Chapter Two
Sinner
"And you once said I wish you dead, you sinner,
I'll never be more than a wolf at your door for dinner.
And if I see you 'round like a ghost in my town, you liar
I'll leave you with your head, oh I'll leave you for dead, sire."
—"The Wolf," Phildel
Solas sat beside the sleeping mage, recording the unusual events of the past several days. His own observations and hypotheses lined the margins of his papers. Since sealing the first rift, the Breach had stopped growing and the mark on her hand followed suit. The mage—Katerina, he reminded himself—had fallen unconscious as soon as the rift closed and hadn't stirred since. The local apothecary had tended to her with the best care the gruff man could offer, and Solas had sat vigil to monitor the mark.
The people were calling her the 'Herald of Andraste.' Only someone chosen by the Maker and his bride could have such control over the Fade, they said. Only someone Chosen could offer the hope of salvation. The apostate huffed at the superstitious nature of humans. The simplest explanation—that Katerina had simply stumbled into her current predicament—was almost laughable to them. The Breach still hung heavy in the sky, a chilling reminder that this wasn't over—whatever 'this' was. Katerina would be needed again.
Regardless, she'd been cleared of any wrongdoing by the echoes in the temple and through her own actions. The Seeker and spymaster had appointed her a modest cabin for the duration of their time in Haven, and she slept on.
The door to the cabin swung quietly open, ushering in a blast of the icy mountain wind and the Commander with it. Solas didn't bother looking up at the ex-templar, choosing instead to continue reviewing his notes.
"She still sleeps," he said simply as the soldier pulled a chair up beside him. "The mark nearly drained the life from her—she just needs to rest."
The Commander pulled his sword free and began whetting the blade. "And the last thing Haven needs is an abomination in its midst."
Solas watched him work with the faintest sneer twisting his lips. "I do not believe she is at risk of being possessed. Lady Trevelyan is not channeling magic."
"She is a mage," Cullen argued, careful to keep his voice low. "And we know nothing about that mark on her hand. It may very well be a constant connection to the Fade. All it could take is one curious spirit sensing that mark and attempting to claw their way through, and into her."
He continued running the whetstone over his blade, the soft rasp of the metal punctuating the otherwise quiet cabin. The Commander never once looked at the woman sleeping soundly in the bed before them. If he did, Cullen feared he would notice how small she looked in his too-large shirt—the only one readily available—or the way her dark tattoo stood out on her pale shoulder. If he noticed those things, he feared he might waver. He could not allow that—he could not allow a lapse in his vigilance, not if it meant someone might be hurt or killed. Instead, he steeled his resolve. He would have to act swiftly and decisively if the mark did indeed attract unwanted attention while the mage's guard was down. There was no room for hesitance when it came to demon possession. That's how people died.
Solas tsked, the rustling parchment the only other outward sign of his disapproval. "The mark is not currently active. Look—" he grasped Katerina's limp left hand and held it up for the warrior's perusal "—it is dark. It flares a bright green, matching that of the Breach, when she channels energy through it."
He gently placed her arm back at her side, a simple band of lyrium-infused silver glinting from her ring finger. Cullen could almost feel the lyrium whispering to him. Both men stilled, holding their breath as the young woman breathed something in her sleep and shifted in the small cot. Only when she settled back into slumber did they dare move again.
"I have studied the Fade extensively, Commander," Solas continued softly. His quiet authority brought Cullen's gaze to meet his own. "I know the signs of channeling magic as you do. I know that templars can feel the magic flowing before a spell is cast. You know as well as I that she is not a threat."
"She's not a threat right now," Cullen sighed. His face sagged with exhaustion. "This brings me no pleasure, believe me. But what is that saying? 'A mage is fire made flesh and a demon asleep.' She is in no state to ward herself or control any flares of magic. She could channel it in a dream, allow a demon in, and wipe us all off the map! Then where would we be?"
"And where would we be without the only person able to seal the rifts?" Solas countered, setting his papers aside with a heavy sigh. "You served in the Circles once, Commander. One of the first things mages learn is how to sleep and dream safely—you know this. Even those with a tenuous grasp of magic learn this skill. Lady Trevelyan is a proficient mage."
"How could you possibly know that after mere hours with her?" Cullen demanded, setting the sword aside for a moment.
"The same way you know a skilled warrior on sight." The apostate shrugged and crossed his arms at the templar's stubbornness. "She has a focus and control that not even the mark could drain from her, and she is powerful. It's how she saved your life outside the temple."
Cullen's eyes squeezed shut at that and he felt a headache forming at his temples. He knew the Dalish mage was right, but so was he. His presence was simply a precaution, as were the guards outside the door. His conscience did prickle at the thought of killing someone who'd saved his life, but it didn't matter. He'd never be able to live with himself if she became an abomination and killed innocents. In a choice between the bystanders outside this cabin and the slumbering mage, he would always choose the bystanders.
Unwilling to argue the point further, he jerked his chin at the dark emerald mark twining over her hand and up her wrist. "Is that going to grow again?"
Solas shook his head, allowing some of the tension to drain from his shoulders and ramrod straight back. "I can guarantee nothing and offer only hypotheses. After sealing that first rift, the Breach grew stable. Whatever caused this tear in the Veil is not natural, Commander. I doubt the Breach will begin spreading again with some outside influence. The mark is connected to the Breach—while the Breach remains stable so shall the mark."
"Theories and conjecture," the Commander groused. The lines on his face deepened and he raked a rough hand through his hair. "If you have any ideas on combatting this thing, you should speak up. We need a plan."
The elf glanced down at his notes. "I have a few thoughts."
"Come to the war room this afternoon. Share them with the others so we might put an end to this madness."
"As you command."
She dreamed that she was home and breathing the salty sea air of Ostwick. Gulls cried overhead, otherwise undetectable against the blinding sun. Breathing deeply, it was easy to believe she'd just snuck out of the sprawling compound occupied by her family in the heart of the city. She was born the daughter of a Teyrn, playing in the gardens and escaping to ride along the beaches below. Her mother would always tut at the breeches she'd spy under her wildest daughter's skirts, but Katerina refused to be cowed. She learned the courtly dances and manners, learned the intricate signals of fan language, and still took every opportunity to escape.
"Come and catch me, Rina!" her brother, Aidan, called through his laughter. His rosy face disappeared around a corner, only his ringing laugh alerting her to his whereabouts.
She hiked her skirts up and charged down the street, her answering laughter echoing on the sandstone walls. Hanging ivy reached down towards her, the bright, grasping greenery obscuring the rounded archways and delicately carved bannisters above. Her brother vanished around another turn, his carefree laughter taunting her, pulling her further in. Katerina ran, pushing her legs as fast as she could. Breathless giggles erupted from her as she ran in this familiar game.
The streets were utterly bereft of people—odd at this bright hour, but she paid it no mind. All that mattered was the chase.
It sounded like she was drawing closer, and she pushed harder. Rounding a pair of tall columns, Katerina found herself at a dead end.
Wheeling around to backtrack, she found the wall closed behind her. Something bubbled on its surface, oozing black and sickly green. A distant sense of alarm tickled vaguely at the back of her mind. She quickly dismissed it when she turned back, finding herself in the parlor with her mother and three of her sisters.
"Come, Katerina, sit," her mother invited with a gentle smile. She watched the raven-haired young woman intently, devouring every move she made. "We're discussing your prospects—"
The three other girls tittered, their eerily identical faces spread into wide, sharp grins. Katerina accepted a porcelain teacup from the middle sister. She'd never shared the same aspirations as her sisters and easily ignored their hungry eyes. They always looked like that, or maybe it was just how she remembered them.
"Tell me, who do you prefer: Comte de Launcet or Marquis de Chevins?" her mother pressed, white hands perfectly still around her own cup and saucer. Smooth dark hair was perfectly coiffed as befit a teyrn's wife and her dress was remarkably free of wrinkles. Her too-wide smile never faded. It was just like Maura Trevelyan to be picture perfect.
Katerina fought the urge to roll her eyes at the question, shifting on the stiff chaise instead. "Neither, mama."
"Come, darling, you must pick. The comte is powerful in Kirkwall, though his fondness for his wife poses an obstacle, and the marquis is one of the Empress's staunchest allies," Maura pressed, leaning a hair closer to her errant daughter.
The three girls pressed together on the loveseat mirrored the action.
"You know I don't care for politics or disrupting a marriage." Katerina frowned at that. The alarm bells in her head rang out louder than before, persistent and slowly rising in volume. She snuck a peek into her cup, finding that same bubbling wrongness from the wall.
"Then what is it you want?"
Katerina's gaze flew up to her mother then, towering over the young mage and face a hairs breadth away. She was caged in by bony arms. Those too-sharp teeth smiled threateningly down at her. The back of the chaise creaked under her "mother's" grip and she felt bile burning her throat.
"Nothing," she lied, pushing past whatever was masquerading as her mother as she shot to her feet.
"I smell the hunger in you," it sang, matching the mage step for step.
The three girls on the loveseat began bleeding together, their bodies morphing into one with those three same smiles still pasted on. Katerina spared them no more than a glance, more concerned with the demon wearing her mother's face. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she continued backing away. Fingers itched for her staff or the familiar heft of a concealed dagger.
The demon chuckled then, a sound like a centipede running over dead leaves. "I can feel your ambition, Rina." It crooned her nickname, sending a shudder down her spine. "Tell mother the truth."
Desire. She was facing a desire demon, of all things. Her mind raced and skittered as she tried to recall what she knew about these creatures. Wit was all she had here and now, projected into the Fade as she was. This was her Harrowing. It all suddenly seemed so clear, so obvious.
"I want for nothing." All of the doors had melted away, leaving her trapped with the desire demon and no way out. "I'm sure you sensed the wrong person."
"I make no such mistakes," the demon purred. "I can give you what you desire—power."
It morphed then, features changing and flickering like a reflection in a rippling pond, until Katerina's own face stared back at her. The crown of Orlais sat upon her head, the Empress's scepter in her hands.
"Or love."
It shifted again and Katerina had to close her eyes. Watching it flicker and mutate left her feeling dizzy. Her back hit the wall and she knew she was out of options. A too-cold finger traced her smooth cheek, startling her. Before her stood Ewan, a templar at the Ostwick Circle that she'd long fancied. His well-muscled body was only a breath away from hers, naked and glistening like ebony in the fading light. The demon pressed closer, his arousal hard and cold against her belly.
Bile rose in her throat then, and she exploded past the demon with flames licking up her arms. "No."
"The world could be yours," it cooed through Ewan's mouth. The voice was wrong. It was all wrong. "He could be yours."
"No." She lobbed a fireball at the desire demon, anger and disgust fueling the flames. They burned brighter and stronger than ever before.
The demon shrieked in rage and pain when the flames licked its chest. "You dare deny me?"
"I more than dare." Katerina launched another volley at the demon, distracting it from the rune circle she willed into place. It exploded with a violent, bone shaking screech, so bright and consuming that she lost sight of the blasted thing for a beat.
Next thing she knew, she was dangling from its strong grip and her shoulders screamed at the rough treatment. It had shed human form now, standing tall and horned before her. Its sickly gray skin pulsed with an eerie purple glow and black eyes shot daggers into her own.
"What good are you, stupid girl?" it cried, tossing her to the bubbling floor.
The ooze quickly consumed her, stopping her from moving, casting, escaping. The demon cackled as she disappeared, its harsh, wicked laugh echoing in her ears as she started awake.
The sound of something toppling to the floor had Katerina launching herself out of the bed, ready to defend herself from whatever the demon's next trick was. Instead, the floor rushed up at her, spinning dangerously until she collapsed back to the stiff cot.
A panicked elf stared at her in horror before backing away. "I didn't know you were awake, I swear!"
"Is this another dream? Another prison?" Katerina closed her eyes against the wave of nausea and waited for the world to stop spinning about her.
"I… no? I don't think so."
When she looked back up, the elf had backed up even further. Nothing was bubbling, green, or just wrong. She'd dreamed of her Harrowing, nothing more. It was long over, and she really was awake. "Then where am I? Can you please tell me?"
The terrified woman launched herself to her knees, prostrate against the ground as Katerina rose, more slowly this time. When she spoke, she sounded on the verge of tears. "I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I'm but a humble servant."
She frowned at that, torn between begging the woman to rise and getting the information she needed. None of this made sense. A quick glance told her she was somewhere unfamiliar—wooden, bright with sunlight, and quaint. Someone had changed her clothes. The nightshirt was thin with use and too large; the sleeves hung past her fingertips and the collar hung off a shoulder. Katerina scowled at the thought of someone undressing her and quickly covered her exposed skin.
"Where are we?" she asked again, forcing herself to remain calm. It wasn't the servant's fault that she was disoriented.
"You're back in Haven, my lady." The elf snuck a peek up at her before cowering back into the floor. "They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing—it's all anyone has talked of for the last three days!"
"Then the danger is over," Katerina breathed. Some of the tension she didn't realized she carried melted away at that. But three days—she'd slept for three days? Her growling stomach confirmed the elf's story. She was certainly hungry enough for it to be true.
"The Breach is still in the sky, but that's what they say." The elf pushed herself upright, inching away again towards the door. "I'm sure Lady Cassandra will want to know you've wakened. She said, 'at once!'"
"Where is she?" she asked, resigned to this skittish woman living in constant fear of her. Maybe time and patience would lessen it, but that would just have to wait.
"In the Chantry, with the Lord Chancellor. 'At once,' she said!" With that, she threw the door open and fled.
"Wait! What about—" Katerina looked down at herself, feeling foolish in this strange place and in little else but a strange man's shirt. It was too real and too embarrassing to be a trick of the Fade. She sniffed the collar cautiously, just to be certain. Spice and earth, no sulfur. She was safe.
She huffed and closed the door, shivering at the cold air that licked at her legs. Guards stood outside the little cabin and a crowd had gathered outside. Her heart hammered at that. She remembered the reception as Cassandra had escorted her, bound and helpless, through the town three days prior. What good would two guards be against a mob?
Rina lifted her chin defiantly. If a mob was going to tear her to pieces, she would at least find something decent to wear. No way was she going to die in a stranger's shirt and with no pants. Clothes spilled from the package the elf had carried in, leaving her with soft leather leggings and a deep gray overcoat lined with silver and white fennec fur. No shirt presented itself, so Rina resigned herself to wearing the too-large thing she'd woken up in. At least someone had left her own boots for her to wear.
There was no mirror, and she couldn't decide if she was grateful for that or not. What woman wanted to see the damage wrought by a mysterious, life-draining mark and a three-day healing sleep?
Head held high, she stepped out into the sunlit village, exciting whispers and a wave of motion. What she thought might be angry jeers and cries for her arrest ended up as a rush of blessings. Soldiers held fists over their hearts in a salute as they lined the path to the center of the village, holding the civilians back from rushing at her. People bounced on their toes to get a better look at the mage with raven curls and green staining her left hand.
"That's her!" someone cried, faceless among the crowd. "That's the Herald of Andraste!"
"They say Andraste herself was watching over her when she came out of the Fade," another said.
Katerina walked past them, doing her best to ignore the stares and jockeying behind the line of soldiers. She'd never received such attention. It wasn't in her nature to make a spectacle of herself, instead choosing to work quiet and hard to master whatever task was lain before her. One such skill was slipping away from a crowd when no one was looking so that she might run free, just for a little while. But there was no hiding here. All eyes were on her, noting every move she made and trading information.
It was unnerving.
"Blessings upon you, Herald of Andraste!" a woman cried.
She could only bob her head in thanks as she spied the Chantry, hurrying towards it so she might have some respite from the stares. The Chantry was blessedly quiet and dark, the tall ceiling shrouded in shadow as the clusters of candles flickered far below. It was a modest space, from what she could see, but that didn't matter. It was empty, and that's all Rina cared for.
Faded red carpet, darkened with age and use, dampened her footsteps as she moved further into the sacred space. Doors lined the walls, but only one held her interest. Opposite the entrance stood a large set of wooden doors studded with iron, and she could hear shouting coming through the aged oak. Katerina paused to listen in, not quite ready to walk blindly into whatever was brewing on the other side.
"—to be tried by whomever becomes Divine!" a man cried, Chancellor Roderick if she wasn't mistaken.
"I do not believe she is guilty." That had to be Cassandra—her rolling accent would be recognizable anywhere on this southern continent.
"The prisoner failed, Seeker," Roderick parried back. "The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, she intended it this way."
She chafed at that—how could anyone imagine that? She'd nearly died trying to close the damn thing. Maybe that's the only thing that would have convinced the man of her innocence. It seemed like the only way he'd be content.
"I do not believe that."
Katerina's eyes widened in surprise at the Seeker's gruff words. Cassandra believed in her. That was a welcome surprise.
"That is not for you to decide." Wood scraped against stone and he continued. "Your duty is to serve the Chantry."
"My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor, as is yours," Cassandra growled back.
Unable to listen any longer, Rina threw the doors open and strode proudly in. Three people stood around a large table littered with maps, papers, and markers in the middle of the room. Leliana and Cassandra stood poring over the map, placing pins in it while the Chancellor railed at them from the sidelines. He started at the mage's sudden entrance, mouth hanging open before his jaw snapped shut. Good. Let the man think her insolent. She refused to be cowed any longer, staring down her nose at the gaping Chancellor as he quickly gathered himself.
"Chain her," he commanded tightly to the guards standing at the door. "I want her prepared for travel to the capitol for trial."
Cassandra waved her hand lazily from her spot beside Leliana. "Disregard that and leave."
The guards saluted her and departed, closing the door quietly behind them. Katerina watched the Chancellor gape at their quiet obedience of the Seeker with some satisfaction. The man was troublesome, and it seemed she wasn't the only one with that opinion.
"You walk a dangerous line, Seeker." His threat was empty and all three women knew it.
"The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it," Cassandra said, paying him no mind. She spoke, instead, to the scarlet haired woman and Katerina. Her words were matter-of-fact and her posture screamed 'no nonsense.' She was not someone to cross lightly.
"Let me guess," Rina said with a small smile, leaning one hip against the large table with a care not to disturb their work. "You need my help."
"You have done plenty," the Chancellor snapped, face ruddy and eyes dark in the candlelight. "Your actions will be taken into account by the new Divine."
"Oh? Has someone been elected while I recovered?" she asked too innocently.
He blustered at that, face and neck almost turning purple with his frustration. It was Cassandra that spoke next, interrupting his wordless indignation with a tired roll of her eyes. "Have a care, Chancellor. The Breach is not the only threat we face."
"Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave, someone Most Holy did not expect," the fox-faced woman said, her soft voice cutting like a blade through silk. "Perhaps they died with the others—or have allies who yet live."
Roderick spluttered again at the subtle accusation and careful slant of the redhead's eyes. "I am a suspect?"
"You, and many others," she confirmed breezily.
"But not the prisoner," he finished, disbelief clear in every line of his body.
"I heard the voices in the temple," Cassandra said, face turned down to the table. What she'd seen weighed heavily on her mind, but she would not give Roderick the satisfaction of seeing that. "I saw the echoes of what happened there—the Divine called to her for help."
The Seeker's support of her innocence touched Katerina. It took a lot for someone to admit they were mistaken, especially someone staunch and prideful. But Cassandra wore her pride with a healthy mix of humility, it seemed. She shot the Seeker a grateful nod. Having someone in her corner was a welcome surprise after the events three days before.
"So her survival and that thing on her hand—all a coincidence?" the man demanded.
"Providence. The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour," Cassandra replied. She was so certain of this that it left Rina reeling.
"You've changed your mind about me?" she asked, failing to mask her surprise.
"I was wrong," the Seeker admitted, pulling herself up to her full height and moving away from the table. "Perhaps I still am. I will not, however, pretend you were not exactly what we needed when we needed it."
Rina could hear her rustling around in the shadowed corners of the war room, for that's what this was. The hooded woman spoke then, pulling her attention away from the Seeker.
"The Breach remains," Leliana said, voice soft with agreement. "And your mark is our only hope of closing it."
"That is not for you to decide!" the Chancellor cried, his frustration at being ignored hitting a boiling point as he threw himself back into the women's conversation.
Cassandra reappeared then, slamming a thick tome down. The table shook and a few markers toppled with the weight of the thing. The worn leather binding looked soft in the light, the sigil of the Divine embossed on the cover. She pointed to the book as she spoke, her voice mounting in intensity.
"You know what this is, Chancellor?" the Seeker pressed, expression fierce. "A writ from the Divine granting us authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn." She prowled closer to the Chancellor with each conviction-laced word, her finger poking his thin chest when his back met the wall. "We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or without your approval."
The unspoken "join me or get out of my way" hung heavy in the air as a pregnant silence fell over the room. Roderick's eyes darted between the three women, desperately searching for any support, anyone to decry this mad endeavor. Finding nothing, he deflated and simply left.
"This is the Divine's directive." Leliana rested a hand on the cover of the tome, her eyes falling shut and a flash of sadness lined her delicate face. "We aren't ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and no Chantry support."
"We have no choice." Cassandra's gruff voice was unusually soft as she watched her friend. "We must act now."
"You're trying to start a holy war," Katerina surmised, shaking her head. Weren't two wars and a tear in the sky enough? The mages and templars were slaughtering each other and innocent bystanders every day, Orlais had torn itself apart with a civil war, and then there were the demons… "I don't think Thedas can take any more fighting."
"We are already at war," Cassandra pushed, turning the full force of her intensity upon the mage. "You are already involved—its mark is upon you. As to whether our war is holy… that remains to be seen."
"When I woke up, I certainly did picture any of this," Rina admitted, running her fingers through her wayward curls. People thought she was some sort of Herald sent by the Maker, a holy figure. She didn't feel holy. She didn't feel different at all, except for the mark on her hand.
"Neither did we," Leliana said, a cool mask of composure falling back over her face.
"All I really wanted was a bath," the mage joked. While she didn't feel Chosen, she did feel filthy.
"That can be arranged." Cassandra strode over to her then, her hand held between them, waiting. "Just help us fix this before it's too late."
Nodding, she grasped the Seeker's hand in a firm shake. After that, the bath was the most normal thing Katerina experienced for several weeks. Haven soon bustled with activity. Scouts and ravens came and went so quickly that there was no point in keeping up. Reports flew between outposts and Leliana's contacts in Ferelden, new markers appearing on the map almost hourly. Fade rifts, she explained to the mage in that cool, crisp voice of hers. Therinfal Redoubt and Redcliffe Castle were swiftly marked as well.
A bustling woman with the thick gold jewelry of a merchant family rushed about with her writing table at the ready, clucking and tutting as she hastily penned notes and traded friendly barbs with Leliana. There was always some scribe or messenger tailing her, a stack of papers in hand. Josephine was her name, as Katerina discovered by accident one day. She was often in talks with the two women powering the Inquisition and the military commander.
Katerina quickly learned his routine and made her best effort to avoid the man. The templar always watched her when they happened to be nearby. It was unnerving, like he was just waiting for her to mutate into a demon where she stood.
Those first days after she woke, Rina quickly fell into a routine. She made it her habit to join Varric in the tavern for breakfast and a game of Wicked Grace, a long chat, or a companionable silence. The loquacious dwarf was good company and made her feel normal—or as normal as possible given the turning heads and whispers that followed her every step. Every time she heard someone say, "the Herald," it always took a beat before she realized they meant her. Only Varric and Solas treated her like an ordinary person. The rest of the time, she was either hailed as a savior or ordered about like a soldier.
In the afternoons, she'd taken to sparring with Solas while the Commander was ensconced in meetings. It was the only time he wasn't prowling about the training field by the frozen lake or scouring reports in a nearby tent. Other ex-templars stood watch over that tent and over the trainees waving their practice swords, but they paid her little mind. One of them, Lysette, had even braved a conversation with the mage one day. It was stilted, but still a far cry warmer than her interactions with the blond man in charge.
She was with Solas at the training field one day, as removed from the soldiers as they could be. Staves whirled and struck with hard smacks, blocking strikes. Deadly blades glimmered in the weak sunlight as the two apostates circled one another.
They cast careful barriers to trip the other up, the ground shimmering with runes under the slush of trodden snow. Snowballs flew back and forth as they cast, a non-lethal option for training. Dodging and blocking the frozen missiles was an additional challenge. Rina dodged one snowball and her staff whistled through the air to block the elf's strike.
Clack.
Another parry.
Clack.
A block.
She grunted with effort as she jumped to evade the swing at her legs and launched a snowball that hit the elf from behind. It hit his head with a splat.
"The victory is yours," he chuckled. Solas held up his staff in surrender and brushed the snow away from his skin with the other hand.
With a breathless chuckle, she swept a teasing bow. "You are as noble in defeat as you are in triumph, mir falon."
"It seems you've recovered well," Solas said as he began walking back towards the gate. His feet carried him noiselessly over the snow. "Your strength has returned, and you look well-rested."
"I guess some good had to come of sleeping for three days straight," Rina joked with a shrug. "Adan told me you kept watch while I was out—thank you. It's a relief, in a strange way, to know that someone was monitoring the mark."
"Of course. You're an oddity, Katerina." He held up a hand to stop the indignant retort already forming on her lips, halting by the open gate back into Haven. "The mark, that connection to the Fade, is unlike anything I've ever seen. Now that the Breach is stable, you seem wholly unaffected by it. An oddity. One that I felt it my duty to observe."
Something caught his attention over her shoulder, and he continued, voice dropping so that no one could chance overhearing. "You should know: The Commander also kept vigil over your sickbed. He feared your vulnerable state might lead to the worst."
She turned to follow his gaze, unsurprised to see the Commander talking to his fellow ex-templars opposite where the mages stood. His broadsword hung at his side, sheathed and innocuous but for what she'd just heard. Her blood ran cold as she watched the man. He perused missives and answered questions from the messengers and recruits swarming about him, a staid figure in the midst of their buzzing. And someone prepared to kill her.
"I believe he feared for the people of Haven," Solas explained. He'd watched the color drain from the woman's face as she froze in the Commander's presence. "He seemed to relax when he realized you weren't channeling any magic, though he remained vigilant."
"I understand." She heard the words like someone else had uttered them. Something was wrong with her hands, she realized distantly. A glance down told her they were shaking. Her whole body was as her stomach roiled traitorously. "I-I have to go."
Katerina lurched towards the gate, swaying as she went. The bile rose, burning her throat. She was going to be sick. All she could see were the templars in Ostwick, armor shining and smeared with blood. Their swords dripped bloody trails as they went through the Circle, hunting down the mages. She could hear cries of fear and pain, the squelch of steel cutting through flesh. She thought—hoped—she'd escaped that nightmare once and for all, but it seemed fate was not on her side.
Her body rebelled just as she reached the stairs and she retched into the bushes. She heaved until nothing remained, panting and teary from the act. Rina roughly wiped her mouth and kicked snow over the mess.
'How pathetic,' she thought with a scowl. 'If anyone believes I'm divinely chosen after that, they must be blind.'
"Herald," a deep, measured voice called from behind her. "Are you alright?"
Katerina whirled about to face the person she least wanted to see then. "Commander. Yes, fine."
"I'm sure." He arched one brow at her, clearly not buying her lie. He had just seen her lose her lunch. "Lady Cassandra wished to speak with you at the Chantry. I'll send a messenger to give your regrets—"
"I'm fine, Commander," she bit out more harshly than intended. "I just over-exerted myself—not enough to risk possession. There's no need to kill me yet."
The mage stared him down, satisfied when his eyes darted away at her fierce glare. He shifted uncomfortably before her, shoulders tight and face lined as he rubbed his neck. Cullen couldn't look at her, skin prickling with guilt as her cold eyes bore into him. This woman had saved his life. A mage saving the life of a templar—even a former member of the order—was unheard of now, and he'd been prepared to repay her with death. Maybe things hadn't always been like that, but the war put these things into a new perspective.
'Good. Let him be ashamed,' she thought, watching his discomfort grow as the silence dragged on.
"I had hoped you wouldn't find out," he admitted, finally glancing back at her. "I'm sorry you did. It's unfortunate, but I have a duty to the people of Haven."
"As do I," Katerina volleyed back. Her fingers tightened on her staff, realizing he thought her selfish and uncaring of those around her—that he likely thought of all mages that way. "I understand why you felt the need to do that, but it was not necessary. You're a templar—you know that mages who pass their Harrowing are vigilant even in the deepest of sleeps." He moved as if to draw nearer, but her hand flew up to stop him. "Don't."
The command was clear. He swallowed hard and nodded, falling back. "You're a Circle mage," Cullen started, "so you know that I had no other choice."
"There's always another choice." Her clear gray eyes rose to meet his gaze defiantly. "You could have chosen to trust my training as you trust yours."
'And you could have chosen to let me die,' the little voice in the back of his head whispered in reply. Cullen said nothing, though. His jaw tightened, biting back those words. When she realized he wasn't going to say anything, the Herald turned on her heel and strode away.
A/N: So we've learned more about Rina and her past, and our lovebirds are not off to a good start. Isn't this fun? I certainly hope it is!