell!
Quickly she grabbed up some of the soil near the rock face, brought it closer to her nose - oil! This was lamp oil! Again the wind shifted softly, swirling first from this side then that, now behind, the same smell, sometimes stronger, sometimes weaker, then from the stockade it blew, filling their faces with the most pungent odor of all, oil mixed with foul corruption, the corruption of death.
Suddenly she knew his plan and turned to the others. "Run, over the edge, jump! Jump NOW!"
The others looked stunned, then did as she bid; they jumped into the cold waters below.
"Noooo! You will not escape me! My Master will not allow it!" The Templar's voice sounded so different, so alien, not the drunken rantings as before; it was strange, unnatural.
Serrada had stayed to guard her friend's leap over the edge; the Inquisition forces covering their advance were quickly retreating behind the lower stockade. She could see they were all safe when suddenly a whooshing roar began up next to the cliff wall; Serrada did not wait to see what caused it. She ran for the cliff edge and hoped for the water's safety below; she made the edge as a billowing cloud of flame outpaced then enveloped her.
Insights and Surprises
"Haven? Maker, how did I get back to Haven?" Serrada stood outside of the stockade before the main gate. It was a place she had known and remembered very well. She remembered the battle, falling, water, hitting flat on her chest, driving the air from her lungs, then here…
"I must be in the Fade! I don't remember it ever being so real." She bent down and felt the soil; she could feel the rocks and touch the horse stall's near Harrit's smith. It was the same but different. She could almost hear laughing, shadows of shadows moved toward a new building. Large, one of a set, still had lights within, smoke lifting up and away from a chimney the likes of which she had never seen before.
She walked to the new building, the door open, she walked in. A fire burned in the enormous fireplace, which was so warming that she could feel it from here. Cold air rushed by her to warm itself near the hearth.
She could hear vague whispers of conversations, to quiet and soft to make out but loud enough to know were there, but the participants were nowhere to be seen. Strangest of all, spirits were in abundance.
"They don't know how to protect themselves." A young elf looking girl with glowing green eyes was suddenly beside her. "Oh, hello, please do not be afraid. I am Wisdom, a friend of Solas. I was supposed to meet him today to discuss you actually, Lady Herald."
"Who are you, and what do you mean – discuss me?" Serrada reached for a dagger that was suddenly not there.
"As I said, I am Wisdom, a friend of Solas for a very long time." The young girl moved around the building; she would speak with some of the spirits who seemed to move the doors and windows. "Wisdom is my name because it is what I am. Has not Solas spoken of his communicating with those like me?"
"Yes, he has, but …" Serrada looked around again, wondering about the building and more its occupants, which she could barely hear but not see.
"You cannot see them because they are awake; when awake, their essence must contend with the unchanging world; they have no will left to see things here. Only when they put down that burden in sleep can they see and communicate with us." Wisdom swept her hands toward the other spirits that surrounded the room. "They do not know how to protect themselves, so Solas asked me to help him until they could. You came in a dreaming state so you can see us. We mean no harm, just the opposite. It has been tiring; some of my kind have already fallen to demons in this cause. I hope you return and teach them; I do not think we can continue in this vigil for many more days."
Serrada looked around once more. "Do you know who built this place? It was not here when I left."
"They did, of course. The people you kept as prisoners. They were not used to such labor, but they did it anyway, remarkable, really. Their leader is asleep above, and he might be able to speak with you." Wisdom observed Serrada.
"Oh, well, I uh, that is to say…" Serrada remembered the meeting with their leader. She remembered his fit physique, handsome face, and beautiful eyes, and she could also recall the rest of him. "I..I think I will let him rest."
'Well, maybe just a peek?' She walked up the stairs, and Wisdom followed, looking like she was about to burst out into a fit of giggles. The door was just ajar; Serrada carefully opened it and was shocked to see yet another spirit, but this time what looked like a desire demon. The demon's perfect breasts heaved softly and luxuriously as she breathed in whisps of what looked like vapor emanating from the sleeping man's mouth, nose, and groin?
"What are you doing!" Serrada entered, again reaching for her missing daggers.
"Having a snack, if you must know, please leave, and I will get to you soon, my little sweet." The desire demon's gaze caused Serrada's body to respond with a need she had never known she had. "I promise to make your night very … interesting." She turned back to the sleeping man.
Serrada glanced at Wisdom, who seemed to be preparing herself to do something, but desire demons were immensely powerful, and wisdom clearly was not a fighter.
'Leave now!' Serrada raised her left hand, "Leave now or else!"
"No." The desire demon raised her talon tipped hand, and Serrada could see what looked like an identical image of the man start to rise from his reclining form. "I think I will take this morsel with me."
A burst of green light streamed across the room, catching the desire demon squarely between her perfect breasts. The green light seemed to bore a hole through, then spread out and consume the demon even as she screamed. In a moment, there was no sign that the creature had ever been there.
"You see?" Wisdom said flatly, "Until they are trained to defend themselves, they are as infants to the worst element of my world."
"I will try something; please move your friends to the outside of the walls." Serrada moved to the space near the man's bed and close to the hearth. She placed her left hand on the chimney, focused her will on the mark in her hand, and pushed. Starting at her hand, a ball of green and golden yellow light grew and grew until it filled the whole building. Walls, sills, doors all shimmered with the same golden-green light.
She needed to leave; she needed to be elsewhere. Before she left, she looked down at the sleeping man; he no longer tossed and turned. "So handsome. I wonder if I will ever see him again."
She descended the stairs, and seeing no more spirits, went outside. Wisdom met her at the door.
"What have you done?" Wisdom asked she had tried to enter the building and could not. It was not painful, but there simply was a barrier like she had never encountered. "We cannot cross this … this whatever it is."
"I imagined a barrier surrounding the building, focused on it, poured my will into the mark, and the barrier appeared. I don't know how, nor do I care; I just want it here." Serrada turned to Wisdom.
"Thank you for your help, and if you can, please continue your watch. I have no idea if this will continue to hold after I awaken … if I awaken. But thank you, regardless. They need their sleep. The barrier will allow them to rest."
"Probably for the best; he will need his rest." She stopped and considered Serrada, "You may not remember this, but on the morrow at noon, the man will dual a Qunari." Wisdom knew precisely when to insert the dagger and when to turn it. "He will fight to protect your honor, the young elf servant girls, and finally his own."
Serrada was not too concerned; men in Ostwick seemed to consider dueling a weekend sport. "It will probably be good for him." She did not believe it, it was too much like tempting the Maker, and the men generally ended up looking like pompous prancing fools.
"Well, we will see. After all, it is a duel to the death." Wisdom dropped that nugget and moved on.
"What?!" Serrada responded when her chest suddenly felt cold then was suddenly gripped with pain.
Learning Something New
Cassandra and Solas had been helping Varric make the far shore, a little sand bar.
"Serrada!" Cassandra cried out, both in warning and mourning. Hearing the roar above, she turned and looked up. She was just in time to see the Herald reach the edge of the cliff and leap as a wall of fire overtook and enveloped her. "Serrada! Serrada!" She waded back into the water, just as a tremendous splash occurred. "Serrada! Solas, quickly help me!"
Both waded through the water to the deep pool at the base of the falls; it was icy cold, cutting through their armor and padding; it was hard to move but much lighter than the plate that had sunk the young Templar. Cassandra dived, hoping to touch the woman she had sworn to protect; she grappled with sand and stone, desperately trying to find flesh.
"Here! Seeker, I have found her quickly!" Solas shouted.
Cassandra remembered covering the distance in a single bound, but in reality, it took several; they managed to bring Serrada to the surface. She was unconscious but was she dead? Her hair was shorter in many places, singed and burned, in some areas completely gone. Her once beautiful armor was now marked and marred not only by battle but tarnished by flame.
High above them, they heard the screams of a man, but not a man. Then suddenly above them stood a human man wreathed in flame; as they tried to shelter Serrada, the final bits of the shell of the Templar burned away, and an enormous demon of rage stood in his place ready to deliver his final blow. Well, would have if it were not for two things, two smaller items that the demon had not considered noteworthy in its task to ensnare and kill the Herald, two dwarves. One Varric, another scout Harding.
Bianca was pumping out heavy iron-tipped bolts faster than many men could count, but with all its mechanical brilliance, Harding's fluid movements were faster. If one were to have had an opportunity in the cool of the day, on some lovely green meadow's archery field, one could have carefully counted the fractions of a second between the arrow launch vs. Bianca bolt. One day that match may happen, but for today what mattered were the results. Even before Solas could launch his assault, the rage demon was covered with just the fletchings of countless bolts and arrows.
"Do you hear me, Herald!" Rage shouted from the edge of the cliff. "We come for you!"
Then it was gone.
Serrada did not hear it; she was either beyond hearing.
"Solas, she is not breathing!" Cassandra held the woman that a few days before, she would have gladly beheaded. "Help me; what do we do?"
"I have never encountered …" Solas began.
"Oh, get out of my way!" Harding pushed both Solas and Cassandra clear. "I saw this once. I hope I remember what the old woman did." She rolled Serrada onto her side, struck her on the back. Water spewed from her mouth, but still no breath.
"What did she do? She kissed the boy; oh Maker, what did she do?" She moved down and kissed Serrada, but with no effect; Cassandra was too stunned to speak. "No, that wasn't it; her cheeks did not bulge; she did something…" Suddenly she realized and took a deep breath and, holding the Heralds mouth open, blew into, but air came out her nose, then it stopped.
"Hey, I figured you needed – you only have one end of a bellows open at a time." He looked sheepishly at Cassandra and Solas as he pinched the Heralds nose closed.
Harding ran out of breath and let up. She checked on Serrada's heart. It was not beating. She sat back, dejected. "I think she is dead." Tears were forming in her eyes.
"Wait, I recall something from the Fade. Quickly, Seeker, help me." He began to remove the Herald's chest armor, 'Quickly, quickly, there is no time.'
Her chest bared, Solas put his right hand above her right breast, his left hand below her left.
"What are you doing!" Cassandra was prepared to draw her sword, "How dare you touch her in such a way!"
Without looking up, Solas said. "Trust me." 'Now, this must be gentle, quick.' Lightning flickered around his fingers. Serrada's body leapt up, her head turned, but there was no other sign of life. 'Again, a little more.' Once more, the Heralds body lifted, stiffened, then fell. However, this time she coughed! Water sputtered from her mouth and nose, weakly, and without focus; she batted her eyes; finally, she seemed to be awake.
"Where is John Gray?" Serrada asked, before slipping back into unconsciousness.