Ten miles off the coast of Gwaren, aboard the Royal Fereldan Navy helicopter carrier HMS King Calenhad, in the magnificently-decorated king's ready room on the deck castle, His Majesty King Alistair of Ferelden was trying very hard not to stare at his friend Leliana's chest.

Hold on, that came out wrong. What he was actually trying to do was not to stare too much at the joke printed on her bright red hoodie. Don't shoot, I'm in Engineering! Alistair didn't get it, and he wasn't about to admit that. It was infuriating; whenever he spent any time with his friend, he could feel his nerd cred trickle away.

He glanced up to find Leliana smirking at him. Oh, Maker, did she think – no, that was the smug smirk of superior geekiness. That was, in a way, worse.

Flushing red, he tried to return his attention to the, er, spirited discussion Eamon and Lady Montilyet appeared to be having. "No, no, no! That is utterly inacceptable! You know as well as I that the Inquisition requires those aircraft now, not in a year or two. I must say, prime minister, I find our proposal quite generous …"

"You come here, a group of penniless sectarians, expect us to sign over a small army's worth of military equipment for an IOU and you call it generous? Lady Montilyet, from the way you redefine the word I can only assume you've spent too much time in Orlais playing their 'Game'."

Returning his attention to the negotiations, Alistair gave a deep sigh. "You'll have your equipment, Lady Montilyet. Ferelden will lend you what we can spare, I promise. You can worry about paying us back once that hole in the sky is closed. Ferelden will also be contributing a substantial amount towards the Inquisition's upkeep. Something along the figure of 200 million sovereigns a year, perhaps?"

"There's also the matter of Fereldan servicepeople joining the Inquisition."

"Right, right. I can see where you're coming from. I'm sure we can work something out. How about this: any Fereldan servicepeople or public servants who wish to join the Inquisition may do so, and will continue to receive half pay for up to a year."

There was a brief pause. Then, Eamon sat back in his chair, his displeasure plain on his face. "I must protest, sire. The people won't stand for it, and neither will Parliament."

"Good thing Parliament doesn't have a say in this anymore."

"They'll want one, though, no way around that. I've already reshuffled my cabinet four times over the past six months; these days it's almost impossible for my whips to get anything through the house at all. They need to be consulted, or they will rebel when it comes to extending the Defence of the Realm and Enabling Acts, I promise you that."

Lady Montilyet leant forward. Like a lion jumping in for the kill, Alistair thought. "Prime minister, I appreciate this is a difficult thing for your government to accept. But the Breach threatens all of us equally. Right now, the Inquisition is the only group fighting a concerted effort against the demons. We have proven that we can close rifts at Haven, and at Witchwood."

"And how very convenient that is, too."

Alistair shot him a quick glare. They'd had that discussion before. "Eamon, I have made my decision. The Inquisition will have all the support it requires. Get the Orlesians in on it, too, if you can. They have as much to fear from the Breach as we do." The king rose to his feet, straightened out his uniform. "I need some air, I'll go above decks for a bit." He gave Leliana a look that he hoped was meaningful.

"I'll come with you. Josie, I'll let you handle this. Have fun."

The ready room was located only a few steps from the King Calenhad's CIC, and from there it was only a few more stairs and bulkheads to the balcony surrounding the bridge. A few crewmen were taking a break, but respectfully withdrew inside when their king and Leliana appeared. "What a mess," Alistair finally said, leaning on the railing and pulling a pack out of his jacket. "Cigarette?" "Haven't touched one in eight years, thanks. I knew you'd started smoking, but why? It's bad for you, you know."

That made him chuckle through the smoke of his fag. The Warden that died of lung cancer, a tale for the storybooks. Well, that at least wasn't a concern of his. Alistair shivered in the cool sea air. If he concentrated, he could hear the Song even now. "Really? Who'd have thought."

"You didn't answer the question, Alistair."

The king sighed. "I've been under a lot of stress lately, let's put it like that. Heh. Just look at me. Thanks to the Enabling Act, I'm the most powerful monarch in the modern history of Ferelden. I'm practically in charge of governing my country now. And look at what's happening to it. The entire south-west is in disarray, the mages rule Redcliffe and the Templars are holed up at Therinfal All recovery in the Blightlands has come to a halt, and the only government still standing west of Lake Calenhad is that of the Chantry. I myself have had to leave Denerim because it's 'unsafe', so I'm holed up on this damn ship. And that's before the sky opened up. The demons couldn't pick a better time, could they? Do you know how many of my subjects have died since this war began?"

"302,129, at the latest count."

He gave Leliana a glance. "Nevermind. Of course you do." He drew on his cigarette. He felt a bit calmer now, and his hands weren't shaking as badly. "Look, Leliana. We're friends, right?"

"Of course we are. Why do you ask?"

"And you're also the Inquisition's … what do you call it? No, wait, let me guess. Inventory team manager? Business analyst? Agile project manager? Senior …"

"Senior risk management analyst," Leliana smoothly said. "Or simply … 'head of IT', to my friends."

Alistair gave a lop-sided smirk. "I could hear the quotes around that, you know. Knowing you, I expect you already know the National Intelligence Service knows about your Herald of Andraste."

"That would be a safe assumption."

"I've read the dossier, you know. Ms Bethany Hawke, born 9:11 in Lothering, joined the Kirkwall Circle of Magi in 9:31 where she served with the MCIS, then became a teacher of basic magic in Redcliffe after the Circles fell. There's a lot of stuff on her sister. Other than that, most of it is official documents. Lads at the NIS never even noticed her before, and all of a sudden she's the Herald of Andraste, saviour of us all. Honestly, I can't blame Eamon for being suspicious."

Leliana leaned forward over the railing to look him in the eyes. "The Inquisition is not a conspiracy, Alistair," she said, with a fire he hadn't seen in her in years. "We're not a Tevinter plot. Trust me in this."

"And what about Ms Hawke? Do you trust her?"

"I am not in the habit of trusting people. But there's few people I mistrust less than Bethany Hawke. If she is double-crossing us, she is the greatest liar in the history of the College of Bards."

"Hm. I'll take that." Flinging the dog-end of his cigarette into the ocean, the king straightened up. "Well, you better fix this mess pretty damn soon. This is already the longest war of the century, and we had a Blight a few years back, if you can remember. I'd like to be around to see the end of it."

"What's wrong? You sound as if you're expecting to die. Your last medical was fine, you know, though you should probably exercise more."

"Yeah, I won't ask how the in the Void you know about that. There's things … things you don't know. Things I can't tell you about. If I should die sometime during the next few years, the House of Theirin will die with me. Anora, Teyrna of Gwaren, will become the next queen of Ferelden. As a friend, I'd like to ask you to do what you can to support her. She'll need your Inquisition."

Leliana laid a hand on his shoulder. Funny, that. When they'd first met, that would have made him shriek back in fear. Today, he could feel the needle-thin stiletto blades hidden down her sleeve and he barely twitched. "Don't worry about that, Alistair. There's no reason why you shouldn't be king for another thirty, forty years. And who knows, that's more than enough time for you and Eleanor to pop out a little prince or princess."

"Hah. Hah, hah." Sometimes it was a pain to be the only Warden far and wide. Sometimes he'd like to shout out the order's secrets to everyone who'd listen. His people deserved to know that their king heard the Calling, didn't they? But he'd also sworn an oath, once, to Duncan.

Leliana turned to leave. "I should check how the negotiations are coming along. We'll have a concordat before the day is over, I hope."

"Leliana, just one more thing. Do you … have any news? About her?"

Her hand against the doorframe, the spymaster paused. "I'm sorry," she softly said. "I have people looking for her all over, but it's like she disappeared into thin air. If I find any trace of her, you'll be the first to know, I promise. Forgive me, Alistair. I know it's not the answer you were hoping for."

"It isn't. But thanks for trying."

Bethany had not been looking forward to making the trip from Haven to Val Royeaux in a helicopter. One sat cramped and uncomfortably, and the aircraft was subject to all manner of turbulences. As it turned out when the chopper landed on an airbase about an hour north of Haven, she needn't have worried. "The Fereldan military is granting us free use of Bexley Air Base for now," Cassandra explained as they were exited the aircraft. "We may want to establish something more permanent. For now, we've indefinitely chartered an Amaranthine A650 for VIP transport."

She almost did a spit-take at that. "Are you saying you chartered a plane, just like that?"

"I apologise, Herald. We're negotiating with the manufacturer, but it will take some time before we can purchase a jet with the appropriate security add-ons. Rest assured that this one has been fully outfitted and screened by Leliana's specialists."

Huh. Sounded like Lady Montilyet's attempts to get funding from the government were paying off already. Their group – Cassandra, Blackwall, Varric and herself, followed by the helicopter pilot – were quickly ushered through security and across the airfield. A sleek, bright white jet was already waiting for them. "I've never actually been on a plane before," Bethany confided in Blackwall, who had left his power armour at Skyhold for the occasion and was dressed in a worn blue service uniform. "I'm kinda worried I'll do something wrong."

The Warden chuckled. "I wouldn't worry. If you can handle that damn chopper, you can handle a luxury jet. How come you've never flown before?"

"I was a Circle mage, remember? Not a lot of room for vacation. And before that, I was an apostate. You can't get a passport without going through tests."

"Which does remind me," Cassandra entered the conversation, "Commander Cullen asked me to remind you to have your DNA sample and fingerprints taken for identification, Warden. Standard procedure."

Blackwall's reply was a noncommittal grumble.

They boarded the plane, and for an instant Bethany was dazzled by the luxuriant furnishings. Was that a bedroom at the back of the cabin? "Well, looks like the Inquisition didn't spare any expenses …"

Varric had already made himself comfortable in one of the wide, leather-backed seats. "We'll be travelling in style. I like the tables. Sunshine? Hero? You two up for a few hands of Wicked Grace?" Cassandra snorted. "No need to ask you then, Seeker. I'll deal."

As Varric dealt out the first hand, the door to the cockpit opened. A short, tanned man with greying blonde hair in a suit and an Inquisition armband entered the cabin. "Sers, just making final preparations for take-off."

The Seeker frowned at him. "You're our helicopter pilot, aren't you? I didn't realise you were qualified to fly aeroplanes as well."

"Francis Lapidus, ser," the pilot said, saluting. "I flew choppers and fighters for Tevinter's Imperial Air Force, for almost sixteen years. Transferred to civilian aviation after that, and happened to be in Haven during the Conclave attack. Don't worry, ser, you're in good hands with me." He gave a slight cough. "Well, mostly."

"Mostly?," Varric said, glancing up from his cards. "That sounds like there's a story behind that."

"I only ever crashed a single plane, master dwarf. And there were extenuating circumstances."

"What sort of extenuating circumstances?"

"Demons, mostly. A magical island. I'd rather not talk about it."

Cassandra snorted. "Just get us to Val Royeaux in one piece."

That, Lapidus did. The flight took just over one and a half hours and passed smoother than Bethany had thought. From the hushed discussions between Cassandra and the pilots she overheard, there was some difficulty getting permission to land in Val Royeaux, but by the time the issue was resolved and they disembarked the plane, a small Inquisition detachment was waiting for them with armoured cars and a small police escort on motorcycles.

It felt strange to be saluted by them. The Inquisition's people were already wearing the new service uniform that was starting to replace the simple armbands: deep black jackets, trousers and neckties, with gilded buttons, buckles and insignia, white leather gloves and belts. Their leader was wearing a crimson silk sash under the belt. Leliana's design, as she recalled. It all looked very dashing, Bethany supposed, but she was already dreading what it represented. With the armbands, the Inquisition had been a force of volunteers, struggling to make sense of a broken world. Once they started putting on uniforms, they had truly become the Maker's army.

It didn't help that none of them had been issued with their uniforms yet. Leliana had made sure she was dressed-up for the occasion, which apparently meant skinny black jeans, low sneakers, and a long, sleeveless, sheer silk blouse with a butterfly design in autumnal colours over a white top. It wasn't really the kind of thing she'd wear of her own accord, though she had to admit she looked quite good in it. It made her stand out, but Bethany supposed the security detail already made that inevitable. At least Leliana had let her wear a red silk scarf with the outfit. It wasn't the old, faded neckerchief she'd once been given, and it didn't hold the same meaning, but it made her feel at ease. Relatively speaking.

"Shall we go over the plan once more?," Cassandra asked once they were seated across from each other in the armoured car. Bethany nodded. "Very well. Mother Giselle has been able to arrange a meeting with one of the leading clerics in the city. That's our way in. If we're careful about this, we can form a faction to oppose Mother Hevara and her hawkish policies. Leliana and Josephine think it would be wise not to present you as the Herald for the moment, and I tend to concur. If pressed directly, however, and I expect you will be, don't deny it. Just say something pious."

"Pious, huh." Bethany gave a wry smile. "I'll do my best. Do you mind if I let y- Varric do the talking?"

"No. It is you they will want to hear, and your mission that they doubt. You must speak for the Inquisition in this."

"Right. No pressure."

Blackwall gave her a reassuring smile. "I'm sure you'll do fine, my lady. This is your first time in Val Royeaux?"

"What? Yeah … yeah. I've never actually been to Orlais before today."

"Well, we should really make some time to view the sights, then. There is no place quite like Val Royeaux anywhere in the world. I'd be happy to show you around." In his corner, Varric was unaccountably snorting with suppressed laughter.

"Sure, I'd like that. Somehow I doubt we'll have the time, though."

Cassandra frowned at her. "Indeed. We have a duty to fulfil, Herald. The future of all Thedas might be at stake here." And, for once, her features softened. "But I am sure there will be time for you to return here someday. Val Royeaux is the most remarkable city in the world."

"She says that, even after being to Kirkwall." Varric sniggered. "Say what you like about stable government, public order and a flourishing culture, there's nothing that beats regular civil unrest, rampant gang wars and the piss they serve at the Hanged Man."

Bethany smirked. "I don't know, I can imagine quite a few things better than that. Breathable air, for instance. You'll forgive me if my memories of Kirkwall aren't quite as rosy as yours." Crossing her legs, she turned to Blackwall. "So, where are you from? Your accent says Marcher, but Blackwall is a Fereldan name."

"Markham, actually. And our air was very breathable, thank you very much. I haven't been back there for years, though."

"And what about you, Cassandra? I can tell you're Nevarran, but …"

The car came to a sudden halt. Only now did Bethany notice the low rumbling noise echoing through the vehicle from outside. Leaning forward, she drew back the curtain on the window to peek outside. It took a moment before she could make out details in the throng of bodies surrounding the car. The Inquisition's agents and the gendarmes had formed a security cordon around the car and were trying to hold the crowd back. Through the sound-proofed, armoured chassis, they had been unable to make out any sound. "What's going on? I wasn't aware of any riots in the city."

"That's a good question." Cassandra sharply pounded her fist against the dividing window to the driver's compartment. "Driver, what's happening out there?"

The intercom crackled to life. "Sorry about this, ser. There seems to be some kind of rally in front of us. It's blocking access to the Place du Soleil, I'm afraid." That, Bethany realised with some excitement, must be their destination – one of the most famous cityscapes in all of Thedas, the gargantuan square where the swords of temporal and celestial power crossed, represented by the massive complexes of the Grand Cathedral and the Palace of the Empire, seat of the Divine and the Orlesian National Assembly, respectively.

"And why aren't the gendarmes doing anything about it?" The Seeker scoffed. "We're almost on the plaza, are we not? Crowd looks fairly peaceful. We can go by foot." Forcefully, she pushed open the car's thick steel doors and jumped outside. "Stay behind me."

To Bethany's considerable relief, the crowd did not erupt like the smouldering volcano she had thought it to be. In fact, it was fairly small – perhaps a few hundred people. But their fervour more than made up for their numbers, and Bethany suspected this was a rather spontaneous rally. Despite the Inquisition's emblems on their uniforms and armbands, few seemed to register their presence. They were chanting. Avenge our Divine! The Maker wills it!

"I wish I was as popular after my death," Varric shouted over the noise.

"This isn't a joke, Varric. These people must have loved Justinia."

"Enough to start a war on her behalf?"

Cassandra snorted. "If these people get their way, there will be war with Tevinter within the month. Maybe we should find out whoever's in charge of this rally."

A roaring cheer rose above the crowd as a new speaker took the stage on the back of a truck parked just ahead, before the closed brass gates to the Place du Soleil. "Good people of Val Royeaux!," a woman's voice echoed over the crowd. Bethany twisted her neck to catch a glimpse of her, but could only make out heads. There was a small TV crew already in place.

"I recognise that voice," the Seeker shouted back at them. "It is Grand Cleric Hevara."

"Our greatest opponent in the Chantry, huh? Well, I'd be interested in hearing what she's got to say about us."

"We have a meeting scheduled with the Grand Chancellor, we don't have …"

"And there they are, right in our midst! The serpents who seek to poison the one true faith, and conspire to subvert your empire for their Tevinter masters. You cannot hide forever, Inquisition!"

Varric sighed. "Well, so much for discretion."

Ignoring his comment, Cassandra turned on her heel and approached the truck. She took the handful of steps up to the stage in her stride, prompting Hevara's Templar security detail to reach for their weapons. To her credit, the grand cleric didn't even flinch. The crowd jeered, loudly. "No, no, good people, let her speak. I do not know how your Tevinter masters do these things, but here in Orlais, we believe in freedom of speech and due process. And there you stand, brazen as ever. Our late Divine trusted you, Seeker Pentaghast. How long did it take you to betray her? Were her ashes even cold yet?"

For a brief moment, Bethany could see white-hot fury flash in the Seeker's eyes before she caught herself again. "I never betrayed Most Holy. This Inquisition was founded on her orders, and on her wishes. The only ones betraying Justinia are you and your cronies, by pushing for war when the Chantry needs peace, now more than ever." She turned to face the camera. Lady Montilyet was going to have a field day with this, wasn't she? "I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine, a Hero of Orlais, and I stand proudly with the Inquisition! We seek only to restore order to the world, as the Divine commanded us …"

Hevara scowled. "Your lies will fall on deaf ears here. You have already started a war, when you murdered the Most Holy. Is it not true that the Inquisition harbours dangerous apostates in its midst? Is it not convenient that the Left and Right Hands of the Divine just happened to absent themselves from the Temple of the Sacred Ashes the morning of the attack?"

"Baseless speculation. I warn you, Your Grace, if you are implying that I had a part in the Most Holy's death …"

"Implying?! There is no need for that, not when the truth stands so plainly for all to see! One need only ask oneself, who benefits from the death of the Divine? From the destruction of the holiest of holy sites? From the desolation into which our holy mother Chantry has been thrown? And who, but Tevinter, benefits from an army of fanatics and heretics throwing Orlais into chaos? You, Seeker, have betrayed your oaths, your uniform, and your Maker! Shame! Shame!"

If Cassandra had a retort to that, Bethany did not hear it. A whisper went through the crowd, then a rumbling, before it finally erupted into cheers. She craned her neck to spy a glimpse of what had caused these exultations. Mother Hevara and the Seeker had also noticed the commotion, and were staring in the direction of the Grand Cathedral. A large group of people had emerged from the massive chantry's main portal, formed up in a tight marching formation, and was approaching them. Against the glare of the sunlight on the shining white marble of the square, it was difficult to make out who they were, but Bethany was fairly sure she knew nevertheless. "The Templars! The brave Templars of Val Royeaux are marching to avenge the Divine!"

After that, Hevara's audience dissolved into a nervous, giddy mess, all aflutter with excitement as they pressed their bodies against the finely wrought brass gates to the Place du Soleil to welcome the Templars. The Templars had returned to the fold! They would smite the rebel mages once and for all, and mount the banner of the true faith right next to that of Orlais on the walls of Minrathous … "The Royans certainly are fond of their Templars," Bethany darkly commented to Varric. "It's as if we're already at war with Tevinter."

"That's Val Royeaux for you. Capital of the free world! The Big Pomegranate! City of light, city of wonders! But if you look beneath the thin veneer of modernity, you'll find a city that in some ways seems to be stuck in the Middle Ages. For most Royans, the Exalted Marches never really ended. Did you know that most Royan elves still require a special dispensation to live and work outside the alienages?"

Bethany was aghast and, for a moment, distracted from the approaching Templars. "But that's barbaric!," she uttered without thinking. "It's been almost sixty years since the Elven Rights Movement. Why isn't anyone doing something about it?"

"Well, you see, technically the Orlesian state does not discriminate against elves or anyone else. They can vote and stand for the National Assembly, they can serve in the army, all that shit. But there's nothing stopping local government from getting creative with the law, and – here they come."

The Templars had come to a halt as the gates were opened for them, trying to remain suitably stoic in the face of the adulations showered on them by the people at the rally. To Bethany's surprise, not a few of their faces showed – instead of the quiet satisfaction she would have expected – undisguised disgust. Once the way was clear, the Templars' commander took point, a tall, gaunt and pale man with receding hair. The uniform he wore was not a Templar one, and had until recently been quite unfamiliar to her. She glanced up at Cassandra on the stage, who wore the same uniform. Her customary scowl had been replaced by an expression of unadulterated shock. "Welcome, Lord Seeker!," Hevara called out. "It is a great joy to see the Order return to the fold. These brave citizens have been praying for you to march …" The grand cleric halted and broke off when the Lord Seeker and a handful of Templar officers separated from the column and, elbowing their way through the crowd, and ascended the stairs at the back of the stage. Ignoring Cassandra, he stepped up to the grand cleric.

"Cease your prattling, woman," the Lord Seeker growled loudly enough for the microphones to capture it, raised a gloved fist and struck Hevara down. Like one man, the crowd gasped as he turned to face it. "Go home. Your business here is finished." Paying no heed to their reaction, he then addressed Hevara's stunned Templar bodyguards. "Follow me, if your hearts be firm. Val Royeaux and its people are not worthy of your protection. Templars, march!"

By the time Bethany, Blackwall and Varric had been able to make their way to the platform, the Lord Seeker and his Templars had already resumed their march down the Avenue de l'Empire. Not a stone was thrown, not a curse uttered as the crowd Hevara had rallied silently looked on.

Hevara had been struck to the ground, and was being tended to by a pair of sisters from her entourage. As Bethany knelt by her side to help, the elderly cleric looked rather more frail than she had before. "This must please you," Hevara said, grinding the words out through a broken nose and a bleeding mouth. "Orlais now stands defenceless before you, Inquisition …"

Behind her, Cassandra had broken her stunned silence to rail against the Lord Seeker, but Bethany paid her no heed. She had never been any good at healing spells, but at least she could stop the bleedings until an ambulance arrived. "Please, let me see your nose …"

Chortling, the grand cleric spat out a bit of blood. "What, so you can finish the job? You must be very proud of yourself, killing a defenceless old woman. Well, what are you waiting for? I know what you people are up to. I won't let you turn us all over to Tevinter, I promise you that."

Exasperated, Bethany case a fairly haphazard Heal in the vague direction of Hevara's face. It would have to do. One of the attendant sisters let out a small gasp at the sight of the magical gleam around the grand cleric's nose. "No one is turning anyone over. The Inquisition only intends to help. To close the Breach and restore order to the world."

Hevara's eyes widened. "Maker above, you really do believe that, don't you, girl? Word of advice, then. Get out while you still can. This … Inquisition … is not an instrument of the Maker's will. You are mage … stay away from them, as far as you can. If you let them, they'll turn you into a tool of their foul agenda."

"Well, we'll just have to see, won't we? Have some faith, Your Grace. Perhaps Andraste watches over us yet." She rose to her feet. "Cassandra? Are you alright?"

"I still can't believe Lord Seeker Lucius did that," the Seeker muttered under her breath as they descended from the stage. The crowd was already dispersing, street theatre done with. "I've always known him as a moderate, a reasonable and devout man. Attacking a grand cleric in the middle of a rally is not like him at all."

"Whether it's like him or not, he did do it," Varric pointed out. "Shit has officially hit the fan. We still going to that meeting with the grand chancellor?"

"We … yes. We must not forget why we came here. Come, we are already late."

The Inquisition's delegation made their way onto the square. Bethany was amazed at its size – though she had seen pictures, nothing could have prepared her for actually standing in it. It seemed as though the whole of Kirkwall's Hightown would have fit on the Place du Soleil, and have had space to spare. And then there was the Grand Cathedral itself – like the Palace of the Empire opposite it, clad entirely in white marble and decorated in gold and polished bronze. Along the balustrades lining the building's roofs, statues of the saints looked down on them with watchful eyes. And in the middle of the square, between the cathedral's wings, the famous tower housing the sacred flame was ever alight with holy fire, bathing the complex around it in flickering light. Even now, even here, one could hear the Chant being sung inside, beautiful and ethereal. Let all repeat the Chant of Light / only the Word dispels the darkness around us.

This, Bethany thought as they made their way to a side entrance, this was what Val Royeaux should be. A living, breathing city, yes, a metropolis of the Dragon Age, but also the bulwark of the faith and a reflection of the Golden City in the world. Had the city not been founded to serve as the beating heart from which the Chant would fill all the corners of the world with divine light?

They were received at the side entrance by a stern-looking mother. "We have been expecting you," she said without introduction. "Follow me. You will have to be cleared. Standard security precautions."

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you do not recognise me. I am Seeker Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine. My clearance level is Excelsior Magenta …"

"That has been revoked due to recent events. You will have to go through the same security screening as everyone else. I trust you understand."

The Seeker made her displeasure known with a grunt, but made no further protest. Their group was led through a metal detector, patted down, photographed, and finally fitted with visitor IDs. Bethany was only mildly surprised that they had her real name on file. "Seeker Pentaghast, Serah Hawke, the grand chancellor will see you now. Warden-Constable, Messer Tethras, if you would follow Sister Charlotte to a waiting room."

They were led into a roomy office overlooking the square. There was a small prie-dieu in a corner and a large round conference table across from the desk. Grand Chancellor Roderick, an aging, tired-looking, ill-shaven man with steely grey eyes, stood by the window as they entered, watching the departure of the Templars. His robes were creased, and he looked as if he hadn't slept in days. "What a day," he murmured as they entered, seemingly without noticing them. "The whole world's going mad. First the mages, then the Divine, and now the Templars …" He looked up and only now seemed to register their presence. "Seeker, Enchanter. Welcome. Please, sit." Once they were seated around the table, Roderick immediately got down to business. "The surviving grand clerics and I have had a number of policy meetings since last we met. The College has surveyed all available evidence of Serah Hawke's ability to close Fade rifts, and found no signs of tampering or manipulation. In light of this, and on the recommendation of Mother Giselle, I have invited you to join us. That does not remove her as a suspect in the matter of the Divine's murder, do I make myself understood?"

Bethany nodded. "Perfectly. If there is to be a trial, I'm at your disposal."

"The College has decided not to install a canonical tribunal for the time being. Let me be clear with you, Enchanter. I don't trust you. The College doesn't trust you. Some of the grand clerics think you are an abomination and should be put to the sword. Your background certainly does not help matters. The sole reason we are talking at all is your mark. That said, the College has decided not to classify your Inquisition as a heretical, schismatic movement."

"We appreciate that, Chancellor," Cassandra said. "The Inquisition seeks only to restore order, not to overthrow or undermine the Chantry."

The grand chancellor sighed. "I know you as a good and faithful woman, Seeker. If there is a plot against the Chantry, you are but a pawn in it. Now, on to business. In return for its leniency, the College demands that the Inquisition clearly define itself either as an Andrastian lay order in full communion with Val Royeaux or as a purely secular institution. Either way, you will not make any pronouncements on matters of doctrine, liturgy, the Chant, or the communion of saints. This point is non-negotiable."

Bethany glanced at Cassandra. It didn't seem that good a deal to her. What if she … she stopped herself. What a strange, strange thought! Whence had it sprung? There was no reason for the Inquisition to make any kind of statement on matters of the faith, after all. But even as she thought that, she felt a nagging doubt at the back of her head. Justinia's legacy had to be protected, she knew, if there was to be peace, and then there was more, something she couldn't quite describe but knew in the deepest core of her heart.

"We can do that," Cassandra said. "As I said, the Inquisition has no desire to interfere with the Chantry. There is a condition we have in return, however."

Roderick raised an eyebrow. "Let's hear it."

"Serah Hawke has survived what killed so many others by physically entering the Fade and has returned with a power unlike any we have ever seen, and some say she was led back through the Veil by Our Lady herself. You must know that many already call her the Herald of Andraste." The Seeker half-rose to her feet, forming her hands into fists. "I do not presume to confirm or deny that. The will of the Maker is not for me to know. But it is a possibility that cannot be rejected out of hand. Should there be – evidence that Hawke's mark is a sign of divine favour, I want the Chantry to stand behind her in this."

"That is a big demand. A very big demand. The Herald of Andraste – that touches on the very foundations of our religion. You cannot imagine the chaos that would follow such a proclamation."

"The faith is hardly unshaken as it is. Neither is the world. As you well know, civil government in the Dales and south-western Ferelden has already broken down. I've seen Chantry mothers speak law and administer justice. The people are frightened, Messer Chancellor. And they look to the Chantry for answers. Surely the news that Andraste still watches over her people and has sent a herald to deliver us from darkness would strengthen the hearts of the faithful."

The chancellor leaned back in his chair, his eyes flitting back and forth between Bethany and Cassandra. "And just what does she herald? The end of days? The return of the Maker? The second coming of Andraste?" He chortled. "The end of the Great Schism?"

"Chancellor …"

"And you, Serah Hawke? This is your … mission we are talking about, after all. Seeker Pentaghast here already seems to take you for the chosen one. Do you, too, believe yourself to be the Herald of Our Lady?"

Bethany blushed, she had not expected the question – though it was one she had oft asked herself these past few weeks, without ever quite finding an answer. "I don't know," she meekly said. "I just … I don't think Andraste would choose someone like me."

"A mage."

"Yes. Maybe this mark on my hand is just an accident. But someone … someone reminded me recently that there are no accidents. That the Maker guides all that happens in this world. I don't presume to know what the mark on my hand means. I'm just … trying to help where I can."

The chancellor nodded, somewhat hesitantly. "A noble sentiment. In any case, I will bring your request to the attention of the College. In the meantime …"

There was a brief buzz from the phone on the desk. A tinny voice said: "Chancellor, the expert has arrived."

"Show her in." Turning back to Cassandra and Bethany, Roderick raised a hand to his face. "My apologies. I am losing track of my appointments. I have taken the liberty of inviting an expert on thaumic weapons from the Orlesian army's Centre for Strategic Deterrence to brief us on the nature of the Breach …"

The door opened. The woman who entered was, in a word, brilliant: she carried herself with the conviction and assurance of a great noble, yet carried a mage's staff at her side. Though her head was shaven bald, her make-up, shoes and costume were all picture-perfect. It took Bethany a moment to realise that the staff was closely matched to her outfit, picking up the pattern on her cravat and the colour of her discreet heels. "Welcome, please, come in. Seeker, Enchanter Hawke, allow me to introduce you to Brigadier Vivienne de la Ferre, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and director of the Imperial Army's Centre for Strategic Deterrence."

"As well as strategic advisor to the Council of State in thaumic matters," De la Ferre added. Despite her Rivaini features, her accent was upper-class Royan. Bethany was somewhat surprised, she hadn't realised the Orlesians let mages serve in their armed forces – but for that matter, she wasn't wearing a uniform either. A civilian appointment, then? "Cassandra, darling, it's been so long. Put on a little weight since the conference at Val Chevin, haven't you? And you must be the infamous Herald of Andraste. Such a pleasure."

"Uh, likewise."

"Now, shall we begin?" De la Ferre sat at the table between Cassandra and the chancellor, and produced a small notebook and a fountain pen (both also were matched to her outfit). "As you know, both the Centre for Strategic Deterrence and the International Thaumic Exploitation Agency have sent teams to survey ground zero and the Breach. Unfortunately, their findings were inconclusive."

Cassandra frowned. "Surely there must be ways to determine if a thaumic weapon was used to create the Breach. After all, our own people have found above-average levels of thaumic radiation around ground zero."

"There are other explanations for that," Chancellor Roderick pointed out. "It is a little-known fact that the Temple of Sacred Ashes sat upon a vast deposit of raw lyrium. As I understand it, some kind of corrupted lyrium has been sighted on the surface. That might be the source of the radiation."

"Quite so, chancellor. On the other hand, the Veilstrength index around the Breach is dangerously low, though it has stabilised since you halted the Breach's growth."

Somewhat sceptically, Bethany said: "I'm sorry, this is not my field. What exactly does that mean? Surely you would expect the Veilstrength to be low around the Breach."

"True, and normally I would not have mentioned it. However, we have seen similar readings twice before. The first time was during the Golden City tests in the Hissing Wastes in 8:46 Blessed. The second was caused by the Vyrantium bomb – Wrath of Heaven – later that year."

There was a pregnant pause. Finally, Cassandra asked: "There have been thaumic weapons tests since. What made those different?"

"Our earliest bombs were built differently. Raw lyrium in sufficient amounts was difficult to come by. Furthermore, the intended mode of deployment – being smuggled into the sewers of Vyrantium by a Templar strike force – placed limits on the size and mass of the bomb. It would not have been sufficient to reach critical mass. The teams involved compensated by overcharging the lyrium with mana by up to 1500 per cent. This made the core extraordinarily volatile. As you may know, one of the Templar commandos had to stay behind to maintain the seals until it was time for detonation. After the war, we switched to different designs that not only were stable enough to be used as warheads and drop bombs, but also had less impact on the Veilstrength."

The chancellor leaned forward. "But the Vyrantium bomb didn't tear the sky apart," he said. "And by all reports, Serah Hawke here has physically entered the Fade. There must be more to it than that."

"There are certain blood magic rituals that can weaken the Veil," Bethany pointed out. "I've seen some of them used in Kirkwall, and the ancient magisters who caused the Blight also used blood magic to enter the Fade. Would it be possible for whoever did this to have used a thaumic weapon to sacrifice thousands of people all at once to fuel a ritual?"

Cassandra and the chancellor shot her wary looks, but de la Ferre raised an elegantly-arched eyebrow. "That is one possibility we are considering, yes. Assuming that we are dealing with a thaumic attack, however, there are more urgent matters at stake."

"Who is behind it," the Seeker finished the suggestion. No reply was necessary. That was the question, wasn't it? Once they had answers to that, maybe they'd find answers to the Breach as well. But somehow Bethany knew it couldn't be as easy as that. "Among the thaumic powers, only Tevinter and the dwarves of Orzammar benefit from the destruction of the Chantry's leadership and the chaos that has engulfed southern Thedas. And the dwarves don't have mages."

"I wouldn't be so certain, Seeker," Roderick opined. "After the fall of the Circles, we no longer have any effective means of tracking mages. I suspect no small amount of apostates will have found employment with the dwarves."

"But Orzammar depends on a strong surface, or at least a wealthy one. They're still recovering from the Blight. Tevinter seems like a more likely candidate."

When de la Ferre spoke, her voice carried through the room like prophecy. "There is one more possibility we must not neglect," she said, before making a few quick gestures that Bethany recognised as belonging to muffling spells. "What I am about to say is not to leave this room under any circumstances. Seeker, Enchanter Hawke, you are not strictly-speaking authorised to know this, but in times like these protocols may be bent. For the last four months … the Orlesian Empire has not been in full control, nor aware of the whereabouts of parts of its thaumic arsenal."

There was a moment of profound silence. Bethany wasn't quite sure if she had understood the doctor correctly. Surely no one could lose a thaumic weapon …?

"I beg your pardon?" Cassandra had risen to her feet. "Orlais has an Empty Quiver and this is how we learn about it?"

"A potential Empty Quiver, my dear. Without going into details, central command has lost contact with a number of our thaumic missile silos in the Dales. Satellite imagery suggests that at least three of them have been captured by the Chalonais rebel forces. Now, we do not know for certain whether the warheads have been removed from their silos. If they have, they still would not be able to fire them without the proper command codes."

"But once they have the warheads, they could reprogram the codes, or short-circuit it, something like that. Maker above, how could your people have allowed this to happen?"

De la Ferre ignored the last bit. "Dear, do not take us for imbeciles. Thaumic warheads are designed to prevent any tampering. As the rebels do not control appropriate facilities, the moment they attempt to alter the command codes manually, they will be in the possession of a piece of highly radioactive junk. Rather more threatening is the possibility that the rebels have sold the warheads to another, unknown party. Alternatively, we are also considering the outside chance that a terrorist group has engineered their own device."

"Would that be possible?"

"In theory. The physics involved in a thaumic reaction are no secret. Any sufficiently large group of mages and Templars could create a simple thaumic bomb. The difficulty lies in the high-precision engineering required and the acquisition and handling of the raw lyrium. As far as I know, Orlesian intelligence is not currently aware of any non-government groups possessing those capabilities."

"In other words, we know as little as we did before." Cassandra snorted. "We need more than that."

Bethany disagreed. "At least we know what we're dealing with. Understanding the Breach is the first step to closing it. As the First Enchanter said, someone probably used an old-fashioned thaumic weapon. I think the Inquisition should pursue that line of inquiry." Even as she said that, she felt her cheeks flush red. Maker, she was getting more and more involved in this, wasn't she? It was not as if she really had a choice, not with the mark, but discussing the Inquisition's policies was a different matter entirely.

But Cassandra gave a hesitant nod. "I shall ask Leliana to assign resources to that. In the meantime … chancellor, you will consider our request?"

"So long as the Inquisition does not exceed its authority, I promise I will bring your request before the College."

"We can ask no more. Now, if there is nothing else …"

"I believe we are finished here. Give my regards to Mother Giselle. And, please, try not to start a holy war."

That comment, and its perfectly dry delivery, actually forced a smirk upon Cassandra's stern face. "We'll try." They rose, as did de la Ferre. Together, the three women stepped out of the chancellor's office. "Thank you for coming, First Enchanter. I realise you must be quite busy at the moment."

"Not as such, no. In fact, my dear Seeker, I am as of today unemployed – though of course my Circle still stands."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"This morning, I stepped down from the directorship of the Centre for Strategic Deterrence and resigned my civilian officer's commission. Right now, there are other fields I want to work in."

Cassandra raised a wary eyebrow. "Such as?"

De la Ferre glanced out of one of the tall windows that lined the corridor on the skyline of Val Royeaux. Here and there, eerie green lights reflected on the glass walls of the skyscrapers. Rifts? Bethany hoped she would get to close some of them later that day. It was painful to see the suffering and devastation the sundering of the Veil had caused to the cities of southern Thedas. "Right now," de la Ferre said, "the most important, engaging and, indeed, promising way to serve Orlais is your Inquisition. I offer you my services, Seeker."

At that, Cassandra bristled. "And what makes you think we want them? What do you bring to the Inquisition?"

"We need all the help we can get," Bethany pointed out, but de la Ferre had already jumped on the opportunity.

"To begin with, I am and remain the First Enchanter of Montsimmard, leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas. Apart from that, I am an expert in thaumic weapons, their development and use. I hold doctorates from the University of Orlais in Thaumic Physics as well as in Thaumic Security and Non-proliferation. I know everyone worth knowing in the Great Game, and many of them owe me favours. And if that does not suffice to meet your exacting standards, I am also a mage of considerable talent."

Bethany and Cassandra shared a glance. "I'm sold," said Bethany, shrugging.

The Seeker grunted. "Follow us."

They picked up Blackwall and Varric on the way out. "We're to clear a few strategically important rifts here in Val Royeaux before we return to Haven," Bethany explained once introductions were over. "The Orlesian army has all of them secured, so it should be smooth sailing. You're welcome to join us, First Enchanter … doctor? Brigadier? I'm not sure what to call you."

"I am no longer a brigadier, my dear. First Enchanter is quite correct. Madame de la Ferre would be a less unwieldy alternative."

"Still plenty unwieldy if you ask me," Varric murmured under his breath. Madame de la Ferre gave the dwarf a punishing look that made it very clear he was not being asked.

Following some impromptu diplomacy with the Orlesian police, the Inquisition's driver had been escorted onto the Place du Soleil, and thus the car was waiting for them when they left the Grand Cathedral. As the Inquisition's delegation plus de la Ferre made themselves comfortable in the spacious rear of the car, Cassandra discussed the route they were going to take. As far as Bethany recalled the briefing they had received in Haven that morning, she was due to close half a dozen rifts in areas the Orlesian government had designated as strategically important.

Despite her initial difficulties, closing rifts was becoming fairly trivial. She went in, pointed her palm at it, braced for the impact and hoped for the best. The hard bit was, in a lot of cases, actually getting to the rifts and keeping down the demons pouring out of them – though lately, the armies and police forces of Ferelden and Orlais had increasingly gotten rifts in urban areas under control. Six rifts wasn't going to be any trouble at all, Bethany figured, and maybe she'd manage to get a seventh done before they had to fly back to Haven.

Still, she thought, lunch would be nice first.

"So what's our first stop?," Blackwall asked Cassandra as the car joined the traffic circling around the Place du Soleil.

The Seeker checked her map. "There's a Class A rift at the corner of Avenue des Marguerites and the Les Gardes des Ombres Victorieux. Apparently it's obstructing a major artery of commercial traffic."

De la Ferre in the seat opposite them raised an eyebrow. "That's a lovely area. I've an old friend who owns a villa on the Marguerites. I would hardly call it a major thoroughfare, though. It's mostly residential these days."

Varric leaned forward, looking mildly amused. "Now there's a bit of genuine Orlesian local colour. I imagine all the nobs and politicians and CEOs live there?"

Bethany and Cassandra shared an uncomfortable look. If this was true, and the list drawn up by the Orlesian government had been altered – presumably at some cost – there was no way to be sure the rest of the rifts on the list would be as obstructive as they had thought they were. "What about the other rifts here in Val Royeaux? What about the alienages? Motorways? Industrial zones?"

Scowling, Cassandra had another look at her map. "Not in Class A. There's a few in the financial centre, but apart from that it mostly seems to be upper-class residential areas."

"What are we going to do, then?," Bethany asked. She felt like this was the sort of thing they'd better consult Josephine on, but considering the state of the Ferelden talks, interrupting her with a call probably wasn't the best option.

"I don't think we have any choice in this. The Orlesians don't trust us as it is. We need to stick to their list, show some goodwill."

Bethany looked away. This was not how her mark was supposed to be used. "I don't like this," she said. "The Inquisition should be for everyone, not just the rich and powerful."

"I don't like it any more than you do, but we need the support of the Orlesians …"

De la Ferre straightened up in her seat and threw an imperious glance out of the window. "Well, I do believe this conversation is academic. We're not, in fact, going to Les Gardes des Ombres. We just drove into the Rue Jules-Pihet towards the harbour."

For an instant, Cassandra stared at the First Enchanter, before turning around and lowering the dividing all to the driver's compartment. "Driver, where are we going? This isn't the way to Les Gardes des Ombres."

"I … I'm just following the directions from the satnav, ser."

"Is it broken?"

"I don't think so, ser. It may have been tampered with. Shall I go offline and reboot the system?"

"No. Keep following the satnav. Let's see where this leads us." Cassandra raised the dividing wall. "Varric, under your seat there should be a steel lockbox. Would you mind …"

After some digging, the dwarf found the lockbox and put it on the seat between him and Blackwall. It looked rather like an aluminium briefcase, if not for its angular shape and the heavy padlock at its front. Reaching inside her jacket, Cassandra produced a small key and unlocked it. The case contained two rather evil-looking black guns that Bethany thought were too large to be pistols and too small to be rifles. "Blackwall, take an SMG and keep it concealed. We don't know what to expect at our destination. Varric …"

"Don't worry about me, Seeker. There's only one weapon in my life, and that's Bianca. You take the other one."

"Anyone else thinks it's disturbing that we just happen to have a couple of SMGs with us? No? Just me?"

Almost on cue, the car came to a stop. "Ser, the army appears to have blocked the road ahead. There is no other way to reach our destination," the driver announced through the intercom.

Cassandra grunted with displeasure. "Acknowledged." She stuffed the SMG into her uniform jacket and rose to her feet. "Let's go see whoever is in command here, see if they can clear this up."

When they stepped outside the car, it became abundantly clear that they weren't in one of the better quarters of the city. Between the decrepit apartment buildings and boarded-up storefronts, a squad of the Orlesian military had set up a road block of sand sacks and barbed wire. "Hold it right there," an elven serjeant said as they approached, her finger on her rifle's trigger guard. "This is a restricted area. Turn around and leave." A pair of her comrades joined him, clearly expecting trouble.

Cassandra turned her armband around so the soldiers could see the Inquisition's emblem on it. "We're with the Inquisition. My name is Pentaghast, Seeker of the Chantry. What's going on here?"

Somewhat hesitantly, the serjeant straightened up. Bethany noted that her finger remained on her trigger guard. "There's a rift in the middle of the Rue Baillieu. The whole area is sealed off. You can't stay here."

Ignoring her protests, Cassandra stepped up to the barrier. "Someone led us here by manipulating our satnav. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, serjeant?"

"What? Er, no, ser. And if you don't have authorisation to be here, I must really ask you to leave …"

There was a buzzing noise from Cassandra's jacket. This must be Josephine, Bethany thought, knowing that the diplomat had promised to keep them appraised of the negotiations with Ferelden on the HMS King Calenhad. "Excuse me." As she checked the new message, a grim smirk appeared on the Seeker's face. "Guess that's who hacked our satnav," she commented, before showing the message to Bethany and the others.

It took her a moment to skim the lengthy text message. "Well, that's original. Is that supposed to be a shade?"

"I think it's a bee, actually. It's hard to tell, but I think all the eights are black and all the periods are yellow …"

"Whatever it is," Vivienne concluded, "the spelling and grammar are deplorable. Cassandra, darling, this is clearly an infantile prank. We shouldn't encourage things like this."

The Seeker shook her head. Was that actual amusement on her face? "The Orlesians are playing us for fools. This place has been hit harder than the villas up at Les Gardes could ever be, and if our anonymous prankster is right, there's still people alive back there."

"Impossible!," the serjeant exclaimed. "We did a thorough search before we set up the perimeter three weeks ago. Even if someone had survived the initial onslaught, there's no way they'd still be alive. I'm in command here, and there's no way in hell you're getting through here."

Cassandra's phone buzzed again. "Fascist arsehat," she read out loud. Blackwall was trying to keep a straight face.

"I beg your pardon?!"

The Seeker put her phone back in her jacket. "Nevermind. Hawke, what do you think? It is your mark."

Steeling herself, Bethany nodded. "If there's the slightest chance anyone is still alive, we need to help them. And if everyone is dead … there'll still be people who managed to get out before the rift opened. They'll want to return home."

"My thoughts exactly. Serjeant, we shall require your troops to clear out the demons around the rift."

"Well, you're not bloody well getting it. I don't know who you're supposed to be, but you're not walking in there, one way or the other. Now get the Void out of here before we open fire."

There was another buzz, and another one, and a third one in short succession. Cassandra didn't bother to read the new messages. "Now listen here, serjeant. The Inquisition demands, the Herald of Andraste requires, and I ask that you let us through right this instant. I shall not ask again. Now for the love of Our Lady will you step aside or do I have to call your superior?"

"Dread Wolf take you," the serjeant growled at them. "Go and get yourselves killed for all I care. This is on your head, not mine."

Roughly shoving her aside, Cassandra moved past the road block. Bethany shot the soldiers an apologetic glance, after all, they were only doing their jobs. Once they were inside the perimeter, the Seeker, Blackwall and Vivienne almost automatically took her in their midst. She wished she'd brought her staff with her; it was always good to have something to fall back on once you ran out of mana.

The rift was located just around the corner of the street, between burned-out cars and shopfronts. It looked fairly normal, except … "I don't see any demons."

Visibly tensing, Cassandra nodded. "Stay sharp." She unbuttoned her uniform jacket and readied her SMG, as did Blackwall.

Slowly, carefully, the Inquisition's group approached the rift. As always, the tear was alight with Veilgleam, pulsing organically as reality seemed to breathe in and out. A shiver ran through Bethany's body, starting from her marked hand, rising through her arm and travelling along her spine. "It's certainly active," she said. "I've got a feeling demons come through here all the time. Someone must have cleared them out before us."

"Not an easy task. Maybe the army patrols …" Cassandra was interrupted by the telltale crackle of a demon coming through the rift. Almost instantly, her and Blackwall slid into cover behind the blackened shells of burned-out cars and readied their weapons. Bethany readied a Fireball as a darkish silhouette began to materialise, took the form of a shade, and came into being –

Pop.

The sound was barely audible over the noises of the city all around them, but the bullet tore through the demon's fleshy skull nonetheless, banishing it with one stroke. Then, there was the unmistakeable pling of a rifle's slide being drawn back. Then, a woman's voice from somewhere above them shouted: "Oi, get a move on, will you?!"

"That would be our anonymous prankster then," Cassandra murmured. "Go ahead, we'll cover you.." Warily, Bethany approached the rift. For now, it seemed to have calmed. As she raised her hand towards it, she felt the familiar tugging again. For an instant, the border between reality and dream quivered, then a sharp jolt flashed through her as she reached into the Fade and for an instant was a conduit of pure, infinite magic. The pain was gone as quickly as it had come, and then the rift was no more and the Veil was mended.

The unseen woman cheered. "Enough games!," Cassandra yelled. "Show yourself!"

There was some noise. Something shattered in one of the abandoned buildings lining the street. Finally, a fairly tall and lanky elf girl appeared in one of the doorways, a laptop pouch under one arm and a bulky-looking rifle slung over her shoulder, grinning brightly even at the sight of two SMGs pointed at her. "Aggressive, much, are we? Keep it down a bit, we're on the same side here."

"You said that there were survivors here. Prove it."

"Right to the punch, eh? Like it. I'll show you." With no apparent concern for the guns pointed at her, the elf strode past them, side-stepping the greenish goo the rift had left behind, and crossed the street. Blackwall and Bethany shared a confused look.

The door of number 74 Rue Baillieu had been torn off its hinges, half-obstructing the doorway. Single-file, they made their way inside what had once been the stairwell of an apartment building. With the lightbulbs blown out, it was dark enough that they had to use their phones' flashlights to light their way. "Downstairs," the elf said, "I put a fridge in front of the cellar door!"

"… why?"

"So the arse can't get out, duh."

"I thought we were here to help people."

"Sure. Just not this guy. Here, gimme a hand, big girl." With Cassandra's help, the elf managed to move the fridge far enough to open the cellar door behind it. Bethany marvelled at how the girl had even managed to carry it down the stairs intact. "Now, be careful …"

Ignoring her, Cassandra opened the door and – barely dodged a waft of flame that shot at her and singed her left eyebrow. "Stand down!," she shouted, taking cover behind the door. "We're the Inquisition! We're here to help you!"

An apostate, Bethany thought. And not the clever kind, to be so jumpy. Still, that would explain how they had survived this long.

"Inquisition!," a man's voice snarled, speaking Orlesian. Another waft of flame was fired through the half-opened doorway. This time, it hit the stairs without doing any damage. "It must have taken quite a lot of effort to track me down! Ah, but you shan't take me alive. I just know how eager you must be to take my head as a trophy …"

"Hey, shitface! Say 'what'!"

"I … what …" In a single, rapid movement, the elf brought up her rifle, sighted, and fired. There was a pop, louder in the cramped stairwell than it had been in the street, and then a crunch. Bethany winced. Only one thing could have caused that sound.

Her fears were confirmed when Cassandra charged through the door, gun at the ready. "Clear," she said after a while. "All hostiles terminated." Before anyone had a chance to comment, the Seeker was already at the elf girl's throat. "Enough of your games. How about you finally tell us who the hell you are and what your game is?"

"Oi, ease off. Right, right. Anyway, I'm a friend. Name's Sera. And you're the Inquisition people …" She glanced at Bethany. "I saw you glow through my scope. Guess you're that Herald-thingy then, are you? Eh, guess you're just a person after all."

She blushed a little. "Some people say that. Why did you kill that man, Sera? What did he do to you?"

The elf giggled. Rather inappropriate, she thought, but there was something disarming about it.. "Me? Shit, I've never seen the bugger before in my life. My people said he had it coming, though, so he probably deserved it."

"He did attack us," Blackwall cautioned. "The satnav, was that you?"

"Pff, child's play. You really need to upgrade your GNSS encryptions. Had to get you here somehow, didn't I? Cause I've got an offer for you. My friends and me see what you're trying to do, and we'd like to help, alright?"

"What friends?"

"Just friends, silly. The Friends of Red Jenny. We're just people, and we can help you."

That name caused some consternation from Vivienne and very little from the rest of them. "Who's Red Jenny? You?"

Sera snorted with laughter. Somehow, Bethany had a feeling that the explanations would take a while.

1) Leliana's hoodie is a Star Trek joke. Not a very good one, mind.

2) I wasn't sure how far to push the Nazi analogies - Alistair and Eamon certainly aren't the bad guys. Still, the Enabling Act is pretty much what it says on the tin.

3) The Amaranthine A650 is stepping in for the Gulfstream G650 here. My, what a pretty plane. Lapidus totally is a Lost shout-out.

4) "I want to be a part of it - Royeaux, Royeaux! / These vagabond shoes are longing to stray / right through the very heart of it - Royeaux, Royeaux!"

5) I spent a lot of time thinking about the strategy and physics behind thaumic weapons. In the end, I'm really just waving my hand and saying "A Wizard Did It. They made nukes." Pretty much everything is in some way parallel - the ITEA is the IAEA, the Golden City tests are the Project Trinity experiments, etc. There are some differences in delivery and strategy, and of course the major difference is that you need both Templars (or another way of suppressing magic) and mages to built a thaumic weapon.

6) A lot of elves in the cities no longer follow the Andrastian Chantry. The elven rights movement has caused a certain revival of the ancient elven pantheon, though based on Dalish tradition adapted to the needs and thoughts of city elves. The result is not actually all that dissimilar from Andrastianism, but it serves as a focal point for the elvish community nevertheless.

7) Sera uses a marksman rifle adapted to make it nearly inaudible - a "silencer" or rather suppressor is not actually enough to make a gun silent. Apart from a suppressor, Sera also uses special, heavy subsonic rounds (to eliminate the telltale crackle that results from breaking the sound barrier) and fires her rifle as a bolt-action, as the automatic slide mechanism is another source of noise. And all of this to avoid causing a panic, isn't she nice.

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