~Dealing with the Chantry~
The four of them rode westward from Haven to the Hinterlands where Mother Giselle was trying to support a relief effort for refugees. Well, three of the rode. Varric just sat on the same horse as Solas and clung to the elf for dear life. Dwarves weren't very good riders.
While they were in the region, Josephine suggested they make contact with Master Dennet, a highly regarded stable master and horse breeder respected even in Val Royeaux. If there's one thing that can be said about the Fereldans it's that they love and take very good care of their animals.
Cassandra had never seen Halla up close before. She'd heard that these massive deer were incredibly ornery and always heard tales of Orlesian Chevaliers trying to break them only to be impaled on their antlers. But this silvery white Halla not only seemed tamed but it was most accommodating to his rider. Rajmael rode the beast as though he were born to it, even though he had no saddle or stirrup, just some simple reigns to hold on to. He rode with such ease he was able to smoke his pipe without being deterred.
Cassandra looked at her left hand and it still tingled with Rajmael's magic. Despite Rajmael being the one to concede he still had the advantage and chose not to keep going. She was quite curious about his martial capabilities. "I cannot place your fighting style, Rajmael. Even amongst the Knight-Enchanters I've never seen such technique. Is it an Elven martial art?"
Rajmael cringed at that word as he took a long drag from his sylvan wood pipe and slowly exhaled it out of his nose. "Yes. It is known as the Dirth'en Enasalin. The Path that leads to Victory. Something the Knight-Enchanters try to imitate." He spoke with distaste. Rajmael hated being compared to the Knight-Enchanters of the Chantry. "It is a discipline where a mage focuses his will and magic to increase his physical and martial capabilities. In the time of when elves were immortal they would spend lifetimes upon lifetimes trying to perfect their skill. I had to go through years of harsh mental discipline and physical agony to learn this skill."
"Is that how you got your scars?"
"Some of them." Rajmael answered stoically, he didn't like thinking about how he got those ones. "The other ones I got from my clan's best warrior kicking my ass and my Keeper yelling in my ear."
"Ha. I suppose martial training is the same no matter what time or culture you're in."
They finally made it to the base camp of the Inquisition's scouts and met with their lead scout. Who turned out to be a dwarf, much to Rajmael's surprise.
"Wow. The Herald of Andraste. Scout Harding reporting for duty, ser." The scout gazed wide-eyed. "We've heard the stories about what happened at the Breach. Is it true what they say?"
"Well, that depends. What are they saying?"
"Oh, just that you're the only hope for all Thedas, and you're probably the only one who can save us from the hordes of demons surging out of the rifts."
"Aww. Is that all? Varric, you've got to let people know about how I single-handedly killed a Pride Demon in the Temple of Sacred Ashes."
"It's a little difficult considering how most people don't even know what a Pride Demon is." Varric explained. "I'll be sure to let the boys at the tavern know that you fought off an incursion of Darkspawn beneath the Temple. That'll balance things out."
Cassandra groaned in displeasure at the thought of Varric making up more stories.
"So, anyway…" Scout Harding contiued. "This region is a war zone. The fighting between Templars and mages has been the hardest here than in any other region."
"These people weren't at the Conclave?"
"No. From what we've gathered the mages are desperate and the Templars are pissed. Both of them are going to certain extremes to get what they want." Scout Harding informed. "Mother Giselle is nearby tending to the refugees and Master Dennet's farm is nearby. He'll be able to provide the Inquisition with the mounts we need."
"Well, glad to see we're off to a sunny start." Rajmael said sarcastically. "Let's get moving."
"Good luck, Herald." Harding waved.
~XoXoXo~
They all made their way down to the crossroads where Mother Giselle was administering relief and healing to refugees displaced by the fighting. Apparently, Giselle was a well-regarded figure known for her charitable nature and controversial stance within the Chantry. According to Leliana they might be able to increase their standing with the Chantry with Mother Giselle standing with them, and in turn she might know best on how to approach the Chantry.
As they approached the outpost they were shocked to see the rebel mages and rogue Templars engaged in vicious combat, with the refugees in caught in the middle. Fireballs and the smell of burning flesh filled the air and where accompanied by clanging of steel and geysers of blood. It was a fucking mess. More like a vicious brawl then an actual battle.
"Holy shit." Rajmael cursed as he drew his sword. "Everyone, protect the refugees!"
"Hold! We are not apostates!" Cassandra ordered the Templars.
"Peace!" Solas bade the apostates. "We are not Templars. We mean you know harm!"
"They aren't listening!" Rajmael screamed. "Just fight and light these fuckers!" Rajmael raised his sword over his head, channeled his magic through the ironwood blade and threw massive ball of flame at the Templars, then summoned a magical glyph that launched a salvo of electric bolts at the apostates that shot through them before they could summon any spells.
Varric launched bolt after bolt from Bianca with masterful accuracy at the Templars. A group of veteran Knight-Templars charged the dwarf, he launched an Explosive Shot into their ranks and sent them flying in an eruption of flame, shrapnel and torn flesh.
Cassandra stood her ground against four apostates. These were no mere apprentices, they were trained mages who passed their Harrowing. Their spells would be formidable, but only if they could use them. She focused her mind and felt the lyrium pulsing in the veins like little candles burning inside them. Cassandra exerted her will and felt the candles smother beneath her dominance. The mages tried to conjure a spell, summon their magic, but it was futile. Within seconds Cassandra cut them down with masterful skill leaving a trail of dead bodies behind her.
Solas abhorred violence. He hated using magic for combat even more, but he knew the struggle for survival was all too common in this world. And these Templars made it all too necessary. He tapped into the essence of the Fade, whirled his staff in a wide arc and slammed it downward and a massive recreation of his own fist appeared from the Fade and slammed down on the Templars, smashing them to the ground. Solas whirled his staff again and performed an upward strike and sent the downed Templars flying through the air with a telekinetic blast, their bodies landing on the ground with bone-breaking force.
These rebels' numbers were dwindling fast. They had no commander, no orders and no discipline to fend of the Inquisition Agents. Most were dead and some fled, only a handful remained. Cassandra finished off what remained of the rebel apostates while Rajmael faced down the remaining Templars.
These ones were Templar Knights. Veteran mage hunters who spent years training in the martial arts, and they were being led by a massive Knight Defender, a heavy shock-trooper carrying a sturdy tower shield that was enchanted to withstand and deflect magic assaults, he also carried a gruesome mace. He pounded his shield and commanded his underlings to attack the elf.
Rajmael's eyes glowed with energy and his tattoos lit with power as he activated his Shimmering Shield. His sword burned brightly with Veilfire as he assumed his attack stance. He attacked, his speed augmented by his magically augmented physicality. He charged the three knights, his blade passing through the Templars shield as though it were a wraith. Rajmael was like a blur. One strike, two strikes, and then three strikes. And the Templars fell down dead. Not a scratch in their weapons and armor. Rajmael's sword magically went through the plate mail and cut down the bodies inside them.
The Knight-Defender roared from beneath his visor and swung his giant, heavy cudgel at the elf's head. Before the one-handed maul could reach his head Rajmael cut the mace in two right beneath its head and thrusted his sword into his opponent. The sword completely bypassed the powerful shield and thick armor into the man and flesh beneath it all. The Templar gurgled as his own blood spurt out from beneath his visor. Rajmael withdrew his blade, leaving no damage or trace behind it, and the Templar fell down with a thud, joining his brothers dead in the dirt.
Rajmael flung the blood of his blade and sheathed his sword. This brawl was finished almost as quickly as it began. And like all brawls it was a mess of two angry parties taking their anger out on each other and not caring what they destroyed or who they hurt in the process.
Rajmael walked over to the makeshift camp where an unruffled Mother Giselle was administering healing to some of the injured Inquisition soldiers. Refugees, injured soldiers and even rebels were strewn on cots and the ground receiving healing from the apothecaries and healing mages.
Mother Giselle was amongst them. She was a woman in her later years and was of obvious Rivaini descent or from that region of Thedas, but had a distinct Orlesian accent. There was a calm serenity that surrounded her that Rajmael was unused to seeing in a Chantry official. One of the Inquisition soldiers was frantic about the prospect of a mage healing him.
"Be at peace." Mother Giselle bade calmly. "They will heal you."
"D-don't let them touch me Mother!" The soldier begged. "Th-their magic is…"
"Turned to a noble purpose." The Chantry Mother finished. "Surely, their magic is no more evil than your blade."
"B-but…"
"Hush, dear boy. Let them heal you. It certainly something the Maker would smile upon." The soldier finally relented and allowed the mages to perform their task.
"Mother Giselle?" Rajmael addressed.
"I am. And you must be the one they are calling the Herald of Andraste." The Chantry Mother confirmed politely.
"Believe me, I wish they didn't. It makes a liar out of me. My name is Rajmael, and I prefer to be called that."
"Sadly, we hardly ever have a say in how others perceive us. We can only let our actions reveal who we are." Giselle stated.
"What you said to that soldier? About magic?"
"The Chantry does not teach that magic is evil. We teach that pride is evil and it does not corrupt only mages." Giselle explained.
"Ah, then by that rationale The Chantry is so corrupt it can barely stand. As evidenced by this Mage-Templar war." Rajmael said sardonically. "Because it seems you're familiar with a different Chantry than the one I know."
Mother Giselle sighed wearily. "Please, I did not invite you here to debate with me."
"Then why am I here?"
Mother Giselle motioned for Rajmael to walk with her. "I know of the Chantry's denouncement of the Inquisition and I am familiar with those behind it. I will not lie to you: some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances for becoming the new Divine. Some think you're responsible for what happened at the Conclave. And some are simply terrified, looking to whatever answer gives them comfort."
"You're not tell me anything I don't already know. The Chantry is a threat and all they're doing is making things worse."
"But they do not know that." Giselle insisted. "This is why I have summoned you here: go to them. Convince the remaining Clerics that you are no demon to be feared. They have heard only frightening tales of you, give them something else to believe."
That had to be one of the most idiotic things Rajmael had heard all day. "And here I thought the Chantry condemned suicide. Going to them now, in the heart of their power, is like putting one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel."
"If I thought you were incapable I wouldn't have suggested it."
"It's still a ridiculous notion." Rajmael denounced.
"Let me put it to you this way; you needn't convince them that you're not a threat, you simply need them to…doubt. Their power is their unified voice, take that from them and you will get the time and maybe even the support you need."
This still sounded like a foolish notion to Rajmael. "This could end badly."
"You are no longer alone against the Grand Clerics, Herald. Take faith in those who stand with you." Mother Giselle implored wisely. "I will go now to Haven and provide Sister Leliana with the names of the clergy members who will stand with the Inquisition. It is not much, but I hope it will proved you with the support you need."
Mother Giselle walked away with an Inquisition escort back to Haven and left Rajmael and his party there in the Hinterlands. This situation was with the Chantry was just getting crappier and crappier. But he couldn't deny the fact that they needed to know the Chantry's position. As it is, it seemed the Chantry couldn't put their own shoes on even if the directions were on the heel.
~Back at Haven~
Rajmael was gone only for a little while, then he comes back and finds that there's a battle about to erupt in their own base of operations. And, surprise, surprise, it was between the mages and Templars. What's more, Chancellor Roderick was with them.
"Your kind killed the Most Holy!" A Templar-Knight growled at the mages.
"Lies! You're kind failed and let her die!" An Enchanter spat back.
"Shut your mouth, mage!" The Templar went for his sword but was stopped by Commander Cullen.
"That's enough!" Cullen ordered with full authority.
"Knight-Captain, we should be…!"
"That isn't my title anymore!" Cullen corrected. "We are not Templars any longer. We are all a part of the Inquisition."
"And what does that mean exactly?" Roderick asked pompously as he walked arrogantly up to the Commander.
"Back already, Chancellor? Haven't you done enough?" Cullen asked disdainfully.
"I am merely curious, Commander, how this Inquisition and its so-called 'Herald of Andraste' intend to restore order as you've promised. "
"Of course you are." Cullen said grimly. He looked over to all the people that were gather to gawk at the spectacle that mages and Templars were making. "Back to your duties. All of you!" He ordered, and everyone, including the mages and Templars. Cullen turned his attention to Rajmael. "Mages and Templars were already at war, now they're blaming each other for the Divine's death."
"Which is exactly why we require a proper authority to guide them." Roderick spouted.
"What? You and a bunch of random Mothers who weren't even important enough to even be at the Conclave?" Cullen asked sarcastically. "Don't make me laugh."
"This rebel Inquisition and its false Herald? I think not." Roderick balked back.
"If the 'proper authority' hadn't failed so epically we wouldn't be in this state of affairs." Rajmael interjected. "Would we?"
"So we should just abandon our duty and exalt a murderer?" Roderick asked incredulously. "What about justice?"
"Justice?" Cullen spoke as though the Chancellor left a bad taste in his mouth. "You mean convenience. You'd be happy to use the Herald as scapegoat and completely ignore the Breach while the Chantry consolidates its power."
"That is for the next Divine to decide." Roderick argued. "And if you were any member of the faithful you'd know that!"
This was getting tedious. Rajmael had enough to worry about with the Chantry without this douche-monkey getting in their faces. "You know, Chancellor, we might take you a bit more seriously if you'd go change your pants."
"And what do my pants have to do with anything?" Roderick asked indignantly.
Rajmael made a subtle gesture with his hand and activated a spell. "Well, for starters, they're on fire."
Roderick looked to his backside saw the smoke rising from his own burning ass. He yelled at the top of his lungs and ran around like a chicken with its head cut off, while Rajmael laughed his ass off. After about two minutes off running around with biscuits burning, Roderick finally had the sense enough to sit down on the snow and douse the flame. He wasn't going to be sitting comfortably for a while.
A few minutes later Rajmael, Cassandra and the War Council assembled in the make shift War Room to discuss how to handle the situation in Val Rayeaux.
"Having the Herald address the Chantry is not a bad idea." Josephine stated.
"You can't be serious." Cullen rejected.
"Mother Giselle isn't wrong: at the moment, the Chantry's strength is their unified opinion." Josephine continued.
"And we should ignore the danger to the Herald?" Leliana asked.
"Well, what do you think, Herald." Josephine asked.
The answer was obvious. "Are you freaking nuts!? Their unified opinion is to put my head on pike. I may as well put myself on the chopping block when I arrive."
"I agree." Cullen concurred. "We may as well start digging his grave now."
"I will go with him." Cassandra stated.
"Aww. Cassandra, you do care." Rajmael winked at the Seeker.
"Don't make me change my mind." Cassandra replied stubbornly. "Mother Giselle said she can give you the names of the Grand Clerics. Use them." She directed Leliana.
"But why?" Sister Nightingale asked. "This is nothing but a…."
"What choice do we have Leliana? Right now we can't approach anyone to aid us in sealing the Breach." Cassandra answered as she looked to the whole council. "Use what influence we have to call the Clerics together, force them to address us as one. And we will show them, and the people, who is truly fighting this battle."
Before they all left Leliana motioned Rajmael to stay with her. "Might we speak privately for a moment, my lord?"
Leliana looked worried. And if she was worried than it made him worried. "What's wrong?"
"Well, something isn't right, that's for certain." Leliana answered. "Several months ago the Grey Wardens of Ferelden vanished, just disappeared. I sent word the Order in Orlais but they too have gone missing. Ordinarily, I wouldn't even consider the idea that they are involved, but the timing is…strange."
That was foreboding. Grey Wardens had a legendary reputation for being heroes, but whenever they were involved in anything it meant something bad was happening. "Do you have any leads?"
Leliana breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. The others have disregarded my suspicions, but I can't just ignore them. Two days ago my agents told me of a Grey Warden by name of Blackwall was traveling through the Hinterlands. If you have the opportunity, please meet with him. See what he knows."
"And if he doesn't know anything?"
"Warden Blackwall is well regarded figure within the Order. He was promoted to Constable of the Grey during the Blight and was charged with being ready to lead their forces into Ferelden. He must know something." Leliana explained. "I pray that I am wrong, and that the Wardens are not involved. Oh, and before you go, a messenger came with a response from you clan." Leliana handed him a box with a letter attached. "I hope this puts your mind at ease."
Rajmael carefully opened the letter and recognized the Keeper's handwriting. It was relieving, yet nerve-wracking, to hear from her again.
Rajmael,
Andaran atish'an, da'len. It does my heart good to know that you're safe. When we heard about what happened at the Conclave we feared the worst. Eva was most beside herself, you cannot imagine the joy she felt when we learned that you're alive and well. The agents of the Inquisition told us of the work you are doing and it surprised us to hear them speak of a Dalish elf with such reverence.
Seeing as that this cause you've taken shall prevent you from returning I have sent you this gift that I meant for you to have upon your return. I hope that it protects you from the dangers ahead. I shall pray to Mythal for your protection, to Dirthamen for you to find fortune, and to Andruil that you find success in your hunt to close the Breach.
Dareth shiral,
Keeper Dashana Istimaethoriel of Clan Lavellan.
PS: Please, write to Eva. Her young heart still hurts from the loss of her parents, and she fears that with you fighting the demons she will lose you as well. Let her know you still care for her.
Rajmael folded the letter and breathed a sigh of mixed relief and heartbreak. He knew that Eva must be hurting right now, and he wished that he could go back and tell her he was safe. But he was doing this for her, all her could do was hope she'd understand that.
Rajmael went to his room to see what the Keeper had sent him. A feeling of surprise surged through him as he opened the box to find something he never expected to see. The Robes of the Keeper. A silvery white longcoat with grey sleeves and adorned with the images and invocations of his gods on the underside. This coat was woven in a temple to June, god of craftsmanship, for the high priest of Dirthamen in a time when elves ruled the Dales.
Rajmael donned the robe and felt a newfound sense of sanguine accomplishment wash over him. He never believed that he'd actually wear these clothes. And now with his new found confidence and clothing he was ready to face those bitches in the Orlesian Capital.
Val Royeaux
Up until now Rajmael had never been in a Shemlen city. He had heard the stories, but the reality was much different. He didn't realize humans, who were legendary for their penchant for destruction, were capable of creating such places.
Val Royeaux was the heart and soul of the Orlesian Empire. Vibrant, full of color and sounds of song and music. The center of trade, learning and culture. And the embodiment of the things Rajmael hated the most. The beauty and elegance of this city was merely a sugar-coated topping to cover up the rot and corruption that infested the hollow substance beneath it. And this façade was reflected upon the people who held all the power in this country, especially the Chantry. All shiny smiles and painted expressions meant to emulate beauty they didn't possess or believed they inherited.
In this country you were either shemlen nobles who, by mere birth, are entitled to everything beneath the sun even if it already belongs to another. If you were a peasant then you were nothing, a noble is allowed to take whatever he wishes from you, your belongings, even your family and to stand against it is treason. And if you were an elf, you were less than nothing: a Chevalier could take your life or your children and no one would care because you were livestock to them. At best elves here are prettied up pets servicing the humans for a pat on the head, and at worse you were an insect to be swatted down should the very sight of you offend them enough.
Rajmael wanted to leave this place as soon as possible. As a Dalish elf he did not belong in the careless, ignorant walls of human cities.
The received a message from the Revered Mothers, all being led by Revered Mother Hevara, stating that they were willing to meet with the Herald of Andraste at noon in the middle of the Summer Bazaar. But of course the Grand Clerics wanted to meet in public, how else could they make a spectacle of themselves. On the up side, it meant they couldn't do too much to try and capture him without making colossal asses of themselves in front of their flocks.
As they walked down the so-called "Avenue of Her Reflective Thought" the masked denizens of the city were shocked and scattered at the sight of the elven heathen that had been proclaimed "Herald of Andraste" walking the streets of their beloved city.
Varric chuckled in his throat as he watched the prim and proper Orlesians scatter like chickens. "Watch out, Seeker. I think they know who we are."
"Once again, your power to perceive the obvious is astonishing." Cassandra groaned.
An Inquisition scout ran as fast as she could from the Summer Bazaar towards them and knelt before Rajmael.
"You're one of Leliana's people. What have you to report?" Cassandra ordered.
"My lord Herald, the Revered Mothers have all gathered in the Bazaar as they said they would, but they are accompanied by a great many Templars." The scour reported.
"The Templars are here?" Cassandra asked disbelievingly. "Was Lord-Seeker Lucius with them?"
"Yes, Seeker. The people think the Templars have arrived to protect them…from the Inquisition. They're gathering on the other side of the market. I think that's where the Templars intend to meet you"
Cassandra couldn't believe this. The Templars, Lord Seeker Lucius was here to act against them? "They wish to protect the people? From us?"
"To put down the blasphemous Herald of Andraste, most likely." Rajmael answered.
"Surely the cannot think such thing!" The scout shouted.
"I'm a Dalish savage prancing around with people thinking I possess Andraste's favor." Rajmael continued. "Of course they think that."
"You think the Order's returned to the fold to put down the upstart Inquisition, Seeker?" Varric asked.
"I know Lord-Seeker Lucius. He would never leap to the Chantry's defense after everything that's happened." Cassandra denounced.
"Well, it sounds like I've got a larger audience to impress." Rajmael sighed.
"So it would seem." The Seeker confirmed. "Return to Haven. Let them know what's happened and make sure they have a plan prepared should anything happen to us here." She ordered the Scout.
The scout saluted and made her way out of the city. They made it to the Summer Bazaar and, sure enough, there was Revered Mother Hevara standing on a podium overlooking a crowd of people and stirring up a storm of religious zealotry and giving a speech about how the Chantry was still in control. She tried to make it seem like she held some kind of authority, but Rajmael could tell she was shaking like a leaf under her robes. If she didn't have the other Chantry officials or the Templars nearby, she probably wouldn't be there.
The Herald decided that it was time to make his grand appearance to these pious pea-brains. Time to make someone's bad day even worse.
Mother Hevara Certainly noticed the Herald moving closer to her. It was time to denounce the elven savage. "Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me!" She called to the crowd. "Together we mourn our beloved Divine. Her beautiful and naïve heart silenced by treachery!"
Ooh. She mocks her beloved Divine as she mourns her. Nice touch. Rajmael thought as he smoked his pipe.
"You wonder what will become of her murderer?" the boisterous Mother continued. "Well, wonder no more!" Mother Hevara pointed the crowd at Rajmael, still smoking casually. "Behold, the so-called Herald of Andraste! Who claims to have risen where our Most Holy fell. We say this is a false prophet! The Maker would send no elf in our hour of need!" Her words were filled with revilement.
Rajmael slowly exhaled the smoke out of his nostrils, its acrid stench filling the air. He hated being called the Herald of Andraste. "I'm not here by some edict from a long lost deity! I'm here to deal with the Breach! A threat you seem content to ignore! I don't need a god's blessing to face a threat that endangers us all!"
"He speaks the truth!" Cassandra insisted. "We are here to stop this madness before it consumes us all!"
"It is already too late!" Hevara denounced as she pointed to a rather large contingent of Templars coming her way. "See! The Templars have returned to the ranks of the Chantry. They will face this false 'Inquisition' and the people will be safe once more!"
But to Mother Hevara's surprise the Templars just kept on walking right past her, as if they didn't even notice her. Then one of the Templars following the Lord-Seeker walked up behind the Revered Mother and socked her in the back of the head! She cried out sharply as she fell down harder than a sack of bricks.
As much as Rajmael liked seeing that bitch get taken down a notch, even he was surprised to see the Templars do such a thing. Wasn't that considered blasphemy? Oh, well.
One of the Templars looked appalled by what he just saw buy the Lord-Seeker put his hand on him assuredly.
"Still yourself!" Lucius commanded with authority lacing his voice. "She is beneath us."
The Lord-Seeker Lucius was a man of veteran age, but the years and strain of his occupation showed on his face. He was without a doubt one of the ugliest humans Rajmael had ever seen. His hair was grey and brittle with a terribly shaved five'o clock shadow on his face. His eyes were really close together, separated only by a horribly broken nose fixed above a pair of wormy lips and crooked teeth, some of them were even chipped. On his back he carried a claymore with a serrated edge and a crossguard that was reminiscent to flames. If someone got hit with that it would mess them up
"Oh, bravo!" Rajmael called as he sarcastically clapped his hands. "Beating on the weak and the defenseless. That's something the Templars haven't done for centuries."
Cassandra couldn't believe her eyes, even though what was happening was within arm's reach. "Lord-Seeker? Please, it is imperative that we speak."
"Cassandra." Lucius eyed her with a look of disgust. "You shame this Order and everyone you ever served with. Creating a rebel Inquisition, and raising a puppet as Andraste's prophet. You're a disgrace!"
"Says the grown man wearing a skirt in public, and whose Order abandoned the Chantry after swearing an oath to serve it." Rajmael sneered.
"The Templar Order failed no one we left the Chantry to purge the mages!" Lucius retorted. "You are the ones who failed! You who would leash our righteous swords with fear and weakness!" The Lord-Seeker turned to meet them face to face with standing tall with his chest out like an ape. "If you're here to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny that demands recognition is mine!"
"Then what was the point of showing up here? Other than punching out decrepit old biddies?" Rajmael pointed his thumb at the out cold Revered Mother.
"I came to see what you were made of, and I see you are nothing!" Lucius bellowed. "I will make the Order a power that stands alone against the Void! We will be strong. Independent! And we'll finally receive the recognition we deserve!" Lucius turned to his men as they saluted in sync and perfect discipline. "Templars! We march!"
The Templars turned on their heels and marched in perfect rank and file out of the market, their heavy footsteps pounding through the market and making the sound of thunder.
Rajmael had to say something. "Lucius! I got something to say to you!"
The Lord-Seeker turned to the elf with a look of aggression in his eyes.
"You know what they say about men with big swords right?" Rajmael laughed as he wiggled his pinky finger at him. "Compensating for something? Or do you wear a skirt for a reason? Ha-ha-ha!"
The Lord-Seeker growled in his throat as he turned to march with his men out of the city as the elf continued to laugh at him. Cassandra on the other hand, was not amused.
"Has the Lord-Seeker gone completely mad?" She asked disbelievingly. "I have known him for years. He's always been a dutiful man, never one to seek power or given to grandstanding."
"Why would he be acting this way then?"
"I…I honestly do not know." Cassandra said dismally. "Perhaps he is simply tired seeing his men suffer and die for the Chantry only to be treated as a tool. I cannot say. But surely the rest of the Order can't feel the same as he does."
"You sure about that, Seeker? Cause it looks like the rest of the Order is marching out of the city with him." Varric pointed out.
"Either way, we must report this back at Haven." Solas reminded. "I'm sure some will be relieved that the Chantry is no longer a threat to us."
Rajmael waltzed over to the now awake Revered Mother. Seeing this insipid Mother down on her hands and knees after being humiliated like that filled him with a sense of vindication that put a wide grin on his face.
"This victory must please you greatly, Cassandra." Hevara practically wept.
"We came here to seek the Chantry's aid." Cassandra answered. "This isn't our doing, but yours."
"And you had no part in forcing out hand? Don't delude yourself, Seeker." The Revered Mother scoffed bitterly. "Now we've been shown up by our own Templars, in front of our entire flock. And my fellow clerics have scattered to the winds, along with their convictions." Hevara actually started crying like a child. "Just answer me this: If you do not believe you are the Maker's chosen, then what are you?"
"Why is it only after you've been humiliated and put on your knees that you give a shit about who I am?" Rajmael scorned.
"Because what…what if I am wrong? What if I have erred in my judgment?" Hevara stated sadly. "For you to be true, then many things must be false. And for you to be false, it means a great many things have failed. So what are you?"
Rajmael looked down on the fallen cleric seriously. "I am an elf of the Dalish clans, and a follower of Dirthamen. Nothing more and nothing less."
"That is…more comforting than you realize." Hevara admitted sadly.
Rajmael's feelings of vindication quickly turned into disgust. The Chantry he remembered was an institution that crushed what it despised like it was an insect. An empire in all but name that destroyed any idea, belief or culture that was outside what it allowed. But this sobbing wreck of a woman showed that without their petty leaders or trained Templars, they were just an organization of scared women.
"The Chantry shit the bed. Now you've got to sleep in it." Rajmael belittled sickeningly.
"So it would seem." Hevara concurred. "But we're only trying to follow what our faith tells us."
"You've never relied on faith." Rajmael rebuked. "You've always relied on power you thought faith gave you. And now that you don't have any power at all, you've shown the world how truly useless you are."
Cassandra shot a look of disapproval at the Herald, but she couldn't deny his logic. Without the infrastructure of the Divine and the Grand Clerics, the Chantry was probably finished unless they changed it.
As they prepared to leave the market place they were approached by an elf wearing deep blue robes of the Enchanter rank. She was at least in her mid-fifties but like all elves she aged very well. She had short black hair and pale green eyes. Rajmael could feel the magic radiating from her. She was definitely quite skilled.
"If I might have a moment of your time." The mage bade.
Cassandra's face was colored with surprise. "Grand-Enchanter Fiona?"
"The leader of the mage rebellion?" Solas remarked. "Is it wise for you to be here?"
"How can you be here?" Rajmael asked cautiously. "I thought you died at the Conclave."
"The same could be said of Lord-Seeker Lucius. Yet we both saw him here, clear as day. I sent others in my stead in case the Conclave was a trap. And I see my intuition was correct. But I lost many friends at the Conclave as well."
"The Most Holy would not have used our only chance for peace as a scheme to end the war quickly, Fiona." Cassandra seethed.
"If there is one thing that I've learned perfectly well, Seeker, it's to never trust the Chantry." Fiona shot back. "Your kind taught me that all too well."
"Then why are you here?" Rajmael asked.
"I heard of this gathering and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste for myself." Fiona answered. "If it's help with the Breach you seek, perhaps you would be better off looking amongst your own kind."
Rajmael was unmoved. "Are you trying to appeal to the fact that I'm an elf or the fact that I'm a mage? Either way, you and I have nothing in common. Were it up to me I'd already be amongst my own kind."
"But certainly you have more in common with us than with those Templar thugs?" The Grand-Enchanter insisted. "If you seek the mages' aid in sealing the Breach then consider this an invitation. Meet with us at Redcliffe. And alliance could benefit us both, after all. I hope to see you there. Au revoir, Lord Herald" She bowed respectfully and turned back towards the Market.
Well, this was certainly eventful, and fortuitous as far as Rajmael was concerned. The Templars no longer under Chantry control, so they were no longer a true threat. The leader of the Rebel Mages actually approached them to discuss the possibility of an arrangement. And to top it all off, there was a pompous Chantry Mother was humiliated by her own templars and left crying right in the middle of the market for all of Val Royeaux to see. This would definitely go down as a happy moment for Rajmael.