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.

17. The Way of Shadow: Part I

The Way of Shadow: Part I

On The Orlesian Frontline

It had been a few weeks since Gaspard had been executed for treason at the Winter Palace at the hands of the Inquisitor, and now the Empress' forces were overseeing the surrender of Gaspard's army. It had been a slow process. Because of the ceasefire many people on both sides of the war weren't even aware that the war had ended, some refused to believe that the war was over. Claude de Aumont had graduated from the Academie de Chevalier shortly before the war started. He didn't even have enough time to "bloody" his sword in the local Alienage. Fortunately, he had ample opportunity to test his blade and his training during the duration of the war.

Claude reported to his company's captain to confirm his shift's duty for the evening. "Claude de Aumont, reporting for duty, Ser!" the young man saluted.

"You do not need to shout, Claude. I know who you are and what you're doing here." The older knight sighed from his desk in his tent. "The war is over, you don't need to be so zealous."

"I'm a Chevalier, Ser. My training is thorough and my sword is bloodied, both on the field and in the Alienage. Zealous is what I'm supposed to be." Claude responded dutifully.

"If only those damned Freeman felt as you did. We'd all be better off for it." The captain sighed wearily. "When this tour is over you'll be heading back to Val Chevin? You have anyone special to go back to?"

"I've got my eye set on the daughter of one of my father's friends, and my sister just had her first daughter. So, yes I do have a few special someones to return to." Claude answered with a smile.

"Well, you'll be returning to a different world, that's for certain." The captain continued writing his report. "The sky being torn open, demons running amok. And now an elf is ruling the Dales. It's all madness. Maker knows how we'll survive this Age."

"I'll leave the politics and the Game to the nobility and stick the battlefield myself." Claude assured.

"Well, seeing as this will probably be your last shift with me, I'll be unusually generous and give you something easy. Go relieve Dupont on sentry duty. That should be enough before you go home." The captain instructed.

"I'll still serve to the best of my ability, ser." Claude saluted.

"As well you should."

Claude went over to one of the man-made sentry towers were he would spend his last night on guard duty. Maker willing, this shift would be as easy as the rest of the week had been. Over the past few weeks "sentry duty" was used as another term for "sleeping duty". The job was so easy you could sleep through it. Claude made his way up the ladder, and sure enough, Dupont was standing there, lance in hand, sleeping at his post.

"Dupont, you lazy bastard, you can go get yourself some real sleep now. It's my turn for 'sentry duty." Claude laughed.

Dupont just stood there with his back to Claude without moving or making a sound. He was one heavy sleeper.

"Hey, Dupont! It's time to change shifts. Get your ass down to your tent." Claude shook Dupont's shoulder to wake him from his little nap. That one little shake was enough to make Dupont's severed head roll off his shoulders and fall right off the sentry tower. Blood from Dupon't neck-hole and severed arteries spurted in geyser of red and splashed on Claude's horrified face.

"Andraste's sweet, holy fucking tits!" Claude screamed at the sight of his comrade's headless corpse. "What the fuck!?" Claude couldn't climb down fast enough. He had to alert the captain. "Captain! Captain! We have an intruder! Dupont is…Oh, fucking Maker!" Claude found the captain still sitting at his desk, pen still in his hand and set on his reports. Only his head was now resting on his own desk like a paper weight.

Claude had to remain calm. This was what the Academie trained him for. No dagger in the dark was going to claim him. Not now. He was going to see his new niece first.

Claude heard something happening in the dark outside the tent. The sounds of flesh tearing, blood spraying and men dying. Claude needed to act. He ran outside and found more of the guards had been slain, and just like the captain and Dupont, their heads were cut clean off.

"INTRUDER! We have an intruder! Sentries! Light the torches! Men to arms!" Claude screamed at the top of his lungs, alerting every soldier in the camp. When his fellows saw the other bodies of their brothers in arms laying around they scrambled to get to their positions and their weapons. The remaining sentries lit their flood torches and started scanning the camp ground with their bright lights. The assailant had to still be in the camp.

Claude saw something fly through the darkness. It moved so fast he barely noticed it. It flew towards one of the sentry towers, and pulled on of their heads right off.

"Look! Over there! I see him!" another one of the other guards in the sentry towers cried. They pointed their flood beams down into the shadows and revealed their assassin. And Claude couldn't believe his eyes. It was an elf! He was holding some kind of weapon in his hands, some kind of sickle? And his eyes…they were glowing.

One of the Chevaliers charged the murderous elf, screaming in rage. The elf threw a chain that was tied to the end of his sickle and easily pulled the knight towards him. "GET OVER HERE!" the elf screamed as he cut his hand-held scythe across the Chevalier's midsection and ripped his intestines out.

A few crossbowmen shot their bolts at the elf and nailed him in the chest and stomach, but the enraged assailant acted like it was nothing. He whirled his chained sickle over his head in a wide arc and swung it at the crossbowmen. One…two…three…the sickle swung straight through their neck like butter.

In a heated rage more Chevaliers charged the savage elf, their swords thirsty for more elven blood. The elf charged them with impossible speed right into the middle of them all. He easily dodged their blades and hooked his sickle around the unprotected joints of their limbs, severing their arms and legs, and decapitating their bodies. One knight attacked from far behind, but the elf threw a weighted dart at the end of his chain right into the knight's skull and pulverized his brain while simultaneously using the sickle end to cut another knight straight in the testicles.

Claude couldn't stand by and watch more of his brothers die at the hands of this elven murderer. He attacked with a flurry of rapid succession of lunges and slashes. But the elf moved with impossible speed and easily avoided each strike and smiled mockingly at the Chevalier. Claude tried to finish with Duelist Catches an Apple, and aimed the tip of his sword straight at the elf's throat, but the elf parried and caught his blade with that damned sickle. He locked Claude's sword in the hook-like blade and ripped out of his hands. Claude thought he was done for.

But then something happened. The elf dropped his weapon and began staggering as though he were in immense pain, but no one had yet hit him, and those crossbow bolts didn't seem to be bothering him a few minutes ago. Despite the obvious pain he was in, the elf still had that damned smile on his face. His face and body began to glow from the inside, and some kind of light was emerging from his mouth. Like there was a fire burning inside of him. Maker's breath! What was happening?!

"Elagar'nan Enansal! The elf screamed as the fire inside him exploded like a volcano. The last thing Claude ever knew was an impossibly bright light, and heat more intense and painful than any forge in Orlais. Claude would never see the vineyards of Val Chevin again or ever get a chance to see his new niece.

The Chateua of House de Forbin in Val Firmin…

Pierre was having difficulty dressing himself in his dinner vest, his mind was distracted and for good reason. He looked himself in the mirror and looked very angry, he would have to change his expression. He didn't want to frighten and worry his family, supper should be a time when family should enjoy each other, not bring on more worries to burden the family down, but Pierre was just so frustrated. And as if on cue, his wife entered their chambers.

"Pierre…" Simone addressed. "What in Andraste's name is taking you? Supper's getting cold."

"Ah, forgive me, my dear." Pierre sighed. "I just have so much on my mind right now."

Simone walked over to her spouse and gently clasped his head in her hands, and he took hers in kind.

"What is it that is bothering you so, husband?" Simone asked gently. "We have so much to celebrate now. The usurper has been executed and the Empress' throne is secure. You should be relieved and proud."

"I am, Simone." Pierre defended. "I am grateful that that dressed up thug was finally put on to the sword, but it only seems like have traded one usurper for another in this Empire."

That response shocked his wife. "How can you mean that? You've been one of Celene's most ardent supporters and have always said she was what the empire needed."

"Not her." Pierre exhaled. "That pet of hers: Briala the so-called Marquis of the Dales."

Simone rolled her eyes and gave a frustrated sigh, then she grabbed her husband's hand and started leading him to the dining room. "Come now, Pierre. Gerard and Clarice are waiting for us."

"I just can't believe what the empress is doing, giving Halamshiral to the peasants and the savages." Pierre continued to rant even as he was walking with his wife to their meal.

"Come, come now, Pierre." Simone gently cooed. "It's better than losing to the Usurper and worrying about him sending his dogs to our porch."

"Yes, now instead I have to pay taxes to some damn rabbit that happens to be the empress' pet, and all the contracts I have now have to be overlooked by filthy serfs that can't even read!" Pierre spoke out harshly; completely ignoring the fact that his elven servants were in earshot. He didn't care. This is what elves are supposed to do, serve the betters faithfully. "It seems like the Empress is only doing this to please that Ambasador, as if the provinces of Orlais were treats you feed to a dog!"

"You forget, husband…" Simone cautioned. "The only reason Celene retains her throne is because she now has the support of the Inquisitor, who is, in fact, a heathen elf from the forest. And if she wants to keep her throne as well as the Inquisitor's armies, spies and supplies, she's going to have to make a few concessions to the Inquisitor's people."

"Yes, and in the meantime noble houses like ours must bend our knees to an upstart cutthroat. Does the pride of the Empire mean nothing to the Empress that she has to reward a race of servants instead of leaving them with what they should already be content with?"

"Now, Pierre…" Simone started in a harsher tone. "It is time for dinner and I will not have our children see the father pouting like a child himself."

Pierre pondered his wife's words for a moment. The lord recomposed himself and entered the dining hall to enjoy a meal with his family. House De Forbin had stood in this land for almost eight hundred years, since the Cheveliers and the Templars finally brought the heathen kingdom to heel and put the savage elves in their place. He would not set a poor example to his children by acting in such a poor manner at the table.

Dinner was a fine feast, roasted boar, cheese from the Anderfels, and Aque Lucidias, a fine feast to celebrate the security of the Empress' throne. Gerard and Clarice were eleven and ten respectively and both had their dreams; Gerard aspired to go to the Academie de Chevalier and Clarice wanted to be a singer.

"How goes your studies, Clarice?" Pierre asked his daughter.

"Very well, Father." Clarice answered politely. "And my song teacher says a have one of the loveliest voices she ever heard."

"Clarice…" Pierre gently chided his daughter. "I thought we already had this conversation."

"But Sister Nightingale started as a singer!" Clarice protested. "Then she became the Divine's Left Hand, and is now the Seneschal of the Inquisition!"

Her father waved that off. "She was the Left Hand of the Divine, until she failed and let her die and now she serves a heathen that dares call himself the Herald of our Lady."

"If she can't be a singer, does that not mean I can't be a Chevalier?" Gerard chirped in.

"Of course you can be a Chevalier, Gerard it's just that…" Before Pierre could finish explaining his vision began to blur and rush of heat went to his head.

"Darling, are you alright." Simone asked with concern. He could barely understand his wife, her voice was starting to distort.

"I'm alright." Pierre assured while wiping a great deal of sweat from his brow "I just need some wine."

As Pierre reached for his glass he felt the strength of his arm leave as he lifted it and wine fell to the floor. Than all of a sudden he saw Gerard vomit up his whole dinner and double down on the table. He heard his wife scold his son for his poor manners then, all too suddenly, his daughter collapsed on the table. Then his daughter fell to the ground. Simone rushed to their children, they were convulsing terribly, frothing from the mouth and their eyes had rolled to the back of their heads. That's when both wife and husband realized their children were dead! Poisoned. Just like him!

Simone screeched loudly while all Pierre could do was fall back into his chair, feeling hotter by the second, his sweat drenching his clothes all the while his entire body atrophy into paralysis. Simone continued to scream for someone to help her poor children and Pierre could do nothing, he couldn't go over to help his beautiful offspring, couldn't give his beloved wife comfort, just sit there like a rock and do nothing.

The servants finally heard the screaming and were finally going to save their masters. But rather than going over to the children, the three servants went over to his wife.

"Quickly, please!" Simone pleaded. "The children need help."

"No." One of the rabbits one of the servants answered coldly. "They're already dead."

The same servant produced a strange scythe-like blade and in one deft stroke, he stroke Simone's beautiful head from her body.

No! This couldn't be happening. Not to his family! Pierre's bloodline had held sway in these lands for centuries, they couldn't be murdered by a bunch filthy peasants. He wanted to lash out, to grab one of the dinner knives and jam it in the filthy knife-ears big eyes! But he couldn't. He was completely paralyzed. Helpless.

"It's different, isn't it?" A hateful voice asked. "When you're the one helpless to save the ones you love from some foreign power."

Pierre guided his eyes to the owner of that voice. Another blasted elf. This one wasn't one of his servants. He wore green armor and had strange tattooing on his face and his eyes...His eyes burned with the fury of the sun, and in his hands was the same knife that killed his beloved Simone. Now it was his turn. His only comfort would be that his family was waiting for him. And the last thing he saw was his own severed neck spurting a fountain of his blood as his dismembered head fell to the floor.

The Grand Cathedral of Val Royeaux

The bells of the Grand Cathedral's tower rang in thunderous beauty and echoed beyond the borders of Orlais' capital. The spirit of anyone who sought the love of the Maker would soar at hearing the majestic sound of the bells accompanied by the harmony and purity of choirs singing the Chant of Light. Throughout most of Mother Olivia's years in service to the Chantry, the songs and hymns of the Chant while walking through the halls of the Grand Cathedral would put her at ease, but not today. Ringing of the bells brought no peace, and the halls nearly as empty and quiet as a tomb. The Nevarran Necropolis had more life in it than the heart of the Chantry did now.

These were dark time for the Chantry, and for all Andrastians. After the death of their beloved Most Holy, Divine Justinia V, along with most of the Grand Clerics and Chantry hierarchy, many feared that the Chantry's days were numbered. Instead of looking to them, the servants of the Maker, for answers, many of the faithful were now looking to this New Inquisition, and it's Lord Inquisitor, for salvation.

Mother Olivia stopped in her tracks at the mere thought of that man. Even today she could not fathom his place in the world. How could he, a heathen elf from the forest, possibly be the favored chosen of Andraste? Revered Mother Hevara confronted this Inquisitor Lavellan in Val Royeaux, where she intended to denounce the Inquisition as a group of rebellious heretics, only to be shamed by their own Templars, and by Lord-Seeker Lucius of all people. And then this Inquisitor Lavellan actually admitted to Mother Hevara's face that he was a heretic, that he worshiped the false gods of the elves.

Olivia couldn't believe it when she heard this news. It completely defied everything Olivia thought she knew about the Chant of Light, about the Maker. Seven hundred years ago, the Chantry declared a holy Exalted March against the elven kingdom for denying the Maker. It was a righteous triumph for the Chantry. They brought the elves from their heathen ways and false gods, and directed them to the light of the Maker. Now many thousands of elves knew the word of the Maker, but there were those who still refused to see the light. Those elves who refused to embrace the word of Andraste, and stubbornly clung to their heathen ways, and retreated into the forests away from civilization to practice their pagan rituals in secret, those elves called the Dalish. And now, one of those heathen elves was now being seen as Andraste's Herald, even as when he denied being chosen.

What manner of test was this? Why did the Maker send them these riddles and mysterious? Just thinking about it brought questions of doubt and confusion to Olivia's spirit, and doubt was the enemy of faith. She tried to push the thoughts from her mind and focus on her task.

Because of the tragic events at the Conclave and the deaths of so many of its members, the Chantry was now woefully undermanned. Even here in the Grand Cathedral, it was everything they could do just to keep the daily routine functioning like normal, but without with most of the Chantry's hierarchy dead and the Templars gone, the task was nearly impossible. Still, they must show their resolve and diligence to the Maker's word in these trying times.

Olivia had been tasked with cataloguing the many artifacts held in the vault of the Grand Cathedral. Many of the most holy and sacred relics of the Andrastian faith were held here. Such artifacts included sacred texts written by previous Divines, relics from the time of Andraste, and the remains and ashes of the most devout and accomplished saints and martyrs to ever serve the Chantry. Truly, it was a distinct honor to be in the presence of such important pieces to their faith. The only thing that could possibly make this vault more grand, more sacred than anything in all of Thedas was if the holiest of holies, the Urn of Sacred Ashes had been placed here, as it should have been, instead of being lost not long after the Hero of Ferelden discovered it.

When Olivia arrived at the great vault in the heart of the Grand Cathedral, she was saluted by the platoon of Templars who were wise and dutiful enough to not abandon the Chantry. These men were given the responsibility of guarding the Chantry's most holy relics, and each of them were ready to lay their lives down for that task. Surely, the Maker smiled on them and their dedication. Each of them stood at attention before the massive doors behind them. These door were wide and thick enough to withstand a siege, and if the sheer size of the door didn't discourage and would-be burglars, these highly trained Templars would.

"Good day, Mother Olivia." The Knight-Captain greeted.

"Hello, Captain Guy." Olivia returned politely. "I'm here catalogue the relics kept in the vault. In these troubling times, we must take every precaution to make sure our most sacred relics are kept safe."

"Of course." Knight-Captain Guy agreed. "And you can rest assured, Revered Mother, that my men and I will keep these relics safe."

The Knight-Captain's men opened the immense doors which groaned like a hungry beast, and echoed throughout the hallway, revealing the awesome vault. The vault door itself was tall enough for a knight to ride through it on his horse, and the door itself was made from the best materials by the best craftsmen in all of Thedas. The door was thick and sturdy enough that an ogre would break its fist trying to breach it. Along the face of the entry were ancient runes carved in lyrium meant to negate magic so that no mage could possibly break in here.

Guy approached the puzzle lock, to which only he knew the right combination, and deftly twisted and turned the nobs and wheels in the right sequence to grant Olivia entry. The massive tumblers and bolts inside the door clicked and turned, and the door itself made a thunderous boom when it finally opened for the Revered Mother.

The Templars stood their post while Olivia entered the grand vault room with respect and reverence. She could feel the power and holiness of this place standing there. Truly, to gaze upon so many holy relics was an honor beyond measure. After a moment of gazing in awe, Olivia set to work to cataloguing the contents of the vault. There were so many items to take inventory of, this task might take her at least the rest of the week, but Olivia didn't mind. What servant of the Chantry could possibly think this was a burden?

When Olivia made it towards the back of the vault, she found herself staring at something she never thought she'd live to lay her eyes on. The Chalice of The Most Holy, the goblet used in the coronation of Divine Justinia I, the first Divine of the Chantry. She originally served as the only female general in Emperor Kordillus I's army, but was chosen and risen up to be the voice of Andraste, The Most Holy in Thedas. Made from the purest gold and the finest gemstone, Emperor Kordillus bequeathed this goblet to the new Divine during her coronation, and she drank from its brim, signifying her taking the word of the Maker and the authority of Andraste into her spirit.

To be in the presence of such an important object, Olivia was overcome with feeling, and couldn't help but want to hold it. Despite being unworthy of being in its presence, Olivia held the ancient chalice in her hands, marveling at its beauty, how it had lasted nearly a thousand years, and still had the power to raise the spirit of the faithful. Olivia's eyes gazed deeply into the chalice's gilded surface, unable to take her eyes away.

Something broke her entrancement from the majesty of the first Divine's blessed goblet. A strange, wet yet warm sensation that seemed to fall upon on top of her head. Olivia stroked her hair trying to feel what just fell on her, but couldn't make sense of it. Loud dripping sounds broke the silence in the vault, like rain pattering against the ground. What was that? The sound of dripping smacked on the sacred chalice, and Olivia's eyes went wide with horror. Sweet, holy Andraste...it was blood!

Olivia froze in terror as more of it dripped down from nowhere, falling right on and even into the sacred chalice. She looked up, and saw that blood was falling from the roof. What manner of blasphemy was this?! She turned around and screamed in terror for the Templars.

"Ser Guy!" Olivia cried in horror, hoping that the Templars could find out what was happening, but they didn't come. The only sound she heard was the echo of her own terrified cry. Olivia ran from the back of the vault to the entrance as fast as her legs could carry her. She needed to get help, their was no way there could be blood in the very heart of the Grand Cathedral.

Olivia made it to the entrance, but slipped and fell down hard before she could even get out, putting her in a daze. What did she slip in? Olivia tried to focus her eyes and get back up. As she got up, her blood ran cold and she became too terrified to even scream when she discovered that she had tripped in a pool of blood, and even more blood was raining down on her, turning the floor into a lake of crimson. She was surrounded by the butchered corpses of all the Templars. Their eviscerated bodies hanging upside-down from the rafters by chains, like pieces of meat at the market place, and lying right next to hear was the beheaded corpse of Knight-Captain Guy.

Olivia shrieked and vomited in shock and disgust. Never in her life had she seen so much blood. She had to get help, she needed to get out of here. The frantic Chantry Mother staggered to her feet, trying not to trip again, or look at the slain men hanging around her, but when finally stood back up, she screamed like she never had before, when she came face to face with Ser Guy's severed head.

"Looking for this?" Asked a masked figure, holding the dead Templar's head in his hand and holding it front of the Revered Mother's face. Olivia shrieked so loud it felt like she tore her vocal chords. Her heart couldn't take anymore, and finally fainted in horror.

Olivia's eyes began to flutter open, hoping to the Maker that she was waking from some horrid nightmare conjured from her fear and doubt. But when her eyes opened, and she saw the dead bodies of the Templars still hanging from the rafters, their blood pooling on the floor, she realized that her horror was real. Olivia watched, terrified and helpless, and her heart was crushed inside her chest, as she watched a group of masked assassins began to plunder the vault of its sacred treasures, like vultures to a corpse.

"No, stop! You cannot do this!" Olivia sobbed in horror. "These are the most sacred treasures in all of Thedas!"

"We know. That's why we're here." The masked murderer who was holding Ser Guy's severed head answered sinisterly, and began to walk over to the fearful Chantry servant. He wore strange armor that clung to his whole being and an ancient looking mask with no features, but with horns adorning it head. Behind that faceless mask was a pair of eyes that were burning like hot coals from a smith's furnace. His very presence filled Olivia with a sense of fear she had never known in her worst nightmares. It was like standing in the presence of a demon.

"Thank you for opening the door for us, Mother Olivia." The demonic assassin thanked mockingly. "We would have had a difficult time getting in without your help."

Another masked assailant, looked like a woman, came over to the frantic Mother, and pressed a knife against her neck.

"What should we do with this one?" The masked woman growled.

The demonic leader casually tossed Ser Guy's head into the air like it was a child's toy, then kicked it with such force and precision, that the entire skull exploded on his foot. Chunks of brain, flesh and skull splattered everywhere, before turning his burning gaze back to the Chantry Mother.

"Her? Let her go, as soon as we're finished here." The masked demon answered, never taking his eyes of the hostage. "Do you hear me, woman? You're going to live, and you're going to remind the world how helpless the Chantry truly is. Tell them that...judgment has finally come to the Chantry, and everyone you have wronged will have their due."

"Consider yourself lucky, bitch." The masked woman hissed hatefully in Olivia's ear, her knife still pressing against the Chantry Mother's neck. "Were it up to me, you'd be hanging with the rest of these Templar weaklings with your guts hanging out." The woman withdrew her knife and shoved Mother Olivia back to the floor, and went back to desecrating the vault with the rest of the blasphemers.

Olivia just laid there on the floor, painful tears of desperation running down her eyes, praying for the Maker to stop this. Why was this happening? How could anyone's heart be so black that they would defile the most sacred treasures in all of Thedas? What was this for, money? Olivia couldn't believe anyone could have that kind of greed. A horrified gasp escaped her lips, and her eyes nearly bugged out of her head in outraged shock and horror when she saw the masked demon emerged from the vault. He was carrying a sealed urn stamped with the Divine's holy seal of sainthood, and he held like it was some kind of trophy he won, without a hint of respect or reverence.

"NO!" Mother Olivia screamed hysterically. "You can't take that! Do you have any idea what that is?!"

"I know exactly what it is. That's why I am taking it." The masked demon chuckled sinisterly.

"Maker curse you!" Olivia screeched with furious tears streaming her face.

The masked leader finally had enough of her, and kicked the Chantry Mother in the face, knocking out cold. When she wakes up, she should consider herself lucky that he didn't just break her neck instead. He looked back into the vault while his underlings continued to plunder it.

"Take whatever treasure you can carry. Whatever you can't take, burn!"

His men obeyed orders. Within moments, they were gone like shadows in the night, leaving behind the unconscious Chantry Mother, and the vault in flames. By the time the rest of the Chantry discovered what had happened, the Sacred Vault would house nothing but ashes and tears.

Back in Skyhold…

Rajmael slept peacefully in his bed. After everything he has been through, the near death encounters with Red Templars, Venatori mages, demons and even dragons in some of the most godforsaken inhospitable landscapes in Thedas, sleep was a wonderful luxury. It was as close to a vacation as he could possibly get. Most nights he had were blissfully dreamless, he just slept like a rock with nothing to disturb him.

Rajmael was forced awake when he heard his door slam open, and footsteps pounding into his room. Was it advisors? The Inquisitor looked over thinking to see his councilors with something so important that they'd just barge into his room unannounced in the middle of the night. Instead he saw something infinitely worse.

Templars. Lots of them.

"There's the heretic!" One of them shouted. "Seize him!"

Rajmael decided give these pricks a taste of raw elven lightning but something wrong; he tried to tap into the Fade but couldn't, he couldn't feel the magic from the Beyond. Sweet Mythal, his magic had been canceled!

"You shan't be using your blasphemous powers now, heathen!" One of the Templars sneered.

Impossible. No Templar could negate his magic. Well, if magic won't work than Rajmael would just have to rely on good old fashioned swordsmanship. He grabbed for Enasalin on the post of his mattress and charged the three Templars, he would cut them down in one fell swipe. But when Enasalin was supposed to cut through the first Templar like a hot knife through butter it instead broke like glass on a stone.

"W-what the fuck!?" Rajmael yelled out confounded as he looked at the shattered elven treasure.

"He-he-he-ha-ha-ha! Weapons forged by savages are no match against those who bear the Maker's righteous flame!" The Templars yelled out with a bellowing cackle.

"Take him!" The bastard fallen knights came down on him, Rajmael tried to fight back but they were as strong as ogres. They proceeded to pummel Rajmael into a floor stain and he was all but helpless. One thought just kept coming into his mind; how the fuck did these assholes get this far into the Keep to begin with?

The armored crossdressers dragged him out of his quarters, busted and bleeding, and into the open square of Skyhold and Rajmael saw what they had done. All of Skyhold was set aflame, and all of its denizens were butchered in the snow. Horror filled Rajmael's heart when he looked around the yard and saw the heads of Solas, Dorian, Varric, Iron Bull and all his Chargers mounted on pikes. How did all this happen?!

They threw him into the middle courtyard where a crowd of people, Templars, Chantry servants and common folk had gathered around to jeer and mock him. But that wasn't all. Cullen, Leliana, Mother Giselle and even Cassandra were calling for his death, condemning his heresy. Even Cassandra? How could this be happening?

"Lo and behold, all you faithful!" said a voice Rajmael remembered from a forgotten nightmare. "The pagan who dared call himself the Herald of Andraste!"

One of Rajmael's eyes was swollen shut, but he could still see who who was leading this mob. A tall, vile figure, gaunt as a skeleton, wearing the dressings and mitre of a Revered Mother. She was an old crone with claw-like hands and was taller than any woman he'd seen. On either side of her stood the most fearsome Templars he'd ever seen, with swords of the most grotesque make drawn at him. The Revered Mother's face was obscured by shadow, but the very sound of her voice filled Rajmael with such fear that he couldn't move, his voice was frozen in his throat and couldn't even scream. All he could do was lay there, battered and broken in fear, while the mob chanted for his death.

"The blame is yours alone. You brought this upon yourselves!" The demonic Revered Mother mocked. "Your heathen ways are an offense to Andraste and the Maker!" Rajmael was horrified to see his parents chained before him with the Templars standing with their swords ready.

"Mythal enaste! No!" Rajmael screamed.

"Look at these foul images that you've allowed to taint your soul!" The Revered Mother hissed as she threw Rajmael's totems to the ground. "Dairren, and your wife, Ranalle, have forsaken Andraste! You are a blemish in the sight of the Maker! And you must be purged!"

Rajmael couldn't move. Couldn't even scream his terror. It was like he was seven years old again. All he could do was watch in horror as the templars murdered his parents right in front of his eyes. Again.

"Hear me, all you faithful! The threat of the blasphemous Inquisition ends now!" The evil crone yelled triumphantly while of his supporters cheered and hooted and the mages all stayed silent and emotionless. "With this army of Tranquil slaves bolstering our supplies and weapons we will be unstoppable in bringing the Light of the Maker to the rest of Thedas! But first, we shall deal with this elven apostate! And what is the price all heretics must pay!?"

The mob roared in approval.

"They must…BURN!"

And with that the Templars dragged Rajmael to a stake atop of brittle kindling. "Don't feel too bad, knife-ear!" Laughed one of the Templars dragging him. "You'll die just like Andraste did! Fitting for a usurper that dared to claim to be her herald!"

Again Rajmael tried to fight back but this time the Templars broke both of his arms! He cried out in pain as he felt his bones snap like dry branches and in rage. They had tied him to the stake and finally lit it up and all the bastards were laughing as flames reached higher.

Something grabbed Rajmael's shoulder as the pyre burned around him. He turned his head to find the rotting hand of dead corpse holding him. It looked like another undead, but there was something sickeningly familiar about.

"Fear not, my son." A voice he had all but forgotten bade. Rajmael's stomach went sick as he gazed upon the long dead corpse of his mother staring at him. All the beauty he remembered had been rotted away. Her hair was grimy with clumps ripped out, and her flesh was like wet then dried paper. Maggots poured from her mouth and eye sockets. The very smell of her putrescent flesh was worse than the smoke.

"Ma…Mama?" Rajmael gasped.

"Now you can join us in our eternal pain!" She screeched out through putrid lips.

"Yes, Rajmael." He looked to his right and saw a walking, headless corpse walked over the flames. The wound on its headless shoulders where the neck should have been was still wet and bleeding with filth and carrion festering in it. The corpse raised its hand towards the burning Inquisitor, and in its grip was the dead man's own severed head. Its face looked just like Rajmael's.

"Father?" Rajmael cried.

"You should have burned with us years ago and you would have been spared all pain and suffering." His father's dismembered head explained to him as the flesh fell from his skull, and left only a rancid skull that began to cackle maliciously.

"Rajmael." A sweet voice called to him. No, it couldn't be. Little Eva.

Eva was strapped to a stake across from him, with fire engulfing her body. The flames had already blackened and ruined her flesh. "There's no need to fight anymore we're all waiting for you!" Eva laughed as she burst into flames and fell over into smoldering skeleton while all the Templar and parent's ghosts laughed insidiously for all the mountains to hear.

"NOOOOO!" Rajmael finally screamed out. He could feel his skin crackle and burn and smell his flesh and hair sear. The pain was excruciating! He watched as his skin burned and melted off his bones, the smell of his own body cooking filled his nostrils. How could this have happened? Is this truly how it all ends? He could hear the voices of the crowd screaming his name as the flames destroyed him.

~XoXoXo~

"Rajmael! Rajmael!" Cassandra cried frantically as she tried to wake Rajmael from his sleep. Some horrible nightmare had taken hold of him. If a nightmare took hold of a mage as powerful as Rajmael, it could have terrible effect.

"NOOO-OOO!" Rajmael screamed as his bed burst into flames. He finally ripped himself from his nightmare. "No! No! Get away!" The Inquisitor screamed as he jumped from his bed and reached for his sword. It wasn't until Rajmael saw the scared look on Cassandra's face, and the sight of his own be on fire, did he finally calm down enough to magically extinguish the flames before his whole room went up in smoke.

Rajmael collapsed to his knees in exhaustion and his sword fell from his hands. Cassandra ran and knelt beside Rajmael, despite the flames that just burned in the room, he was covered in a sheen of ice cold sweat.

"Rajmael, what happened?" Cassandra asked with frantic concern.

"I…I had a…nightmare, but that isn't strong enough to describe what I saw." Rajmael answered between gasps. "A memory of a time I thought, prayed, that I had forgotten."

"What time was that?"

"The murder of everything I love." Rajmael answered woefully.

The Next Morning….

Rajmael and Cassandra both stood in the Keeps library where he relayed his night's terror to Solas. Dreams are different for mages. Their connection to the Fade allowed them access into the the dream world and gave them their power. So when a mage dreams, it can also attract the attention of demons and have an effect on the world around them. Being the Inquisition residential expert on the Fade and dreams, perhaps Solas could tell the Inquisitor the significance of such a nightmare.

"Was there anything in particular that stood out in your dream, Inquisitor?" Solas asked from his chair.

Rajmael snorted agitatedly. "I was dragged out of the keep by a murderous mob, my dead mother's rotting corpse grabbed me, my father's body was holding his own severed head, and it spoke to me in his voice, and I watched as my step-daughter burned alive! None of that sounds like it stands out to you!?"

"You lead a violent life, Inquisitor, horror is all too common." Solas answered calmly. "And there has been tragedy in your life. It is very usual for people, even mages, to have nightmares about such events in their lives."

"I haven't had this nightmare in over twenty years, Solas." Rajmael informed grimly. "I…didn't even remember the voices of my parents until I heard them again in that dream. Or that…other voice."

Solas quirked an eyebrow. "What other voice?"

"I…I remembered the voice of the Revered Mother who condemned my family to death." Rajmael confessed. "The words she used, even the way she said my parents' names, and what she said to me were exactly the same. I thought…hoped I had forgotten it."

Solas found that most intriguing. "Give me your best guess: why do you think everyone, even your own Councilors, and members of the Inquisition were aiding in this mob assault?"

"Just like when I was a child, I was being executed for…being one of the People." Rajmael answered sorrowfully.

Solas placed his hand on his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. I see. I overheard your argument with Cassandra, Leliana and Mother Giselle yesterday. About how you do not want to aid the Chantry for the crimes it's committed against you and elvenkind. Perhaps this dream was a manifestation of your fear of what the Chantry has done to you, and what it could do to Eva."

"I've never had a dream affect me so profoundly. I've never lost control like that before, even when I was getting the crap kicked out of me during my training in magic and swordsmanship."

"Dreams can affect us mages when we are under great strain or fear." Solas reasoned. "Given how powerful your magic is, I believe having your bed catch fire was an ideal result."

"Even with such sound explanations, I can't help but think there was more to this, Solas." Rajmael confessed. "Dreams are powerful things, and I truly believe that this dream was some kind of ill omen."

Cullen suddenly barged in through the door to the outside battlements. "Inquisitor, I need you to approve these orders..."

"There is an urgent matter that needs your attention, my lord." Josephine announced as she entered the rotunda.

"Inquisitor, I need to speak with you now." Leliana as she came down from the atrium.

Rajmael groaned into his hands. Before he could take anymore time to reflect on lasts night's traumatic memories, his advisors had to walk in and bombard him with the various matters and crises that the Inquisition was dealing with. Well, time to get this over with.

"Everyone, please, let's try speaking one at a time. After all, there is only one of me." Rajmael requested.

"Inquisitor, I need you to approve these orders for our men to assist the Imperial Army in pacifying what's left of Gaspard's army." Cullen informed. "Because of the war, couriers have had difficulty relaying orders, and I think Gaspard's former subordinates will be more likely to listen to our men than any officer in Celene's army."

"Only send enough men so that we have a presence, not a full contingency." Rajmael instructed. "I want our men to inform Gaspard's soldiers that the war is over, not make them think that they're in for another fight."

"Understood, Inquisitor." Cullen acknowledged.

Rajmael turned his attention to Leliana, who had a rather a grim look on her face, like she had just gotten the most ill news. "Leliana, you look serious."

"I'm afraid the matter is serious." Leliana admitted. "Several of my contacts within the Chantry have informed that there has been an assault within the Grand Cathedral."

Shocked looks and gasps came over the other councilors and Cassandra. It was obvious that this disturbed them deeply. Rajmael, however, just stood there with a blank look on his face.

"Who did what in the where?" Rajmael asked, completely ignorant of what the problem was, earning an annoyed groan from Cassandra and Leliana.

"The Sacred Vault of the Grand Cathedral is where the Chantry houses its most important relics and treasures." Josephine informed the Inquisitor seriously. "Some of the items there are key parts to the Andrastian faith."

Rajmael groaned into his hand. He detested having to assist the Chantry after everything it has put him through. "Let me guess: with the Chantry so weakened, and virtually no Templars to protect them, some opportunistic thieves decided to break into your precious vault and make off with some priceless artifacts."

"I truly wish there were it, but there's more to it than that." Leliana said sadly. "Whoever it was, they somehow bypassed all the centuries worth of security measures designed in the Grand Cathedral, and they...butchered the Templars who were guarding the vault with a level of brutality I haven't seen outside of Aedan Cousland."

"Murder? In the Grand Cathedral?" Cassanda said in disbelief. "I...truly did not think anyone was capable of such sacrilege."

"How do you mean?" Cullen asked deeply concerned.

"They...they were found hanging upside down from the rafters with their innards spilling out of them." Leliana answered somberly, like she couldn't believe the words that came out of her own mouth.

"Oh, Sweet Andraste." Josephine gasped. It looked like she might vomit, but she held it back.

"Were their any witnesses to this act?" Rajmael inquired.

"That...is were things begin to get dark." Leliana said grimly. "The only witness to the crime, Revered Mother Olivia, a devout a young woman who was just recently raised to her position, has been irrevocably scarred by what she saw. No one can even get her to talk about what happened. She just sobs uncontrollably and rants about how demons with burning eyes had trespassed into the very heart of the Grand Cathedral."

"Demons with burning eyes?" Rajmael said skeptically. "Speaking from my own personal experience, I think that if demons did attack the Gran Cathedral, there would be no question about it."

"Indeed." Solas agreed. "Such creatures would not have stopped at the Templars, nor would they have any interest in treasure, no matter how sacred."

"Do your contacts know what was stolen?" Cassandra asked earnestly.

"That's the strange part." Leliana answered dismayed. "They only took a few items, gold trinkets and gifts to previous Divines, but then they burned everything else."

"No!" Cassandra gasped in horror. "How much was lost? What survived?!"

"This cannot be!" Josephine said in shock.

"Thankfully, the protective wards that were placed inside the vault protected most of the treasure, and we only lost a few things, but nothing we can't live without." The Spymaster said thankfully.

"If this is all so important and so tragic, why hasn't the Chantry made a statement or asked for aid?" Rajmael asked.

"The remaining clerics would never admit to being so weak or so incompetent that an assault on the very center of the faith happened on their watch. They have already lost enough face and the confidence of the people." Leliana answered. "And the only ones who are capable of assisting them is the Inquisition..."

"And they'd never ask us because they're too proud, especially after condemning us as heretics." Rajmael concluded blithely. "So, what, you want us to track down these thieves so that the Inquisition can prove that we're not against the Chantry?"

"The thieves are a secondary matter. What is more important is that we get back what they've stolen." Leliana finally stated. "With everything that has happened, the remaining Mothers and Clerics decided to move the reliquaries and remains of our saints and martyrs to the vault, to keep them safe."

"How tragically ironic." Rajmael said, vainly trying to hide his amusement.

Leliana ignored the Inquisitor's glib attitude and tried to remain on point. "These...marauders have stolen an urn containing the ashes of one of the Chantry's oldest servants. We want you to return her remains to their rightful resting place."

Josephine was completely appalled. "Sweet Andraste. Who...could possibly have such blackness in their heart that they would steal someone's remains."

"I've seen many horrible things, but disturbing the rest of one of the faithful? Even the darkspawn aren't that low." Cassandra said angrily.

"Even in times of war, some things must still be kept sacred." Cullen urged.

"And which of these Chantry servants did these grave robbers feel the need to disturb?" Rajmael asked curiously.

"...Revered Mother Amity." Leliana finally answered, her words were apprehensive.

The instant Rajmael's pointed ears heard that name, he hocked in his throat and spat hatefully on the ground. Everyone in the room was put off by his display, and Rajmael gave Leliana a deathly glare.

Leliana, it seemed, was unsurprised by the Inquisitor's reaction. "Inquisitor, I know that this is a bitter subject, but..."

"Shut up, Leliana." Rajmael ordered angrily. "You have absolutely no right to ask me this. It is beyond insulting!"

"I'm sorry, but who is this Revered Mother Amity?" Josephine asked. "She doesn't sound like any of the saints or martyrs I am familiar with.

"Good question. Go ahead, Leliana, tell us, who was Mothered Amity?" Rajmael demanded, before spitting on that name again.

Leliana sighed despondently. "Revered Mother Amity was one of the generals who led the Exalted March against the Dales. After the war was over, she set aside her sword and bow and became a Revered Mother in the Chantry. She spent the rest of her life trying to rebuild the Dales."

"Yeah, after she and her army burned down our homes, our temples, anything that meant something to us, killed thousands of elves, and stole our kingdom from us, she tried to rebuild the Dales, in her image." Rajmael said hatefully. "She spent the rest of her fucking life preaching that the elves were soulless heathens, that we were evil for not embracing the Maker, and that what she did was just and righteous, all the while forcing my people to forget our identity. Those statues I destroyed in the Exalted Plains? She erected them, to tell the world that elves are worthy only of contempt."

Suddenly, Rajmael's anger became a little more understandable. It was a well known fact that Rajmael hated the Chantry, not only for what it did to him, but what it did to his people.

"There are three names my people find the most profane." Rajmael continued contemptuously. "Mother Amity, who destroyed the Dales and dared to live there like her crimes were a reward. Divine Renata, who declared the Exalted March, and destroyed all records of elves from history and art, including the Canticles of Than Shartan. And Archon Thalsian, who destroyed Arlathan. Just like how Maferath is synonymous with betrayal to you humans, these names are synonymous with genocide to my people."

"I understand that your recent travels in the Dales have rekindled bitter feelings with the Chantry." Mother Giselle said sympathetically. "And I agree; asking you to assist one who had wronged your people is unfair, but do you truly believe that acting in such a manner will help your people? If there is ever a chance to be any peace between your people and the Chantry, then there must be open minds on both sides."

"Well, isn't that the pot calling the kettle black." Rajmael shot back scornfully. "Tell me, what has the Chantry done to make up for what it did to my people? Answer: not a damned thing, except make excuses and deny that they committed any crimes. There can never be any peace without justice, and as far as I'm concerned, this act against Mother Amity is a justice has had coming for far too long. This conversation is over. Do NOT bring this matter to me again."

Rajmael turned his back and left, intending for this matter to be dead by the time he was gone.

~XoXoXo~

After a moment when they felt Rajmael was out of earshot, everyone started breathing a little easier. Matters between elves and the Chantry still hit a raw nerve with the Inquisitor.

"Well, that was fun." Varric said sarcastically. "One thing about the elves, they certainly know how to nurse a grudge."

"What's he getting so worked up about?" Sera asked ignorantly. "I mean, s'not like he was the one who had his vault burned."

"You really do not care about anything or anyone unless it pertains to your petty cravings, do you, Sera?" Solas chastised. "If someone asked you to protect the body of a noble who robbed a farmer of his home and left his children to starve, would you not be outraged?"

As much as Sera hated listening to Solas about anything, even she couldn't deny something like that. "Piss on that. Yeah, alright, maybe I can see what that's about."

"You all act as if the Inquisitor is the only one who holds on to such strong feelings towards past crimes." Dorian pointed out. "You Southerners, and your Chantry, are still mad at the Imperium for killing Andraste and still blame us for the Blights. Why shouldn't the Inquisitor be angry at those who stole his people's home?"

"None of that excuses the Inquisitor's unacceptable behavior, especially when thousands are looking to the Inquisition to help rebuild the Chantry." Vivienne disapproved.

"Doesn't it?" Cassandra asked, a note of guilt in her voice. "Rajmael has spent most of his life running from the Chantry, learning of every crime it committed against his people. You all remember what he said that day back in Haven. How the Chantry stole his childhood, and what the Templars did to his god-child. I know I couldn't forgive such crimes so easily. Why should he?"

"But doesn't it seem like the Inquisitor is only keeping old wounds open?" Josephine asked.

"Forgive me for saying this, Ambassador Montilyet, but you have no place to say such things." Cullen said firmly. "You don't know what it's like to feel like everyone's against you, then get kicked while you're down and spat upon. It's something I'm familiar with, and it's a hand that the elves have been dealt for centuries."

"Burn him." Cole whispered.

Everyone turned their attention to the former Spirit of Compassion. Burn him? What was Cole talking about?

"He has turned his back on the Maker, and his magic has been tainted by his parents' heathen ways. And even though he is but a child, he is Maleficar, and must be put to the flame to purify his soul." Cole's spoke in a tone that mimicked a voice of malice. "Burn him. Burn him now!"

"Sweet Andraste. You're...you're speaking of when the Inquisitor was burned as a child, aren't you?" Cullen realized.

"Everyone in the village came to out, but not to help him. Jeering, spitting and throwing rocks at him, they all came out to watch. He saw the Templars kicking his mother and father's severed heads around, their dead eyes still open with mud flicked on them." Cole's lips trembled and his face gripped with pain as if he could see what he was describing. "Then, the Chantry Mother threw the torch on the pyre. His body caught flames, the smell of his own skin burning, his agonized screams only made the people cheer louder. They brought him pain, and stole his life. That's why he cannot forgive, why he hates so much. That's why his dreams have become nightmares."

"Hot damn." Iron Bull commented. "And here I thought only the Vints could be that brutal."

"Back in Tevinter, we're taught that the Southern Chantry regularly burns mages simply for being mages." Dorian pointed. "Looks like the Inquisitor has proved that little piece of propaganda correct."

"Such crimes are all too common in this world, but because they are always done to elves they are not important enough to be noticed." Solas said disdainfully.

"Maker's balls, a whole village stood by and watched that happen?" Blackwall asked in disbelief. "I'd probably be pissed at the world, too."

"Andraste's mercy." Mother Giselle breathed in both shock and shame. Too often the Chantry did little to stop those who abused the authority given to them by the Sunburst throne. And it was the Chantry that dictated that the elves must live the way they do, be treated as they are. Just one more thing in an ever piling mountain of failures the Chantry committed.

"Everyone, please, let's stop this now." Cassandra beseeched calmly. "Let's return to our duties, and try to leave this matter behind us. Leliana, send whatever people you can spare to investigate the assault on the Grand Cathedral. If the remaining clerics are to choose either of us for the Sunburst Throne, then we must be the ones to look after it."

"I agree." Leliana acknowledged. "I will send Charter and her people. With luck, they'll be able to find something about who ransacked the vault."

"Rajmael has spent most of his life running from the Chantry." Cassandra defended. "We cannot expect him to simply forget what was done to him. He may be the Inquisitor, but he is still mortal like the rest of us, and not all of us forgive so easily."

"Aw, Seeker, you called him by his real name." Varric pointed out slyly. "You really do care."

"Keep talking, and you'll see how uncaring I can be, dwarf." Cassandra warned.

Everyone left to perform whatever duties they had or whatever personal pursuit struck their fancy. Cassandra felt a knot of guilt twist inside her as she walked away. Sometimes she couldn't help but feel conflicted about her feelings for Rajmael. Deep down, Cassandra knew Rajmael loved her, and it was a feeling that brought her a sense of joy and completion she never knew before. At the same time, however, she also knew in her heart that Rajmael hated the Chantry for everything it did to him and his people, and she could not blame him. Could her love for Rajmael conflict with her loyalty Chantry?

Cassandra remembered how her older brother Antony was killed by bloodmages, how her need for vengeance once consumed her. How she once thought all mages were treacherous and sought only to bring suffering to the innocent and overthrowing the Chantry. It took meeting Regalyan to maker Cassandra realize how wrong she was. Cassandra realized just then that she would do the same for Rajmael. She would show him that the Chantry didn't have to be the one he knew, the one that wronged him so terribly. The Chantry could be better, it must become better. They owed that to all the peoples of Thedas.

Leliana made her to her desk in the atrium, unable to shake what just happened from her mind. On the one hand, she wished that the Inquisitor hadn't lost his temper the way he did. On the other, she couldn't blame him. She remembered how vicious Aedan was when he learned that Arl Howe had usurped his family's title after betraying them, and how deeply he resented Loghain for betraying everything their country was supposed to uphold by collaborating with slavers. If someone had asked Aedan to do recover the ashes of Loghain or Howe, he would have acted with great hostility for such an insult.

The former Orlesian bard knew that the Chantry had done terrible things to the elves, it had done very little to endear itself to anyone who wasn't human. If there was to be any change, it needed to start with the Chantry, and if it didn't, the Chantry's existence may soon come to an end. But first the matter at hand. Who could hate the Chantry enough to want to steal an urn of ashes from the Sacred Vault?

~XoXoXo~

Rajmael was alone his quarters, kneeling before his totems to the Creators. He had hoped that by reciting what prayers he knew in elven, he might calm down after that little fiasco with Hevara. He was aware that his outburst probably lowered him in the opinion of some of his comrades, but he didn't really care. Stupid woman. Who was she to dare ask a thing of him? Find Mother Amity's ashes? He'd rather shake the hands of the people who did it. Just thinking about it made his blood boil. He tried to push it out of his mind and focus on his prayers.

Just then he heard a gentle knocking on his door. Judging from the rhythm of the rapping, and the scent of spiced perfume, it had to have been Josephine.

"Come in." Rajmael called.

Sure enough, it was Josephine, and her spiced perfume, clipboard and quill in hand. She had that "something important needs your attention" look on her face. It must have been important if she came all the way to his room to tell him herself.

"Pardon my intrusion, but Marquis Briala of the Dales has arrived at Skyhold and she is requesting a personal audience with you, your lordship." Josephine answered. "She says she has an urgent matter that needs your attention. She is waiting for you in the War Room."

That was indeed a surprise, although maybe not the most welcoming kind. Rajmael's would have to continue his prayers later. If Briala was here in person, then that could only mean that there was something terrible and very sensitive was going on. But, hey, anything beats what Mother Hevara wanted him to do.

~XoXoXo~

Three elven ladies-in-waiting were standing outside the War Room where Briala and Rajmael's councilors were waiting. As an official noble of Orlais, it was expected for Briala to have attendants waiting on her, and given the fact that Briala commands and army of spies, Rajmael had no doubt that these ladies were probably as deadly as they were lovely. When the three attendants saw the Inquisitor coming they all smiled and curtsied to him, and giggled when Rajmael returned the gesture. Blonde, raven and redhead, with the loveliest elven eyes. If Rajmael wasn't in a committed relationship with Cassandra, he'd have shown these stunning City Elves some of the "ancient elven secrets" he knew. But, alas, it was not to be.

Briala was overlooking the War Map, inspecting some of the Inquisition's operations and how far they had spread. Rajmael couldn't believe Briala was actually wearing one of those stupid Orlesian styled masks. It wasn't the same one she wore to the Winter Palace Ball, after gaining nobility status Briala was now entitled to wearing the mask and cosmetics expected of a noble lady. Rajmael found such things to be utterly ridiculous and slightly retarded.

"Greetings Inquisitor Lavellan." Briala greeted politely.

"Marquis Briala." Rajmael nodded. "Must you wear that thing? We are not in the Orlesian Court, and I prefer to speak face to face."

"Oh, I forgot it was even there. In Orlesian culture it considered to better to be without cloths than without a mask." Briala said as she removed the mask from her face and gently set it down on the War Table.

"And in my culture we're taught only cowards wear masks." Rajmael stated disdainfully. "What is so important that the new Marquis of the Dales would actually come to meet me in person?"

Briala had a serious look in her eye. "I assume you've heard of the so-called Freeman of the Dales, Your Worship?"

"Deserters from both sides of Celene and Gaspard's little spat, now they're trying to take the Dales for themselves. I've…encountered them before, yes."

"And you've done nothing to destroy their operations?" Briala asked incredulously.

"Marquis Briala, I've got ten different operation in three countries to oversee, a possible border war between Nevarra and Tevinter brewing….Oh, and a cult of Tevinter mages, and templar lunatics hopped on red lyrium serving a Blighted Tevinter madman with aspirations of conquest and godhood!" Rajmael listed agitatedly. "So you'll have to forgive me if I decide that a bunch of wusses from the Orlesian army have decided they're tired of fighting and dying for a bunch of Orlesian pricks in a war they have nothing to gain from are low on my list of priorities. And besides, as Marquis of the Dales, isn't the security of the Dales your responsibility?"

"You have all these responsibilities, yet you'll take the time to gallivant in elven ruins right in the middle of the Dales?" Briala stated.

"I don't owe an explanation, least of all to you. What I do, and who I do it for, is none of your damned business, Marquis." Rajmael retorted sternly. "The only one I answer to is Dirthamen."

Briala slowly exhaled. She had to be patient with the Inquisitor. "You helped make me the Marquis of the Dales, Inquisitor. You could have chosen not to, or you could have told Celene that Gaspard and I were conspiring together and she would have believed you, but you didn't. You helped me because you believed I could help our people. Well, now I need the Inquisition's aid or our people are going to suffer."

Rajmael actually believed Briala was being sincere with him, but what did she mean? "What are you talking about, Briala?"

"A week ago, a garrison of Chevaliers overseeing the surrender of Duke Gaspard's forces was attacked. The assault happened in the dead of night and about a dozen Chevaliers were slain before the assassin was discovered. It was an elf." Briala finally answered.

That surprised everyone in the room. Rajmael could hardly believe his own pointy ears. "A single elf slew a dozen Chevaliers? I don't know if I should worried or impressed. Actually, I'd like to find that guy and give him a medal."

"You'll have to present it to him after they're done finding all the scattered pieces of him." Briala continued. "When the soldiers finally cornered him, he exploded in ball of red flame that killed all the soldiers surrounding him."

"He had some kind of bomb on him?"

"From what the reports say, the elf started screaming in pain before any of the soldiers even touched him, then he started glowing as if there were a fire burning inside him, and then he exploded like Qunari black powder." Briala explained. "The resulting explosion killed the soldier trying to apprehend him."

"Dear Andraste!" Josephine gasped. "What could do that to a man, and who would be so vile as to visit it upon him?"

"Some kind of biological proxy? A new kind of weapon?" Cullen suggested.

"There's more." Briala spoke. "Over the past few weeks several prominent Orlesian families have just died, even the children. Poison seems to be the likely scenario. All these families had friends who cared for them and rivals who hated them, and now both sides are readying to come to blows. But the other suspects that many are starting to blame are the elven servants. While whole families died, the elves left the houses completely unharmed. Many are now looking to the elves, and by extension me as the culprit of these attacks. This could start another civil war in Orlais. Either Orlais' nobility begins fighting each other in various vendettas, or they blame the elves. I cannot allow that to happen after all that's been achieved."

The situation was sounding direr the more Briala explained it to them.

"And what does this have to do with the Freeman of the Dales?" Leliana asked.

"The Freeman are the only people with anything to gain from a disorganized Orlais, and from what I've gathered, you've discovered that they were allied with this Venatori cult. Perhaps this is another attempt to keep Orlais warring with itself." Briala suggested.

"The Freeman are a bunch of racist pricks and former Chevaliers. I doubt they and the elves would be working together." Rajmael stated.

"With this alliance they have with the Venatori and access to red lyrium, perhaps the Freeman are using the elves as a new weapon. As living bombs to infiltrate Orlesian strongholds?" Cullen suggested.

"Given what red lyrium has done to the templars and the magic the Venatori possess, I wouldn't rule out that possibility." Cassandra concurred.

"Marquis Briala, is there any other clues or information you can give us?" Josephine asked.

"This was discovered at the campsite where that elven assassin died. Somehow it survived the suicide bombing." Briala placed an object wrapped in clothe and slid it over to the Inquisitor. "This was the weapon he used to slay all those men."

Rajmael unwrapped the parcel and it was unlike any weapon the Cassadra had ever seen. It was some sort of sickle type weapon with a wide, double edged, moderately curved crescent blade and had a small chain loop at the end of the handle with a broken length of rope hanging from it. It was the length of a short sword which made it ideal for close quarters, but unlike the farming implement, this sickle had a thickness and heft to it that made it a weapon, not a harvest tool. In the right hands it could certainly be a devastating weapon. Cassandra noticed the shocked, bewildered look in Rajmael's eyes as he held the weapon in his hand.

"This….This is the weapon that…elven assassin used to attack that army camp? You are absolutely certain, Briala?" Rajmael asked like he had seen a ghost.

"My people recovered it from the site where the battle took place. No one else has seen it." Briala assured.

Rajmael looked at the recurved saber as though it had offended him, and Cassandra knew his mind was set. "Vir…Banal'ras." He whispered.

"What did you say, Inquisitor?" Cassandra asked. His voice was so low she doubted anyone heard what he said.

"Cassandra, get everyone ready. We are heading back to the Emerald Graves. Immediately." Rajmael ordered.

"Wait. I'm going with you." Briala wasn't asking.

"And why is that?" Rajmael questioned.

"As you said, I am the Marquis of the Dales and it is my responsibility to look after it." Briala answered. "If someone is using elves as weapons to start another war in Orlais, then it is my duty to help you."

"Well, I hope you've kept your bardic skills sharp since you became a politician. Because the assholes we fight aren't the same as Orlesian throat-slitters and fancy Chevaliers." Rajmael warned.

~XoXoXo~

The Inquisitor and his company, along with Marquis Briala made their way back to one of their encampment in the Emerald Graves, hopefully Scout Harding could give them some kind of lead. This was the place to find out the connection between the Freeman of the Dales, elven suicide bombers and that strange weapon. Cassandra wasn't the only one who noticed the distracted and bewildered look that plagued Rajmael ever since he got his hand on that strange sickle-like weapon. It was like he had seen some kind of ghost.

"Scout Harding, did you find anything?" Rajmael asked.

"I set to work as soon as I got your message. Found someone here in the Emerald Graves by the name of Fairbanks." The dwarven scout answered. "He might be able to help you with these Freeman of the Dales."

"What can you tell me about this Fairbanks?"

"That's the interesting part, we didn't find Fairbanks, he found us." Harding answered. "He and his men appeared shortly after the war started. It seems they're trying to help people displaced by the war, and he won't share his information with anyone but you. Fairbanks and his people are camped nearby. And watch your back, Inquisitor. The Freeman are crawling around this place like cockroaches."

Rajmael led his company to the refugee camp. They were defensible enough her in a narrow crag between two stone hills. But none of these people were soldiers; most of them were peasants who'd never even touched a weapon. If any real soldiers came marching through here these people wouldn't last very long.

"Ugh! These people are filthy. Living like animals in a cave." Vivienne wrinkled her nose in disgust and placed a hanky over it.

"Not everyone has the luxury of living in a well-furnished mansion with servants to tend our every need, Enchanter." Solas said with a disapproving tone. "Most people actually live in the real world."

"Says the man who's spent most of his life in the dream world." Vivienne balked.

"I wonder how many poor souls have been displaced because of wars between nobles." Blackwall sympathized. "No matter who wins, the commonfolk always lose."

"This is why all nobles are shits." Sera snorted.

"They wander, lost, frightened, angry. Looking for a place to be safe, wanting to go home." Cole informed forlornly as he felt the emotions of the refugees.

"This reminds me of that one place in Seheron. A great big refugee camp where people from all the fighting went. Some got so pissed with the Arigena they either joined up with the Tal-Vashoth or the Fog Warriors." Iron Bull reminisced.

"These people got the same shitty deal half of Kirkwall suffered." Varric sighed. "But at least when we clear out the Freeman, most of these people will have a home to get back to. Most of Lowtown can't say that."

"At least they have someone looking after them. That's better than the many who're wandering around aimlessly without protection." Dorian said sympathetically.

A man in his early to mid-forties with dark hair, a sharp nose and rough, speckled hair over his narrow chin and a scar over his right eye approached the Inquisitor. He wore light Orlesian style leather meant more for hunting than for combat, and was armed with a simple saber and dagger. There was weariness to him but everyone in the camp showed him great respect.

"So you're the Herald of Andraste. I am Fairbanks, it's an honor to make your acquaintance." The man greeted politely with a thick Orlesian accent.

"I always love to make a good first impression." Rajmael said as he shook the man's hand.

"After what I heard you did to that bastard Gordian in the Exalted Plains, I'd say you're off to a good start in my books, Inquisitor. It is humbling to meet the Inquisitor and the new Marquis of the Dales both in one day." Fairbanks admitted as he looked as Briala.

"You know who I am?" Briala asked curiously.

"The first elf to rule the Dales in eight hundred years? That is something most people would not miss." Fairbanks answered. "I can't imagine many of those noble cretins in Val Royeaux are too pleased, but there are more elves in the Dales than the rest of the empire, it only makes sense to have an elf represent them."

Both Briala and Rajmael were surprised to hear a human say that. But then this is a man who risking his life to aid total strangers and make sure they're looked after even with an enemy like the Freeman of the Dales attacking him.

Fairbanks invited them into his camp and offered them some ale as they sat. It was cheap, bitter stuff, probably bummed off some battlefield or traded from some cheap merchant, but it was all they had, and Rajmael gladly accepted.

"What can you tell us about the Freeman of the Dales?" Rajmael finally asked.

Fairbanks finished his drink and sighed wearily. "When my cousin and I quarrel, some heated words are exchanged, wine is spilt and maybe someone loses a tooth, but it doesn't leave our doorstep. When Celene feuded with her cousin, the nation bled. Who cares who sits on a fancy throne with a jeweled crown, when it's all over these people still must till the soil and harvest the crops to feed this empire, but no monarch ever gives them consideration."

"We are here about the Freeman, not the concerns of the peasantry." Vivienne stated impatiently.

"I don't remember anyone speaking to you, or asking for your input Vivienne." Rajmael said with annoyance. "Just go back over there, keep your mouth shut. The grownups are trying to have a conversation."

The Imperial Enchanter pursed her lips in disapproval and her eyes shot an angry glance behind Rajmael's back.

"These Freeman are all soldiers tired of bleeding and dying for a war that they have no stake in, so they left." Fairbanks continued. "At first I sympathized with them, but then they started talking about wanting to carve the Dales out for themselves, start a new kingdom. And then they started forcing people to aid them under threats of death, and then forcing them to work like slaves. I refused to give them any more aid and now they attack me and my people, and they won't stop until we're dead. And now they're allied with the Red Templars"

"Bah! They claim to want their freedom and then they turn to murder as if it were nothing. Now they serve those blasphemous traitors. Disgusting." Cassandra spat.

"Even before the Red Templars showed up, these Freeman were formidable." Blackwall reminded. "Who leads them?"

"That would be the so-called General Maliphant." Fairbanks answered with anger. "He was a high ranking officer in the Imperial army. At first I thought he was just trying to look after his men, but he's still a Chevalier in his heart. All commoners and peasantfolk are trash to him. And then there's his liuetenants, Maker take them. There's Ser Auguste, a deluded Chevalier who thinks serving Maliphant's will somehow bring him honor. 'Sister' Costeau, she's convinced herself of the righteousness of their cause she'd burn an orphanage and tell herself it was a good deed. And then there's Commander Duhaime." Fairbanks spat on the ground as if just saying that name tasted like shit. "He's Maliphant's animal! The worst excuse for a living being. Thief, murderer, rapist. I don't know what the Maker was thinking when he a man as vile as that."

A despicable as these people sounded, there was another matter on Rajmael's mind. "Have…have you ever seen elves fighting alongside these people?"

"Is that a joke, Your Worship?" Fairbanks asked with a dumbfounded look. "The Freeman of the Dales fighting alongside elves? I'll sooner believe fish can fly! No, Inquisitor. General Maliphant is still the same Chevalier bastard he's always been, and your people are considered less than the peasants to him. He'd sooner kill an elf than fight alongside one. No offense intended."

"None taken." Rajmael responded.

"Inquisitor, please you must help us." Fairbanks pleaded. "The people I look after are simple, they know nothing of warfare or fighting, and the Freeman hound us like we're the enemy. And that damned Sister Costeau has captured almost half my people and is slaving them in the nearby veridium mine. That woman's soul is as empty as the Void, she'll end killing all of them. We cannot abandon them."

"I promise I will get your people back." Rajmael swore.

~XoXoXo~

The others didn't notice it, but as Rajmael led them out of Fairbanks' camp and towards the direction of the veridium mine, Cassandra and Briala noticed that look on The Inquisitor's face that stayed there since he asked if elves were involved with the Freeman. Instead of finding answers, all Fairbanks told them was what the Inquisition already knew, and where to find these men. It would seem Rajmael was more concerned about the possibility of elven involvement than the fact that they now had the locations to all the leading members of this terrorist group.

Briala saw the necklace around Cassandra's neck, the one the old cook told her about back at the Winter Palace, and it was indeed elven. If the story she heard was correct, such an item was a sign of love. How strange that a Seeker of the Chantry would accept such an item from a Dalish elf and wear it with such pride. But then again, who was she to judge, given who she loved and how much pain that had brought.

The new Marquis of the Dales wondered how this incredibly diverse group of highly trained killers and members of the social elite followed this Dalish elf with a sense of respect. Even Enchanter Vivienne seemed to watch how she acted in his presence. Briala noticed that sword strapped to his hip, the same one he used to split Gaspard's head in half. She had seen mages fight before, but she didn't think any of them were capable of fighting like warriors, and Rajmael not only fought, he fought masterfully.

They were now close to the Veridium mine; they had to be careful. This Sister Costeau would most likely have guards posted outside the mine. Rajmael signaled them to wait and instructed Sera and Varric to scout ahead and make sure their way was clear. They scouted ahead for less than two minutes before coming back.

"Uh…Inquisitor. I think you guys need to come see this." Varric beckoned apprehensively.

"And bring a bucket! Maker knows I need one right now." Sera called.

They came to the entrance of the mine and found what was causing Varric and Sera to look a little green with illness. There were guards posted outside the mine alright, but instead of standing their post they were littered all over the ground with their intestines hanging out and their throats sliced wide open. There were no signs of a struggle, these men were completely unaware of their killers' presence.

The inside of the mine was no better; actually it was worse. Limbless bodies littered the mine floor, their disembodied hands still clenching their weapons and looks of terror were frozen on their severed heads. There wasn't an inch of floor that wasn't wet with Orlesian blood in this cave.

"Sweet Andraste." Cassandra gasped.

"Ashante kaffas." Dorian choked back. "I can feel this morning's breakfast making a comeback."

"Vashedan." Iron Bull gawked. "Haven't seen anything like this outside of a Tal-Vashoth raid."

"Maker's balls. What could have done this?" Blackwall gasped as he looked at the pile of dismembered bodies.

"Something inhuman." Vivienne answered from behind her handkerchief, trying not to gag.

"Or someone with a lot of anger." Solas suggested.

"They didn't know what happened. All they felt was fear, then pain. And then nothing." Cole spoke as he looked at the bodies.

"Over here! I found Fairbanks' people!" Varric called. The refugees were all huddled in a corner of a cell, on their knees and the fetal position shaking with fright. Varric picked the lock and tried to approach the prisoners. "Hey, hey it's all over now." Varric tried to assure.

"Please! Please! Don't hurt us! We'll do what you say!" One of the refugees wailed.

"Easy!" Rajmael bade. "No one is going to hurt you. Fairbanks sent us here to save you."

"Oh, thank the Maker!" One of the women sobbed frantically. "After what happened to the Freeman I thought for sure we were next."

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Rajmael asked caringly.

"M-my n-name is Gertude." The woman wept with fright in her eyes. "We're apart of Fairbanks' camp. The Freeman caught us when I led them to find more food, it was foolish, I know, but we were running low on supplies. They were forcing us to mine the veridium here."

"What happened in here?"

Gertude sniffled and tried to fight back the tears in her eyes. "Wh-when the Freeman found their men outside dead, Sister Costeau ordered her men to form a defensive position. We heard something in the darkness, like a lash whipping in the shadows. Something grabbed Costeau and began attacking her men, they began cutting pieces off the guards from the shadows. We huddled in the corner hoping whatever was out here would ignore us."

"Did you see who attacked Sister Costeau?" Rajmael continued.

Gertrued was shaking uncontrollably with fear, her eyes were wide with terrified tears trickling from them. "No! We could only heard her scream! Even after her men were killed, she kept screaming and screaming! All we could do was pray as we heard her scream, and her flesh was torn!" Gertrude instinctively held Rajmael and wailed hysterically as sobs wracked her body. "The only thing I saw were those eyes. Those horrible eyes that were burning in the dark. Like coals in a furnace."

Rajmael did his best to try and comfort the woman, but whatever she saw traumatized her. "The way is safe. Go back to Fairbanks, he'll keep you safe."

Gertrude and the other prisoners made their way out of the cave as fast as they could, wanting to leave this horrible place forever.

"Captured by Freeman to be slaves and narrowly evaded the attention of whatever it is that killed these sods." Varric sighed. "The Maker's mercy is a twisted thing."

"Has anyone actually seen what happened to Sister Costeau?" Cassandra asked.

"I found what I think is left of Sister Costeau." Blackwall called.

Like her men, Costeau's hands and feet had been but off. Unlike the others, Costeau's body wasn't on the floor. It was pinned to the roof of the mine, impaled upon stalactites. What was supposed to be her face was noseless, eyeless and all the flesh had been stripped from her skull. But most noticeably, her intestines, stomach and spleen were hanging out of her split abdomen like party streamers.

Sera puked at the site of the disemboweled woman pinned to the roof like a butterfly, and it looked Dorian and Varric were going to join her.

"As vile as this woman was, she didn't deserve to die in such a horrible manner." Cassandra commented.

"I wonder if her victims would agree with you." Solas replied.

Unlike the others who stared in horror and bewilderment, Briala noticed that the Inquisitor was staring at the deceased chevalier's body with…acknowledgement? Like he wasn't at all surprised by how these people died. Was he familiar with this brand of brutality?

They looked around the mine for anything of use, and cleared out of there before someone else lost their lunch in that confined killing field.

"Hey! Look at this. Seems like this bitch wasn't the only one with problem going on." Iron Bull handed Rajmael some paper. Correspondence from her fellow Freeman.

Apparently, after the Freeman's epic failure to stop the Inquisition's interference, and failing to kill the Herald, the Venatori cut all ties with the Freeman and were no longer supplying them. Hence their desperation to mine this veridium. The interesting part however, was that Maliphant himself was calling back all his men to the Villa Maurel. Apparently, someone had been picking the Freeman off all over the Dales, always striking them from the shadows and leaving a trail of dismembered bodies in their wake, and now the Freeman's numbers were dwindling. But the final straw was when Ser Auguste and all his men were murdered in their own lodge. They were found impaled upon massive spikes going up their asses and out of their mouths, and Ser Auguste was found nailed to a tree with his genitals burned off and his tongue hanging out of a new slit in his throat.

"Someone's got General Maliphant scared. Maybe we can use him to give us information about the Venatori, and these mystery terrorists." Iron Bull suggested.

"An excellent idea, dear Iron Bull." Vivienne complimented.

"Bad idea. Traitors can't be trusted." Blackwall reminded scornfully.

"Yeah! We can't make friends with pricks like them!" Sera agreed firmly.

"The first thing we should do before we consider anything else is apprehending this Maliphant." Cassandra reminded. "Given how desperate he is, I doubt he'll make this easy."

"And if we find him, maybe we'll find out who these mysterious assassins are." Solas affirmed.

~XoXoXo~

Rajmael and his companions made their way to Villa Maurel ready for a tough fight. The only one of Maliphant's officers who remained was Duhaime, the most vicious and brutal of the Freeman and his elite soldiers. But when they arrived at the entrance to the once abandoned mansion, all they found was yet another killing field. Once again, these mystery assassins took one step ahead of them.

Unlike the other site where Sister Costeau and her men were butchered like sheep, these Freemans' bodies were still whole, but from the way they laid on the ground, they still died in horrible agony.

They found the body of a man so large, with a nearby axe that was so brutal, and his armor so vicious and gaudy, that it had to be Duhaime. His helmet was torn off his head, revealing his ugly face frozen in horrid agony. His eyes bulged out of their sockets, and so badly agitated that blood was still seeping out. Duhaime's face was covered in a horrible rash that cracked all seven layers of skin. Even his mouth was still spewing up blood and bile out from between his locked jaw. Duhaime's powerful hands were wrapped around his own neck with his fingertips digging deeply into his flesh, as if he tried to claw out his own throat. This killing field was different, yet somehow familiar.

"Hey, check out these bodies. Is anyone else having a case of déjà vu?" Iron Bull asked.

"Hurgh! Not again!" Sera went green and puked all over the ground. Again.

"These people began breathing in something that hurt them. Their insides were torn and bled, and they died drowning in their own blood." Cole said sympathetically. "They brought pain to others, and they died in worse pain."

"This is almost just like that time the Inquisitor slew a whole cave full of bloodmages by throwing a sack full of burning rashvine into their lair." Solas reminded.

"I don't think I was there for that…particular piece of fun." Dorian said as he held back his gag reflex.

"It was certainly a brutal, even barbaric tactic, but an efficient one." Vivienne commented as she looked away from the Duhaime's mutilated carcass.

"Where did you learn such a sadistic tactic anyway, Rajmael?" Blackwall inquired.

Rajmael couldn't tak his eyes off of Duhaime's wretched corpse. There was no sympathy found on his face, but there was a look of…familiarity in his eyes. "My brother, Nethras. He taught it to me. He would use it to clear out giant spiders and other intruders out of ancient ruins. The best way to clear out vermin, he said."

"And, apparently, he was right." Cassandra confirmed. "Quickly! If these men are dead already, then they must already be inside. Maybe we can catch them before they get away again!"

~XoXoXo~

They entere Villa Muarel expecting to find Freeman soldiers ready for a fight, or a house full of blood, given what has been happening to them. But instead found the place quiet as a grave and not a single guard standing anywhere. They moved as quietly as possible, not wanting to alert the Freeman if they were still alive, or the assassins if they were even here.

Soon enough, they found General Maliphant and all his men in the courtyard. And all their pieces of them that were laying around.

"Oh, for love of…Hurkghle!" Sera screamed as she ran around the corner and puked. Again.

"This reoccurring theme is really starting to lose its flavor." Iron Bull groaned.

"If they have to butcher these people so heinously, can't they at least make it so no one can find their bodies?" Dorian gagged.

"Getting so much blood on such lovely flooring is the real crime here." Vivienne commented.

"Andraste's flaming knickers!" Varric swore. "I can't unsee any of this. Maker's breath, this is going to give me nightmares."

"There are just some things that are completely unnecessary!" Blackwall cursed.

"Why not just kill them? Who would go through all this trouble?" Cassandra asked as she blanched.

"Someone with a grudge, Seeker." Briala answered.

"Oh…" Sera groaned. "I don't think my gut can take any more of this icky, grossness."

"Hey, look over there!" Iron Bull pointed. "It's a pile of mangled dicks!"

And with that Sera, Dorian, and Varric projectile vomited their meals from the past week.

The bodies of all the remaining Freeman were hanging upside down all around the courtyard. Their heads and hands were sliced off, the blood from their severed arteries was trickling on to the lake of crimson that now pooled on the tiled floor. The heads were all missing, no sign of them anywhere. But the hands were all piled around a stone slab in the middle of the courtyard around Maliphant's eviscerated body.

The now deceased General of the Freeman was tethered to the slab by his arms, legs and neck, his armor was stripped from his body. The skin was flayed from his chest, his abdomen was cut open and his ribs were broken outward, showing off what innards remained in his body. Not only were his intestines hanging out, but his spleen, one of his kidneys, and finally his lungs and heart. Someone pulled Maliphant's organs out of his body, one by one. The most gut wrenching bit, however, was that mashed up, pulpy mass between his legs where his penis used to be.

But while everyone else was staring at Maliphant's body, Rajmael was staring at the stone slab his body was tied to. There was some sort of glyph on it, some form of elven.

"Elgar'nan…enansal." Rajmael whispered in disbelief. He wasn't paying attention if anyone was listening to him. "There's nothing else for us here. Let's get back to Fairbanks."

~XoXoXo~

Fairbanks was more than happy to have his people back, and just as happy to hear that the Maliphant and his officers were finally dead. They had caused Fairbanks and his people no end of grief. Rajmael sent word back to Skyhold and had Josephine send relief efforts to aid Fairbanks and the other refugees. He was surprised to see Mother Giselle amongst the Inquisition relief. Giselle said this was the best place for her because she started her life as a Chantry Mother administering faith and aid to those suffering in the Dales.

"I am pleased that we were able to aid Fairbanks' people, but I'm still concerned about who killed the Freeman in the first place." Cassandra stated with just concern. "We still have no idea who they are."

"Indeed. Such dangerous individuals can't be allowed to just run around unchecked." Vivienne agreed. "It is imperative that we find out what they're after."

"Maybe they were just professionals?" Iron Bull suggested. "Maybe a third party hired them to take out the Freeman?"

"Wouldn't it be better to let sleeping dogs lie, Seeker?" Varric asked hopefully.

"I'm with our residential scoundrel on this one." Dorian agreed. "I certainly don't want to get on their bad side by going after them."

"See, Sparkler here knows what I'm talking about." Varric continued. "I mean these people can't be all bad, they just wiped out all those Freeman bastards for us. And besides, we don't have anything to go on. We've got no idea who they were or what they want."

"I think someone here already knows." Briala pointed out. Her eye turned towards the Inquisitor accusingly. "You've been acting strange ever since I handed you that weapon. You've seen it before, haven't you? And you recognized how all those Freeman were butchered. You know who's behind this, don't you?" There was an angry glare in the elven Marquis' eye.

Everyone looked to the Inquisitor curiously. Did he truly know what was going, and chose not to tell them?

Rajmael sighed deeply. There was no point in hiding anything from his comrades. The forlorn look on his face was almost foreign to his companions. "I…I had hoped that this was all just another tale my hahren spoke of to warn the young of my tribe. But after what I saw today, I cannot hope for that any longer. Especially after you handed me that weapon, Briala."

"So you know who's behind this?" Cassandra asked. She was almost hurt that he didn't tell her, especially after all they had seen today.

"Amongst the Dalish, there are three paths that we choose to follow." Rajmael informed. "The Vir Tanadhal, the Way of Trees, taught to us by Andruil, teaches our hunters to respect nature, work together and be resolute in our purpose. The Vir Atish'an, the Way of Peace, is the path of the healer, the mender and the midwife, set down to us by Sylaise the Hearth-Keeper. And then there's the Vir Sulevanan, the Way of Service. It teaches us to be fair in all our dealings with The People and with nature."

"I've heard of these tenants the Dalish elves live by, though I never quite understood their meaning." Cassandra said.

"So what does this elfy crap have to do with those baddies who killed those other baddies?" Sera asked in annoyance.

Rajmael shot an aggravated look at Sera. "Because, you twit, there's a fourth path, one that is rarely spoken of, one that many of my people fear: The Vir Banal'ras...the Way of Shadow." Rajmael spoke the word as though it were a curse, and there was a sense of dread in his voice. "It was set down to us by Elgar'nan, the All-Father. And elves who follow this path, dedicate themselves purely to vengeance, seeking the blood and death from all those who wronged them. And thus was born the legends of Dalish Assassins."

"Dalish assassins?" Vivienne laughed haughtily. "Surely, you must be joking darling. Who's ever heard of such a thing?"

"The best kind of assassins are the ones you never hear of, unlike the Antivan Crows, the Ben-Hessrath and the Orlesian Bards." Rajmael pointed. "Because every kill they make is a perfect assassination. Like that time they killed that Antivan queen."

Vivienne quirked in eyebrow in disbelief. "What Antivan queen?"

"Exactly, bitch!" Rajmael hollered.

"I hate to contradict you, Rajmael, but those killing fields we saw weren't exactly subtle." Dorian pointed out.

"But you never would have expected elves to have killed them, or be able to elude us." Rajmael countered. "They left absolutely no trace."

"If these Dalish assassins are so rare, how do you know about them?" Blackwall asked.

"Because of this." Rajmael brandished the sickle to all his party members, Cassandra noticed that he reattached a length of chain to the handle.

"Never seen anything like that before." Blackwall spoke.

"It looks more like a farming tool than a killing impliment." Vivienne commented.

"If it's sharp and pointy, it can be used to kill." Iron Bull stated as fact.

"In the proper hands, it can probably do much damage." Said Solas.

"Reminds me of some of the blades they used to peddle down in Darktown." Varric remembered.

"That! That little elfy thing is a weapon?!" Sera mocked.

Rajmael didn't appreciate Sera's tone. So he grabbed the chain and threw the sickle at a nearby Andrastian statue and caught it by the neck. Then he pulled Andraste's head right off and easily caught the sickle in his hand. Andraste's head landed right on Sera's foot, causing her to yell in pain and hop on one leg like an idiot.

"These are the weapons of the Vir Banal'ras. They're called the Bora'nan: Flying Vengeance. They are used to sever limbs, tear open the body, and be thrown from a distance to catch and disable the target. It's also perfect for parrying and catching an enemy's weapon to disarm them." Rajmael explained. "I've only ever seen this weapon once. My brother, Nethras, had an ancestor who walked the Vir Banal'ras, and he used this weapon when he hunted."

Now Cassandra understood what Rajmael's concern was. "You were hoping that it was the Freeman of the Dales who were attacking the Orlesian nobility and army. You were hoping your people weren't involved."

"But now you know that this…Vir Banal'ras is real, and they are up to something." Solas added.

"Yes." Rajmael confirmed. "If the Vir Banal'ras is active and in unknown numbers, they could cause great damage."

"They could undo everything you and I have accomplished for the elves of Orlais." Briala dreaded. "The attacks on the nobles, suicide bombing the Imperial Army? It could turn everyone against us."

"We still don't know if it was actually the Vir Banal'ras behind those attacks, or if it was the Venatori." Rajmael reminded. "But we must discover what they may be up to. They're too dangerous to be left alone if they're this active."

"Do you have any idea where could we even start?" Briala asked.

Rajmael thought for a brief moment. There was only one place where they might find a clue. "The old Temple of Elgar'nan."

~XoXoXo~

On the very fringes of Halamshiral's borders stood the ruins of the ancient temple that was built by the elves when they ruled the Dales. All that remained of this once tall and proud palace-like temple were charred, ruined walls and pillar that were being overgrown with ivy, and being reclaimed by the forest. But even in this advanced state of rot and destruction, this temple was still a sight to behold.

Night had fallen, and rain began to fall from the sky. As they walked the broken paths and ruined ramparts, they could all feel a sense of foreboding hanging in the air.

"Does anyone else feel that?" Cassandra asked as she felt a chill run up her spine. "I feel like I'm walking over someone's grave."

"You're not far from the truth Cassandra." Rajmael answered scornfully as he looked upon the ruins. "During the Exalted March on the Dales, the Chantry rounded up every elven man, woman and child that refused to accept the Chantry's terms of surrender. Then they burned them and all elven priests alive in this temple, to purify their tainted souls."

"No…no that can't be true. The Chantry would never do that." Cassandra denied. She refused to believe the Chantry could do something so horrible.

"The Chantry wanted to destroy any evidence of the elves' accomplishment and their own crimes." Solas reminded. "After what you discovered about your own Order, can you really be surprised, Seeker?"

"The only reason why elves are treated like shit is because the Chantry set the standard." Rajmael reminded.

"What are we doing in some creepy elf ruin anyway?" Sera asked nervously.

"On that slab where Maliphant was killed was elven runes that said 'Elgar'nan enansal'. Elgar'nan's blessing." Rajmael answered. "The Vir Banal'ras was founded by the teachings of Elgar'nan, and this temple was dedicated to him. We may be able to find a clue here."

"No one ever travels here for fear of angry elven spirits and curses." Briala added. "It would also make for a good hideout."

As they reach the entrance to the ruined temple, Rajmael noticed a mosaic on the wall with the image of the Creators. Even after eight hundred years this tribute still stood proudly. Rajmael knelt before the image of his gods to offer a prayer.

"Is now really the time for praying, Inquisitor?" Vivienne asked condescendingly.

"This is still a temple, and the spirits of my ancestors who died for their faith rest here." Rajmael answered with a glare. "Offerings to the gods cannot be ignored." Rajmael reached into his pocket and pulled out the seeds he always kept. As he grew the blue rose in his hand, he noticed something. There was already several blue roses resting before the gods. Rajmael picked one up and looked at it.

"No. That's not possible." Rajmael whispered. He noticed that the moss at the base of the mural had been disturbed. He pulled it back and was horrified by his discovery. All the head of Maliphant's men were laying before the gods like some kind of offering.

Rajmael's eyes went wide with shock. He realized it all too late. "Everyone! Get out! IT'S A TRAP!"

But it was too late. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the chains flew from the shadows and pulled Sera into the darkness screaming.

"Sera!" Iron Bull yelled. He grabbed his axe and stood his ground ready for anything. The chains flew at the Qunari and wrapped around his horns, and pulled the massive mercenary away. "SHIII-IIIT!" Iron Bull screamed as he was dragged into the shadows.

The chains flew at Dorian, Vivienne, and Solas grabbing them by necks, wrists and ankles. They pulled so hard the tension threatened to dislocate their limbs and breaks their necks, forcing them to drop their staves, and stopped them from saying a spell. The mages were completely neutralized.

Cassandra, Blackwall and Varric stood back to back with their shields facing forward. They weren't going to get caught from behind. More chains flew at them from nowhere and everywhere. The chains pulled Bianca from Varric's hands, and caught The Seeker and The Warden by their ankles, and pulled their feet out from under them. A group of elves jumped out of the darkness with arrows trained on all three of them.

Four more elves materialized out of nowhere and surrounded Briala. They motioned her to drop her stilettos. She knew they could have killed her if they wanted, but instead wanted her surrender. Briala reluctantly complied. It was that or be turned into a pin cushion.

The Inquisitor couldn't believe his eyes, the Vir Banal'ras actually existed. Everything happened so fast Rajmael barely had time to react. He stood his sword held in an offensive stance, and his shimmering shield illuminating the darkness. All his companions had been neutralized, and if he made one wrong move, these assassins would kill them. He would have to take out the archers around Briala first, maybe she could reach for her stilettos and free the mages. He would have to act fast.

A dozen more elves appeared from the shadows, their arrows pointing at the Arcane Warrior. Whatever was going to happen, had to happen now.

"Mana! Tel garas Dirth'ena Enasalin." A voice in the night called. The assassins standing before Rajmael receded back into the darkness as a figure approached. He wore some sort of ancient elven armor, and an elven mask with ancient writing on its featureless face with horn adorning the head.

Judging from the way he walked, and how the assassins obeyed, Rajmael could see that this man was a highly skilled warrior, he even carried two chained-sickles. But there was something different about this man. Something…familiar. Did Rajmael know this man's voice?

The assassin faced Rajmael, and Rajmael stood his ground, ready to kill this man is needs be. "Ar'din nuvenin na'din. Tu na'din!" Rajmael warned.

The masked assassin dropped both of his sickles to the ground, and proceeded to take his mask off. "Andaran atish'an…Little Brother."

Rajmael unconsciously lowered his sword and deactivated his Shimmering Shield. Was he finally going completely insane? It just couldn't be. "….Nethras?"

In that brief instance of hesitation, the assassin spun on his heel and planted a spinning back kick right to Rajmael's chin, knocking him the senses out of him. The only thought that ran through his mind before his world went completely went black was, how stupid he was. That couldn't be Nethras. Nethras is dead. Isn't he?

Meanwhile, in Emprise du Lion...

It had been years since Mother Giselle had been to Emprise du Lion. Not since before her years administering in Jader. Just as she did in Ferelden before she joined the Inquisition, she was here helping with the relief efforts to the people of this region. It was horrible what happened to the poor souls of Sarhnia. Their livelihoods destroyed by the Orlesian Civil War, and then to be held hostage, enslaved and their loved ones killed by the Red Templars. Thankfully, the Inquisitor was able to free these people and provide them much needed supplies, as well as hope.

The Chantry Mother finished with aiding the injured and sick in the Chantry. While other Chantry members felt enlightenment and joy singing in the Chantry, Mother Giselle always felt the most complete by helping the people. It was here, not in the gilded Chantry temples that she was able to carry out the Maker's work. Healing and providing faith was the closest that she felt to reaching the Maker.

Mother Giselle finished her work and went back to her small room in the back of the Chantry to make her prayers while the sick and injured recovered. Now that her work was done for the moment, she could praise the Maker for giving her the strength to do His work. She hadn't even started when she heard a light tapping on her door.

"Please, come in." Giselle welcomed.

An elven woman with dusky skin, chestnut hair and green eyes entered the small room. She was wearing light armor with a set of knives strapped to her hip, and a serious look on her face. Was she one of the Inquisition soldiers?

"Mother Giselle?" The elven woman presumed. "I must ask you to come with me immediately. I'm afraid it's a matter of life and death."

"Dear Maker, is something wrong? Is the village under attack again?" Giselle asked alarmed.

"No. Well, not yet at least." The elf answered blithely. "But it would be best to come along before that changes."

"Who are you? Did the Inquisitor send you?" Mother Giselle inquired, her suspicion piqued.

"The Inquisitor? That flat-eared traitor should be so lucky as to have me under his command." The mysterious elf sneered. "I'm one of the assassins who broke into the Grand Cathedral and raided its vault. Oh, and I'm also the one who set it on fire. Does that answer your questions?"

Mother Giselle tried to remain calm. What was this assassin doing in this village? "What do you want here?"

"What I want is for you to come with me, calmly, quietly, and voluntarily." The elven woman instructed. "Do that, and I promise, we'll leave here without any problems, and no bloodshed. If you don't, me and the men I brought, will slaughter everyone in this pisshole of a village, and make you watch. Then we'll take you by force. But you can avoid all that if you cooperate. Either way works for me."

Mother Giselle was shocked. Not only did this woman confess to her that she was one of the raiders who assaulted the Grand Cathedral, she was also threatening to kill everyone in this village like it was nothing to her. How could she be so heartless?

"You would kill everyone in this village?" Giselle asked aghast.

"Down to the last child." The elf answered coldly.

There was no doubt in the Chantry Mother's mind that this woman would follow through with her threat. If she could invade the very sanctity of the Grand Cathedral, and kill the Templars who guarded it, then this already desolated village wouldn't stand a chance. Her path was clear; she would not let any more harm come to this village.

"It would seem I have no choice." Mother Giselle conceded. "Take me wherever you wish."

"That's it? You're not going to posture, or beg, or even call your Maker to save you?" The elf asked disappointed.

"I follow the Maker's will, and I have no doubt he watches over me. I have no need to be afraid." Mother Giselle said bravely.

"Well, you'll be smart to keep that Maker stuff to a minimum." The elf chuckled. "Because where we're going, your god isn't going to help you. He'll be too scared of the god I serve."

Language Codex:

Elgar'nan enansal: Elven, translates as "Elgar'nan's Blessing."

Vir Banal'ras: Elven, translates as "The Way of Shadow."

Vir Tanadhal: Elven, translates as "The Way of Three Trees."

Vir Atish'an: Elven, translates as "The Way of Peace."

Vir Sulevanan: Elven, translates as "The Way of Service."

Bora'nan: Elven, translates as "Flying Vengeance."

Mana! Tel garas Dirth'ena Enasalin: Elven, roughly translates as "Stop! Get away from the Arcane Warrior."

Ar'din nuvenin na'din. Tu na'din: Elven, roughly translates as "I don't want to kill you. But I will!"

Andaran atish'an: Elven greeting, roughly translates as "I dwell in this safe place."

Ashante kaffas: Tevene swear, translates as, "You shit on my tongue."

Vashedan: Qunlat, translates as "Trash" or "Crap".

Author's Note:

For those of you do not really know who Nethras is, please read Chapters 1, 6, and 13. Please review, and enjoy.

I do not own anything. Dragon Age is the property of the BioWare Gaming Company.