Rajmael of Clan Lavellan

by Powerslammer

Rajmael is an elf possessed of great pride and an incredible power. Born with a powerful name and a greater destiny, he has lived his whole life by the the Vir Tanadhal. And now he must use his ancient knowledge to stand against forces that threaten his world and everything he loves. Watch as he stands as a Dalish Elf, a Herald and as The Inquisitor. Please, please review.

3. The Inquisition is Reborn

The Inquisition is Reborn.

Cassandra and her comrades finally made it back to the village called Haven. Everyone was ecstatic and praised their names, how they saved them all by stopping the Breach. The people at Haven welcomed them as heroes, but Cassandra knew their praise was undeserved. They didn't stop the Breach or even stop the demons. The prisoner did. The man who they were all ready to condemn and execute stopped the Breach from consuming the world. In their darkest hour, this elf was able to save them all from destruction.

Now he was injured, fainted from whatever power the mark on his hand used to stabilize the Breach. After emerging from a Rift, being held prisoner, then being forced to fight demons and stopping the Breach, it was no wonder that he just collapsed. She just hoped that the effects of the Mark and the Breach wasn't killing him anymore.

"Cullen, bring him in here. Get Apothecary Adan to treat his wounds. And get Solas, as well. I want to make sure that Mark and the Breach are both stable." Cassandra ordered.

Cullen did as he was bade. Cullen gently placed the unconscious mage on the bed in one of the smaller homes in Haven. Within moments, Apothecary Adan and Solas showed up, and Varric, too. The dwarf wanted to know what was going on as well.

Everyone who was at the temple waited to her what they could about their mysterious savior's condition. Adan, a healer from the guild, looked at comatose elf with the same grace he would a mangled corpse.

"I've seen worse, and considering what I heard happened at the temple, I suppose this is an ideal outcome." Adan said gruffly. "Here, help me take these clothes off him so I can get a better look at the damage."

Cullen and Adan carefully removed the mercenary armor Rajmael had disguised himself in, and they were all shocked by what they saw beneath. The elf's entire torso was horribly scarred. There wasn't an inch of flesh on him that hadn't been marred by some sort of terrible damage done to him. His skin was ditorted and ruined, likely the result of a terrible fire. Overlapping the burns that canvased his body were various other scars that looked like deep cuts. What happened to him?

"Andraste's flamming arse..." Adan gasped in shock.

"Well, I've lost my lunch." Varric said, appalled at the sight.

"What in the Maker's name happened to him?" Leliana asked.

"Looks as though someone wanted to inflict the most damage they could on him." Cullen observed.

Solas looked at the Right and Left Hands of the Divine with an accusing glint in his eyes. "Seeker, did you...?"

"No, we did not torture him." Cassandra denied, equally appalled. "This was not our doing."

"Well, someone certainly did, and they definitely didn't like this guy." Adan stated bluntly. "Third degrees burns almost all over his whole upper body. Looks like he's also taken sword wounds and arrow heads. Someone went through a lot of trouble to hurt him. But these scars are all old, probably done years ago. Other than that, he's unharmed. He's a sight better than he was when we first found him, that's for damned sure."

"Solas, what about the mark on his hand?" Cassandra inquired.

"The mark is stable now." Solas confirmed. "It's obvious that the Breach and this mark are connected somehow. What happens to one seems to effect the other. Now that the Breach is stable, so is this mark."

"When so many others died in the explosion, he lived. When there was no hope of survival, he saved us. I do not believe this to be mere coincidence but neither do I believe that he is responsible." Cassandra said fervently. "We must find out what we can about him."

"Well, he is Dalish, that much is obvious." Varric pointed out. "I'm really close friends with one, and used to live in close proximity to a whole clan of 'em. They stick out pretty easy."

"Didn't I once hear that Researcher Minaeve was once Dalish?" Leliana asked. "Perhaps she could shed some light on this matter."

"Bring Quartermaster Threnn, as well." Cullen suggested. "That weapon he wielded was no common thing. She could know something we don't."

A few minutes later, both the researcher and quartermaster found themselves in the small cabin, making it more crowded than it was. Both of them looked at the man as curiously as everyone else did.

"I don't know what I could tell you, Sister Nightingale." Minaeve said morosely. "When my magic manifested, my clan sent me away to fend for myself. I was only seven, and barely knew anything about the Dalish."

"Just tell us what you can, Minaeve." Leliana insisted gently.

Minave sighed wearily, but did as she was asked. "Well, if you say he's a mage, then he is lucky enough to be from a clan that had enough room for him, otherwise they would have discarded him, or sent him away. And this vallaslin...these tattoos on his face. They represent Dirthamen, the elven god of knowledge. That's all I know, I'm afraid."

"Is it possible to tell which clan he is from by these markings?" Leliana asked.

"No, I don't think so." Minaeve answered timidly. "There a many clans, and they are all widespread. I doubt they all know each other."

"Thank you, Minaeve." Leliana said gratefully, allowing the young mage to leave.

"Threnn, is there anything you can tell us about this sword?" Cullen asked, handing the weapon to the quartermaster.

The former Fereldan soldier handled the blade with care. Her keen eye carefully inspected the blade, searching for anything that might tell them something about its wielder. "Well, this is most certainly an elven weapon, there's no denying that. This blade is made of some kind of high quality ironwood, maybe even sylvanwood. And from what I understand, only the Dalish elves know how to make those kind of weapons."

"What do you know of these materials?" Cullen questioned.

"As strong as steel, but light as feather. I've heard of smiths who sold their best equipment for only a few branches of it, only to end up doing shit work." Thren almost laughed. "They tried to heat and pound it like metal, only to burn it too much and make it weak. From what I understand, it requires gentle tending and skilled hands to make. Like I said, it's made with techniques only the Dalish elves know."

"I see. You may resume your duties, Quartermaster." Cullen dismissed. Thren saluted the Commander and resumed her post.

Cassandra held Rajmael's sword in her hands, and examined the weapon that saved her life. It was certainly a beautiful piece of work, there was no denying that. The sylvanwood blade was white as milk with wooden grains elegantly tracing along its edges like the surface of water. She felt the weight of it, and this was without a doubt the lightest sword Cassandra had ever held in her life, yet it was still so perfectly balanced. There were glyphs along the edge of the blade that glowed gently, like starlight against the grains of the blade. At the base of the blade was an inscription, old but still clear, but it was in ancient elven.

"Solas, can you read the inscription on this blade?" Cassandra asked curiously, handing the blade to him.

The elven apostate carefully took the sword and looked at it with a quirked eyebrow. "I see. So because I am an elf, you assume that I can read ancient elvhen? Quite the naïve speculation, Seeker."

Cassandra was embarrassed. "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't meant to..."

"It's alright, Seeker. As it happens, I can read some ancient elvhen." Sols examined the sword keenly, doing his best not to miss a detail that might reveal something about the one who stopped the Breach. "Hmm. This character here reads 'Enasalin'."

Cassandra recalled that word, she heard it so recently. "He cried that word when he struck down the Pride Demon. What does it mean?"

"It's means 'Victory', in ancient the elvhen tongue." Solas answered.

"Back in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, you said that he is an Arcane Warrior. Are they similar to Knight-Enchanters?" Cassandra asked.

"I'm sure if he heard you say that, he might take it as an insult. That's like saying that a lizard is the same as a dragon." Solas stated disdainfully. "The true name of the techniques was Dirth'ena Enasalin, 'Knowledge That Leads To Victory'. Mages who eschewed physical combat called them 'Ghilnan'him banal'vhen', 'The Path That Leads Astray'. While other mages might sneer at their physicality, they could never doubt their honor. They were the living embodiment of will made reality, the mind honing the body into the perfect weapon. Swords, such as these, were the choice of weapons of these elite honor guards, a declaration of what path they followed. I never thought to see such an ancient magical discipline to still exist."

Solas placed the sword on the table next to its owner. Such a weapon deserved to be in the hands of one who truly knew how to wield it.

"We should let him rest now." Leliana "He has been through much, and after what he just accomplished, I think he deserves some respite."

"Agreed." Cullen acknowledged. "Maker knows that when he wakes up, he's probably going to get more attention than he would like."

Cassandra took one last look at the sleeping elf before taking her leave with her companions. She still couldn't believe the amount of scars he had on his body. What kind of life did he have? Perhaps whatever information Leliana might uncover during her investigations about him might shed some light on this matter. Cassandra left instructions for the servants to alert her and the others the instant Rajmael woke up.

When Cassandra stepped out of the small cabin, she was surprised to see all the people who had gathered around outside.

"Seeker Cassandra, is it true what they say? Did the prisoner stop the Breach?" A lay sister asked earnestly.

"Yes, it is true, and he is no longer our prisoner." Cassandra confirmed.

"Seeker, do you believe he was sent by the Maker?" The same lay sister asked, hope glinting in her eyes.

"Yes. I do believe that, more than anything right now." Cassandra answered without a shadow of doubt in her voice.

"But he's an elf. A heathen elf, for that matter." A soldier protested.

"No matter what we are, or what we believe, we are all subjects of the Maker's will." Cassandra affirmed adamantly. "I believe this man was sent to aid us when we were at our most desperate. when we needed a miracle."

An astounded, ecstatic look washed over the lay sister as this realization came to light. "Then it's true what people are saying."

"That depends. What are people saying?" Leliana asked curiously.

"Sister Nightingale, Seeker Cassandra, don't you see?" The lay sister asked rapturously. "He rose where the Divine fell, was led out of the Fade by the hand of a woman on the other side, and he was blessed with the power to stop the Breach. He's the Herald of Andraste!"

Excited murmuring and soft praises swept through the crowd like a strong wind. Where there was once so much fear, doubt and uncertainty, there was now renewed faith, hope. Could it be true? Cassandra wanted to believe that it was. The signs were all there. Who else but Andraste's chosen could have saved them just when they needed them most? Who else but the Maker could have protected him where so many others died? Cassandra wanted to believe with all her heart that it was true, that this elf was truly the Herald of Andraste.

3 Days Later...

Rajmael's eyes began to flutter open. Where was he this time? Because this whole blacking out and waking up different places was starting to get old. He rose and was surprised to find himself in on a bed and in a room instead of on a hard floor in a cell with chains. This was much more preferable.

A young elven lass walked in carrying some kind of box walked in. "Oh!" She yelped in shock and dropped her package. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were awake, I swear!"

What's her problem? Did he say something in his sleep to frighten her? "It's alright, da'len. What's wrong, am I that frightening?"

"N-no…not up close." The elf stuttered, then realized what she said as though she just insulted him. She fell to the floor and kneeled to him in reverence. "That was insolent of me! Please, I beg your forgiveness, and your blessing. I am just a humble servant."

Did he have a concussion or did she just call him "my lord"? What the fuck? Why was this woman bowing to him?

"You're back in Haven, my lord. You've been asleep for three days." The young servant explained tentatively. "They say you saved us all. The Breach stopped growing, like the mark on your hand."

Rajmael looked down at the mark on his left hand and watched as it glowed gently like a green star in his palm.

"It's all anyone has talked about for three days."

He's been asleep for that long? "Where's my halla? Did he make it back from the temple?"

"A halla? N-no, I don't know anything about that, m'lord." The servant said nervously.

Rajmael wasn't too worried about Neirin. Halla were very intelligent creatures and that one could take care of himself. What Rajmael was worried about was what was going to happen to him. "So what now? Are those Chantry dogs going to ship me off to be tried?"

"I-I don't know anything about a trial, my lord." There she was calling him that again. "Uh, Seeker Cassandra said she wanted me to inform her as soon as you're awake."

"And where is the Seeker? I think she owes me a 'thank you'."

"In the Chantry, with the Chancellor. 'At once', she said." The young lady scurried off as fast as she could.

Rajmael got out of bed and noticed the new clothes he was wearing. Who undressed him? Well, hopefully it was that lovely redhead, but Cassandra would have been nice, too. Although, Cassandra would have probably left some bruises behind.

He was relieved to find his sword waiting for him on the table and as stepped out of the small cabin and found that he was in fact back in Haven. The Breach was still in the sky, but at least it wasn't unstable. But that was weirdest part. There were people, a whole mob of humans, standing outside his cabin. At first Rajmael thought they were a lynch mob, but was surprised to see them saluting and even bowing.

Rajmael looked around him to see if there was anyone standing behind him. Nope, no one. Then that means…are these shemlen bowing to him? Well, that was beyond weird. As he walked through the village he was creeped out by the fact that everyone in the village had gathered around to salute and kneel to him, and he couldn't help but wonder if the breach had an effect on these peoples' sanity

He made his way to over to the Chantry, it was only the biggest building in this run-down hamlet so it wasn't hard to find. There was a gathering of Chantry sisters, criers and other minor servants standing outside the two massive doors that led inside. "Where is Seeker Cassandra?"

"Just inside the Chantry, my lord." The one of the sisters answered as they all bowed to him.

Chantry servants bowing to an elven heathen? Now Rajmael knew the world had gone completely mad. He could hear the Chancellor and Seeker arguing viciously in the room at the end of the hall.

"Are you out of your mind, Seeker? That elf should be immediately taken to the capital to stand the trial!"

"The Breach still remains a threat! How can you be blind enough to ignore that?"

"The elf failed, Cassandra! We don't even know how he even did this in the first place."

Rajmael decided finally make his existence know to the two arguing parties. Needless to say, neither one of the looked happy.

"Chain him!" Roderick ordered loudly. "I want him taken to the capital to face trial."

"Disregard that, and leave." Cassandra ordered with more authority. The two Templars in the room saluted and obeyed.

"You walk a dangerous line, Seeker" The Chancellor warned.

"The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I won't ignore it." Cassandra declared.

Rajmael had to admit, Cassandra was pretty cute when she was being aggressive. "Are you two fighting over me? I'm flattered. But not really."

"The Conclave is destroyed and all you can do is make jokes!?" The Chancellor's fat face was as red as a tomato. "You dare…!?"

"Watch it, old man." Rajmael warned dangerously. "If you keep fucking with me like this, I'll burn you so badly you'll wish you were never an itch in your daddy's pants."

"Enough!" Cassandra bade in annoyance.

Sister Nightingale silently approached them. "Someone is responsible for the destruction of the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect." She eyed Roderick with accusation in her gaze. "Perhaps they died—or have allies who yet live."

Suddenly it registered in Roderick's fat head. "I am a suspect?"

"You, and many others." Sister Nightingale answered.

Roderick couldn't believe what he was hearing. "But not the prisoner?"

"I heard the voices at the Temple." Cassandra reminded. "The Divine called to him for help."

"So his survival? That…thing on his hand. They're, what, a coincidence?" Roderick asked incredulously.

"Providence." Cassandra corrected staunchly. "The Maker sent him in our hour of need."

"I hate to ruin your little moment of theological inspiration, Seeker." Rajmael stated sardonically. "But these tattoos on my face aren't just for attracting women. I wear them as tribute to my own gods."

"Trust me, I've noticed." Cassandra confirmed. "But no matter what you are or what you believe you, are still what we need at exactly the right time we needed it. I won't pretend like that is meaningless."

"The Breach remains, and your mark remains our only method of closing it." Sister Nightingale continued.

"This is not for you to decide." Roderick growled angrily.

Cassandra pulled something out of a carefully closed box and slammed a thick, heavy book down on the table. The book bore a sunburst eye on the front of its cover and looked beyond ancient. The Seeker glared at the Chancellor with determination and authority in her eyes. "You know what this is, Chancellor?" She asked daringly. He did recognize it. "A writ from the Divine herself, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I, Cassandra Pentaghast, hereby declare the Inquisition reborn."

"You cannot possibly…." Roderick sputtered with shock.

Cassandra would not be ignored, and she got right in the Chancellor's face with full gusto. "We will close the Breach, we will find the ones responsible and we will restore Order! With or without the Chantry's approval."

The Chancellor's face soured like curdled milk. After a brief moment of trying to posture he strutted away in defeat.

Cassandra sighed in exhaustion after Roderick finally left and rested herself against the table.

Sister Nightingale gazed upon that book with mixture of awe and solemnity. "The Divine's directive: rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who would stand against the chaos." She looked to her fellow Hand of the Divine with doubt on her face. "We aren't ready. We've no leader, no number, and now no Chantry support."

"But we must act now." Cassandra turned to Rajmael. "With you at our side, we must seal the Breach."

Rajmael grabbed what must have been a rare and priceless tapestry on the wall and looked at it for a second. Then he unceremoniously blew his nose on it, leaving an unsightly stain of snot and mucus on it.

"Well, I don't know about you the rest of you idiots, but I'm getting the fuck out of here." He answered as finished wiping his snot on the ancient piece of art, and brusquely strode out the door.

Cassandra couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Wait! Where are you going?"

"As far as I can. You shemlen are fucking nuts!" Rajmael answered antagonizingly. "I never should have left my clan!"

Leliana placed a calm hand on Rajmael's shoulder in the hopes of getting his attention. "Please, wait. I understand that we haven't endeared ourselves to you, but...agh!"

Rajmael took exception to Leliana's gesture, and placed the hand that touched him with into a simple but effective and very painful jointlock. "Let me make something very clear, Ginger-For-Brains: I've had it with shemlen putting their hands on me."

Leliana winced in pain as the elf brought her to her knees. This elf knew what he was doing, and she didn't resist for fear of having her wrist broken like a twig. Rajmael let go and left Leliana and her now throbbing wrist on the floor as he made his way to the exit.

Cullen placed himself between the elf and the doorway, giving their former prisoner a very unpleased look. Seeing the elf harm on of his comrades did not sit very well with Cullen. And Rajmael was very agitated to see a Templar standing in his way.

"It's Cullen, right? The guy who couldn't slay the demons by himself?" Rajmael taunted. "Well, let me tell you something: I've had my fill of Templars to last me a lifetime, and the last thing I want is one more of your miserable Order standing between me and what I want, and what I want is to leave. Now, move or I'm going to move you."

Rajmael's hand firmly gripped his sword, ready to follow through with his threat. Cullen looked over to Seeker Cassandra, and she gave him that look to not engage the elf. Seeing as they wanted to try and convince him to leave, Cullen silently obeyed the Seeker's wish and got out of the elf's way. Rajmael took his hand off his sword, and proceeded to leave.

"Leliana, are you alright?" Cassandra asked concerned.

"He might have sprained my wrist, but I'll be fine." Leliana winced in pain holding her wrist, hoping that was all it was.

"Leliana, we cannot just let him leave. He is our only method of closing the Breach and all the Rifts." Cassandra said urgently.

"I know, but after holding him prisoner and blaming him for what happened, I doubt he'll be so eager to aid us." Lelia replied, rising back to her feet.

"Yeah, as another guy who had the pleasure of recently being Cassandra's prisoner, I can't say I blame him." Varric retorted as he entered the Chantry alongside Solas. "Trust me, not everyone is as gracious and understanding as I am when it comes to wanting to help their former captors."

Cassandra grunted angrily at Varric's comments, but she couldn't deny what he said. Were their roles to be reversed, she would probably act the same way.

"If you wish to have that man's assistance, then you must convince him that this Inquisition of yours is the best course of action. That this is where he can do the most good." Solas informed calmly.

"That will be difficult, seeing as how he's a Dalish elf and a mage. Convincing him to work alongside former Chantry members might be difficult." Cullen said realistically.

"Yeah, well, what ever you're going to do, you'd better do it quick, he's almost out of Haven." Varric warned.

The two Hands of the Divine, Varric, Solas and Cullen followed after Rajmael in an attempt to convince him to stay. So far, none of them knew what they could do to persuade him. Dalish elves were famous for rebuking what others told them to do.

"Wait! Please, wait." Leliana pleaded.

"You can't just leave." Cassandra insisted.

"Sure I can. Just watch me." The elf sneered. He whistled a high pitched tune, and a moment later that same magnificent white halla that helped came to his aid back in the Temple of Sacred Ashes bounded out of nowhere and dutifully stood before Rajmael.

"Please, you're our only way of closing the Breach." Cassandra beseeched as she grabbed his arm.

"I thought I made it clear that you people aren't allowed to touch me, especially you, Seeker." Rajmael reminded angrily and yanked his arm away from Cassandra. "These are shemlen problems. Give me an elven reason to care."

"This Breach is a threat to all." Cassandra reasoned. "We must think beyond petty prejudices if we're to survive this crisis."

"Bullshit!" Rajmael spat. "When you first saw me in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Seeker, what did you see?"

"I…I saw…"

"You saw a heathen piece of shit!" Rajmael cursed. "You saw my tattoos and thought that if there was anyone with motive enough to destroy the Chantry, it would be a Dalish elf. So I must've been guilty. Right?"

Cassandra averted her eyes unable to answer him.

"If there's one thing I've learned perfectly well, it's that you Chantry fuckers don't give two steaming shits about elves." The arcane warrior said truthfully. "And if this Breach is a threat, then I need to go look after my own people. Not an institution that's famous for demonizing elves."

"What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? Is that it?!" Cassandra shouted angrily. "Yes, I was wrong, I acknowledge that. I also acknowledge that you saved my life back in the temple. I also acknowledge that we cannot do this without your help."

"That's sweet of you to say. Really, I'm touched." Rajmael said sarcastically. "But you want to know what I acknowledge? I acknowledge that you swore on your beloved brother Antony's grave that you would let me go. Now, are you going to honor your word, or does your dead brother mean that little to you?"

Cassandra gritted her teeth and fists clenched angrily. She wanted to grab that elf by his hair and stomp his face in for trying to use her brother against her. But that wouldn't change the fact that he was right. Cassandra swore a vow she held more sacred than even invoking the Maker, one this man knew she couldn't renege on. She had no choice.

"So be it." Cassandra relented bitterly, turning her back to the Dalish elf. "Go then, if that's what you truly want."

"It is what I truly want." Rajmael sighed contently and prepared to mount his halla. He was ready to leave this nightmare behind him.

"That mark on your hand is the only weapon we have against the Breach." Leliana said seriously. "If you leave, then you're damning the rest of us. Think of all the innocents who will perish."

"Ha! An Chantry stooge from Orlais wants to talk to about innocents. That's hysterical!" Rajmael laughed mockingly. "You have no business talking about innocents, considering that both your empire and your Chantry have trampled on them for centuries!"

The elf's words stung Leliana, but she couldn't say he was wrong. But she wouldn't be deterred. "Even if you do leave, whoever truly destroyed the Conclave will probably come after you. We can protect you, otherwise that mark will make you a target."

"Oh? Well, then. That's easily remedied." Rajmael placed his marked hand on the gate, and with his right hand, he drew his sword, and carefully held the blade of his left wrist. Everyone watched in shock and horror as he raised his sword to chop off his own hand.

"Mana! Maha lani, da'len!" Solas yelled in outrage, barely grabbing Rajmael's sword hand in time and stopped his mad intention.

That caught Rajmael's attention. Not the fact that this apostate stopped him, or the fact that he spoken flawless elvhen. It was Solas' magic that Rajmael sensed. There was a serenity to it, like a gently flowing stream that surrounded his whole being. But beneath that stream, Rajmael sensed a deep ocean of something more. It completely captured Rajmael's focus away from severing his own appendage.

Rajmael withdrew his sword and gave Solas his full attention. "If you've got something to say, hahren, say it."

Solas let go of the younger elf's hand as soon as he was sure that the so-called Herald wasn't going to attempt to cut off anymore of his body parts.

"I understand that you have no love for the Chantry. I wouldn't blame any elf who shares your feelings. I know you wish to return to your clan and ensure their safety, but do you truly think that hiding in the wilderness will save them?" Solas asked earnestly. "Listen to me, what they are saying is true. Whoever it was that destroyed the Conclave will know who you are, and they will seek you out. And they will have power the likes of which none of us know. If you leave, you'll only put your clan in more danger. The only way to ensure that your clan will not be harmed by the effects of the Breach is to find a way to seal it, and discover who it was that murdered the Divine."

Rajmael clenched Neirin's reins in his fists and scowled angrily. He wanted to go home and make sure his clan and Eva were safe. But Solas' wisdom was too profound. Anyone capable of ripping a whole through the very fabric of the Veil and destroy an entire gathering of soldiers, Templars and mages, was someone with great power and resources. Someone who could be a great danger to his clan if Rajmael led to them. He gently grabbed Neirin's reigns and guided him towards the gate.

"Alright, Seeker. I'll help you, but only because the Breach is a threat, not for your god or your wretched Chantry. Once this is over, I'm done, and I'm going back home." Rajmael held his hand out to the Seeker.

"Understood." Cassandra said grimly and shook Rajmael's hand. The two of them got off to an ugly start, thanks in no small part to her short temper, but they were going to need to work together if they were to solve this crisis.

"Now, first thing's first. Is there a place I can get something to eat?" Rajmael asked with his hand on his growling stomach. "I haven't eaten in three days, now I'm starving."

~XoXoXo~

Wow. If Keeper Deshanna had told him that this is how his mission would end, Rajmael would've laughed at her until he was blue in the face. Or maybe green. It had been just a day since Cassandra had declared this…Inquisition reinstated. Apparently, it was something big that had something to do with the Chantry's foundation. Great. These Andrastian numbnuts are gonna love having a heathen in their ranks.

Rajmael had finished his first meeting with the War Council, and they were such an eclectic group of people. At first Rajmael thought they were the fashion committee for Orlais' winter season trend, judging from their varied sense of fashion and clothing. These people would do the thankless job of keeping this upstart little operation of theirs going while he would do the heavy lifting out in the field.

Turns out Sister Nightingale, their very capable and very deadly spymaster, was Sister Leliana, the veteran of the Fifth Blight who fought alongside Aedan Cousland himself. It was good to see she was more than just a pretty face and some damned fine legs.

Rajmael was wary of Commander Cullen. As a former Templar he had reservations against seeking out the mages for help. Cullen's presence and his history with the Templar Order made Rajmael very uneasy; his last encounter with Templars cost him and his clan very dearly. But seeing as how Cullen left the Order, Rajmael would reserve judgment. For now.

Josephine Montilyet was as lovely as a summer rain. And he was sure that her lovely looks and personality played an integral part in her role as an ambassador. She was very well accomplished for someone so young, and it wasn't just because she was from Antivan nobility. Politically shrewd, an expert in law and custom of various countries, and an avid linguist. She even knew a little Elvhen. How was someone as beautiful and talented as her not married yet?

They all recommended that he seek out this Mother Giselle about how to address the Chantry. Apparently, the institutional hub of human faith felt threatened by having the people call an elven savage the "Herald of Andraste" and declared the Inquisition as blasphemy. Mother Giselle might be able to help them keep the Chantry off their backs.

With all the weird looks the people of Haven were giving him, Rajmael thought they were being racist at first. Then he learned that after the events at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, people were calling him the Herald of Andraste. Then he realized that they weren't being racist, they were just being morons.

Herald of Andraste? What a load of shit. Just like anything the humans don't understand or want to make suit their agenda, they chalk it up to their absent god and dead prophet to understand it. They couldn't possibly comprehend a Dalish elf, who had his own gods, being blessed by their Maker. That would imply that the elven Creators actually blessed him.

Rajmael decided go outside and enjoy the bracing Ferelden air when Josephine called him over to her little office.

"Good day, Herald." Josephine addressed politely. "I would like to ask you few questions, if you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind, but, uh, this just a little sudden isn't it?"

Josephine led Rajmael to her little make-shift office and sat down on her desk, and pulled out her clipboard and quill. "For the sake of the Inquisitions appearance, establishing relationships with the people and understanding where our forces and recruits stand, I need to ask you some questions regarding you personally." The ambassador explained.

"Oh? How personal?" Rajmael asked glibly.

"Well, you see for in order to get people to understand how Andraste's Herald could be a Dalish elf it would help if I knew a bit about you. Your past, your relationships, your religion, that sort of thing."

Why is this so important?" Rajmael asked.

Josephine set her board and quill down and dawned a serious face. "Has anyone called you knife-ear?"

What did that have to do with anything? "Not to my face. Why?"

"There have been…rumors." Josephine continued. "Rumors regarding you and your people. Ones that could harm the reputation and the positioning of the Inquisition. It would help if I knew more about your people as to put these rumors down."

Wow. Called the Herald of Andraste for not even a week and already he was infamous. "It would help if I know what the rumors said about me."

Josephine winced. "I do not wish to offend you by repeating such…slander."

"Believe me, Lady Montilyet, my own Keeper has called me worse things than knife-ear, and people say shit about elves every day. Hearing new rumors isn't going to make my head explode."

Josephine exhaled slowly. "Very well. They say that you worship demons. Burning down entire villages and eating the villagers, then sacrificing the children for blood-magic…Those are just the rumors about your fellow Dalish. I'm too much of a lady to repeat what they've said about you."

Rajmael twitched irritably. He'd felt the sting of human ignorance his whole life. "Those rumors are dangerous! The people saying those things are the first ones to gather a lynch mob to start killing elves. I've been fighting such humans all my life."

"Sweet Andraste." Josephine gasped in shock. "I shall do what I can to quash such drivel, my lord." She promised "It might help if I knew more about you and your beliefs, so the people may understand that you're not truly a threat."

Rajmael took in a deep breath. "All right, what questions do you have?"

"For starters, you have stated that you are not the Herald of Andratste, does that also mean that you do not believe in Andraste? Or the Maker?" Josephine inquired curiously.

"No, I, along with my fellow Dalish, worship the elven pantheon." Rajmael answered. "We invoke the names and pray for the favor of each god for different reasons. In my case, I follow Dirthamen, the elven god of secrets, knowledge and fortune."

"That's fascinating, it has an air of romance to it." Josephine stated excitedly. "Now tell me, you don't really sacrifice children and virgins to your gods, do you?"

"All gods demand sacrifice." Rajmael stated truthfully. "But no, my clan has never killed anyone for our gods, Mythal, the mother goddess of justice condemns such practices. That doesn't stop others from doing it, however."

"But you just said that your mother goddess…."

"Worshipers of Elgar'nan and Andruil follow a different path." Rajmael continued. "Elgar'nan demands vengeance for every injury, while Andruil demands a great hunt in the form of beast and people, and Ghillisan wants us all to only eat plants and treat the animals with care and respect."

"My, that sounds like…a complicated religion." Josephine admitted.

"No more than singing at the top of your lungs for a week to please some dead prophet and her absentee god." Rajmael rebuked.

"That's fair. But moving on, what was life like for your people? What was everyday life?"

"Everyday life for us was a struggle to stay alive. We wake up early to collect herbs for medicine. Constantly maintaining the aravels. Hunting can go for days on end. And if it's not the weather or the wildlife trying to kill us, it's the local humans with their Chantry telling falsehoods about the heathen elves."

Josephine was wide-eyed with surprise. "That sounds…very difficult. You and your clan must be very close."

"The clan is my family." Rajmael said almost sadly. "I left everyone I knew and loved when I went to the Coclave."

"Coming from a big family myself, I understand how you feel. You must miss them terribly." Josephine sympathized.

"The worst part is I won't be able to keep my promise to the child I'm responsible for." Rajmael said absently. "I'm sure she's angry at me for not being back right now."

"The child you're…you have a daughter?" Josephine asked surprised.

"Oh. No, not really. She's my foster daughter." Rajmael clarified. "I've been caring for her ever since her parents…died."

"I…I see. I'm sure she'd understand that you're doing this for her sake." Josephine said sympathetically.

"I truly hope so."

"Thank you for your time Herald."

~XoXoXo~

As he walked around the village he decided to try and get to know some of his new companions. Starting with the most important one: Varric Tethras. Ramael's favorite author was sitting by a fire next to his tent in the middle of the village.

"So, now that Cassandra's out of earshot, are you holding up alright?" Varric asked honestly. "I mean, going from the most hated criminal in Thedas to becoming the symbol to an army of the faithful? Some people wouldn't know how to take that."

Rajmael looked up towards the Breach. "Well, seeing as there's a giant anus in the sky crapping out demons and I'm the one who has to wipe it, I'd say I'm shitty. Pun not intended."

"Ha! I know the feeling. I've lived in Kirkwall most of my life, I've seed just about every kind of weirdness you can think of."

A wave of giddiness washed over Rajmael as he eagerly pulled his copy of The Tales of the Champion out of his satchel. "Varric, please, can you autograph my book? I am such a huge Hawke fan!"

"No shit?" Varric laughed. "Even amongst the Dalish, Hawke and I got fans."

"I gotta know, is it true what they said about Hawke?"

"Which part? The part where he fought the Arishok in single combat, the part where he slew a High Dragon in the Bone Pit, the part where he stood with the Mages against Knight-Commander Meredith?"

"The part where he's a polygamist who fights alongside the women he sleeps with."

"Oh. That part." Varric chuckled. "Well, it's not completely true, polygamy would imply that he was married to Merrill and Isabella, but he's not. He just loves them both differently, and they don't seem to mind that he's a horn-dog."

Rajmael took a moment to imagine what Hawke's love life must be like, escpecially as he remembered some of those smut novels involving him, and felt a little envious. "How does he do it?"

"Hawke had enough love in his heart for all the women in his life. His mother, Bethany, Merrill and Isabella had his love in equal but different measures."

Varric continued on and told the Herald about the fate of the rest of Hawke's companions. How they all followed their own obligations and callings during this crises, and how, as far as Varric knew, were still alive. "What happened to the mage who destroyed the Chantry? Why did Hawke let him live."

Varric sighed uncomfortably. That was a very painful subject for him. "I…I don't really know. I'd never seen Hawke so pissed before, I thought he'd kill Anders right on the spot, but he didn't. I guess he thought the death was too easy for Anders and wanted him to suffer the consequences rather than become a martyr."

"Do you think Hawke would be able to help us now if he were here?" Rajmael asked earnestly.

"Truthfully? I don't really think so." Varric admitted sadly. "Hawke's a great hero, a Champion, but this world has never lacked for those. I think if we're going to make it through this, we're going to need a sodding miracle."

"Thanks for your time, Varric."

"Don't mention it. One thing though." It was Varric's turn to ask something. "Merrill and I were really close friends, and I interracted with the Dalish more often than not, I'm curious. What's up with your accent? It sounds more like Free Marcher than Dalish."

"That's because I wasn't born amongst the Dalish. I didn't find my place with them until later in my life."

"Really? Sounds like there's a story there. Care to share?"

"Sure. If you tell me how Bianca got her name."

"Oh, would you look at the time. I gotta go look over the Merchant's Guild's quarterly revenues." They both laughed and went about their business.

~XoXoXo~

Rajmael went over to the tent where Leliana conducted her trade by directing their scouts and spy network. But instead of coordinating spy efforts or reading scout reports like he was expecting, he was surprised to find her kneeling in her tent reciting a forlorn prayer. Why did she seem so upset? Was it her wrist? He didn't tweak it that badly.

"Blessed are the peace keepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood, the Maker's will is written." Leliana paused ceased her praying. "Is that what you want from us? More blood? Is that the only way you make Your will known?" Leliana's attention turned toward the Herald when she finally took notice of his presence, her eyes filled with bitter hope. "You speak for Andraste, no? What does the Maker's prophet have to say about all this? What's his game?"

"His game?" Rajmael repeated confused.

"You have seen the sky? What about the ruined Temple that housed Andraste's Ashes? I walked those halls with the Hero of Ferelden when he slew the false Andraste that slept there to reclaim the Holiest of Holies. And The Maker just let it be destroyed along with everyone inside, even the Most Holy, his most devout servant. What else could this be but a game or a sick joke?" Leliana looked as though she were on the verge of tears.

Poor, sweet, naïve Leliana. Desperately looking for answers from a god who has always been silent. "I'm sorry, Leliana. But I know nothing of your Maker."

"Heh. For years I have tried to live by the Maker's word, and even after everything Justinia and I gave Him, He still doesn't answer." The brokenhearted Sister lamented. "The Chantry teaches us that Maker abandoned us, the he demands our repentance. He asks for everything, our lives and our deaths. You're lucky to not have such a god to appease."

"Meh. Not quite so lucky, Leliana." Rajmael admitted jokingly. "I have nine gods to answer to, and all of them want something different. You're lucky to need only one god."

"If any god doesn't intervene when their most devout are in need what good are they?" Leliana paused for a moment and realized she sounded just like Aedan. But for the first time in her life, she believed Aedan's disdain for religion was right. "I used to believe that I was chosen, that by serving the Divine and the Chantry I was doing the Maker's work. But in the end, serving Him meant nothing."

As much as Rajmael despised the Chantry and the word of the Maker, he couldn't stand to see Leliana so sorrowful. Nethras always did say he was soft. "You may not believe this Leliana, but I am religious man, too. And there have been times I wanted to curse my gods for not helping me when I needed it. I've learned early on that when bad things happen it's not because the gods don't care, it's because people don't. And the only time evil wins is when good people stop caring."

Leliana wiped her eyes and regained her composure. "Forgive, me. I shouldn't have let you see me such a state. It was a moment of weakness. It won't happen again. I must get to work now, excuse me."

Rajmael could feel her trying to bury her emotions. He knew that kind of look she had all too well, it used to be a face he carried with him every day. He wanted to help her. "I heard you were a bard, you must have stories to tell."

"None that would probably interest you, my lord." Leliana evaded as she tried to keep her eyes on the papers in front of her.

"You said you fought at the Hero of Ferelden's side." Rajmael reminded. "That story has a great deal of interest to me."

"Ha! Yes, I suppose that would be considered an interesting story."

"Please, tell me about the Hero of Ferelden."

"He was not what I would have expected in a man who would become a hero when I first met him. What did he say about me when I first saw him? Oh, yes. He said I was a few cards short of a full house." Leliana gazed upwards as she remembered her adventures during the Fifth Blight. "He was…ruthless, uncompromising and completely bloodthirsty, possessed of a rage and need to kill I thought only existed in tales of terror. I saw him kill people in such...horrible fashions, some of the things he did were monstrous. And he had nothing but disgust for religion."

"Wow. He sounds like a more like a barbarian." Rajmael observed.

"He would take that as a compliment." Leliana chuckled. "But…he was also the most honorable man I ever met. He loved his country more than anything, as far as he was concerned, Ferelden is his god. And he would stop at nothing to help his countrymen and his friends. He had war cry that could shake mountains and inspire armies. He was capable of horrible vengeance and fearsome passion."

"So he's a patriot." Rajmael guessed.

"Patriotism isn't strong enough to describe the way he loved his homeland, but it's the only word that I can comprehend." Leliana looked towards the sky and remembered her time with the Hero. "He had tattoos on his just as you do. A symbol of his Fereldan pride, he told me."

Rajmael's hand glided down his face over his own tattoos. "My vallaslin is in dedication to Dirthamen. My patron god."

"I think you two would have gotten along wonderfully. If you could get past how scary he is." Leliana laughed.

"Where is he now?" Rajmael asked deeply curious.

"He stopped answering my letters some time ago, and then disappeared." Leliana answered sorrowfully. "But if the Archdemon couldn't even kill him, then I have no need to worry. I'm sure I'll hear from him again."

"Well, I hope your time serving with me will have the same results as when you served with the Hero of Ferelden."

"I'm sure you'll reach the same level of greatness as Aedan Cousland of Highever, Rajmael." Leliana said sincerely. "But with less cannibalism, I hope."

Cannibalism? Was that what he heard? "Wait. What did you just say?"

"Nothing!"

Rajmael decided to leave before he asked something he didn't want the answer to. Aedan Cousland sounded more like a demon than a man. He dreaded to think what would happen to the Templars and mages if that guy was in the country.

~XoXoXo~

The Herald made his way over to Solas who was gazing intently at the Breach as though he were studying it. Now was as good a time as any to speak with his fellow elf.

"The Chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero to save us all." Solas addressed wryly.

"Trust me, it's not a name I would have chosen." Rajmael dismissed. "The humans put a label on anything that gives them comfort and believe in it as if it were actually true."

"True, though I fear you now have little choice in what they believe to be true." Solas stated as he looked off into the distance. "In my travels I have ventured into the Fade by visiting ancient ruins, and have watched legions of spirits reenact every kind of battle they have witnessed. I have seen the memories of the bloodiest battles as empires and kingdoms rose and fell. In every great war there is always heroes who champion their cause. I am simply curious as to what kind you'll become."

"One who continues to walk my own path, even as others try to steer me down one that suits their ideas." Rajmael answered.

"A noble sentiment, but sadly, one that is not easily fulfilled." Solas said almost regretfully. "I am curious, if I had not spoken out, would you truly have cut your own hand off?"

"For the freedom to determine my own life, to make my own decisions? Oh, yes. One hand is a small price to pay, especially when others have given up more." Rajmael answered truthfully.

"You would give up such an incredible piece of magic so willingly, without even truly knowing what it is capable of?" Solas asked, the disapproval in his voice was obvious.

"There are others who have given up more than that for their freedom, and they did so willingly, Solas. I have been struggling for my own freedom my whole life." Rajmael lectured. "I will not be a slave, and I won't be someone else's tool and serve their purpose against my will. So losing a hand is a small price to pay for the one thing my people love and value the most."

"Hm. Most people would gladly use such a power to raise themselves above others, to make themselves more important. Very rarely does anyone so readily give up a power that would otherwise make them no different from others. It is...refreshing." Solas said, with the faintest hit of admiration in his words. Solas looked at the sylvanwood sword strapped to Rajmael's hip and quirked an eyebrow, intrigued. "Your magic is that of the Arcane Warrior? I never thought to see such a discipline in the living world."

"And you're somniari. I have yet to see such a rare ability." Rajmael pointed out.

"It is…good to see such magic still alive. I thought it to be extinct, it's only reminisce to be found in the Chantry's Knight-Enchanters. Which makes me curious, how did you learn it?"

Rajmael paused for a moment as he remembered every painful lesson, the harsh discipline and thousands of hours in meditation he spent just trying to comprehend this power. Not to mention all the times Keeper Deshanna kicked his ass. "Through intense and extremely painful training and focus. The sword I wield has been with my clan since before the foundation of the Dales. I chose to revive this knowledge to pass it on to our people."

"And what do you think they could possibly do with such knowledge? Do you honestly think the elves could possibly appreciate anything you have to teach them?" Solas' tone was almost scornful.

"The pursuit and learning of knowledge should be its own goal and reward." Rajmael answered argumentatively. "You have knowledge that is invaluable, Solas. You could pass it on to our people."

"Our people?" Solas asked disdainfully. "You say that so casually, but it should mean more. The Dalish have forgotten that."

Rajmael really didn't like other talking smack about his people to his face, especially other elves. That really pissed him off. "You got a problem with the Dalish?" he asked with a hint of anger in his voice.

"They are children." Solas scorned. "Acting out stories misheard and repeated wrongly a thousand times. While I have walked the Fade and seen true history face to face. The elves in the Alienages care nothing for history, or improving their lives. While the Dalish are content to just live in their ruins."

Okay, that was it. Rajmael wasn't going to let Solas insult his people. He needed to be schooled. "And you think with your hoarded knowledge that you have the right to judge us? Tell me this Solas, have you ever had the lives of others, or even loved ones depend on you?"

"I…no." Solas answered flatly.

"Have you ever had to work to treat an outbreak of fever while listening to the sick and the dying beg you for help? Not in the Fade or spirits pretending to be ill, but actual dying people?"

"No."

"Have you ever delivered a baby with your own hands and listened to her cries as you placed her in her mother's arms?"

"….No."

"Then you don't really know what the fuck you're talking about, hahren!" The younger elf yelled. "Not only are we trying to keep what precious little is left of our history, we're trying to survive in a world that despises and vilifies us. And don't ever think of me as some ignorant child. I've lived on both sides of elven society, I know better than most what elves go through."

"Spoken like a true follower of Dirthamen." Solas observed, actually impressed. "Ir'abela, da'len. I am sorry. For all my talk of knowledge and wisdom, it seems I've overlooked my own ignorance. At least you are trying. That is more than most."

"Apology accepted, hahren. But the only way elves will ever reach the greatness you see in the Fade is when elves like you and me stop looking at our people and see only barriers and differences."

"You make that sound so simple. I admire your idealism, but I prefer to remain pragmatic." Solas admitted. "You have chosen a difficult path. I hope you walk it well."

Solas watched as his fellow elf walked away towards the training yard. It had been…a very long time since someone talked down to him like he was the ignorant one, but Rajmael did it well. Perhaps the Dalish were not as ignorant or foolish as he thought. Only time would tell if this one of theirs was truly worth following.

~XoXoXo~

Rajmael made his way outside the gates of Haven and saw all the volunteers and recruits practicing diligently in the courtyard. Their form and technique was strong and there was a lot of discipline in their movements. The whole yard was filled with the sounds of men yelling, screaming, and clanging of steel hitting steel and cutting wood. They trained with full force and devotion.

"They're doing well, don't you think?" Commander Cullen asked as he stood next to Rajmael to observe the men's training.

"Hmm. Not bad. For a bunch of farmers and pilgrims turned conscripts." Rajmael observed. " With any luck they'll put up a fight."

"Yes. That's exactly what I've been hoping for." Cullen looked down and noticed the sword strapped to the elf's hip. "I see that you carry a sword, but Cassandra told me that you're a mage."

"Yes, I am a mage that also carries and wields a sword. If you think that makes me an even greater threat, Cullen, then you're right." Rajmael answered sardonically. "I'm sure lady Cassandra can attest to that."

"I've never heard of such magic outside of the Knight-Enchanter's who serve the Divine."

Rajmael cringed at the mere mentioning of that word. "Pretentious usurpers using diluted techniques stolen from my people. They are nothing compared to me. I have used techniques and practices that the Templars would stamp out."

"Well, at least you're confident about that."

"You didn't seem all that thrilled to recruit the mages." Rajmael snorted disdainfully. "Is my being a mage going to be a problem, Commander?"

"No." Cullen sighed dismally. "Nor do I intend to endanger you or any other mage. I don't approve of what the Order has done, that I'm here is proof of that. This Breach is far direr than any blood mage or cruel Templar."

"And after the Breach has been sealed?"

"I was in Kirkwall when the mages rebelled, I've seen the devastation they can cause." Cullen answered. "But I admit I have had…extreme prejudices. And after what I saw Knight-Commander Meredith do to the Order I lost my faith in the Chantry. I merely wish to see the order rebuilt for the right reasons and not carry centuries of prejudice with us."

Rajmael cringed angrily. "I've had my own experiences with your Order, Cullen. The last time I encountered members of your Order, your holy brothers and sisters killed the two members of my clan because they wanted to drag their daughter off to a Circle. So you'll have to forgive me if I'm somewhat biased when it comes to your Order."

"I know the Order has done terrible things, it's why I left them to begin with." Cullen said regretfully. "Cassandra came to with the offer to train and lead the Inquisitions forces I took it. The Chantry lost control of the mages and Templars years ago. Now they argue amongst themselves while the Breach threatens us all. We can't afford to let our own biased opinions dictate this Inquisition."

"I doubt that the Chantry will just let us walk around and solve the world's problems without their consent, especially since you people have declared an elf to be the Herald of Andraste."

"That's why we need to seek out Mother Giselle and get a sense of how large a threat the Chantry can be to us."

"You've put a lot of thought into this, Commander." Rajmael observed.

"I was a Templar most of my life, and after what happened to me at the Circle in Ferelden I became was very bitter. I shoved my frustrations out on mages, sometimes without cause. That was unworthy of me. Perhaps here I, all of us, can accomplish what the Chantry failed to do. We could….Forgive me. I'm getting ahead of myself. There is still so much for us to do."

"Commander!" One of the lieutenants saluted. "Here is Ser Rylen's report on our supply lines."

Cullen chortled in his throat. "As I was saying." He glanced over his lieutenant's report as he continued to supervise the soldiers' training."

~XoXoX~

As Rajmael walked through the training yard he noticed Cassandra over at one of the training dummies. From where he stood he had a perfect view of her taught, heart shaped ass in motion. It was hypnotizing.

As Cassandra was beat the training dummy like it insulted her, Rajmael rubbed his cheek where she planted that powerful right hook of hers. She hit harder than Keeper Deshanna and almost as hard as Evanura did. Evanura…now she was a woman who knew how to hit a man where it hurt, and how to hit a man and make him like it. She and Cassandra were almost kindred spirits.

Rajmael finally approached Cassandra with a little smirk on his face. The Seeker planted one last powerful strike on the dummy and clove the faux opponent in twain when she finally noticed the supposed Herald. She grunted in frustration as she pulled her sword out of the murdered dummy.

Rajmael could see she was troubled, and he couldn't blame her. Maybe he could defuse some her anxiety with some of that charm he used on her when they first met. "You're sort of a one-woman army, aren't you, Seeker?"

"When I need to be." She responded disinterestedly.

"Its quiet impressive."

"You flatter me." Cassandra observed.

"There's no flattery in stating the obvious, Cassandra. If I wanted to flatter you, I'd comment on how fine your ass looks while you're training."

Cassandra went as stiff as a board as a slight blush crept across her cheeks at that comment. She tried to maintain her aloof composure by continuing to attack the dummy, but the blush on her cheeks remained.

"Did I do the right thing?" Cassandra asked trying to remain serious and move the subject away from her ass. "What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I have devoted myself to my whole life. They write of me as a traitor, a madwoman and blasphemer, and they may be right."

"It really bothers you how the Chantry is reacting, doesn't it?"

"Yes." Cassandra sighed sadly. "I have devoted my whole life to the Chantry because I thought I was serving something righteous, honorable, something that did the Maker's work. Then it fell apart, the world plunged into chaos because we couldn't stop it. Now the Breach threatens the world and all the Chantry can think about is hobbling us because they fear you instead of looking for whoever destroyed the Conclave."

Cassandra resumed striking the dummy. Pounding it with all her might as if she was trying to beat her fears away.

"You chose to stand and do something while others chose stand around with their thumbs up their collective asses and played the blame game." Rajmael reminded.

"Perhaps, but still, I am not sure that I made the correct choice. My trainers used to always tell me 'Cassandra, you are too brash. You must think before you act.' I never saw the point of acting cautiously or taking the long way around things. I see what must be done and I do it." The Seeker stopped her striking and hung her head. "But I misjudged you when we first met. I saw what I thought was an obvious threat and treated you thusly, no different than what the Chantry is doing right now."

"Wait a minute." The elf said smiling. "Is this your way of saying you're sorry?"

"Yes." Cassandra admitted somberly.

"I'm sorry…but I didn't quite hear you." Rajmael said sarcastically as he cupped his pointed ear and cocked it towards Cassandra with a wide grin on his face. "Could you repeat that?"

"I'm sorry that I ever mentioned it to you." Cassandra answered offensively.

Rajmael laughed teasingly, but when he saw that uncertain scowl on her face he stopped. "Cassandra, when circumstances rise and chaos falls, all we can do is act."

Cassandra paused her assault on the practice dummy. Those words actually made her feel a bit at ease. "Is that an elven proverb?"

"Actually, I'm quoting Aedan Cousland." Being a follower of Dirthamen, Rajmael had read and learned of wise and accurate quotes from many historic and famous people. Aedan Cousland was certainly someone worth knowing about.

"I guess the Hero of Ferelden is wiser than I thought. He certainly accomplished enough to be considered so." Cassandra smiled at Rajmael's advice. She felt like resuming her drills, but there something else that drew her attention away from that. "It occurs to me that I don't know much about you."

Rajmael quirked an eyebrow. "Well, what do you want to know?"

"I'm...not sure. Where are you from?" Cassandra asked, curiously trying to learn more about their mysterious Herald.

"And here I thought you might know something about me by now." Rajmael assumed.

"I suppose I could ask Leliana. She's been trying to gather information on you since your actions at the temple. But I don't want to ask her, I want to hear it from you." Cassandra said honestly.

Seeing that Cassandra was being sincere without the hostility, Rajmael supposed there was no harm in giving her a straight answer for the first time. "My clan, Clan Lavellan, never stayed in one place for too long, though we primarily roamed the Free Marches. I've seen the lands from the Tirashan Forest to the end of the Minanter River, and all points in between. That's how I knew you were from Nevarra, judging by your accent."

"Truly? I did not think your people traveled that far north, but I see that I'm clearly mistaken." Cassandra paused for a second, and decided she was curios enough to ask her next question. "You made it painfully clear that you didn't want to stay here, do you truly wish to return to your clan so badly?"

The cocky grin Rajmael had on his face melted away, leaving a bitter grimace behind. "Yes. I want that more than anything. The clan is my whole life, and compared to that, my left hand is a small price to pay to be able to go home."

"Well, I...hope that you can one day, when this is all over." Cassandra said sincerely, a small pang of guilt stabbing at her. She believed in duty above all else, but she never believed that duty should come at the cost of others. "I can see that you love your home very much. I wish that I could say the same about mine."

"Why not? Don't you have a home to return to?" Rajmael asked curiously.

"That is...hardly important, I assure you." Cassandra tried to brush off.

"So you can ask me personal questions, but I'm not allowed to know anything about you? Hardly seems fair, don't you think?" Rajmael pointed out.

"Very well..." Cassandra sighed in frustration. It was deeply annoying for her, but she couldn't deny what he said. If he was willing to speak of himself, she should have the courtesy of doing the same. "My name is Cassandra Pentaghast, daughter of the Royal House Pentaghast of Nevarra and seventy-eighth in line for the Nevarran throne after my uncle King Markus Pentaghast. I joined the Seekers of Truth at a young age, and remained with the Order until they withdrew from the Chantry. I remained as the Divine's Right Hand, carrying out her orders to recreate the New Inquisition. Now, here we are. That is all there is to know about me."

"Wait, you mean to tell me that you're a princess?" Rajmael asked half disbelieving and half amused.

"The Pentaghasts are a large clan, half of Cumberland could claim the same relations." Cassandra said disinterestedly.

"I assume you're joking?"

"I wish that I were. I have literally hundreds of relatives so distant that they need charts to prove that they are even members of House Pentaghast, whether by blood or by marriage. And they have them. Oh, yes. With the way they valued their precious blood, you'd think it was running with gold." Cassandra grimaced just talking about her family, like she had nothing but contempt for them.

"I take it from your tone that you are not that found of your own family?" Rajmael observed.

"I don't visit them on Wintersend if that's what you mean." Cassandra replied disdainfully.

Now Rajmael was even more curious. How could someone whose name guaranteed her every thing in the world speak of such opportunities with such scorn and disdain? "I would think most people would be grateful to be from such a house. At least you weren't born in Alienage."

"At least in an Alienage every member of the family does something, instead of lazing around like they own the world." Cassandra balked scornfully. "The Pentaghasts were once famous for being dragon hunters, but hardly any pursue the craft. Most are content to give empty words to the Maker, and care only for idle pleasures while living off past glories and getting fat. My brother was the only thing that kept me in Nevarra. Once he was gone, so was I."

"You mentioned your brother earlier. What happened to him?" Rajmael asked curiosly.

"I would...prefer not to speak about him." There was a note of sorrow in Cassandra's voice.

Rajmael could see the sadness in Cassandra's eyes at mentioning her brother. It was a sorrow he was also familiar with, and now he felt guilty for making her swear on his name earlier. "For what it's worth, I am sorry about your brother, and what I said earlier."

"Thank you. I truly do appreciate it." Cassandra said gratefully.

"So you left your homeland and your family to find a sense of purpose with the Chantry?"

"That was part of the reason, yes." Cassandra admitted. "I felt that I had an obligation to do more with my life than what many of my family members were doing, and serving the Chantry gave me a sense of clarity and duty that gave my life meaning. In serving the Chantry, I felt I was doing my duty to the Maker." Cassandra paused for a moment, and considered her next question carefully. "You said earlier that you don't believe that you were chosen. Does that mean that you also don't believe in the Maker?"

Rajmael glided his hand over his facial tattoos once again, as if he was trying to get Cassandra to see what was so plainly there. "I would think that these markings on my face would make my spiritual devotion quite clear. I am a Dalish elf, Cassandra. I worship the gods of my ancestors, and all eight of them want something different."

"And amongst all these gods of yours, there isn't room for one more?" Cassandra asked insistently. "One who might offer you hope?"

Rajmael's right hand unconsciously began to rub his left arm as he remembered the horrible agony that once dwelled there. "No, Cassandra." He answered grimly. "Your Chantry made it abundantly clear a long time ago that your Maker has no room for me."

"I…I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." Cassandra confirmed disappointedly. The Chantry was not known for treating the elves kindly. "I suppose it doesn't matter. I have to believe that you are here for a reason. Now it just remains to see where that path leads us."

"Now, maybe you could satisfy my curiosity, Seeker." Rajmael had already answered her questions, now it was her turn. "After everything that has happened, after turning their back on you, do you honestly think that the Chantry is worth saving?"

Cassandra faced Rajmael and noticed the deathly seriousness in his eyes. This was something he really wanted to know. It was something she herself had been contemplating, but in her heart she knew there was only one answer. "Yes, I truly do think so. Though, I can understand how someone born outside human society might think otherwise."

"No. You truly can't." Rajmael retorted grimly. "You, an ardent servant of the Chantry, and a Nevarran Royal to boot, are incapable of understanding what it's like for those of us born outside human society."

"That...is fair to say." Cassandra admitted apprehensively. "I cannot say I know what it's like to live in an Alienage, or how a dwarf struggles here on the surface, but I do know the best the Chantry has to offer."

Rajmael snorted disbelievingly. "Given the state of the world right now, and the Mage-Templar War, I would doubt the Chantry's ability to offer anyone anything."

Cassandra shot a disapproving glare that could shatter stone at Rajmael. His comments touched a raw nerve throughout Cassandra's pious being. However, given the harsh treatment the elf received from them in the beginning, and given what the Chantry has done, Cassandra could hardly blame anyone for questioning the worth of anything that had failed them.

"While you may have no love for the Chantry, the world will not benefit from its fall. Cast the Chantry aside and new problems will replace the old ones, we will have learned nothing from our mistakes. Andraste had a dream for us, for the whole world. It can still be achieved."

"You actually believe that, don't you?" Rajmael asked skeptically.

"With all my heart." Cassandra answered truthfully.

"Given the history between my people and the Chantry, you'll forgive me if I don't believe that." Rajmael stated.

Cassandra sighed wearily. "I know it seems like humans are only ever the villains of history, but it's not always that way."

"Actions speak louder than words, Cassandra." Rajmael said the words in the same manner Cassandra's teachers once did. "And I have yet to see that being even remotely true."

"Then I will simply have to prove it to you." Cassandra determined. She turned her attention back to the dummy and finally resumed her drills.

As much as Rajmael wanted to keep standing there and picture what Cassandra's taught, athletic body must look like under all that armor, he decided it was probably time for him to get some training of his own in before he had to go find Mother Giselle.

~XoXoXo~

Roughly an hour passed since her conversation with Rajmael, and Cassandra decided to take a breather. She sat herself on the steps leading to the village. She was sweating like mule from letting out her frustrations out on those training dummies; Josephine was going to need to procure some more after what she did to them. Cassandra reached into her pocket to find her handkerchief but instead found that she still had that pendant Rajmael lost. A wave of guilt washed over her as she looked at the beautiful necklace. She liked how the heart-shaped leaf seemed to sparkle inside the amber gem when light passed through it, and admired the intricately woven elven pattern etched on the back of the pendant. She never took the time before to realize what beautiful things the elves were capable of making.

Cassandra had to return it. Now where did that elf go? She last saw him walking away from the village to a nearby valley. What was he doing all by himself? Cassandra made her way over there and followed the tracks he left behind. When she made it over to the valley she found Rajmael sitting in the snow, naked.

Well, half naked at least.

Rajmael was sitting in the snow in a meditative stance, and that shimmering aura surrounded him while his facial tattoos were glowing. Cassandra was shocked as she looked closer at Rajmael and saw how scarred his body was. A horrible burn scar cloaked itself over his entire upper body, as if something set him on fire. Was it an accident with magic? Various other scars that looked like they came from sword blades and arrowheads overlapped his burns and marred his otherwise beautiful body. What happened to him?

Cassandra's shock was suddenly replaced with awe as she witnessed the aura around Rajmael glow with greater intensity and flowers began to bloom around him in the middle of the snow. What manner of magic did he possess that he could even bring flowers to life in this frozen tundra?

Cassandra unconsciously pressed against a nearby tree as Rajmael suddenly jumped to his feet with his sword in hand. His movements were so fast his blade was like a white streak in the air. Every move, every stroke and cut was made with remarkable speed and precision. One draw, one strike, one kill. His style was completely new to Cassandra. Was it an elven style of martial arts?

"Enjoying the scenery, Seeker?" asked a quiet voice out of nowhere.

Cassandra almost jumped. She was so focused on Rajmael she didn't notice Solas' approach. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, and the answer would be obvious. We're both observing the Herald exercise, or so it would seem."

"No!" Cassandra denied. "I am…merely here to return something that belongs to him."

"Well, I'm sure he'd appreciate that." Solas smiled.

"Why do you feel the need to see him?" Cassandra balked.

"I've seen…the memories of the Arcane Warriors who served the Ancient Elves. Their skill and honor made the Orlesian Chevaliers seem like ill-trained squires playing with sticks. Rajmael does their legacy great justice." Solas answered with admiration.

"How is it that flowers are growing around him? I've never heard of such magic."

"The Arcane Warriors were the embodiment of will made manifest. Merely focusing his mind and exerting his will affects what he can do and the things he comes in contact with." Solas clarified.

"And the flame on his sword? It's not like any kind of fire rune I've seen before."

"That's because it's not from a rune, Seeker. It is Veilfire. A form of sympathetic magic, a memory of flame that burns without fuel and can reveal secrets that are otherwise invisible to the world. The veilfire conjured by his sword burns with spirit damage instead of actual flame."

Cassandra continue to watch Rajmael's forms, with unusual intent. The Arcane Warrior was starting to work up a sweat.

"Well, I've seen what I came to see." Solas concluded as he turned to leave. "I'll be heading back to Haven, but do keep an eye on his performance, Seeker."

Solas made it sound as if she were some giggling girl spying on her childhood crush. Cassandra wanted to yell her denial back at Solas, but then that would alert Rajmael to her presence. The irony made her blush a little.

Rajmael ceased his movement, turned his back towards Cassandra's direction and planted his sword into the ground. "If you wanted to get me alone with me shirt off, you could have just asked, Cassandra." He called back to her.

O Holy Andraste, she was embarrassed now. How did he know she was here?

"Ears like these aren't just for show, Cassandra." Rajmael answered. "I heard you and Solas approaching."

Cassandra finally emerged from behind her tree after wiping that embarrassed look off her face. "I…I merely wanted to return something to you." She finally admitted as she held out his amber pendant.

Rajmael's eyes went wide with surprise as he took his necklace and affectionately placed it back around his neck. "I thought I lost it when the Conclave was destroyed."

Seeing the joy on Rajmael's face brought a small grin on Cassandra's face, though she didn't know why. It was simple gesture. "You dropped it after your battle with the Pride Demon. I thought you deserved to at least have that back."

"Cassandra, you have no idea how much this pendant means to me. Thank you." Rajmael held the necklace like it was a priceless treasure, eagerly placing it back around his neck.

"Is it something all Dalish carry?"

"Ha-ha. No, even amongst the Dalish this is a rare thing, and infinitely invaluable to us. The amber and leaf are from ironwood in the prime of its life. These are given as gifts between loved ones as a symbol of how much the other cares."

"And who gave this one to you?"

"The woman I loved, Evanura." Rajmael sighed sadly. "She was the best swordfighter in the clan, while her husband, Nethras, was our best hunter. They gave this to me when they asked me to be the godfather of their child."

"And are they waiting for you with the rest of your clan?"

"No. They…they were killed two years ago." Rajmael answered forlornly.

"I…I'm so sorry." Cassandra was shocked. She was beginning to feel worse and worse about her treatment of him. He wanted to go home, like so many others, but she didn't care. All she cared about was keeping him to be used as a tool. It made her no better than how the Chantry was acting.

Rajmael quickly decided to change the subject and maintain his chipper demeanor. He picked up a nearby fallen branch and held it in his hand. "Would you like to spar, Seeker? I could use a little live exercise."

"I'm not sure I want to damage our savior before he actually accomplishes anything." Cassandra refused gently.

"Cassandra…" Rajmael lifted his left hand and slid a knife across his palm. To Cassandra's surprise the cut healed instantly. "I think I can handle whatever you can throw at me, Seeker."

"Impressive, but you forget that I've been trained to suppress magic. Any fight between us would be rather one sided."

"I am may be a mage, Cassandra, but I am also a warrior. That makes me twice as dangerous" Rajmael boasted with full confidence and a wide grin. "But if you don't want to go to, I don't blame you. After all, you do hit like a Nevarran girl."

A faint scowl crept across Cassandra's face when he said that again. This elf really knew how to get under her skin. And it really pissed her off. "Very well. If I'm to follow you into battle I'd better know how strong your sword arm is."

"Oh, I'm sure that Pride Demon we encountered back in the Temple can attest to how strong my sword arm is. But don't worry, I won't use any of my powers on you." Rajmael assured with a confident grin

"Hmph. Likewise."

Cassandra drew her sword and shield while Rajmael assumed a high guard with a two handed grip. Was he going to strike high? Cassandra charged in with her shield to knock Rajmael off balance. The elf quickly crouched to the side of her shield and whacked her sharply on the wrist with his branch, making her drop her shield.

The stinging sensation in her wrist throbbed through her whole hand. But Cassandra wasn't going to back down. She maintained her stance and kept her guard up. She thrusted, he countered thrusted. His speed and accuracy was impressive. She blocked and spun out of the way to his flank, aiming her practice sword to the back of his head. Rajmael did a perfectly executed front somersault and completley evaded Cassandra's attack. Damn he was nimble.

Rajmael recovered from his somersault and attacked with a strike at her shield arm, she would need to protect her injury, which would leave her head and right flank open. As expected, she had to block to protect her hand. What wasn't expected was her grabbing his sword hand and planting her injured hand so hard into his face that his nose broke and sent him flying backwards. She definitely didn't hit like a Neverran girl.

The pain in Cassandra's hand throbbed excruciatingly, she might even had bruised her knuckles, but it was worth it. She readied to charge in with another attack, but Rajmael raised his hand, bidding her to desist.

"Shtop." He bade through his broken nose. "Ah think thash enof for today. Any further and Ah'll I haf to get sherioush."

"Still think I hit like a Neverran girl?"

"Less so." He answered smugly as he pinched his nose tightly and magically healed his broken it. He looked at her injured hand and walked up to her. "Let me see your hand, Cassandra."

"It's fine." Cassandra insisted. "I've been hurt worse than this during my apprenticeship."

"The Hinterlands is a war zone and I don't want you to get zapped by lightening or beheaded because your shield hand was hurt sparring with me. I don't need that on my conscience."

Cassandra sighed in annoyance and relented. It would be difficult to hold her shield with her hand in pain. She held out her hand to Rajmael who gently took it into his hands. She winced as he slowly slid her mailed glove off her hand. She was surprised how soothing his hands felt on hers, but she was shocked when he brought his lips so close to her hand she thought he meant to kiss. Instead he blew on her injury…almost like how Antony used to which she fell and hurt herself. The warmth from Rajmael's hands and breath spread from her hand and throughout her whole body as his magic mended her injury. She'd never felt anything like that before.

Rajmael finally released her hand, it had been fully healed. How did he do that? This wasn't the first time someone had used healing magic on her, but this felt different. Her body still surged with the warmth he gave her. Why did she feel that way? Cassandra tried to maintain her composure as she wondered something. "If you can heal your wounds and that of others, can't you heal those scares on your body?"

Rajmael glanced at the burn scars running along the left side of his torso with bitter look in his eyes. "I could, but I choose not to."

"Why is that?"

"So that I don't forget what was done to me. And why I must follow the Dirth'ena Enasalin." He answered grimly.

Cassandra silently followed after Rajmael. Her hand still tingled from Rajmael's magic, but her heart beat was erratic right now. Why did she feel like that? She pushed the thought from her mind. They had a mission to complete and nothing else mattered.

The two of them made their way back to the Chantry to prepare to depart to the Hinterlands. From what the scouts' reports said, the area was now under siege by Templars and mages both. Hopefully Mother Giselle could tell them how to best handle the Chantry so that they won't be hamstringed by them.

It was now up to Rajmael to lead this upstart, infantile, Inquisition to solve the mystery of the Breach and restore order to the world. Rajmael held the small halla horn totem in his hand and whispered a prayer to Dirthamen. "Dirthamen, lord of knowledge and keeper of secrets, grant me the wisdom to walk this new path with well and with certainty. Reveal to me the path I must take to find the answer I seek. Please? Seriously, the only fortune I've been finding lately is the really shitty kind. I could use a little help here!"

Author's Note:

Sorry there wasn't any fight scenes in this chapter. I'm working on that for the upcoming ones. Please review and tell me what you think. I claim nothing, this is all purely fictional.