A Light Shining in Darkness

by EnricoDandolo

Led out of the Fade by Andraste herself, Bethany Hawke knows she has been chosen to fix the world. But as an army of the faithful rises around her, the Inquisition's enemies arm themselves to test her principles. And in this age of digital information, full-scale thaumic war becomes likelier than ever before ...

6. The room where it happened

Well, that only took forever! Done with my dissertation and long essays now, and will be hoping to get out the next chapter soon after exams. If you're new readers, welcome, you're amazing yadda yadda yadda glad you're here.

---

Like every morning, this one started with one cup of hand-roasted Qunari coffee. Rich, dark, heavy – black, no sugar. Over the years, it had become a ritual every bit as solemn as high mass. From the grinding of the coffee beans to the pouring of the drink, each part of the procedure now was a sacrament unto itself. Leliana had kept to this ritual for years – ever since a good friend had sent her a box of coffee beans from Par Vollen just after the Blight.

It also let her get by on four hours of sleep a night, which was an added plus.

While she drank her coffee, Leliana went through her mailbox – that, too, was part of the ritual. Considering how easy she made it look, it was surprising how much paper work one accumulated as … 'head of IT' for the Inquisition. Of course, most of the regular mail was inconsequential. Reports from her 'peripheral hardware', analyses from her 'server banks', 'fault reports' from 'debuggers' and actual fault reports from people who couldn't hear quotes. Maybe she should set up an actual IT team some time.

By the time she had finished skimming through her mails, Leliana had finished her coffee. She cleaned the cup, showered, washed her hair and picked out a hoodie for the day ("if ( () && ( ) && != NULL) { .clap();}") and, after some deliberation, decided on a pair of cute shoes to match. Dressed, she gathered up her laptop, phones and the handful of files she'd pored over late into the night, and made her way to work.

Like most of the Inquisition's key staff, she had been housed in the Guesthouse St. Margret, which offered large and comfortable, if rustic suites. As an added benefit, the staff were well-used to VIPs, and had adapted to Leliana's stringent security regime without too much difficulty. Those staff members with less than watertight backgrounds or opinions had quickly been rooted out by her moles and reassigned, letting her sleep somewhat deeper than usual. Today, one of her agents was on duty at the reception desk, though neither of them made any sign of recognising the other. As it was still too early for the buffet in the guesthouse's breakfast room, and none of the other residents had appeared yet, Leliana had them pack a freshly-baked pastry for her. Then, she went on her way.

The Inquisition's command structure had long outgrown the chantry's facilities. Cullen and his staff had moved into the local primary school, while Leliana's team had taken over most of the police station. Between her hardware and her analysts, she'd soon have to expand, though. They kept their work as decentralised as possible. Even so, there was always more work to be done. When you had to filter useful intel from the reports of three hundred field agents, dozens of independent contacts, three satellite networks, news outlets large and small, and social media accounts across the breadth of the web, analyse the intel until it made sense, then condense it into a single-page daily bulletin she could hand to the rest of the board, the bottleneck was manpower.

At the police station, Leliana gave the constable on duty a polite nod in passing, then proceeded to the former duty rooms. She had herself scanned for contraband, then signed in using her keycard and fingerprint. The windows in the ground floor duty rooms had been reinforced and darkened, making for a rather submarine-ish lighting situation. A handful of screens, belonging by the agents on the night shift, bathed isolated groups of desk in an eerie blue light. "Good morning, everyone," Leliana chirped at her stalwart band of caffeine knights, "How fares the world today?"

Some of them looked up at her, dark rings under their eyes. Maybe it was time for another shift rotation. "Morning, ma'am," Albinozzi, one of the group leaders, greeted her, sounding tired. "We've got reports on thirteen new rifts, mostly in Orlais. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"There's been a number of attacks on Seheron, the Breach Followers cult has split again, and Darkspawn have been sighted near Val Gamord," Baker joined in.

Finally, Ladurie – "Also, we've finally got our hands on satellite imagery of Therinfal Redoubt as you asked. The report's on your desk."

"Good work. The day shift should be here in an hour, I want everyone's status reports on my desk by then. Anyone else want coffee?"

Coffee made, she repaired to her office. Located on the first floor, Leliana was less worried about being observed, and had for this reason laid claim to a large corner office, flooded by bright daylight, with a view of the mountains and the Breach. A large map of Thedas had been hung on one wall, pins of various colours marking reported rifts and their current status. Despite the Herald's efforts, their numbers showed no signs of diminishing. The map was essentially the only decoration in the room. Normally, maintaining any sort of order in her living spaces was anathema to her, but security concerns dictated that Leliana kept her office clean, and her desk pristine. Hence, the only thing adorning her desk was an old framed photo of the whole crew on the shores of Lake Calenhad, huddling around Eleanor for the picture. Somehow, they'd even managed to elicit a smile from Morrigan and some sort of facial cramp from Sten. Good times.

As promised, the reports were neatly piled up in her inbox, hidden away in sealed brown manila folders marked TRÈS SECRET INQUISITION. Leliana booted her computer, then broke the first seal.

This was Baker's report. Item one, three minor attacks on Seheron; two on Tevinter and one on Qunari targets. Fifteen dead, a few dozen wounded. So far, sources were divided on the attacker – with both sides blaming terrorists funded by the other. The analysis presented by Kingsley's team suggested that at least two of the attacks had been executed by Fog Warriors, with the third unaccounted for. Interesting, Leliana thought, but of limited use. By now, Tevene and Qunari intelligence agencies would already have come to their own conclusions, and their governments would have decided on which truths to proclaim.

Item two, the Breach cultists. Leliana shook her head with thinly-veiled disgust. Almost immediately after the attack on the Conclave, a number of cults had popped up around Thedas – some of them close enough to Haven to warrant her special attention. While most were harmless by cult standards, the Universal Chantry of the Followers of the Breach had been a thorn in their side for weeks now. Cullen's people continually reported attempts by cultists to gain access to ground zero, and the red lyrium deposits surfaced there. Hopefully, the cult's latest schism would curb their activities. If not, there were means at her disposal to end them, permanently. Something to bear in mind.

Item three, Darkspawn at Val Gamord. Now that one was concerning. As far as she knew, there had never been Darkspawn incursions in that area before outside a Blight, which meant a new tunnel. Considering the numbers they were seeing, Leliana doubted it was anything too serious, but if the Darkspawn were once again strong enough to venture above the surface, they'd have to take measures. The whole matter was compounded by the conspicuous silence of the Grey Wardens in recent weeks – another matter entirely, and a proverbial nut she'd almost lost her teeth on. She'd put it in her report, see what Cullen had to say about it.

So much for Baker's team. Nothing world-shaking, but interesting nonetheless. She made a few notes on which areas to investigate further and allocated some additional resources.

The next file was Ladurie's report on the situation on Therinfal Redoubt, which she had been looking forward to reading. When she opened the folder, a large monochrome satellite picture fell out. The markings in the corner identified it as having been taken by the Starkhaven Accord's Bellarmine network, a grouping of geostationary environmental observation satellites. The date was eight days ago, around 3pm. Even from the grainy black-and-white images it was obvious that Therinfal Redoubt was bustling with activity. The last time she'd been to the ancient Seeker castle, it had been all but abandoned – the new training facilities outside Val Chevin having taken over its functions – but the rogue templars appeared to have done some work to restore and even expand it. Simple barracks had been raised both in the castle's outer bailey and, in neat rows, on the terrain surrounding it.

Leliana quickly did some numbers in her head. In its heyday in the Black Age, when it had been the Templar Order's headquarters in Ferelden and at the forefront of the minor Exalted Marches against the Chasind and Avvar, the castle had probably housed a garrison of some 1,500 knights, squires and servants, more in wartime. Of course, that had been in an age before running water, central heating and other modern amenities. Now, with the new facilities in place, Leliana estimated there was space for up to three times that number.

What the satellite images did not tell her was the purpose of the templars' seclusion there. She found it hard to believe that the order's leadership were leading their members through a period of quiet contemplation, devotion and ideological reorientation, as some observers had suggested. You did not build barracks around a medieval castle to enjoy the monastic lifestyle. The satellite images did not suggest the stockpiling of any sort of military equipment – beyond what one might expect in a templar armoury in peacetime – but she doubted nonetheless that it was that simple. There definitely was something that looked like a training area not far from the barracks.

It took her a moment to realise what she was missing. Thousands of templars gathered in one place required supplies – food, ammunition, lyrium. The latter could be ingested either as a potion or in its dust form, but in either case it had to be processed first. She had people monitoring the handful of supplying companies to make sure the Chantry's embargo was being enforced, and from the satellite imagery the templars at Therinfal did not appear to have processing facilities sufficient for supplying a hundred men, let alone a thousand. So, where were they getting their lyrium from? Her agents were keeping an eye on all of the legitimate suppliers and producers, and most of the illegitimate trade, so …

She groaned. Oh, for fuck's sake … Then, she reached for her phone.

---

Like every morning, this one started with him sitting up in his sweat-drenched bed, breathing heavily, as the last images of the nightmare du jour faded from his mind. For what seemed like minutes, he sat there, trying to focus. The first sunlight falling through the blinds tickled his nose. Damn it, he must be late for the morning muster – almost blindly, he reached for his phone to check the time, only to find it wasn't in its accustomed place.

It took him a moment to remember that he was not in his quarters in Kirkwall, that it had been years since he'd served at the Gallows, and that he was no longer late for anything. Everyone else was simply early.

Exhaling deeply, Cullen sank back into his pillows. Every morning, the same old litany … At least, he told himself, he was spared the worst nightmares. He'd rather revisit Kirkwall's slow descent into madness and chaos a thousand nights, than what had happened at Kinloch Hold but once. So he told himself, anyway. It was not entirely convincing.

Groaning, Cullen swung his feet out of bed, found his phone on the nightstand. Half six. So he had overslept. Quickly, he showered and got dressed, the new uniform still feeling strange on his body. Compared to the deep crimson templar uniform he'd worn for years, the Inquisition's uniform, still new and unwrinkled as it was, felt austere – the scarlet silk sash notwithstanding. Leliana's design, not his – he'd put his foot down over her plans to include sashes in officer's field uniforms.

He said his prayers, then made his way to the breakfast room. A couple of his officers were there, and for a moment he considered joining them. In the end, he decided against it – his presence would only make them feel as if they were on the clock.

Whilst Cullen ate his meagre breakfast of rye bread with apricot jam and a hardboiled egg, he had a look through the morning papers – more out of a sense of obligation than actual interest. Nothing in particular jumped out at him. The Spectator lead with rumours of an impending backbencher rebellion against Prime Minister Guerrin's emergency budget. According to the Markham Express, the commissioner-general of the Starkhaven Accord was unlikely to awake from her coma after last week's car accident. The International Journal focused on recent developments in the Orlesian civil war. All very good to know, but not exactly groundshaking.

Once he was done eating, he made his way to base. Well, he said base: he'd commandeered the local primary school for his staff's offices. As one of the largest building in Haven, it uniquely suited their needs, and the gym had been transformed into barracks for the garrison, fresh recruits and visiting Inquisition forces.

Apart from the duty officers, the main school building was fairly deserted. The only member of Cullen's personal staff in evidence was Knight-Lieutenant Trevelyan, his freshly-appointed ADC, forever the diligent templar. Or workaholic, depending on how you looked at it. "Morning, ser," Trevelyan greeted as Cullen entered the office, and moved to take his coat.

"Morning. Ah, thanks. How are we doing today?"

"Everything's in order, ser. There was a minor incident during the night, but it's been dealt with."

Well, that sounded ominous. "What sort of incident?"

Visibly uneasy, Trevelyan shuffled his feet. "There was a bit of a scuffle at the Singing Maiden. A fracas, if you will. A templar was attacked by a couple of mages. No shots fired, but some minor injuries. We've taken the mages into custody."

"What about the templar?"

Trevelyan hesitated. "I took her testimony and set her free," he then said. "She was the victim in this matter. Was that a mistake?"

Not this again. Over the past few years, dormant tensions had burst into flame all over Thedas, fuelled by templar abuses and instigated by demagogues like the Anders Mage. They had not expected that having mages and templars working side by side again was going to be easy, but it appeared as if divisions between both groups ran even deeper than anticipated. Sighing, he put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "The Maker only knows. No matter what we do in these matters, there will always be people accusing us of bias. Just … try to be as fair as you can. For us, there must be no more templars and mages, just soldiers of the Inquisition." Beckoning Trevelyan to follow, he made his way to his office.

"Understood, ser. I imagine it must be difficult for all of us to adjust. I mean … you served in Kirkwall, ser. The rumours we heard in Ostwick …"

Cullen could feel himself tensing up. "Give me my agenda for the day, knight-lieutenant." That came out somewhat sharper than he had intended.

"Yes, ser." Trevelyan reached for the tablet under his arm. "After the staff meeting at 8, the negotiator from Matador International Risk is here to see you. Then, at quarter past 10, you've got a meeting with Major Dennet about the delivery of the old Nug APCs."

"What, has there been another delay?" The vehicles had been due to be turned over to the Inquisition a month ago, and they were sorely needed by their forces in the more sparsely populated areas of Orlais. Though Cullen did not suspect Major Dennet of intentionally delaying the handover, this did not reflect well on the Royal Ferelden Army.

"I'm afraid so. The Nugs are stuck in the Redcliffe Hinterlands so long as rebel forces are still in the area. I imagine they want our help to mop up the last remainders."

"You'd think they'd be able to clean up in their own backyard."

"They did just hand over a significant part of their light to medium equipment over to us, ser. The Fereldans nearly crippled themselves to help us. Plus, they don't have templars – or mages."

"Whereas we have both, and might get more soon. Makes sense. Carry on, knight-lieutenant."

"Right, ser. We've assigned two hours to the meeting with the major. After lunch, you wanted to fly down to Bexley AFB to inspect the troops there. That's going to take up most of the evening."

"I'm looking forward to see how Riley has been handling the situation. Maker knows we didn't give him an easy task. Give him any more leash, and he'll end up running logistics for all of our global operations."

"Quite. I think Lieutenant Sigridsson has suggested that we see about acquiring another turntable somewhere in western Orlais or Nevarra. That'd take some of the pressure of Bexley."

"That's a matter for Lady Montilyet's attention. If the situation at Bexley is as severe as Sigridsson seems to think, I'll make sure to mention it to her. Is that everything?"

"Yes, ser."

"A good day's work, then. Has my intelligence bulletin arrived yet?"

"Not just yet. I imagine it'll be here within the hour."

"Leliana must have her hands full. What's the time?"

"Five to eight, ser."

"Thank you. I should head to my staff meeting, then. You're dismissed."

Trevelyan saluted and left. After weeks of working together, Cullen still wasn't sure how to place the young man. Everything about his assignment as his ADC (courtesy of Josephine) reeked of politics. The second son of one of Ostwick's most prominent families, close ties to the Templar Order and the Chantry … a clear case of nepotism if he'd ever seen one. Then again, he was fairly clever. Disorganised and hopeless with maps, but quick on his heels. And he'd been a volunteer of the first hour, literally. All of his comrades from back then – Lavellan, Adaar and Cadash – had been appointed ADCs to the Inquisition's leadership. Cullen imagined that, from Josephine's perspective, having a team of high-profile volunteers of such diverse backgrounds, races and creeds would be a PR opportunity too good to pass up on.

Even so – why appoint Trevelyan to him? He'd nodded off on the decision, of course, but ultimately it had been Josephine's choice. Working with Trevelyan wasn't exactly arduous, but he would have served better as an ambassador's attaché or something like that. His own choice, he reasoned, would have been Adaar. A mage, to set a different sort of sign to the people under his command, and a diligent, uncomplicated worker to boot. Clearly, however, Josephine had had her own eyes on the Qunari.

Contemplating this, Cullen joined his staff in the meeting room – one of the smaller classrooms, once. Quincy was away on leave, visiting his family in Highever, but apart from that everyone was already waiting for him. Returning their greetings, Cullen took his seat at the head of the table. "Now then, what have you got for me?"

Almost immediately, Hoffreiter seized the opportunity. To his right, Hawthorne made a thinly-disguised show of his exasperation. "Ser," the mage said, his cool and deliberate pronunciation tinted with just a hint of an Anders accent, "you may have been informed of an arrest made at the Singing Maiden last night, where two of mages had an altercation with a templar which regrettably led to violence. Even more regrettable is the double standard evident in your man's treatment …"

"Oh, shut it, will you?" That was Knight-Captain Juliette d'Evercy, formerly of the White Spire. "I think it's quite clear that your people attacked ours. Knight-Serjeant MacCready was the victim here, and she was well within her rights to defend herself."

"By Smiting them? There are always two sides to an argument …"

Cullen sighed. "And if you don't stop right there, there's going to be three to this one. The matter has been dealt with by the officer on the scene. Whatever happened, the best we can do is make sure it doesn't happen again. That goes to both of you – keep your people in line or I'll be forced to segregate mages and templars in the camps. We need to work together, alright?"

"Ser."

"I'll pretend I heard a 'yes' before that. Do you have anything else for me?"

"There is the matter of the lyrium supply to consider."

He'd known that subject would have to come up again sooner or later. With mages and templars both in the Inquisition's service, maintaining a steady supply of the substance had become imperative. By now, Josephine's deals with suppliers in Orzammar had ensured a continuous flow of lyrium into their saferooms. The handling and distribution of their stores, however, still caused problems. He had a feeling that, at some point, he'd have to direct his personal attention to the matter.

Cullen wasn't sure he'd manage that.

"Right. Ms Jones, you're in charge of the lyrium. What's new?"

"My people assure me they've triple-checked the hazmat suits' seals. There shouldn't be any more accidents, at least until another FNG fucks up on their first trip to the saferoom. I must repeat my request for dwarves or Tranquil to be assigned to handle the raw lyrium, ser. Alternatively, we could switch to buying it in processed form. And should, frankly."

"That wouldn't be practicable," Hoffreiter pointed out. "Between mages, templars, enchantment and the experiments at the Breach, we'd need a supply of at least a dozen different lyrium products, in great quantities. It's much more cost-efficient to buy it raw and refine it locally according to the Inquisition's needs."

"That would be the case if we had suitable facilities in place. The risks to our people's safety …"

"… is something we'll just have to deal with." Cullen sighed. "We've discussed this, Ms Jones. We're trying to get our hands on dwarven experts, but it's going to take time. Once we have them, you'll be the first to hear about it. In the meantime, I want you to make absolutely certain that people handling raw lyrium follow safety procedures. Understood?"

"Yes, ser."

"Good. Anything else about the lyrium?"

Ser Juliette raised her hand. "There is still the matter of distribution to discuss." Hoffreiter groaned. "Oh, don't even pretend, Enchanter. I've had several complaints, again, from templars who have not received their proper ration. Commander, you are a templar. You know how crucial it is that all of our brothers and sisters receive their rations in time."

"The gall! The templars already receive far more than their allotted share. Just the other day I had a report on my desk from the southern Dales where a recon team was almost wiped out by demons because the mage assigned to them had not been supplied with lyrium pills and could not give proper fire support. Just admit it, commander, you're afraid of what will happen if our mages have the resources they need."

For a moment, there was a profound silence at the table. All eyes were on him. Contemplating, Cullen's fingers drummed out a slow beat on the table. "Has the Inquisition given you cause to regret your oath of service, Mr Hoffreiter? Have you or your mages faced any abuses that were not dealt with to your satisfaction?"

"… no, ser."

"And what about you, Ser Juliette? Have we given you cause to suspect mages are subject to preferential treatment?"

"Ser, the fact of the matter is …"

"The fact of the matter is that lyrium is in short supply all around. We are trying to buy up as much of this year's production as we can, but the Inquisition's means are limited. When distributing our limited stocks, high-risk assignments take top priority after Breach research. Anything else is secondary. If you find your templars don't get enough, lower the dosage for the junior knights."

"But ser …"

"No buts, ser knight. That is an order, and I expect you to follow it. Now, was there anything else?" Silence. "Very well. I'll be at Bexley this afternoon, but I'll be available on comms. Meeting dismissed."

One by one, the officers gathered their documents and filed out of the meeting room. Cullen remained behind, massaging his temples against the oncoming headache. The longer this went on, the less peace there was between those two … he could scarcely imagine how things would go once they had three or four times that number of templars or mages under their command, as Josephine and Leliana were hoping. And the lyrium … that was a whole other beast. "Trevelyan," he called out, raising his voice. The ADC stuck his head through the door. "Get me a glass of water. And two ibuprofens."

"At once, commander."

Trevelyan returned so quickly that Cullen had the strong suspicion he kept the tablets on his person these days. Maker knew he was on more painkillers these days than he'd ever been in his life. He'd taken two with breakfast, and his going rate the past few days had been … well, suffice it to say he wasn't going to mention it at his next physical. "Thank you." The ADC remained standing, watching him, as Cullen swallowed the pills with some water. "Next is … Major Dennet, correct?"

Trevelyan frowned. "Afraid not yet, ser. The representative from Matador is waiting for you, though. A Mr Cremisius Aclassi. Should I show him in?"

Ah, right. That was the one. "Make it so."

A young man in a suit was lead into the room. Bit short, soft features – not exactly the stereotypical mercenary. Cullen rose to greet him. "Mr Aclassi, good morning. I am Commander Rutherford. Please, have a seat."

"A pleasure. Thank you for meeting me." As if to match his features, Aclassi's voice was the kind of high tenor bordering on alto teenagers affected to sound older.

"You come highly recommended. I must admit, though, we were all a bit surprised to receive your mail. Normally, it's employers that approach companies like yours."

Aclassi gave a lop-sided smile. "We at Matador pride ourselves on our initiative. Besides, these aren't normal circumstances, and the Inquisition isn't a normal employer."

"Fair enough. Now, why don't you tell me about yourselves. What would Matador bring to the Inquisition?"

"Well, we're a fairly small company – three platoons plus support staff. But we make up for that by being pretty damned good …as our references will demonstrate. We can do everything from guard duty and escort services to covert ops and surgical incursions. We can also support your line of battle if need be – though that's not our specialty."

Cullen raised an eyebrow. "The Inquisition already has internal forces dedicated to black ops. Why would we need you, specifically?"

"I've seen some of your people's work, commander. It's solid, but nothing exceptional. Your people don't have the same training, experience and equipment that we do. Fighting your way through a forest full of insurgents to secure a rift is one thing. But you just try setting your people on objectives that require more of them. Dragon-slaying? High-profile enemy target in a fortified compound? Harassing enemy supply lines? We can do it. Your office has received a resume of our engagements, I believe – Matador has fought in 23 conflicts in Thedas and the New World the last fifteen years, and always delivered flawless service. Are you familiar with Operation Imbroglio?"

He frowned, trying to remember. "Anti-pirate operation, wasn't it? Back in 34, or 35. Antiva and the Accord joined forces to wipe out the pirates and smugglers out of Llomerryn. They captured the city as a staging ground, but then were forced to withdraw from Rivain after a bloody two-months guerrilla campaign."

"Got it right. Except the guerrilla campaign was planned, organised and executed largely by Matador forces the Admiralty had hired to infiltrate the city. That's a matter of public record, by the way, if you know where to look. Efficient, discrete and precise – that is the kind of service we provide, commander."

Well, Cullen thought, the kid was confident. "You make a good sales pitch, Mr Aclassi. What sort of equipment do you bring with you, by the way?"

"Full range of personal and squad-support weaponry, to start with – mostly Anders weaponry, based around the S&C G35 weapons system. We're fully motorised and use a couple of Kingfishers for aerial insertions."

"That's military hardware. Where'd you get your hand on those?"

Aclassi shrugged, grinning. "Let's just say Kirkwall's Vinmark Rangers could stand to keep an eye on their officers."

Well, that was mildly depressing. When he'd left Kirkwall behind, the city state had been in turmoil even by its lofty standard. Between gangs and insurgents running rampant and bereft of two-thirds of its leadership, Kirkwall these days seemed to be pretty damn close to what people called a failed state. If you believed the papers, it was only a matter of time until the other member states of the Starkhaven Accord stepped in and occupied the city. "I see. It's a solid set-up …"

"We also possess advanced crowd control systems."

Now that caught his attention. He'd come across that phrase a number of times as a templar – it was industry jargon for something rather more illicit. "You mean mages, right? Let's not beat around the bush."

"Er … yeah, that's about it. We've one mage. She can cast all of the basic Primal spells and specialises in Entropy."

"Circle-trained?"

"Dalish. She's perfectly competent, I promise you."

"Hmm. I'll take your word for it. Now then, I think I quite like what I hear. I think you could be an asset to the Inquisition. How much would your services cost us? Can you give me a figure?"

Aclassi's answer was prompt and precise. "Our baseline cost is 940 sovereigns a day per employee in combat situations, and 500 for lower-risk ops or downtime, plus a flat fee of 1230 sovereigns per diem in organisational costs. If we have to use the chopper, that's another 200 sovereigns per klick."

"That's a bit pricy, isn't it?"

"We are well worth the cost, ser. And you may still get a discount out of this – I'm not actually entitled to draw up a contract with you. First, my boss wants to meet you in person."

"I take it that's not your normal MO."

"No, normally I'm in charge of dealing with clients. My boss is Qunari – he finds that puts a lot of potential clients off. Anyway, he's currently finishing up on a contract with the Fereldan army on the Storm Coast. You could fly up there to meet him, if your schedule permits, otherwise he'd come to see you here in Haven in a week or so."

"I see. Well, I'll see what I can do. If I find an opening, I'll be in touch. If not … Excuse me." From inside the pockets of his uniform, his phone rang. One new message, from Leliana. Cancel your plans for the day. Board meeting in my office at 9. Well, that sounded fairly important. Cullen glanced at the time, ten to nine. "Damn. Sorry, I'm afraid we'll have to cut this short. Something's – TREVELYAN! – something's come up. Trevelyan, make sure Mr Aclassi has everything he needs. When's your flight back?"

"Not until the evening."

"Good. Trevelyan can give you a tour of the town, if you like, introduce you to our operations. We'll be in touch. Excuse me." Grabbing his overcoat, he quickly shook Aclassi's hand. Then, he was on his way. This better be important …

---

Like every morning, this one started – and then was put on pause, as she threw a sleepy-eyed glance at her alarm and went back to sleep.

Like every morning, this one started early. She hit Snooze four times, until the time on her alarm's display was preceded by an eight and there was no more excuse to continue sleeping. Still functionally brain-dead, Josephine crawled out of bed wrapped in a blanket and felt her way to the bathroom. Mechanically, she stepped under the shower. The next fifteen minutes were spent regularly turning up the heat and, slowly, waking up. By the end of it, she was sufficiently sapient to do her morning toilette, put on a dressing gown and quickly pop outside to fetch the breakfast that was waiting for her on a room service cart in the hallway.

She read the papers while she ate – an old habit from her days as a junior minister in the Antivan embassy to Nevarra City, back in the infancy of the Internet. Let's see – Eamon was having some trouble getting Parliament in line. A bump in the road or the end of an era for his government? Either way, a threat to the Inquisition and her treasury. She made a note to lean on some of the more petulant backbenchers. News from Markham were worse – poor old Margret, it said, was unlikely ever to regain consciousness. For a moment, she paused to recall their last meeting, at the 9:41 Montequadro Conference. Even in these dark times, she'd maintained the stoic idealism that was becoming so rare even among the leadership of the Accord. They'd had more disagreements during that seminar than she could count, but she had come to greatly respect the woman. Her accident, that much was clear, was a blow to the Starkhaven Accord, its members, and to the world at large. Josephine made a mental note to phone her successor, and her family.

An espresso and cornetto later, Josephine almost felt ready to face the day. She got dressed – she point-blank refused to wear the new Inquisition uniforms for all but the most formal occasions; this was not going to be a military organisation if she could help it – and applied make-up. Then, she grabbed her phone and left her suite.

Her team had set up shop in the back rooms of Haven's chantry, just across the street from the hotel. These days, it was hard to believe this had once been a tiny little village chantry – the new building, erected to serve the pilgrims after the rediscovery of the Sacred Ashes, was spacious, light and airy, all glass and polished hardwood. Though Leliana and Cullen's divisions had found themselves forced to move into separate buildings, there was more than enough space for Josephine and her team.

When she walked in, Mother Giselle was just concluding morning mass. On a weekday like this, mass was a quiet affair, and with no audience in the chantry Josephine was happy to wait in respectful silence as Giselle finished, her voice strong and clear.

"… sing with them the Chant, and all will know: we are Yours, and none shall stand before us." A faint smile on her face, the mother bowed her head before the carved representation of Andraste that kept a watchful eye on the chantry's nave. Then, she carefully closed the leather-bound Chant on the lectern. "Thus ends the lesson, that you may sing the Chant of Light to all the corners of the world. Go in the Maker's light."

Josephine bowed her head. "And may it always go with you."

"Thank you for your patience, Lady Montilyet," Giselle greeted her as she picked up the small silvered tabernacle containing oil for the holy fire. "How are you this morning?"

"Quite good, thanks. It's a lovely day. You?"

"No complaints. Oh, while we are talking – I have received news from my friends in Val Royeaux. Adalbertha Mingelich has been elected grand cleric of Nordbotten."

A grin flew across Josephine's face. Mingelich was not only an outspoken supporter of the Inquisition, but also the candidate she had been pushing for the influential Anders see. "Good to hear. Thank you, mother."

"The pleasure has been mine. Did you know Adalbertha and I studied together for a while? I shall have to ring her up to offer my congratulations. If you like, I can ask her to preach on our behalf."

"Do you think it'll help?"

"Every little bit helps, does it not? Adalbertha is a powerful preacher, and the Anders people will listen to her sermons. It could help to improve the Inquisition's standing in the north."

Josephine briefly pondered the issue, then nodded. "Make it so. I appreciate your help, mother."

"And the world appreciates yours. Go in peace."

"You, too." As Giselle returned her attention to refuelling the sacred flame, Josephine hurried off towards her offices. She had long ago made it a point of principle not to check her mail in her downtime outside of crises, but that didn't keep her from getting anxious every morning about what she might have missed during the night.

Today, however, she didn't even get to her desk to check her mail. Corporal Adaar was waiting for her in the office, pacing a hole in the hardwood floor. "Ma'am!," the qunari mage almost shouted as she entered, before regaining her composure. "We have been awaiting you, ma'am. You received a text message from Lady Nightingale almost an hour ago, on your office phone. It seems rather urgent."

Well. That was the downside of her policy, and good reason to be anxious. "Good morning to you too, Herah. Is my bulletin here yet?" Her office phone was a monstrous contraption Leliana had personally set up for her. The connection, her friend had assured her in a flurry of techy words, numbers and abbreviations, was as secure as what might sit on the desk of the arishok, archon or empress, but considerably more unwieldy than a normal mobile as well. Consequently, she had put it to rather more stationary uses, leaving it permanently plugged in on her desk.

Someday, she'd have to tell Leliana …

"Not yet, ma'am," Adaar informed her as Josephine's eyes flew over the message. "Lady Nightingale's officers are uncustomarily late."

"Well, that only makes this more important. Meeting at nine, what's the time?"

"Six minutes past nine, ma'am. Pardon, it is seven now."

"Oh, absolutely lovely. Right, anyone wants to talk to me, tell them I'm not available. Glower a bit if they don't want to listen. Oh, and make a note in my schedule to call up … probably won't have time, don't bother. I should be off, shouldn't I?"

Adaar's response was terse. "Yes, ma'am."

Well, that settled it. Someday, Josephine swore to herself as she hurried off as quickly as her heels would allow, she'd make it to an emergency meeting and not be the last to arrive.

---

Like every morning, the dawn's light was reflected a myriad times in the otherworldly shine of the Breach. Under their feet, a thin layer of snow crunched with every step, becoming thinner and thinner as they approached ground zero.

"Shouldn't we be wearing Hazmat suits for this?," Cassandra asked their guide when the first spikes of red lyrium jagging from the ground came into sight.

"No need for that, dear" Vivienne replied. "So long as you don't touch it, short-term exposure is no more harmful than sitting by a microwave oven. You'd have to spend hours around it to contract serious radiation poisoning. Oh, and try not to look directly into the breach."

Bethany stifled a yawn. She hadn't been sleeping well, lately, and her dreams were getting worse. "Why not? It's not that bright, is it?"

"No, but the last time one of our researchers stared at it, he came down with nausea and dizziness for days. Staring directly into the Fade does strange things to the mind."

"Indeed," Solas concurred. "The human mind is not fashioned to comprehend what lies in the Beyond."

Vivienne shot him a murderous glare. "But of course the elven mind is, is that it?"

The sole reply was a noncommittal smile.

"Um, could we maybe just proceed to the Breach without another argument? Please?" Cassandra grunted her approval, but Vivienne would not accept that just yet.

"I still have no idea why he is even here. As far as I can tell, Mr … Solas seems to have no formal training or education whatsoever. I have nothing but respect for his cultural traditions, but I don't see how quaint mysticism and Bronze Age mythologies are supposed to help us."

"Solas is a mage of no small talent," Bethany pointed out. "And a dreamer …" – "Alleged dreamer." – "… as well. We need all the help we can get."

Vivienne made no attempt to hide her disapproval, though the rest of the hike to ground zero proceeded more quietly, until they crested the edge of the crater. A ring of industrial floodlights, generators and research instruments had been set up around ground zero, between faintly glowing spikes of red lyrium, and a group of Inquisition soldiers and researchers in CBRT suits. Even though the checkpoint further down the mountain had radioed ahead, the soldiers insisted on IDing them. "Sorry for the hassle, ma'am" their commander told them, her voice distorted by her gas mask. "We've had a couple of incidents of Breach cultists trying to, er, breach the perimeter. Can't be too careful."

"Of course. Where can we find the new arcanist?"

The soldier made a vague gesture towards the crater. "I think that's the dwarf with the yellow stripes on her shoulders. If you want, I can radio them to meet you here."

"No need. A dwarf shouldn't be hard to find." Rubber gloves, safety goggles and respirators were parcelled out. A soldier taped bright red visitor tags to their arms, then let them pass. Their group descended the temporary steel steps into the crater that had once been the holiest of holies of the temple. In the faint green glow of the Breach the depth of space seemed to be in constant flux, making it difficult to judge the crater's size.

As expected, it only took them a few moments to spy a dwarf-sized protective suit among the researchers. It was squatting on the ground, examining some rocks, but rose when they approached. "There you are!," it – she, judging by the voice and the face that was barely visible behind her visor – said. The dwarf reached out a gloved hand, then dropped it just as quickly. "I've probably got red lyrium dust all over me. Shouldn't shake hands. We're just in the process of – sorry, getting ahead of myself. I'm the new arcanist. Your arcanist. Dr Dagna Janarsdottir; I studied at Kinloch Hold and then at the University of Denerim. My doctoral thesis was on …"

Bethany held up her hands. "Slow down. You wouldn't be here if we didn't think you were the best. It's good to have you on the team, Dr Janarsdottir."

"Just Dagna, please. I'm technically casteless."

"Dagna, then. May I introduce, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, and, uh, Solas. You already know Dr de la Ferre. I'm Bethany Hawke."

"Great. Now, we're currently looking into the mineralogical composition of the rubble. There's never been a detailed study done on the geological foundations of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, so we don't really have anything to compare our findings with, but we're hoping to gain some insight into how exactly the original detonation happened."

"It's been months since the attack," Cassandra pointed out. "It's rained, and snowed, there've been demons roaming around ground zero – how can there be any evidence of the attack left?"

"It's not what you think. The site is too exposed to do some sort of ballistic analysis on it, but my theory is that the mineralogical composition of the rubble can tell us a lot about the actual magic behind the explosion."

Solas gave a slight nod. "That seems plausible. All magic sends ripples through the Veil, changing its weave and fabric. A spell or ritual as powerful as the one that created the weave would have left a strong mark on all its surroundings."

"So what have you found so far?"

The dwarf shrugged. "Not a whole lot, to be honest …" And she launched into a lengthy speech Bethany couldn't have followed if she wanted to. "And that's pretty much all we have. Could've been a bomb. Could've been something else entirely. What we do know is that the Breach was definitely created by some sort of blood magic ritual, but not any kind I've heard of. I can't even imagine the power you'd need to tear the Veil like this. I've called in a few favours among colleagues to hear if they can find out anything – you wouldn't believe the kind of reaction I got when I namedropped the Inquisition – but I don't think it's anything we've dealt with before."

"So we're right back where we started," Bethany concluded with a sinking heart. She had suspected the investigation of ground zero might be too little, too late, but she'd still hoped for some sort of lead. Finding out who'd opened the Breach, and how, was key to closing it. "We don't know anything."

"Oh, I didn't say that. Complex magic like that doesn't just spring up out of nowhere, you know. The attackers got the idea from somewhere, sometime. My colleagues – well, their grad students – are still working their way through the Circle archives, but something as huge as this wouldn't be as hard to find. So if you ask me, we're dealing with the really old stuff here – and I mean pre-Circle magic."

"Old means Tevinter or Qunari, in all likelihood," Vivienne pointed out. "That does match the analysis of the Orlesian intelligence community."

Bethany shook her head. "We shouldn't jump to conclusion. What about elven magic? The Dalish traditions reach back millennia, and they're not recorded in the Circle archives. What do you think, Solas?"

Instead of the elf, Vivienne replied. "Hardly. The Dalish have long been incapable of higher forms of magic. A nomadic lifestyle simply does not support the intensive study required for a ritual spell of such refinement. The ancient elves' magical heritage has long atrophied in the Dalish clans."

Solas scowled at the physicist, but nodded hesitantly. "For once, we are in agreement, Madame. No Dalish-trained mage could have torn the Veil like this."

Bethany frowned. "I don't know a lot of Dalish mages, but from what I've seen, they aren't any less powerful than most Circle mages."

"Raw power is not the issue, training and refinement is. In the days of Elvhenan, magic was studied at institutions not unlike today's Circles, though they had a very different conception of the art in those days. Among the Dalish, however, there are scarcely enough mages to train a Keeper for each clan, let alone form an academy. Their magic is generally a means of survival to them, not an object of research."

Bethany wasn't sure if she agreed – she had known Dalish for whom magic was very much a research subject. But she didn't press the point, preferring instead to turn to Dagna. "Thanks for your help. Keep looking for leads. If there's anything you need, come talk to me and I'll see what I can do."

"Hey, I'm glad to do my part. You get out there and kick those demons' arses, okay?"

They handed in their safety equipment and began the walk back down the mountain. Much of the road leading up to ground zero had been cleared of debris for the Inquisition's traffic, but this far up there was no real way of removing the rubble of the Temple of Sacred Ashes without causing a landslide.

"You don't much like the Dalish, do you?," Bethany asked Solas after a while.

"Does that surprise you?," he replied with an artfully arched eyebrow and a faint smirk. She still wasn't sure what to think of the elf, even after working together for more than a month. Even Leliana had been unable to find more than a sliver of intel on him before his sudden appearance in Highever a year ago. The spymaster had repeatedly expressed security concerns about Solas' access in council, but the fact of the matter was that the elf had proven himself indispensable from the day he had joined the Inquisition.

"It's just … I mean, most elves I know hold the Dalish in high regard. And you clearly care about your people's history and culture. It just seems odd."

"The Dalish do not hold a monopoly on elven culture, or our history. What little they actually remember, they have appropriated into meaningless, fossilised icons with no understanding of context or significance. If a citizen of Elvhenan walked among them today, he would be as a stranger in a foreign land."

"Well … culture isn't static. Just because it's not exactly the same as it was two thousand years ago, does not mean it's not part of your people's heritage."

"Perhaps a part best forgotten," Solas exclaimed, suddenly forceful. "Enough of this," he then said, more sedately. "We should focus on the present. Tell me, Herald, have you given any thought to … excuse me, I think that's your phone."

She must have gotten her signal back, Bethany realised, trying to find her ringing phone underneath the heavy winter coat she was wearing. The Breach played havoc with most phones' reception in its proximity. She gave Solas an apologetic glance before picking up. "Hawke?"

"Finally," Josephine's voice replied. "We've been trying to reach you for almost an hour. You can Cassandra are together, yes?"

Bethany glanced at the Seeker at the head of their group, who appeared to be contributing to Vivienne's conversation with the occasional grunt. "Yeah. Is everything alright? Did something happen?"

"It's fine. Just make sure you get down here ASAP. Leliana called an emergency meeting of the council. She believes …" The diplomat stopped herself. "I shouldn't say anything on the phone. Just get down here, alright?"

"We're on our way back," Bethany assured her, now pensive. "We'll be there in 15 minutes … ish."

"Good. We might have an opportunity here."

The nature of the opportunity was revealed to her when she and Cassandra walked into the 'war room' in the chantry backrooms to find a satellite image of Therinfal Redoubt projected against the wall. "Sorry we're late," Bethany announced. The others were already present. "What's going on?"

"We have an update on the templar situation," Josephine answered. "Leliana thinks they might be using red lyrium to supplement their rations."

And the day had been going so well. "But that's insane. Why would they do something like that?"

Cullen grimaced at that. He was standing off to the side, Bethany had scarcely noticed him. "Because they're desperate," he explained without making eye contact with her. They still hadn't had that talk that Varric kept insisting they have. "What happens to a templar that goes without lyrium for too long … it's not pretty."

"Neither is red lyrium. You saw what that pendant did to Commander Stannard. I can't even begin to imagine what's going to happen if you start ingesting the stuff."

"Which makes it all the more urgent that we act quickly," Leliana said, her voice raised. Under the spymaster's hoodie (which Bethany didn't get), her eyes were cold and hard. "It's not as much of an in as I would have liked, but if we're to have any hopes of getting the templars on our side, we need to approach them now before it's too late."

"Agreed," Cassandra said. "I'll get a team together. If we take the chopper, we can be there by noon."

"Hang on a minute. We cannot simply show up on their doorstep and expect the Lord Seeker to drop his animosity to the Inquisition. We need an in."

"Access to our lyrium stocks should do it, shouldn't it?"

Cullen scoffed. "We barely have enough for our own people as it is. Orzammar keeps driving up the prices."

"Still, if we offer Lord Seeker Lucius an alternative source of lyrium …"

Hesitantly, Bethany raised a hand. "Excuse me, but why are we assuming the Lord Seeker doesn't know what red lyrium will do to his people?"

"What do you mean?"

She blushed. "Well … it's just, Lord Seeker Lucius must know about what red lyrium did to Knight-Commander Stannard. He must have read Cassandra's findings from the Kirkwall Inquiry, right?"

The Seeker frowned. "That's right. I submitted my report to the Divine Commission for the Control of Magic when I returned to Val Royeaux, and personally presented copies to the Divine and Lord Seeker Lambert. If Lord Seeker Lucius did not read my report when it first came out, he must have done so upon succeeding to the head of our order."

"I don't see why the Lord Seeker would feed his templars red lyrium," Josephine objected. "How could he possibly profit from that?"

"The Knight-Commander drew immense power from her pendant," Cullen suggested. "She even seemed to cast some sort of magic. Lord Seeker Lucius might be trying to imbue his knights with the same power. With a thousand Merediths at his command, he'd be all but unstoppable."

Cullen was right, Bethany knew. There was no question of it. The drawn-out running battle against Knight-Commander Stannard through the burning, demon-infested Gallows had been etched into the back of her mind, and remained a regular feature in her nightmares. Crawling through a seemingly endless smoke-filled ventilation ducts, unable to see farther than her own hand, bleeding both externally and internally – when they had eventually managed to kill Stannard, they had been struggling even to remain on their feet themselves. But all that was beside the point, she reminded herself. The best they could do was avoid it ever happening again. "It doesn't matter whether Lucius knows what he's doing to his men or not," she said. "He needs to be stopped."

"Agreed," Cassandra said. "Josephine, do you think we can get the Fereldans to provide military support?"

Before the ambassador could reply, Leliana spoke up. "We do have another option."

"I hope you're not going to suggest letting the Lord Seeker make his templars into super-powered killing machines."

The spymaster smirked, briefly. "As cool as that sounds, no. But we mustn't lost track of our priorities here. Our first responsibility is to close the Breach, and for that, we need the mages. If we enter talks with the templars, we lost what little currency we still have with them. Might as well throw in the towel now."

"The templars could help us seal the Breach just as much as the mages," Cullen argued. "The difference is, if we don't act soon, the templars at Therinfal Redoubt are going to go insane with power. We need to act, no matter what the mages will think of us."

"If the Inquisition is going to present a lasting solution to the mage question, we have to engage with the mages first. Siding with the templars and burning bridges makes us into agents of the status quo."

Leliana nodded. "I'm with Josie on this. We can deal with the Therinfal situation in other ways. They're getting their red lyrium from somewhere. Tracing their supply is going to be trivial for my people. We may not have much experience with red lyrium, but we've commissioned experiments on nugs to test if the usual lyrium-compatible poisons would still work …" There was an awkward silence, and the spymaster trailed off. "Is something wrong? Do I have something in my teeth?"

"I'm suddenly very concerned for Boulette and Schmooples' safety."

"What, you only realised she's a sociopath now? Just don't eat or drink anything she gives you and you'll be fine."

Leliana cleared her throat. "If we can get this back on track, people …"

"Yes, let's." Cassandra looked away, shifted her weight. "I don't like the idea of going around poisoning people. As far as those men and women are concerned, they're only doing their duty. But if it prevents a horde of superpowered lunatics rampaging through southern Thedas, that might just be our only option."

Cullen scoffed. "With all due respect, Seeker, you can't seriously suggest murdering those templars over their commander's folly?"

"That's a last resort. First, I want to try talking to Lord Seeker Lucius. If he doesn't want to, find someone at Therinfal who does. We need to do whatever we can to get the templars on our team."

"And lose the mages in the process. We don't even know if templar abilities will work on the Breach. I'm sorry for the templars at Therinfal, but we simply can't risk it."

"Oh, for Andraste's sake, those templars need our help and they need it now. Redcliffe's mages want to deal with the Imperium, fine, let them. Hell, we don't even know if the Grand Enchanter is still alive until we hear back from that Dr Pavus figure …"

Bethany had remained quiet so far, watching the developing argument from the side of the room. Far too often, she had found her opinions not disregarded, but rather – and that was more frightening by far – heeded. Her mark, it appeared, oft gave her voice added weight. She'd long known that was a recipe for disaster. It was only a matter of time until one of her proposals got people killed. Best to leave those things to people who actually had an idea of what they were doing. Besides … she'd always known that putting herself forward was a good way of getting herself killed.

Now, however, rising frustration broke through her resistances. How was it no one saw the obvious solution? "Excuse me," she said, raising her hand. "But what's keeping us from saving the templars and allying with the mages?"

Josephine frowned. "Well … for starters, the mages and templars are at war with each other, and have been for a while now. Tensions are high. We're already having difficulties getting them to just talk to us. If we try to put both sides on the same table, we lose them both."

"They were talking just six weeks ago. If Divine Justinia had had just a couple more weeks, she might have gotten them to agree to an armistice, you all know that."

"Six weeks is a long time in politics. And the last six weeks have been longer than most."

Bethany shook her head. "I think we can do this. The main thing is getting both sides back to the negotiating table. If we send people to help the templars and recruit the mages, at the same time, present them with a fait accompli, we might just have a shot at reconciliation."

Cullen took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't know, Hawke. There's a lot of bad blood out there, and they won't appreciate us deceiving them. What do you think, Josephine?"

"I'm sorry, Herald, but there's absolutely no way it'll work like that. If there's anything my years of diplomatic service have taught me, it's that good faith is the foundation of all deals. Deceiving both groups to get them on our side will only end with us losing both of them."

Leliana nodded. "I'm with Josie on this. It's a nice idea, but I don't see it working in practice. The intel just doesn't support it."

"But if we just …"

Cassandra broke her off. "Enough." Then, she sighed. "We're not going to decide anything now, that much is clear. And we've all got work to do, anyway. Let's take some time to clear our heads and meet again at 1400, okay?"

There was tacit agreement from the others. One by one, Bethany watched as they filed out of the room. Cullen was the last to meet, and for a moment his eyes lingered upon her and it seemed as though he was going to speak. Then, he too left.

That's it, then. Just like that, they were going to sacrifice one side to get the other. Wasn't the Inquisition supposed to restore order for everyone, not pick sides …?

Frustrated, she walked out of the war room into the chantry's nave. It was near noon, and with the sun in its zenith the lectern with the Chant of Light on it was bathed in a bright light shining through a skylight above it. The scent of incense was in the air, and the mountain sun played tricks with the elegantly simplistic stained glass windows depicting Andraste's passion that lined the nave. Mother Giselle, or any of the other priestesses, were nowhere in sight.

With a sigh, Bethany sat in one of the pews. Her head resting in her hands, she looked up at the carved image of Andraste. You'd know what to do, wouldn't you? For that matter, so would Marian. Bethany had a feeling that their respective solutions were unlikely to coincide. There had got to be something she could do …

Think, Bethany. What do you have, what do you want, and how can you use the former to get the latter? What she wanted was clear enough, to somehow get both mages and templars on the Inquisition's side. No more deaths on her hands, even by inaction. All she had was her magic and her mark From her mark, she drew authority, but it wouldn't be enough. What else did she have?

She looked up towards the apse. The woodcarver had elected to represent Andraste somewhat unusually: rather than staring past the blade of a raised sword, this statue saw the prophet returning it to its sheath. Her roughly-carved eyes were raised to the skies in delirious adoration. Bethany wondered why the artist had gone for the sheathed sword – Andraste had been a warrior. Her peace had been written in … sword.

Sword, templar, Cullen. Cullen had seemed supportive of her proposition at the meeting, hadn't he? If she could get him on her side, maybe the others would follow. She rose to her feet and left the chantry, half-running. Where would he be at this time of day? Probably best to check the primary school first; if he wasn't there, someone would be able to tell her where he'd gone.

With quick steps, she left the chantry and descended into the lower part of the village, where the school stood. It had been surrounded by a tall chain-link fence topped with razor wire, but she was ushered through the checkpoint at the gate without so much as having to show her ID. Having never actually been inside, Bethany was somewhat surprised at how normal the interior of the building looked. The entrance opened onto a long, L-shaped hallway, lined with classrooms on the inside and windows on the outside. The latter were still decorated with colourful, translucent paper animals, and the walls on the classroom side were painted with the letters of the Common alphabet. Only a lone Inquisition officer walking down the hall with a small stack of files under her arm gave any evidence towards the building's present purpose. "Excuse me," Bethany asked her, "do you know where I can find Commander Rutherford's office?"

"Up the stairs and it's the first door on the left, ser. You can't miss it."

"Thanks." Ascending the stairs, Bethany found that the PA's desk outside Cullen's office was unstaffed, so she went ahead and knocked on the door. There was a muffled shriek of sort, a brief rumbling sound, and then a voice said: "come in."

She opened the door to find Knight-Lieutenant Trevelyan and her own aide, Ellana, looking somewhat flustered. The elf had a broad grin on her face, but Trevelyan's complexion rather matched the sash around the waist of his dishevelled uniform as he adjusted his belt. "Lady Herald!," he exclaimed, snapping to attention in front of Cullen's desk. "We – we didn't expect to see you here …"

"Hey, boss," Ellana chirped.

"Hey. I was looking for Commander Rutherford," Bethany said, worry furrowing her brow. What if Cullen had left the village on short notice? He did that a lot, these days, to visit far-flung outposts. "Is everything alright? You look a little flushed." She wasn't exactly sure what they were doing in Cullen's office, or why his desk looked like a battlefield, but she suspected Cullen wasn't too keen on officers walking into his office in his absence.

Trevelyan shot a silent cry for help towards the elf, whose grin was not perturbed by it in the slightest. "We, uh. Uh. Uh."

"Don't mind him, Shemmy's just a little out of breath."

"Yeah," Trevelyan quickly said, grateful for the save. "Because, uh, drills, and stuff."

"All that drilling really tires you out, you know …"

Bethany had a feeling she was missing a bit of context there, but she didn't really have the time. "Right. Anyway, I was just looking for the commander. Do either of you know where I can find him?"

"He, uh, he went down to Cathaire Camp to inspect the troops, I believe. Ser. Should I leave a message for him?"

"Thanks, that won't be necessary. I'll find him myself. Excuse me." Having no time to lose, she quickly left the school.

Cathaire Camp was one of four encampments of varying sizes and purposes that had been thrown up around the village. Located halfway between Ambrosia and Denerim Camps, and just a few hundred metres from Beatrix Camp, it was mostly used to train fresh recruits from Ferelden and parts of Western Orlais – though Bethany wasn't sure what they could possibly learn within two weeks that would save their lives out in the field. Still, she supposed, the situation might be even worse without the training Beatrix Camp provided. At least now they had support from the actual military. By the time Bethany got around to closing most of the high-priority rifts, the military had already cordoned them off.

Arriving at the camp, she had herself checked in by the gate guard and was pointed towards the shooting range. On her approach, she had heard occasional gunfire, echoing against the mountains surrounding them, but had thought nothing of it. One always heard gunfire, these days. As she approached the shooting range through the indistinguishable rows of white tents, the intervals seemed to be getting longer, until they eventually stopped altogether. She stepped out onto the range to find a platoon of recruits, still looking awkward in their fatigues, rifles slung across their backs, gathered around Cullen.

"… doesn't matter if you hit your mark so long as you can keep firing, but it does. Every shot that you miss is a moment you hand to the enemy to close with you, or a round wasted. Most of you still can't consistently hit the mark at a hundred metres, none of you has made two. You've got a week left before you're rotated back to … are you paying attention, Ms Redburn? This is literally a matter of life and death, I'll remind you!"

Bethany stood at a distance to the group, listening. It was a bit odd, she'd never thought of Cullen as a fellow teacher – the training he had accorded both her and his subordinate knights in the Kirkwall MCIS had mostly consisted of the occasional pointer, trusting them to do their own thing. Clearly, it appeared, he'd missed his calling. Eventually, she caught Cullen's eye. He flinched, then dismissed his recruits and turned to face her.

"Herald," he greeted her, not meeting her eyes. She'd almost grown used to that. "What brings you here?"

"Hey yourself. Do you have a minute to talk?"

Cullen glanced at the recruits, visibly regretting his decision to send them away. "Sure. I've got time. What can I do for you?"

She gave him a faint smile, leaning against the railing surrounding the shooting range. "We, uh, haven't really had a chance to talk. Privately, I mean."

"Oh." Understanding dawned on his face. "Of … of course. We've all been busy. It's … been a busy few months."

"Right. So … how's your family?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Your family. I know you have one. You introduced me, remember?"

"Oh. Right, yeah. They're fine, all of them, thanks. They got out of Kirkwall alright before it got really bad – they've moved back to Denerim now."

Bethany smiled. She'd only met the Rutherfords briefly, and their meeting had been cut short by a running battle against a blood mage at the hospital, but she was relieved nonetheless. "I'm glad to hear that. There's been far too much suffering already. What about your nephew? What name did they end up giving him?"

"Which … oh, you mean Stanton. Mia's kid. He's four now. He's got a little cousin, too, I'm told, my brother's son – Willem."

"You haven't seen him?"

He shifted. There was something he wanted to say, Bethany suspected, but couldn't. "I've been busy," Cullen lamely finished. Then, quickly, "What about you? Did your … is your family alright?"

At that, her heart sank. That was a question she'd been hoping to avoid – mostly so she could avoid thinking about it. "My mother died last Harvestmere," she eventually admitted, her voice carefully controlled. "Varric told me. Undiagnosed breast cancer." Varric had told her, she thought bitterly. She hadn't been there. She hadn't even known. The only family Leandra Amell had had by her deathbed had been Gamlen and Charade.

Cullen's eyes widened in shock and his jaw dropped open. Then he caught himself. "Oh, Maker …," he murmured. "Maker, I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

Bethany made a sound that was probably somewhere halfway between a scoff and a chuckle. "Neither did I."

"I'm sorry," Cullen repeated. "Truly. When … when did you learn?"

"About a week after the attack on the Conclave. Varric took me aside and … told me." She smiled, faintly. "I've been trying not to think about it. Talk about it. I think Varric might be worried. I keep thinking that she might still be alive if she hadn't been exposed to my and father's magic all those years. That I should have been there for her."

Cullen sat next to her on the railing. "I don't know if this will help," he said, "but there's never been any evidence of radiation from normal use of magic increasing cancer risks. Your magic had nothing to do with this."

"I'd like to believe that." Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself. "Anyway, there's nothing to be done now. We just keep on living as best we can, right? 'For the Maker / shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword'."

"I hope you'll find comfort in the Chant, then. Listen, I … I know we've never been friends, but if you need to talk …"

"Thank you, Cullen. I appreciate it." She smiled. "Besides, we've never really had a chance to be friends before. I don't know about you, but I'd like to give it a try."

For an instant, he looked surprised, then he gave a firm nod, a dead serious expression on his face. "I'd be honoured." Blushing a little, he averted his gaze. "A…anyway, what about the rest of your family? Your friends? Have you been in touch with any of them?"

No, she hadn't. "Well … there's Varric."

"No one else?"

"Well … we kind of left Kirkwall in a hurry, and then we started splitting up for safety." That wasn't the whole truth, of course, but Cullen didn't have to know everything. Maker knew she wasn't in any mood to talk about it. "We've not been in contact since. It'd be dangerous to all of us."

She wasn't sure what Cullen made of that – he had seen them, she was convinced, after he'd saved her life at that warehouse, moments before everything had come crashing down. There weren't a whole lot of possible conclusion he could have drawn from what had happened before his very eyes. Or was it Anders he was worried about? That was a whole different matter, of course. Personally, Bethany would be very glad never to see his face again, but she suspected many of the Inquisition's members felt rather differently about her one-time friend. "You know," Cullen said after a bit, "when I was knight-commander of Kirkwall, after the battle, I worked pretty closely with Commander Vallen. I know you were friends, I could put you in touch …"

She broke him off. It would be nice, she had to admit, to talk to Aveline again. She'd been there since the beginning, and she always, always seemed to know what was going on, what was wrong about it, and how to go about fixing it. For a while, just after Carver's death, the older woman had been more of a sister to her than Marian had ever been. They'd helped each other through their grief, and Aveline had taught her how to defend herself without using magic. To talk to her again – but Bethany realised that was not an option. "Varric already offered, but thanks. She's got her own problems to deal with in Kirkwall. I don't want to worry her." Or explain to her how she'd ended up all alone in Redcliffe. She forced a smile. "I'll see about getting in touch once I've got some time to settle down," she lied. "It's been … a busy few weeks."

"Mmhm."

Quickly, she changed the subject. "Anyway, what I wanted to talk to you about. I know I didn't make my point very well in council earlier, and I'll admit there's some kinks that need to be ironed out. But I really think that we can get both the mages and templars on our team if we're smart about it."

The commander looked more than doubtful. "Leliana and Josephine don't agree," he pointed out. "And they do make some good points."

"Yes, but I think they underestimate the severity of the situation the mages and templars are in." She jumped to her feet, started pacing. "When I was living in Redcliffe, they cut our rations almost monthly. I can't imagine that the Breach helped the mages supply themselves. That was probably the main reason the mages went to the Conclave in the first place, and I can't imagine the templars are doing much better these days. Do you see? Both sides are desperate. They need allies."

"They're fanatics," Cullen pointed out. "Mages and templars have been killing each other for years now, and with every martyr they get more rabid. What makes you think they'll work together?"

Bethany grinned. "Three reasons. One, they're desperate, and only the Inquisition can help them. Two, they were already talking until two months ago. And three, we're not going to tell them until it's too late for them to change their mind."

"That doesn't sound very honest."

She shrugged. "It isn't. But there are lives at stake here, Cullen. We need to save as many as we can – no matter what it takes."

The commander was still doubtful, she could tell. She couldn't blame him, even she had to admit it was a pretty bold idea. It would be hard to pull off – but they had to try, didn't they? Even so, Cullen seemed to be coming around. "We still don't have an actual in with the Redcliffe mages. How are you going to approach them?"

"Like we have an in with the templars either? I'm not saying it will be easy. We'll have to improvise. But if you go to Therinfal and I go to Redcliffe, I'm sure we can get them on our side. Dr Pavus is on our side, he'll help me."

"And there should be people I know at Therinfal."

"Right. We can do this, Cullen. I know we can."

"You know, when you say it like that I almost believe it." The commander chuckled, looked up at the Breach. Internally, Bethany was cheering. She had him. "Alright then, let's try this. But …" His smile fell. "It's still two against three. We need to get one of the others on our side."

Bethany had already considered that. "Leave that to me. I know you've got stuff to do."

"Are you sure? I could probably spare a couple of minutes to talk to Cassandra."

"I'll get it done. And … thanks. I'm glad we're okay." She reached out her hand, and Cullen shook it.

"Me too. We made a good team."

"We still do. Right, got to run. See you later!" She turned to leave, feeling Cullen's eyes on her back for a moment or two before he returned to whatever problem had to be shouted at.

Leaving Beatrix Camp, her thoughts returned to the plan she'd said she had. It wasn't a plan, exactly. Not as such. Not yet, anyway. But in her mind, it already qualified for a planlet, a little sprout that needed only a bit of water and sunlight to blossom and fill the air with – hang on, that metaphor was getting away from her. Better to focus. Josephine and Leliana were right out, they'd made their opposition to her plan abundantly clear at the council meeting. That left Cassandra. She hadn't been entirely opposed, had she?

Bethany had no idea where Cassandra would be at this time of day, if not at the shooting range. She ended up looking at the Chantry, the school and a number of cafés and pubs until she decided to check the guesthouse. To her relief, the receptionist informed her that Cassandra had checked back in an hour ago and was still upstairs in her suite. She had the receptionist give her the Seeker's room number and a minute later she was knocking on Cassandra's door.

"Cassandra?," she called. "It's Bethany. Can I talk to you for a minute?"

There was a stifled shriek, the sound of rustling paper. Something was thrown over. Then, a flushed Cassandra unlocked the door. "Of course," the Seeker said, trying very hard to sound dignified. "Come in."

Somewhat confused, Bethany entered. Unlike her own suite at the guesthouse, the Seeker's room was fairly spartan, with little sign of habitation other than the rumpled bed and, uh, broken lampshade on the floor. A book was poking out from under the duvet. "… what are you doing?," she asked, not sure if she really wanted to know.

"Uh, nothing. I fell. I mean, I was doing stretching … how can I help you?"

Trying to clear that suspicion from her mind before it went somewhere uncomfortable, Bethany returned her attention to the matter at hand. "Uh, right. Listen, Cassandra, about this morning … I need to talk to you about the mages and templars thing."

She frowned. "Why come to me? You already made your point this morning."

"And I'm making it again. Listen, Cassandra, I know Leliana and Josephine don't agree. But there is a way to save both mages and templars. I know it."

The Seeker sighed and crossed her arms. "You're right, the Inquisition shouldn't take a side in this. Believe me, I wish there was a way we could save them both. Josephine and Leliana are right, though. It would simply not work."

"Listen, mages and templars are both desperate. If we approach them at the same time …"

"… we'd have a riot on our hands the moment they met. I'm sorry, Herald. But unless you can offer up some new intel, I don't believe it's feasible."

"Lives are at stake, Cassandra. We have to try."

"And more will die if we mess this up. I'm sorry, but this is my final answer."

Bethany bit her lip. She had not expected to be stonewalled like this. "Divine Justinia tried to make peace between mages and templars. She nearly succeeded at it, too. She wouldn't want us to give up now."

Cassandra's lips thinned, and she stepped over to the window. Bethany froze. Had she gone too far? "Justinia also was a realist. You're not wrong about her being a peacemaker, but people often don't realise that she played the long game. She'd often spend hours awake at night, turning an idea over in her head until she had examined all the possible consequences. Do you have any idea how long it took her to even get both sides to the negotiating table, let alone make a peace treaty a possibility?"

The Seeker turned around to face Bethany. "You know, I asked her once why she change all the things she wanted to change when she became Divine – open the priesthood to elves, reorganise the Circles, the whole reformist catalogue. And she told me that 'politics is the art of the possible'." She stepped forward, put a hand on Bethany's shoulder. "The possible. Not always the ideal. It's not an easy lesson to learn." The Seeker sighed. "I'm sorry we can't save everyone. But we can't, not without risking hundreds more. We have to do what we can, cut our losses and move on."

Bethany averted her eyes. "I see," she murmured. Clearly, her pleas fell on deaf ears here. "I take it there's no chance of you reconsidering?"

The Seeker shook her head. "I'm afraid not."

"I see. I guess I'll see you in council later, then."

"Hawke …"

"It's alright. Thank you for your time." Before Cassandra had a chance to reply, Bethany left the room. Well, this hadn't gone as planned. She had been counting on the Seeker's support. Now, it was her and Cullen against the rest of the council – and that meant they'd already lost.

Slowly, she made her way down to the guesthouse's lobby. She'd have to inform Cullen – now they were back at square one and would have to choose between the mages and the templars, sacrificing the other. The commander had already indicated he'd go for the templars, as had Cassandra, which left Josephine and probably Leliana for the mages. She'd cast the deciding vote, then.

Maker's breath, she was not looking forward to that. Lives were at stake, even Cassandra admitted that. What right did she have to decide who lived and who died? What right did they have?

She knew she'd have to make a decision on this, but somehow she already knew she had no choice but to pick the mages. Huge surprise there, despite all her attempts to look at the situation objectively. But no matter how much she tried, she could never quite shake Ella's face from her mind, forget that she had promised her the Inquisition's support when they'd met in Redcliffe more than a month ago. Impartiality was hard when you knew people on one side.

But still, all those people at Therinfal – she'd seen what had happened to Knight-Commander Stannard when they'd cornered her in the Gallows courtyard. No one deserved to die like that. The mages, meanwhile, could hardly be said to be in acute danger in Redcliffe. How could she live with the knowledge that she'd allowed thousands, maybe more, to succumb to red lyrium, all because she'd let personal feelings get in the way?

Frustrated, she stepped out of the lobby and reached for her phone to text Cullen. A couple of new messages from Varric, who was the type to send friends unsolicited funny news articles and pictures, and one from Leliana. Need to talk to you, meet me in my office. Nothing else, not even a please. Still, it sounded urgent, so Bethany buried her worries at the back of her mind and headed over to the police station, just a short bit down Haven's high street from the guesthouse.

Security was tight, even compared to the military camps down in the valley, but the guards were expecting her and speedily passed her through controls before escorting her up to Leliana's office on the first floor. She had to take care not to stumble over the large thickets of cables criss-crossing through the offices, which she could scarcely see in the dim light.

Leliana's office, by contrast, was bright and open, whilst if anything being even messier than the rest of the offices. More than a handful dirty mugs lined Leliana's desk and parts of the floor, and there were even empty pizza boxes in evidence. The Nightingale was seated behind it, her feet up and a notebook in her lap. She'd changed her clothes since the morning meeting, and was now wearing a grey hoodie reading 'I frakked a toaster and I liked it' above an image of a smiling cartoon toaster waving a tiny rainbow flag. Bethany didn't quite get it. Leliana smiled when she entered. "Ah, Bethany. Thank you for coming so quickly. Please, sit."

She found herself an empty chair to sit on and Leliana put aside the laptop and set down her feet on the ground. "I'll make this quick. I need you to sign this letter." She handed her a sheet of paper and a pen.

"Alright," Bethany slowly said. This was odd. "What is it?" She skimmed the opening lines. Dear Mistress Avery, it is my sad duty to inform you that your son, Lance Serjeant Frederick Joenor Avery, was killed in the line of duty this morning … Oh, Maker.

"Death notification. It needs a signature from a council member, and I'd like to keep my name off the record."

"I'm sorry. Was he one of your men? How did he die?"

To her surprise, Leliana gave a thin-lipped smile. "Avery was discovered to be passing sensitive information about our operations in the Eastern Dales to a Chalonais rebel commander. We apprehended him last night and he was found to have committed suicide in his cell at 0630 hours."

"Suicide?," Bethany echoed.

The Nightingale's smile seemed to deepen, she did not break eye contact. "He hung himself with his belt. The autopsy report will confirm that."

Somehow, she was sure it would. A shiver ran down her spine. "Why … do you want me to sign it?"

"Because no matter what Avery did, his family deserves some closure. I can't give them that. You can." Leliana leaned forward. "Besides," she said, a faint smile playing around her lips, "I'd owe you one."

Bethany looked up from the letter. What was that supposed to mean? Leliana, reading her expression, added: "Sorry your meeting with Cassandra didn't go as planned."

"… how in the Void do you know about that?" The Nightingale's answer was a non-committal smile. Bethany looked back down at the letter. It was curt and impersonal. "I don't get it," she finally said. "All you want me to do is sign a letter. And for that, you're offering …"

"A favour," Leliana smoothly interrupted. "For a favour. Nothing more, nothing less."

That could mean anything, Bethany realised. If Leliana was suggesting, as she thought she was, that she'd vote with her over the mage / templars issue, that was a distinctly uneven bargain for her – especially considering how vocal Leliana had been in arguing that her proposal wouldn't work. Or was it? She glanced back at the letter. It didn't look in any way unusual. Could it be that Leliana was looking for a way to vote for her proposal without losing face? She didn't think the other woman was that petty. Presumably, she was expecting to use the letter in some other way. But how? Bethany had no idea, and it was clear that Leliana was expecting an answer.

Which meant she'd just have to trust her – Maker knew that wasn't an easy proposition at the best of times.

In the end, it all came down to one question: was she willing to cover for Leliana having a possibly innocent man murdered in his cell, if that meant she'd get a – possible – shot at saving both mages and templars and finally end this blighted war?

Bethany reached for the pen, and Leliana's smile widened.

---

They met back at the Chantry at 1800 hours. Cullen gave her a nod as she entered the war room, Leliana gave the impression of being wholly consumed by her work. "Right then," Josephine said once everyone had arrived. "I hope we've all had a bit of time to make up our minds. We need to come to a decision tonight."

"Fugit inreparabile tempus," Leliana murmured in Tevene, not looking up from her notebook.

"Agreed," Cassandra said, ignoring the Nightingale. She stood at the head of the table, her hand resting on the pommel of her uniform dagger. "Let's get this over with. I move that we send a delegation to the templars encamped at Therinfal within the week."

Bethany glanced at Cullen. She had not actually found the time to inform him of her failure to convince Cassandra, and he gave her an alarmed look. Hang in there, she tried to tell him through a look, before her eyes moved to Leliana. She was still looking at her screen, and made no impression of even listening. Would she renege on their deal? She had to chance it. "In that case, before we vote on that, I have a motion of my own." Cassandra raised an eyebrow, and she took a deep breath. "I move that we send delegations to both Therinfal and Redcliffe within the week, and negotiate a settlement with both templars and mages."

"Herald, we've talked about this …"

"You're right, we have. I think we've all done enough talking for one day. I suggest we put it to a vote."

Josephine and Cassandra exchanged a look. "… very well," the Antivan eventually said with a sigh. "All in favour of the Herald's motion, say 'aye'."

Bethany said "aye." So did Cullen, after some hesitation. There was a lengthy pause. Nothing else followed, and with every second that passed Bethany could feel herself shrinking. She stared at Leliana. The Nightingale's face was inscrutable behind a mask of mild boredom. This was what she'd signed Avery's life away for?

"Well, looks like the 'nays' have it," Josephine concluded and leaned forward to make a note on her minutes. "Moving on …"

Leliana looked up from her notebook, grinning like a cat. "Actually," she said, "I vote 'aye.'"

After that, the meeting dissolved into a disorder. There was a good bit of shouting involved, as people tried to figure out why Leliana had voted the way she did, not at all helped by her refusal to explain her reasoning. Josephine and Cassandra continued to be adamant that Bethany's proposal would be disastrous. Eventually, however, things calmed down sufficiently for everyone to agree that a decision had been made, whether they liked it or not, and that they'd hammer out the details in the morning. Slowly, the meeting dissolved, though there were still glares and murmurings all around.

Bethany and Leliana stayed behind to gather their things. "Thanks," she eventually said, "For voting with me. To be frank, I wasn't sure whether you would."

Leliana gave her a noncommittal smile. "A favour for a favour, no? That was the deal. Hang on, I have something for you." From her laptop bag, she produced a small black jewellery case.

Taken aback, Bethany peered at it. "Are we getting married?"

That made the other woman laugh. "Alas, not today. Here, take it." She pressed the case into her hands.

Careful to point it away from her, Bethany opened it. The case contained a small silver amulet in the shape of a sunburst on a narrow chain. At its centre, there was an odd, oblong gem of sorts, coloured deep red. When she took the amulet, the gem seemed to move. Only when she touched it did she realise that it was glass, and holding it against the light made her suggest it was a tiny vial full of a deep red liquid. Blood, but not unlike any blood she'd ever seen, and she could not sense any residual power in it. Whoever – or whatever – it had been taken from was long dead. "What … is this?"

The other woman took the amulet and put it back in the case before closing Bethany's hand around it. "A token of my esteem, Herald. Don't worry, it's not dangerous, though I wouldn't recommend opening it." Leliana shouldered her bag and turned to leave. "Take it with you when you go to Redcliffe," the Nightingale said, looking back over her shoulder. "You'll probably need it."

Then, she left the room, humming a quiet melody, and left behind an utterly confused Bethany, who was no longer sure who had played whom today.

---

Bit of a long chapter this time, hope you liked it. Next up is Redcliffe.

For Bethany's meeting with Cullen's family, refer to Born Free and Everywhere in Chains.